"The summer of 1940 would have been a glorious time had someone mentioned to Mister Hitler that it was cricket season."
A tale of War, of love, and of friendship. (And a few Nazis)
"The summer of 1940 would have been a glorious time had someone mentioned to Mister Hitler that it was cricket season."
A tale of War, of love, and of friendship. (And a few Nazis)
Flight lieutenant Harry Dolton stretched out under the warm midmorning sun as it played lazily over the grassy apron belonging to the squadron’s aircraft. The summer of 1940 would have been a glorious time had someone mentioned to Mister Hitler that it was cricket season. Nearly every day the men and planes of Fighter Command took to the skies to fend off the swarms of Nazi warplanes that plagued the south coast of England like gnats to a horse.
Drawing on his fourth cigarette that morning, he allowed his eyes drift up to the sky above as he watched the clouds roll past in lazy procession. This damned war had given his life some meaning for all its danger and bother. All his life Harry had been the preverbal black sheep of the well regarded Dolton family; never the sportsman his father had desired, nor the university graduate or businessman that his brothers had found great success as, he was never in favour with the old man. Washing out of public school at eighteen, Avoiding his parents insistence that he find a girl, settle down, get a job, he had dallied around for several years making the correct noises about advancing his life and career, without holding any real convictions on the subject. The arrival of war in Europe had provided him with a chance of escaping his father’s mournful disappointment and fulfilled the niggling feeling that he should make a man of himself. It was good for that much.
The shrill ring of the telephone in the operations hut caught his attention instantly just as it did every pilot on duty. The seconds ticked by slowly as the call was answered. Almost always, it was a scramble, but there were the occasional false alarms and admin phone calls that got the pilots on edge as they waited for the next call to arms. Sergeant Tomlinson’s head appearing at the ops room window however was enough of a sign for Harry and the other’s in the Duty section that this was no false alarm. The pilots were halfway to their aircraft before they heard him call the scramble: The boys of 43 Squadron were the best in the whole Royal Air Force.
Jumping into the seat of his spitfire Harry pumped the choke while fastening his flight harness about his torso. Checking the straps were secure, save those at his crotch, he eased the throttle open urging the fighter to roll forwards across the turf of the airstrip as he made his final instrument checks and lined up for takeoff. He wasn’t sure why he always made sure that he left the crotch straps loose, but it had become almost a personal pre-flight ritual to check. He remembered during training one of the instructors had joked about keeping them too tight for too long was a sure way to see off fatherhood. Like the other young, inexperienced trainee-pilots, he’d burned the advice into his memory.
“Ascot three, airborne.” He called over his radio transmitter as the heavy metallic sounds of the wheels tucking themselves into the wings of his fighter reverberated around the thin airframe. Testing the response of the controls, he settled into an intercept climb.
“Rodger that Three. Form up at Fifteen thousand feet with section, Ascot One out.”
Ascot flight formed up wing on wing at the designated attitude and cruised south from Biggin Hill towards the south coast of England.
“Hello Skipper, Ascot two, what’s on the menu today sir?”
“What have I told you about calling me Sir, Jenkins? And for god’s sake stick to radio protocol.” Squadron Commander Barton replied sharply over the radio. Harry smiled as he listened to the sweet sound of someone else suffering the Commanding Officer’s ire.
“Angels twenty, five thousand up; approaching from the south east… Just bombers lads.” Barton advised. “Don’t get bloody sloppy on me, there might be fighters lurking above that Radar can’t see.”
Confirming their mission, Ascot flight climbed above the incoming bombers and waited to spring their trap. Masked from sight by the cloudy costal skies, the incoming Luftwaffe aircrews had no way of seeing the fighters as they dove out of the cloud bank as they cut, guns blazing through their formations.
“That’s the last of ‘em boys. Jolly good work.” Barton announced triumphantly as he climbed back to join the flight after trailing the fiery plummet of a stricken bomber.
“Ascot Four, we’ve got two limping away at low altitude Ascot One. Permission to pursue?”
Audibly sighing over the radio, Barton agreed. “Rodger that Four, take Dolton with you and don’t drop your guard.”
“Wilco sir, Four out.”
“Tallyho Harry.” Andy Gold called as he rolled his Spitfire over and swooped down towards the retreating aircraft. “Here we go again.” Harry groaned to himself and rolled to give chase.
The two spitfires dropped down below the enemy bombers and began their approach, safely out of kicking range of the German aircrafts’ guns. As the two fighters closed the distance, Harry Dolton’s Spitfire began to slide into an attack position off the quarter of the damaged bomber. As he began to line up the kill, the Heinkel’s starboard engine began trailing a thick black trail of smoke that obscured Harry’s view, forcing him to pull back to regain the important visibility.
“No good Andy, I can’t get a clean shot through the smoke, take a pop at the Bosh and I’ll cover you.” He offered deferring the kill to his wingman.
“Rodger that Harry, I’ll save you the other,” Gold chuckled manoeuvring his spitfire in for the kill.
As the aircraft got closer, the Heinkel’s engine spluttered and died spraying thick black engine oil out into its wake. Lining his guns up on the sedate target, Flight Officer Andy gold never saw it coming as the thick black oil smothered his Plexiglas cockpit.
“Blast it Harry I can’t see a thing, I’m pulling out.” He called breaking off from the attack. Harry was in the process of lamenting the difficulty of downing two limping Jerry bombers when he saw his wingman’s fatal error and felt the sickening grip of dread as, instead of diving away to safety, his wingman and friend pulled back on his yoke for fear of the low altitude and brought his Spitfire directly into the tail gunner’s sights. Yanking his aircraft sharply to port, Harry barely missed being hit by the burning wreckage of Gold’s Spitfire.
“Andy!” Harry yelled uselessly into his transmitter. “You damn fool.” He added softly, “Damn fool…”
Centring his crosshairs on the bomber he jabbed angrily at the trigger feeling the airframe shudder as the Spitfire’s guns rained down on the German aircraft. Shuddering, the bomber began to come apart before rolling to starboard and diving into the ocean. “That one’s for Andy.” Harry muttered to himself as he centred his aim on the healthier of the two enemy bombers that was now diving and twisting in erratic evasive manoeuvres.
Straining his eyes to see the retreating bomber through the descending fog, Harry pressed on as he attempted to close the gap between himself and the German.
As the pair broke out of a bank of fog he saw his chance and opened fire, sending the aircraft to the waves bellow.
Gritting his teeth, he resisted the urge to celebrate the kill. “Ascot Three to Ascot Leader, Jerries down, but… sir, Andy bought it.”
Hearing no reply Harry tapped his transmitter switch and tried again, greeted only by the cold tone of static. “Ascot Three to any aircraft, do you read?” He tried again hoping that for some simple reason things would work again. Shaking his head, he unclipped his mask and muttered a curse under his breath; another repair to add to the list for the ground crew back home.
Although at that moment in time, his blinkered pursuit of the German bomber left him entirely unaware of where home was…
Checking through his instruments, Harry began to spot damage throughout the aircraft. His fuel gauge, compass and radio all seemed to have faults; he presumed, the blame lay in a round through the wiring in the aircraft’s nose at some point in the previous scrap. Heaven knows, looking out at his wings showed that he had taken enough hits. Gentle tests to his flight controls showed them to be working as expected; small mercies he supposed.
Dropping down bellow the clouds left him a narrow corridor of several hundred feet above the dirty grey waves of the English Channel. He had three hundred and sixty choices to make, two hundred and seventy of which, would result in land, the remaining ninety, could land him in the middle of the Atlantic, without a radio or a prayer. Crossing his fingers inside the flying gloves he wore, he banked left and took a chance. Sailing had been one of the few interests he had shared with his father. That memory of childhood brought one fact to the forefront of his brain at that moment however: In the morning, winds predominantly blew out from or into the channel, bound either for, or coming in from the Atlantic Ocean, and judging by the wave patterns, he could estimate broadly which direction that was. Completing the bank, he levelled out till he was flying parallel to the waves bellow, and pressed on praying his fuel load held out.
Within fifteen minutes of his decision, the gamble appeared to have paid off as land became visible on the horizon below the cloud. Heartened by his discovery, Harry opened the throttle to a fighting speed, unsure which coast he was approaching. He didn’t very well want to go strolling over the French coast and become a leisurely target to the AAA the Jerries lined the cliffs with.
Dropping down to the wave tops. He pushed forwards, hoping his gamble would land him on friendly soil, by his estimation, his fuel load had to be dropping dangerously low; any port in a storm suited him just fine at that moment..
Rising up over the beach and headland, he sped inland encountering no resistance. It wasn’t a part of England he recognised, but there was no flak… Passing over a coast road, his heart sank, traffic was passing on the wrong side of the road… it was German military traffic.
His heart rate quickening, Harry climbed to a safer altitude away from potential ground fire and pondered his choices. He was over occupied France, with low fuel. The chances of making a return trip to England successfully were slim, at roughly 20-40 miles, he estimated that he would need to swim a good portion of the way home at best. His other options were less inviting still. He could bail out, or fly till he ran out of fuel, or till a fighter found him and dealt with him. It was the first time since he had joined the RAF that Harry had been required to decide his own fate with more than just guns and guts: It was not a pleasant feeling to realise one would either die, or spend the rest of the war in a prisoner of war camp. Harry was still pondering his fate when the chatter of guns behind him informed him that the decision had already been made by a higher power…
Cursing his lack of awareness, he began to evade the German fighter that had so successfully stalked its prey to within striking distance. Diving steeply he barely dodged a second burst as he used what he expected to be the last of his fuel in this fruitless dance. He jerked his head around quickly trying to catch sight of the Me109 at his rear. The fighter was close, and staying glued to his tail regardless of the manoeuvres he pulled off. That in itself worried him greatly: For a pilot to be able to match a Spitfire in the older 109, he must have been quite the flier. Harry shook himself mentally. Giving the Jerry too much credit would only help kill him. Instead, a risky manoeuvre was called for. It was a chance to turn the tables. It was risky, but offered greater odds than the certain death that waited should he kept up this fruitless game of chase. Opening the throttle fully, he began to accelerate away from his pursuer. As the 109 began to follow suit, Harry dropped his flaps and rammed open his dive brakes, causing the aircraft to shudder as it lurched up and shed speed. Unable to react in time, the 109, still fighting to match the speed of its faster prey, shot beneath Harry’s Spitfire. Closing his flaps, Harry nosed down and took advantage of the change in roles by opening fire with the six browning machine guns in his wings. The German fighter began to smoke as chunks flew off its fuselage as the bullets struck home. Harry fired bust after burst into the aircraft in a mixture of rage and relief. His guns clicking dry, Harry could only watch as the German Pilot bailed out as his aircraft accelerated downwards in its final dive.
At about three thousand feet, the German fighter gave up, its wings sheering off as the torque of the dive tore at them. Rolling to the side, Harry vainly tried to doge the flying metal to little avail. The wreckage tore clean through his port wing and stabalator, forcing the Spitfire into a vicious spin.
Harry fought the g-forces pulling his arms down as he reached for the cockpit release handle above his head. The few seconds it took felt like minutes as the aircraft plummeted. His fingers finally closing around the handle, he yanked at the catch as hard as he could. As the catch slipped free, the canopy was ripped backwards by the wind, making him catch his breath momentarily. Releasing the seat harness, he climbed upwards and dragged his torso out of the cockpit. Gasping for air as it sped past, he forced his legs to lift him into the buffeting wind. Feeling drained by the simple act of climbing out of the cockpit he lifted himself a fraction higher till the wind caught his body and dragged him from the stricken craft. As he was dragged by the slipstream, he felt his harness catch momentarily on the jagged edge of the stabalator as he tumbled away from the aircraft. Opening his arms as he was taught, he fought to stabilise himself as his Spitfire hurtled earthwards. Tugging at his harness with his gloved hands he checked for damage; everything felt in order… He might have been lucky. Pulling the ripcord on his harness, his heart skipped a beat as he waited for the drogue to deploy. After the longest moment, it caught air, dragging his main parachute from the seat base bellow him.
A jolt of pain shot through Harry’s body as the deployed parachute caught the air and filled. When his mind cleared enough to focus, he began to search for where he’d been hit. The pain was radiating out from his crotch… The damn loose jump straps on his harness were so comfortable in the cockpit, but when hanging from the canvas with a damaged waist strap taking no weight, the comfort and idiotic advice had proven costly. The strap on his waist, he realised, had been scythed clean through by the rough metal of the airframe as he was dragged past. Thankful as he was that he had not been closer to the stabalator; his body throbbed with the pain of his personal error. As the parachute had deployed, the change in speed had forced his entire body had slammed down on his crotch, causing debilitating jolts of pain to radiate through his whole being. Harry fought the pain to retain consciousness as he drifted towards the ground: It felt as though a knife was being twisted each time a gust caught the parachute. Sooner than he wished, the ground rushed up to meet him just as it had in the training exercises, but harder. Slamming into the grassy field took the wind out of him, and brought the world to a dark close.
To be continued...
From the Author:
Hello chickies, glad to see you're reading my new work this New Year's Day 2010. To start the new year, I bring you Angels High. My delve into the 40s, highly inspired by the damned dvd box set that I bought my boyfriend for christmas... He's not stopped watching the world war two films, so heres the product! I'll be updating this fairly regularly over the next few weeks, as with Focal Point and River of Shaddows Conclusion Chapter. My resolution if you haven't already guessed it, is to finish a few things I'd started. I may possibly POSSIBLY undertake a re-write of The Road to Haifa, I dont want to continue it as is, because i feel my writing back then was sub par. So perhaps expect that in early Feb, reposted, and rewritten.
Night night folks, Enjoy the bedtime reading, and if any one of you hum that theme song from a certain Mcqueen film... I'm going to throw an Ugg boot at you!
Alyssa
xx
"The summer of 1940 would have been a glorious time had someone mentioned to Mister Hitler that it was cricket season."
A tale of War, of love, and of friendship. (And a few Nazis)
Harry woke with a bump: He was in the back of an open topped lorry. The trees lining the road flashed by between the bars that secured the canvas cover to the body. His eyes wandered slowly over the people seated around him. German Field grey uniforms and helmets lined the benches on either side.
“Englander?” Asked a man kneeling to his left, seeing that Harry was awake. “English Airman yes?”
Harry nodded weakly, raising his hand to his head. “Yes, English.” He groaned quietly, apprehensive of the response his admission would receive from his German captors.
The German nodded as if he had suspected as much. “You lie still English. You hit head, we take to Field Hospital. You are Prisoner of War now.”
Harry nodded; a Prisoner of War camp was his future from now on and there was little point resisting his fate: His best chance of escape, it was said, was during the first few hours after capture. At the moment however, he was in no shape to fight back… with a strange sense of calm, he allowed the pain in his head to reclaim his consciousness.
When Harry woke again, he was lying on a mattress under a gently rotating ceiling fan: The field hospital he presumed. Looking around, he could see nurses attending to rows of occupied beds similar to his own. Besides medical staff, he could see no guards. Raising his hand, he confirmed his suspicions; he was handcuffed firmly to the base of the bed.
Hearing the cuff rattle, a nurse turned away from a cart and approached his bed.
“Hello,” she greeted him smiling. “Can you tell me your name?” She asked in accented English. “We need it for our records.” She shrugged apologetically. “I am not military.” She offered as Harry hesitated.
“Harry Dolton,” he offered simply, not quite certain of who he could trust at the present time, military or otherwise.
“Ok Mister Dolton,” the nurse smiled again. “You are in a Military Hospital in Valognes, A German Army patrol found you and brought you in.”
“How long have I been here?” Harry asked closing his eyes and grimacing as a jab of pain shot through his body once more. “And do you know what happened to me?”
“The nurse smiled sympathetically and lowered herself into the plain chair beside Harry’s bed. “You were brought in two days ago I believe, I was not working at the time, but it must have been then. “As for what is wrong with you, I do not know, I know that physically you are healthy though. The doctor will know more about the specifics, I am just a nurse.” She shrugged apologetically. “But as far as I can see, your vitals are good, and you seem coherent enough for a head injury, so things are not so grim yes?” she smiled touching Harry’s arm.
“Apart from being in an enemy military hospital I’d be inclined to agree with you.” Harry murmured softly, “thank you nurse.”
Squeezing his arm, the nurse stood and left him to attend to another patient in the ward.
Harry lowered his head back to the pillow and tried to focus on the ceiling fan above him. He wasn’t sure about anything anymore. He’d never been this seriously injured before, even as a child, so his expectations of hospitals in general were limited. He still felt as though something was deliberately missing. The fate of the German pilot he had fought with also clawed at the back of his brain too.
Later that afternoon, Harry was woken by a stern older man with a thin moustache and glasses hovering over his bed.
“Doctor?” he asked groggily attempting to raise himself against the bed.
The doctor frowned. “You are awake I see? Good. I wished to make you aware that you were injured by your parachute landing, there have been complications… but I cannot go into this at the moment. I have been instructed by the Luftwaffe to attend to your immediate medical concerns, and then turn you over to them for transfer to a Prisoner of War camp when I deem you healthy.” He replied stiffly.
“What complications?” Harry asked, concern edging his voice.
“Those I cannot comment on.” The doctor replied firmly, although his mask of indifference slipped slightly to one of mild discomfort as he spoke. “You must wait for the Luftwaffe Officer to explain this to you.
“Hey. I have a right to know what’s bloody wrong with me.” Harry shot back. “Am I your patient or the Luftwaffe’s?”
The doctor frowned deeply. “You are not my patient by choice, Englishman; I treat you because I must, as a doctor, not because I like you.”
The man turned and left briskly.
Harry was annoyed by the German doctor’s attitude, but shrugged it off; he was after all, an enemy combatatant he reasoned; no reason to expect flowers and chocolates at his bedside. He was more concerned however, by the reference to ‘complications’, but the mention that his physical health was good confused the young officer.
Two days later, Harry woke to find a German officer seated by the foot of his bed. The man was reading a book, his eyes occasionally drifting to where Harry lay. He watched the German for a moment before the man realised that he was awake.
The German smiled broadly, and closed the book after meticulously marking his place with a leather bookmark. “Good morning Heir Dolton, My name is Hauptman Markus Bergmann, the man announced formally as he reached over and offered Harry his hand. “As you can see, I am not in action at the moment,” he grinned nodding towards a wooden crutch leaning against the window sill, “So I desired greatly to meet with the English Pilot that has awarded me this brief respite from the tireless pursuit of your brethren.”
“You were the pilot I shot down?” Harry asked, shaking the offered hand, still partially asleep.
“I was indeed,” agreed Bergmann. “I was speaking with the doctor; he mentioned that you were well enough to perhaps take a walk. Would you care to join me in for some fresh air?” he offered noncommittally. “Perhaps we could talk more about… experiences away from the formality of this place.” He added nodding in the direction of the doctor, who Harry could see was hovering just out of earshot.
Harry smiled. “I’d take you up on that offer Hauptman, but I am somewhat at a loss to personally agree,” he mentioned raising his shackled wrist.
Hauptman Bergmann shook his head and called over a nurse that promptly returned carrying a key. The nurse approached and unlocked the cuff around his wrist. Freed, Harry rubbed his naked wrist, encouraging the circulation to flow once more.
“Thank you,” he offered, looking over at the German officer. “Although what’s to stop me doing a runner?”
Bergmann chuckled. “Oh you could try, although like myself at present I believe you are no flight risk, as they say.”
Harry pulled the woollen dressing gown about his shoulders as the two walked through the small garden next to the hospital. Before the war, it had been a town clinic of some form and a few merciful vestiges of civilian life still remained. The garden itself was surrounded on three sides by the Hospital; A quiet area of flower beds, paved pathways and seating areas. It could have been anywhere in England if it hadn’t for the garish military signs on the walls in German. Tugging at the dressing gown again, Harry walked along side the German officer in silence. He felt cold, despite the summer sunshine that bathed the courtyard; he wasn’t sure if it was the doctor’s words, his predicament, or his proximity to the enemy.
Stopping by a small bench, the two sat. Bergmann opened a silver cigarette case and offered it Harry wordlessly. Gratefully accepting the cigarette, he held it to his lips as the German offered him a light before tending to his own; the two smoked for a moment in silence before talking, savouring the tobacco. Harry looked over at the German officer that was treating him so civilly. The man was about his age or perhaps slightly older. Much taller than Harry’s five foot eight, Markus Bergmann was almost the poster child for the Aryan movement; Tall, broad and blonde haired.
“You were in the Royal Air Force long before the war?” Bergmann asked curiously, looking across at the Englishman beside him.
“No,” Harry admitted bluntly. “No, I joined up as war broke out… Sort of impulsive I suppose.”
“I have been flying all my life,” explained Bergmann with a sheepish grin revealing his deeper feelings on the subject. “My father, he taught me when I was thirteen. For most of my youth I would fly for pleasure; for any reason, I almost wished I would never have to land.”
“You joined the Luftwaffe before the war then?” Harry asked.
Markus Bergman shook his head, “no, not at first. I was a naval officer of all things,” he chuckled. “My father was a Fregattenkapitá¤n, ah, sorry, Commander? in the Kreigsmarine; our navy. I had wanted to possibly fly sea planes with the navy, although I never did like the idea of being shot from a battleship into the air.” He laughed.
“So dodging bullets was preferable?” Harry asked with amusement, a crease of a smirk on his lips.
“What is it you English say? I traded one frying pan for a fire,” Bergmann smiled sardonically. “But either way, I defend the Germany of my family, and future generations. Regardless of the politics.” The Pilot said with a dismissive wave.
“Not one for the goose stepping about then?” Harry asked teasingly, feeling more comfortable in the other pilot’s presence as the man opened up to him.
Bergmann shook his head. “Why we fight, I do not wish to discuss, but fight we do, so I do. It is my job, as a soldier, nothing more: I follow the orders of those above me as an Officer should.”
“But what about Hitler and his thing with the Jews? I’m not sure I could willingly stomach that on my watch.” Harry offered. “There’s fighting because we must, and then there’s willing ignorance.”
Bergmann nodded his head. “That there is, but we are both airmen yes? Tell me this… Can you tell me of one time when you have flown a mission that was not a response to an enemy action. We intercept, we escort, we reconnoitre, we attack, but all of it is a direct response to conflict, not politics. Our jobs are far removed from the desks. We fight because we must, not because we want to…. Politics.” Bergmann shrugged. “It is largely irrelevant once the shooting starts no?”
Harry nodded more to himself than in agreement. “True enough,” he offered softly. “True enough.”
Bergman chuckled. “On the subject of shooting, I had wanted to speak with you about the manoeuvre you used when we fought, where did you learn such flying?” the German airman asked with a hint of awe, “It is not a standard tactic I think.”
“Tricks of the trade,” Harry smiled tapping his nose with his index finger. “I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you.”
Markus Bergman Laughed heartily. “I am not so sure it would be a complete loss if you did.” He grinned. “Rarely do I come up against pilots that understand the limitations of their own aircraft, never mind that of their enemy’s also. The way you forced me to commit to a chase before you sprang your trap…. It was truly inspirational.”
Harry blushed. “I think you give me too much credit,” He smiled weakly, “I could tell you were an experienced pilot, I was low on fuel, I tried something absurd to try and rattle you and keep my behind out of your gun sight.”
Bergmann nodded, “That it did, I was not prepared for such an action.”
The conversation wore on, experiences were shared, the shop talk that aviators amongst their own kind engaged in, Eventually, things began to wind down, and the pair sat in silence.. Harry however, desperately wanted to raise a subject that had been evading him since his arrival at the hospital. Stubbing out his cigarette, he turned to his German companion.
“Look,” Harry began, getting Bergman’s attention. “I’d like you to be straight with me here… flier to flier. That bloody excuse for a doctor in there won’t tell me what’s wrong with me…” Harry frowned nodding towards the hospital. “Has he told you anything? I hate being left out of the loop like this… its obviously bad, so just spit it out.” He said with mounting frustration.
Markus Bergmann’s expression fell and the man frowned. “I suppose you should be told… However, I was not quite prepared to tell you so… soon.”
“I’m going to die.” Harry stated flatly, a surprising calm washing over his body.
Bergmann shook his head. “No, ah, you are healthy; at least physically.” He said choosing his words carefully. “It is more… well, the doctors were forced to operate on you when you were brought in.” Bergmann explained. “Your, testicles… they were damaged, you were bleeding…” He trailed off. Placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder, the man smiled sympathetically. “They had to be removed.”
Harry sat quietly for a moment, unsure of how he should feel at such news. “Oh,” He finally offered quietly.
“I expected you to take this news more… badly?” Bergmann said tentatively. “You are not angry? Upset?”
Harry shrugged. “My own fault I think.” He said looking out over the garden. “Bloody macho attitudes in flight school and leaving straps on our harness looser… that and a tangle with my ship on the way out; bad luck and my own fault really… Bit annoyed that the doctor wouldn’t tell me though, Numb? of course. Though I don’t feel angry.”
“You have every right to Heir Dolton.”
“My name is Harry,” he said flatly looking at the German opposite him. “I think after dropping a bombshell like that one me; I would have thought we’d be beyond formalities.” He chuckled nervously. “What’s to become of me?” Harry asked softly, his expression becoming more serious as he watched the German airman’s face for reaction.
Bergmann interlaced his fingers. “You will be transferred to a Prisoner of War camp soon: As soon as you are able to be transported. I am sorry.”
Harry laughed. “No need to be sorry, I’m the dolt that had the bad luck to come down in your back garden. It’s the rules of the game.”
“You English have strange ways of coping with bad news.” Bergmann offered shaking his head. “I think perhaps we could share a drink after the war is over… We could learn much from each other.”
“Yes,” Harry admitted blankly. “Yes, I suppose we could.”
"The summer of 1940 would have been a glorious time had someone mentioned to Mister Hitler that it was cricket season."
A tale of War, of love, and of friendship. (And a few Nazis)
The lorry rumbled slowly along a bumpy track somewhere deep inside Germany nearly a week after Harry Dolton’s aircraft had gone down over Northern France. Harry couldn’t begin to imagine where, exactly, he was: Although he suspected that this was the point of such an enterprise. He had been in the swelteringly warm canvas covered rear of the German Army truck for the past hour. Twenty minutes of which had been on the very un-metalled track they were currently travelling. They had been on the move for the better part of two days, and he was weary; though more from the constant movement than his healing injuries. They had left France by train, and travelled deep into the heart of Germany. They had stopped overnight in a small boarder town on the French side before boarding another train, and another day had seen them progress into the heart of the Third Reich.
The Luftwaffe guards assigned to him were a highly professional group, and had treated him surprisingly well during his journey further and further away from his home land. Quite certain that not all German troops behaved this way with Prisoners, Harry suspected it was his status as an officer, and a pilot amongst the air force soldiers was a deciding factor: Honour and warfare… strange bedfellows that were rapidly tiring of one another’s company in these uncertain times..
Harry felt the truck slowing, then turn and roll to a halt with a squeak of brakes. He could hear the doors of the cab open and close as multiple German voices exchanged words. His escort rose, and began to open the rear flap of the truck. Sunlight streamed into the dull interior, momentarily disorientating Harry as he was ordered out of the back of the Opel truck.
Looking around, he blinked in the bright sunlight and began to take in his immediate surroundings. They were deep within dense pine forest, the trail the truck had driven down cut through the pines. The clearing in which the camp was built was expansive: Several hundred feet square housing rows of wooden huts inside a tall double row of wire fence. Home, for the duration, Harry realised.
The guards with Harry escorted him across the parking area to a wooden building just outside the main camp; what appeared to be an administrative building. As they entered, Harry felt the weight of several pairs of eyes looked him over. They walked through the office, where he was escorted to the desk of a portly middle aged German officer.
“Name?” the man asked tersely, without looking up at Harry.
“Flight Lieutenant Harry R Dolton,” he offered simply.
“If I had asked for your rank, I would have said so,” the man remarked, again, without looking up.
“Flight Lieutenant.” the man muttered as he filled in the next box on the form he held.
“Your service number is what?” He asked resting his pen.
“12838844471,” Harry repeated from memory, forcing himself to remain aware of the questions he was being asked.
“Your date of birth?” The German asked looking up at him.
“You have my name, rank, and serial number.” Harry replied softly with a hint of a smile. “That’s all you get, and you know that.”
The German frowned. “Insolence is not tolerated here Flight Lieutenant Dolton. A Guard will escort you through to speak with the Komandant of the camp before you are taken through, please leave.”
Harry resisted the urge to childishly stick his tongue out at the chubby beurocrat before him. Turning to his escorts, Harry shrugged and nodded that he was ready to be taken through.
His expectations, having been built up by the snide administrations officer were rapidly dashed on entering the Komandant’s office. The man was in his late forties, early fifties, with short grey hair covering his broad head, his large aquiline nose and tanned skin fitted his tall spry frame. The man’s posture oozed command and authority.
Coming to attention, Harry Saluted the Komandant without hesitation; “Flight Lieutenant Harry Dolton, Sir,” he offered, awaiting the man’s attention.
Looking up from his desk, the Komandant rose and returned Harry’s salute with a subtle nod of appreciation. “Welcome Flight Lieutenant, Forgive my bluntness, but we will skip to the chase.” The man said curtly, remaining standing. “I run my camp with four very simple and firm rules: Follow them, and your time with us will be as pleasant as possible. However, break them, and I will do my very best to make this an unpleasant experience,” he said firmly, his eyes fixed on Harry’s.
“Firstly, Escape attempts will be punished by stays of increasing length in Isolation, you may be shot also.”
Harry nodded his understanding, and smiled sheepishly at the Komandant’s last remark.
“Secondly,” The older officer continued. “You are not to fight with the guards, or your fellow prisoners of war, we house English, American, and other European airmen at this location, I will not tolerate violence.” He said firmly, walking round in front of his desk to stand in front of Harry.
“The third rule, is that you will follow the orders of a Guard to the letter, however, you may report mistreatment through the appropriate channels. I do not tolerate bullying on either side of the wire Flight Lieutenant.” The Komandant added raising his eyebrows. “Do you have any questions?”
“What about the fourth rule?” Harry asked curiously.
The Komandant nodded. “The fourth rule you do not need to know if you follow the first three. However, break any of these consistently, and you will become familiar with it. Now,” the Officer said bluntly, “You will be escorted through to the camp, Once you are there, you will report to wing commander Berkley, he is the ranking prisoner of war, and my liaison amongst the prisoners. Any questions or complaints may be directed through him, the day to day running of the camp, and prisoners, is his responsibility, He will brief you when you arrive. He is in hut twenty one,” the Komandant explained. “I hope we do not have to see one another again Flight Lieutenant.”
Saluting, Harry was escorted from the office and out to the wire of the camp itself. Unlocking the gate in the first fence, a German guard pointed to the wire lined passageway through the no-mans land between the wire. With little choice, Harry walked forwards, until he was waiting in front of the second gate. The guard unlocked this, and opened it.
“You will go through now.” The man ordered, before pushing Harry by his shoulder through the gate, and into the camp itself.
Locking the gates behind him, the German retreated back to the outside world, leaving Harry unsure of what to do next.
Well, He supposed. He had a few years to work it out.
Eventually, those within the camp began to notice the young RAF pilot standing by the gate. He hadn’t moved since the guard has led him in. He wasn’t sure if it was fear, or the stark realisation that he was now, officially, a prisoner of war. It hadn’t felt like it in Valognes, or during the journey to the camp. It was as if passing that last wire divide had made it all so much more real in his mind.
“Just hit you aint it?” Said a large Scotsman that had walked up to Harry. “Aye, I recognise that look… You’re finally realisin’ that you’re a prisoner, and that it’s over. Took me a wee while to come to terms with it too…” the Scottish airman admitted shoving his hands into his pockets before grimacing. “Like being an animal at the zoo really. The name’s Graham Moorfield.” The big man grinned extending his hand. “Fifty seven squadron, Wellington Bombardier.”
“F, Flight Lieutenant Harry Dolton, Spit Pilot, Forty Three Squadron.” Harry offered resisting the urge to grimace as the big man vigorously shook his arm. “I don’t suppose you know where I’d find a Wing Commander Berkley do you? Head Jerry outside said to report to him…” Harry asked tentatively, hoping the Scot would release his hand.
The Scotsman grinned again. “Aye nae problem, follow me lad, I mean sir.”
Graham Moorfield led Harry though the camp, stopping on the way to introduce him to other prisoners. Harry was very aware of the stares he drew as the new boy. Moorfield led him up to a hut on the far side of the camp and rapped on the door before standing back. A few moments later, a middle aged man with dark hair and thin glasses opened the door and raised his eyebrows. “Yes Graham?”
Moorfield saluted, shortly followed by Harry. “Sir, Flight Lieutenant Dolton, he’s new sir.”
“Very well Moorfield,” the man smiled. “Come on In Flight.” The man said with a slight nod. “Come in,” he added beckoning Harry to follow him. Nodding his thanks to the large Scotsman, Harry Followed the Wing Commander.
Walking into the hut, Harry looked around slowly, waiting for the man in front of him to seat himself at the rough wooden desk that filled one half of the room.
The building was Spartan, but comfortable looking. There was a single bunk off to one side, a set of shelves, and a desk with several chairs.
“Do sit flight.” Wing Commander Berkley offered with a hint of amused exasperation. “We don’t stand on ceremony here.”
Harry walked forwards and lowered himself into one of the chairs in front of the Wing Commander’s desk. “Sir, the camp Komandant told me to report to you.”
Berkley leaned back in his chair and regarded Harry for a moment. “Yes, I would imagine he did,” the man said dismissively, “All new prisoners are to report to me on arrival. It’s a little ‘settling in thing we do; lets people work out the lay of the land faster. So to speak…”
“So what’s the deal here?” Harry asked plainly, without looking away from the Wing Commander. “Are things as black and white as the Komandant’s four simple rules? Or are things a little more grey?”
Wing Commander Berkley looked at Harry for a moment before leaning forwards and propping his forearms on the desk. “As you know Flight, there is a war on.” Berkley said stating the obvious in Harry’s view. “To follow the German’s rules would be a dereliction of our duties as fighting men.” He said more forcefully, slapping his palm down on the desk. “We have the duty to escape, and cause as much mayhem for Jerry as possible in the process; we simply must. As such, all efforts in this camp are put into subterfuge, covert action, and active escape attempts. You will be a part of this now you are under my command.”
“Sir,” Harry replied non comittally. “I will of course, do my duty.”
“Very good,” Berkley nodded slowly. “I suppose I ought to fill you in on the more mediocre aspects of life here Flight.” The man said standing and walking over to a wood burning stove in the corner and checking a kettle. “Tea?”
“Thank you sir,” Harry agreed readily. “I’ve not had a cup since the morning I went down. The Jerry coffee isn’t bad… but it’s not Tea, sir.”
“That its not.” Berkley agreed filling two mugs. “Sorry, you’ll have to take it black, no civil niceties like milk and sugar at the moment…”
“That’s fine sir.” Harry agreed taking the proffered mug. “So how do things run around here? Aside from all the secret squirrel antics?”
Berkley lent against a window frame and sipped his tea. “Like one would expect a prison camp to be run, probably the same way we do back home, to be honest. We get up in the mornings, some groups on a rota perform maintenance, and go on work parties, there’s football, gardening, some of the more worldly types teach classes, there’s a chapel, and kitchen rota for meals. All in all, it’s not too bad, but its not England.”
Harry nodded. “The Jerries seem to take good care of us.” He observed from behind his mug. “Anything dodgy happened yet?”
Berkley paused, before shaking his head. “The odd fight with a guard, the odd failed escape, typical animosities, but mostly Jerry leaves us alone, and we leave them alone till we want out.”
“Is there any communication with the outside world?” Harry asked curiously, “Red Cross, or a wireless perhaps?”
Berkley shook his head sadly. “The Red Cross deliver packages via the Germans, but its all vetted, nothing slips by, and they would never let us have a wireless.”
“Worth a thought.” Harry shrugged. “How long have you been here sir?”
Berkley sighed. “About two months I believe; Captured when my Gladiator went down in Norway during the retreat. No flack…. No air support… so undermanned.” He reminisced. “We lost so many good men… So did I…. Jerry picked me up off the side of some god forsaken Norwegian mountain and packaged me off here with the other fliers they were collecting.”
“You’ve been a prisoner since then? Harry asked with surprise. “Why it’s mid august now sir. And you have no news? Sir… Italy joined the war along side Germany, and France was invaded and fell…”
Visibly paling, Berkley sat in silence for a moment. “Bloody hell.” He whispered to himself. “Not a good show… Tell me.” He almost pleaded, the middle aged man showing true signs of age in his weariness. “How are we doing back home?”
Harry raised his palms. “It’s hard to tell sir… The Germans bomb us daily, our airfields, now our cities, we’ve bombed them back and we’re struggling in the air… There’s word Hitler might try to invade England soon sir.”
Berkley shook his head. “This damn war…”
“I know sir.” Harry added after a moment’s awkward silence.
Wing Commander Berkley shook himself and stood. “Never mind eh?” He said with false optimism. “Not much we can do about it from in here… lets get you billeted and we can begin to fight Jerry again tomorrow.” Wing Commander Berkley smiled as he held the door open followed the young airman out into the late afternoon sunshine.
Pushing open the heavy wooden door to the hut, Harry cautiously made his way inside: It was as Spartan as the Wing Commander’s, but the desk had been replaced by several rows of bunk beds. Slowly walking further into the room, Harry took time to look to see which bunks appeared occupied. From the state of them, the room seemed at least mostly occupied with eight of the ten bunks filled. Taking the lower bed of the lone unoccupied bunk, he sat down on the mattress, relishing the first brief moment of solitude he had experienced in several days.
Lying down on the bunk, Harry stared up at the slats of the bed above, and quietly wept, releasing all the stress and fear that had built up since the ordeal had begun. Eventually, he drifted off into a fitful dreamless sleep.
From the Author:
Enjoy Chapter Three folks, Theres more to come soon now...
Please comment... its lovely to hear people's ideas and views of the progression.
Alyssa
"The summer of 1940 would have been a glorious time had someone mentioned to Mister Hitler that it was cricket season."
A tale of War, of love, and of friendship. (And a few Nazis)
The sound of the hut door hitting the frame roused Harry from his slumber. Raising himself up on his elbows, he focused his still groggy vision on the source of the sound.
Three men had entered the hut and were stood by the door on the far side of the room, apparently as surprised by the new arrival as he was.
Sitting up and swinging his legs off the bunk, Harry smiled. “Hello.” He offered, “Flight Lieutenant Dolton… Harry; I’m, new, you might say.”
The men seemed to relax and began to move about the room as they had originally intended. “Flight Lieutenant Arthur Hamley,” replied a wide set Irishman, “And these chaps are Pilot Officer Daniel Maddox, and Captain Mike Down.”
“Nice to meet you,” grinned Down in a deep Texan drawl, extending his free hand to Harry as he mopped his sodden brow. “Sorry buddy, we just got off work detail.” He grinned running his hand through his damp hair.”
“Oh not a problem.” Harry replied, liking the American airman immediately. “I just took one of these empty bunks; that’s alright isn’t it?” he asked cautiously, explaining himself. “Nobody was around…. Needed to rest…” he shrugged apologetically.
“Ah it’s no problem.” Hamley replied stripping out of his work shirt. “Those four left are all empty so it’s grand.”
“So what outfit are you with?” Maddox asked turning to join the conversation. “Navy man myself.”
“RAF,” replied Harry, “Forty Three Squadron.”
“Ah a fighter jock lads.” chuckled the American. “Watch your women and your whiskey.”
Blushing at the comment, Harry didn’t reply immediately. “So I take it none of you are fighter pilots?” he asked changing the subject.
Maddox shook his head, “Hamley over there was a Wellington pilot, I flew Swordfish and Yank here… Actually Mike, Why don’t you explain it yourself?” he added grinning.
Mike Down slumped down on the edge of his bunk and rubbed his hair a second time. “Well I’m not one to boast, but it was a pretty hairy one.”
“Aye we know you are but tell the story so,” laughed Hamley.
Throwing his shirt at the Irishman, the American stifled a laugh before continuing his tale. “It’s like this right… I was a commercial pilot before the war… I flew seaplanes transatlantic. So when the war started, I joined the Us Army Air force and got involved with flying over supplies and things that the ships couldn’t handle.”
“Get to the point Down.” Maddox replied drearily stripping down to his shorts and picking up a towel. “I want a shower before those cads in thirty two use up all the water again.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Down waved dismissively. “So anyway I get knocked a little off course right? This burns up a lot of Juice and my bird is running pretty low with a full belly… I want to have water under my hull pretty soon. So I get myself back on track, and I head for the shore, I spot this port and it’s got a seaplane terminal…I think what the heck,” he shrugged. “So down I go… Turns out, I overshot a little bit.” He grinned sheepishly. “It was Norway, and a German Naval base that I landed in. Brash as you like I get out of my cockpit, and light up on the jetty. Only to get planted face down and have guns pointed at me before I realise my mistake.” The man smiled ruefully holding his hands up. “Not sure who was more surprised to see who.”
Harry laughed warmly. “I ended up over France, got lost, so don’t feel so down about it.”
“Ah see?” Mike grinned looking at the other men. “I’m not the only one that can’t read a map.”
The three men finished stripping and made their way down a corridor to what Harry presumed to be the ablutions block of the huts. So far, his billet mates were alright he thought: At least none of them were with Photographic Reconnaissance…
The men returned, and Harry went with them as they made their way over to the mess hut for their evening meal. For some strange reason, Harry felt as if this was the start of his school days all over again: He was with a new group of people, new set of rules, a new social network he was arriving into and hurriedly had to find a place or risk being the loner again. The fact it was all men too felt awkwardly familiar: School for Harry Dolton, had been a torturous experience. In part, it was the pressure of living up expectations forged unchecked in an environment of raw testosterone that stylised the public school in the England of the late 1930s. Harry was competitive enough. He knew that. He had sometimes even enjoyed the activities he took part in, but the school itself… what they wanted him to be… the mould he had to fit: It somehow made him extremely uncomfortable.
The group filed into the mess hall and along a queue that passed in front of the kitchen hatch at the far end of the building. The atmosphere was warm, and filled with the sounds of raised voices and the clank cutlery.
As the group wound its way towards the front, Harry watched the room. It certainly was school all over again, he mused. The cliques, the behaviour… grown men had been reduced to little more than schoolboys once more.
“Alright lads.” A man called as he jumped the cue to stand with their group. “How was work?”
“Grand Andrew.” Hamley replied turning to the newcomer. “Jerry likes to keep us occupied.”
Hamley turned to Harry, placing a hand on his shoulder he nodded his head towards the newcomer. “This lad, is Andrew Matheson, one of our hut; he’s Navy like Maddox.”
“Pleased to meet you sir.” Matheson grinned extending a hand. “RAF eh?”
“That would be me,” admitted Harry sheepishly, shaking the man’s hand. “Harry Dolton.”
“Joined our motley bunch of sods here then eh?” Andrew Matheson smiled. I’m sure you’ll settle in fine… not that we hope to hang around long.” he grinned. “So Dolton, how are you settling in? Just get here today yes?”
Harry shrugged. “Still pretty awkward,” he admitted. “Feels like im back in the seventh form again… “I guess its still hitting me: Where I am...” Harry replied softly, unable to meet the eyes of the other man.
Matheson shrugged. “Well I guess it’s our lot for now.” He added kicking a floorboard, his hands deep in his pockets. “We do what we can, because we must I suppose.”
The line finally ended, and the group received a bowl of simple stew from the kitchen before retreating to one of the unoccupied wooden benches to eat.
Harry sat in silence, slowly eating his stew as the others talked and laughed around him. In a sea of people, he felt quite alone. It wasn’t that he was new… he understood that. It was more that he knew that no matter how welcome he was made to feel, that he would never be one of them.
“You’re the first new face in here since Norway you know.” Matheson offered pointing his spoon at Harry. “I think the Jerries are upto something.”
Harry paused, his own spoon half way to his mouth. “What do you mean?” he asked, knitting his brow.
“Well, surely there have been more airmen down since Operation Domino and such.” Andrew Matheson thought aloud. “Mike here was the last to join us… and he arrived shortly after the British evacuated. What you told Old Berkley has gone around the camp like wildfire… We’ve had nobody new since then, and it seems a little strange… considering there’s space. Why you? Why now?” He pushed, looking at Harry with a confused expression.
Harry shrugged. “I can’t answer that.” He admitted with a shrug. “We loose a lot of boys, perhaps other camps were full?”
“No…” Matheson shook his head. “Jerry’s up to something.” He muttered impaling a lump of potato in his bowl. “Almost as if they are keeping news out of camps by separating airmen from different campaigns…. It would make sense… but why you?”
“I don’t know.” Harry shrugged, feeling the weight of every eye at the table. “I don’t know.” Harry muttered sheepishly. “I don’t know.”
The next few days were a blur to Harry. The first fresh face in months became an instant celebrity in the camp. News of loved ones, friends and the war all became his most common topics of conversation with the other prisoners. Harry felt like a human wireless service.
Camp life was difficult to adjust to after the freedom of the outside world. The guards were fair but strict, and Harry tried hard to remain on their good side. Although he had begun to feel more comfortable with the men he shared his billet with, he wasn’t sure they qualified as friends by any stretch.
The days began to turn into weeks. Harry did as he was told, and robotically went with the flow of camp life. He rarely talked with the other prisoners unless he had to. The men in his hut always tried to get him talking, but rarely revived more than one word answers. Harry began to realise that he was slipping into a deep depression.
Harry padded automatically through to the ablutions block on the morning of his second month in the camp, Stretching, he rolled his head from side to side, working out a kink in his neck: The bunks were comfortable enough, but he never slept particularly well.
Hanging his Red Cross towel on a hook set into the wooden panelling wall, he began to strip out of his shorts and tee-shirt. The morning chill was more effective than coffee at waking him: Quickly he slipped into the shower room and turned on a faucet before waiting for the temperature to rise above that of the room.
Stepping under the warm water, Harry lent against the wall for a moment, allowing the water to rain down over him while he woke up: The early mornings were hard on him, but he always preferred to shower first, or last. His accident made him self conscious: In such a masculine environment, what would they think about the one with no balls? There was already the occasional jibe about being small, but this would be the end of his life if they found out. But naturally, fate would not allow that to be the peak of his embarrassment. In the months since the accident, he had barely shaved more than twice during the entire period. Not that he had ever been the sort to grow a beard in an afternoon, but the loss still made him feel that he ought to be embarrassed. Hair across his body was finer, and paler, his skin less toned and softer. Even his chest seemed mildly irritated and flabby.
While these things were bad, he admitted, the worst part was that while he feared what people would think of him… how they would treat him. The changes themselves did not upset him nearly as much as he believed they should. Just like he had felt when news of the accident had been broken to him. In truth, he had never felt so calm and at peace in his life.
The sound of the door opening roused Harry from his thoughts. Jumping at the sound, he hurriedly turned to face the wall and began scrubbing his body.
“Morning,” yawned a wild haired Andrew Matheson, as he stumbled naked into the shower area. Slinging his towel over the waist high wall, the pilot collected his wash kit and stepped into the shower area.
“Sleep alright?”
“Uh, yes thank you.” Harry replied nervously, trying to keep his back to the man.
“First time I’ve seen you in here.” Matheson replied conversationally as he turned on the faucet. “You’re an early riser.”
“I don’t like the queues.” Harry offered without turning.
“Not my place to say this…” Matheson said looking over at the other officer as he slowly soaped his hair, “but you seem very shy around everyone; is this the same deal?”
Harry gulped, “No, no, it’s nothing.”
“I don’t think so.” Matheson announced, “No: The way you behave… It was like I was in school. You make yourself invisible, and hope to pass unnoticed; you don’t feel like one of the guys, so you just try to exist. Believe it or not,” the Navy pilot admitted. “I was one of the small lads back in school, I got treated pretty badly.”
Harry turned his head to look at the Navy airman. Andrew Matheson was six foot three at least, and built like a prop half. Nothing Harry could see lent credence to the man’s story.
Matheson saw the look and laughed. “Yes, It’s pretty hard to believe t. look at me, I hit a bit of a late growth spurt during my late teens and it all vanished,” he said turning off the shower and reaching for his towel. “Don’t worry old chap, It will hit you soon enough. What are you? Nineteen, maybe Twenty? Give it a couple of years and you’ll be fighting off the women.” He chuckled warmly, patting Harry on the shoulder.
Jumping at the touch, Harry bowed his head, feeling a strange urge to tell the man exactly why he would never be what he reassured him with, “It won’t Andy.”
“Ah that’s not true.” Matheson replied as he rubbed his hair. Sure you will.”
Harry turned off the water and still facing the wall, sighed audibly. “I won’t Andy; I’m stuck like this for ever… No muscles, no hair, no deeper voice, no height… I can’t.
Matheson shook his head and wrapping the towel around his waist, sat on a slatted wooden bench while he unfolded his wash roll. “Every man does Harry… Some just take a while.”
“No.” Harry sighed. “I didn’t tell anyone this… I’m so embarrassed…” he trailed off, reaching for his towel and wrapping it about his waist before slipping on his tee-shirt and turning to face one of the few people in the camp he had grown close to. “Andy, I haven’t got any balls.”
Matheson was silent for a moment, surprise painted on his face. Harry slowly walked over and sat at the far end of the bench from his friend, and looked over at the man. “When I went down… There was an accident, my parachute harness… it… they had to operate, they couldn’t save them, I’ll never again have testosterone in my body.” He said quietly, shaking with silent tears.
Matheson put his wash roll down and moved over till he could put his arm around the shoulder of his comrade. “It’s alright Harry.” He dismissed softly. “Nobody’s going to think any less of you… Accidents happen; A lot of rubbish has happened in this war… it doesn’t make you less of a man.”
Harry sighed and shook his head. “That’s just it Andy…” he whispered. “I never really felt like one… I was waiting for the damn stuff to kick in and make me like my brothers, and classmates, hoping even; now…now I don’t know.”
Andrew Matheson was quiet for a moment before squeezing the young Pilot’s shoulder reassuringly. “This war has done some terrible things to people Harry. Families split, loved ones lost… hell, the generation growing up during this mess have the same problem you do… Give yourself time, you’ll find who you are, and you’ll be alright… Just please… Don’t hold this sort of thing back from me and the guys in the billet alright? We’re here for you, we’ll look out for you.”
Harry nodded weakly without looking up. “Thank you.” He replied weakly. “I’m sorry.”
“Ah don’t be.” Matheson shrugged, smiling softly. “I’d have felt bad telling me too.”
From the Author:
Not to sound like a sour fish here folks, but I’ve received numerous comments and PMs lately asking when ‘Angels High’ Will feature transition. While I do fully intend for this to happen, (You’ll forgive me for not giving the game away yet.) Is it impossible to identify with a non transsexual or cross dressing character? Is it impossible to enjoy a tale for its merit? Not content? I apologise if this seems rude. But as a writer, I reserve the judgement to outline my plot as I desire, and bring in subject matter when I feel it appropriate. I understand you come here for TG fiction, and This is a TG story... It just requires a little more preamble than 'bob turned into sally the end.' I ask you to bear with me and I promise it will be worth your while :)
Also expect more of your favourite storires that i've been neglecting... Due to a snow sports accident, im bedridden for a couple of weeks... *sigh* fate eh?
Alyssa
"The summer of 1940 would have been a glorious time had someone mentioned to Mister Hitler that it was cricket season."
A tale of War, of love, and of friendship. (And a few Nazis)
Harry had found it hard to interact normally with Andrew Matheson after their talk that morning. The man knew his deepest secret and most private feelings: Despite Harry’s poor ability to articulate those feelings, he had still revealed far more than he was comfortable with.
It was a Thursday morning by all accounts: Harry Dolton’s sense of time was effected by the repetitive nature of camp life and the days blurred together as they spent time detached from the world outside. He was working out in the camp garden with some of the other prisoners, tending to the vegetables that supplemented their meagre rations in the camp kitchen. The sun was weak, but pleasantly warming in the late October morning of 1940, still carrying with it memories of the summer. Harry worked quietly and efficiently, separating the weeds from the fresh growth in the damp earth. They hoped this crop would ripen in time for winter; no, they needed it to be. Despite being a recreational aid to keep the prisoners occupied, the garden acted as a much needed supply of fresh produce to their diet of army rations, maintaining their health and fitness and fighting off disease. The garden kept them alive.
Harry had slowly begun to open up more to the other men in the billet. He had discovered the grizzly and somewhat intimidating Irishman Hamley, was a friendly honest man, with an interest in American Jazz music, a wife, and two young children back in England.
For all his flash bravado, the Yank, Mike Down, was a simple Arkansas farm boy and quietly intelligent in his own way. He had a street savvy and practical adaptability that made up for what he lacked in formal education; the man was a survivor.
Matheson and Maddox were both typical Royal Navy Fliers: Public school, First XV; old boys. They were Naval officers through and through. Matheson was the most educated of the group, holding a bachelors degree in Art History. He had been planning to continue on with his education when war broke out and he joined the Royal Navy. His education was something the men seemed to enjoy mocking him about. The tall, dark haired Navy pilot was the closest friend Harry had made in the camp, and possibly one of the closest friends he had ever had. It surprised him to realise that he did indeed consider the man a friend; it was not a mantle he had needed to use often in the past. Matheson treated him like a human being. Not like the runt he knew he probably appeared to be in the eyes of most. It had taken him time, but with Matheson’s help, Harry had become more of a member of the hut than a guest, finally feeling capable of opening up to the others and joining in with their jokes and camaraderie. The men treated him as an equal, and even defended him when they could. The wire and the Jerries aside, Harry Dolton felt more at home than his own had.
“Come on Dolton,” jeered one of the other prisoners. “Hurry up, we need to get this done or we’re going to be here till the bloody war is over.”
Harry realised he’d been staring into space and shook his head clear before continuing to weed the patch of earth around him.
“What a fairy.” One of the other prisoners announced dismissively to the man that had spoken. “We should just leave her in the kitchen where women belong.” He laughed derisively.
Harry flinched at the words and the cruel laugher that followed, but said nothing. It wasn’t the first time someone had made a similar comment in his direction: He had learned the hard way that any response or reaction on his part just resulted in a confrontation that he never won. Straightening up, Harry dumped the weeds into a basket and dusted the soil off his hands. Without looking at the two men, he simply walked away in the direction of his hut.
Harry gritted his teeth as he left the vegetable garden. He didn’t need to reply, or show any sign of the words getting to him. He had been wrong when he had thought it was almost like school. It was school all over again: Bullies ruled the coop, and nothing could be done; not by him. The only possible option would be to see the Wing Commander, but that was just telling teacher… Harry had felt the ramifications of that before.
Slamming the door to the hut behind himself, Harry slumped down against the wall and wrapped his arms around his knees. Was the man right? Was that how people saw him? Nothing seemed to make sense anymore in his mind. Things flew around at breakneck speed, thoughts bouncing off one another at random: The comments made his own feelings the harder to understand…
“Ah there you are.” A voice chuckled darkly from the doorway. “Here I thought you were running off to your friends, but I see you made my job easier.”
Harry flinched at the voice and turned towards the door. “What the hell do you want?” He spat glaring up at the man from the vegetable garden.
“Now don’t talk to me like that,” growled the man. “You need to learn your bloody place you queer.”
Harry scrambled to his feet and took a step towards the larger man. “I’m not a queer,” he spat angrily. “Just because…. I’m… just stop it ok?” he trailed off at a loss for the words to defend himself, his defiance leaving him as he understood just how little any comeback meant.
The larger man laughed. Harry wasn’t even sure if he knew the man, let alone any reason that could have possibly drawn his ire. Before he could react, the man shoved Harry squarely in the chest, sending him stumbling backwards till he lost his balance and landed on the floor with a bump.
“You’re not even a queer,” the man sneered at him. “At least a queer would be man enough to fight back… A man would have thrown a punch at me… You’re not a bloody man is what I think.”
Harry crawled backwards on his hands trying to widen the gap between himself and the intruder but ran up against the solid barrier of the wall.
“I think you’re a woman,” the man laughed, making effeminate hand gestures and pouting mockingly. “You’re not fit to be a man.”
Harry blinked back the beginning of tears; he almost believed the man’s words. It was as if part of him felt he deserved whatever was to come. Why couldn’t he hit him? The most terrifying part was that he almost agreed.
“I’m going to teach you to be a proper woman you queer shit,” growled the man as he approached Harry slowly, each footstep falling like thunder on the wooden floorboards. Harry’s heart began to hammer in time with his death knell; the man’s footfalls, until he stood squarely above him.
The man began to reach down towards Harry, but froze midway as the door to the hut flew open, ricocheting off the wall.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Andrew Matheson growled from the doorway, “Unless you hadn’t realised, we’re all on the same side here.”
The man above Harry turned, grinning at Matheson, “That’s true enough, but this queer keeps eying me up; I felt it was time I taught him her place.”
“You won’t touch he..him.” Andrew said plainly, but with a finality that demanded that it not be questioned.
“Oh you want your little queer all to yourself eh?” the man growled menacingly. “Well be my guest, but you’ll have to accept seconds friend.” The man added with a chuckle.
“You won’t touch him…” Matheson replied simply, squaring up in front of the man. “I won’t tell you again.”
As if daring the Navy pilot, the man reached down and grabbed a fist full of Harry’s collar. “You’re going to make me friend?” The man enquired slowly, the challenge plain in his voice.
Before the man could close his mouth to grin at Matheson, he was slammed backwards into the cabin wall as the force of the Pilot ploughing into him. Released from the man’s grip, Harry dropped to the floor. Rolling to one side, he flattened himself against the far wall, keeping his distance from the two grappling men.
Matheson swung the man around and threw him into one of the bunks in the cabin with a tremendous crash, rocking the structure backwards with the force of the impact. Recovering his wits, the man swung a fist at Matheson: It was a violent yet uncontrolled attack, allowing the airman to sweep it away before landing his own squarely in the man’s gut. As he doubled over with a grunt, Matheson grabbed a fist full of the man’s hair before driving his knee sharply into the man’s nose with a sickening crack, the man dropped lifelessly to the cabin floor.
His chest heaving, Matheson lent forwards against his knees before turning to look towards his friend. “You ok?” he asked with concern, “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner… I overheard what that bastard was planning with his friends. I came as soon as I could.” He apologised, his face filled with concern.
Harry nodded weakly, forcing a slight smile of appreciation. “Thank you,” he offered quietly, feeling the full weight of shame descend over him. “This wasn’t your fight you know?” he added looking up at Matheson. “It was my fault.”
Andrew Matheson straightened up and walked over to Harry before squatting down before his friend. “No It wasn’t.” he said finally. “You didn’t ask for that, and he didn’t have the right to do that, or say those things. You’re my friend, and friends look out for each other right?” he smiled, patting Harry on the shoulder.
“Isn’t this lovely,” called a voice mockingly from the open doorway. Harry’s head snapped towards the sound and his eyes fell on the his would be attacker’s friends filling their only escape route. “The queers having a quiet moment eh? I should….” The man trailed off as his eyes fell upon the sight of his friend’s prostrate form. “What the hell did you do to Webb? He growled as he rushed over to check his friend.
“He’s bloody dead.” The man cried with surprise realising that his friend was beyond help.
“His own fault,” Matheson replied straightening up. “That will teach him to try to… attack, others.”
“You bastard!” the man yelled launching himself at Andrew.
Blocking the man’s fist Matheson kicked him in the stomach before deflecting the blows dealt by the man’s accomplices. He swung around to hit one of the others when he was distracted by the sudden darkness created as a Guard filled the doorway, his submachine gun raised.
“Halt! HÓ“nde Hoch!” The guard yelled, pointing the barrel menacingly at the group of men, frozen mid brawl. “HÓ“nde Hoch!” he yelled jerking the barrel between the men.
Overflowing on adrenaline one of the men turned and launched himself foolishly at the nervous German. As if signifying the final punctuation mark on his death warrant, the gun roared in the confined space of the hut and the man crumpled to the floor, his hands grasping weakly at his bloodied chest.
“You bloody Jerry bastard!” screamed the ringleader turning on the guard, and catching him across the cheek with a lucky punch. The gun went off again, bullets pinning the third attacker to the hut wall, his blood spraying Matheson in the process. The ringleader fought the guard and the two struggled before he finally turned the gun on him, firing the rest of the magazine into his stomach. The man coughed blood before dropping to his knees and collapsing to the hut floor.
Matheson struck while the surviving attacker was turned and drove his knee into the man’s back before snapping his neck with a sickening crack and allowing him to drop to the floor to join the other corpses.
Rifling quickly through the German’s webbing Matheson removed four more magazines for the captured MP40 and reloaded the weapon before slipping the remaining magazines into his jacket.
“Well this is a turn up for the books.” Matheson muttered quietly as he glanced out of the hut doorway quickly before snapping his head back inside.
“Harry, can you grab that sidearm and give me some cover? I’ve got a bit of a plan forming here.”
Nodding quickly, Harry moved away from the wall and over to the prostrate German and unfastened the man’s holster and removed his
Luger pistol, pocketing the spare clip. “What the hell are you planning to do? Shoot your way out?” He asked cautiously, half joking, his voice still wavering slightly.
“Not quite.” Matheson replied smoothly without taking his eyes off the alleyway between the huts, “Come on now.” He hissed beckoning Harry to follow him as he darted out of the door and across the alley and inside one of the opposite huts.
“No, the plan isn’t to shoot our way out,” Matheson smiled as Harry reached the hiding place. “It’s to let Jerry do that for us.”
“Did you forget about the bloody company of Luftwaffe guards outside the wire and inside?” Harry Hissed quietly at his friend, trying to work out what madness was running through his friend’s head.
Two German guards rounded the corner with weapons raised and made their way cautiously towards the scene of the carnage. Neither paid the huts to their rear any notice as they approached the door. “Rudolf?” one called as he poked his head through the doorway, stopping dead as he was confronted by the bloodbath within. “Mein Gott….” The man muttered quietly, “Alarm Heinrich, gib Alarm!” he yelled, turning to his compatriot. Matheson swung the hut door open at that moment and sprayed the pair with his submachine gun before either could react..
“Come on, help me get their weapons.” He ordered, making his way quickly out into the alley and removing the first German’s weapon and ammunition. “The more we kill and more of us we arm, the better the chance we have. This place is so isolated we’ll be long gone before they have a chance to get any reinforcements.” Matheson explained. “If we can cause enough of a ruckus, we might make it out of here.”
“That’s all well and good,” Harry replied sharply, “But what’s your plan to tiptoe past Hitler and the rest of his pals outside the camp?”
Matheson chuckled as they ducked between the huts. “I’ll work it out when we get there… or rather, out of here.”
As the pair rounded the next hut, they barely managed to avoid a collision with Hamley, Down and Maddox moving quickly in the opposite direction.
“We heard shooting? What’s going on?” Maddox panted, his eyes widening at the sight of the pair laden with weapons. “Are you two after getting yourselves killed?”
“Fight went wrong, Jerry bought it, not my hand, but it presented an opportunity. Here,” Matheson offered, gesturing at the other weapons over his shoulder as he explained quickly to the group. “Help yourselves chaps. I think our tenancy here is up.”
The men checked over the weapons and ammunition. “What’s the plan then boss?” Down asked slapping the bolt on his weapon. “We gun our way out of here and off to Paris and cocktails?”
“Stick within the lines of the huts,” Matheson commanded, “We’re out of sight of the towers and their heavy guns. Drop as many Jerries as possible, and arm as many of our lot as possible, cause a general riot… The more confusion the better. I’ll see about sorting out those towers Myself if you can buy me time.”
“You’re a mad one,” chuckled Hamley, “but this sounds like good craic, so lets have out of this place eh?”
“Go in pairs,” Matheson added sharply, his happy go lucky side slipping under the focused military exterior. “Hamley and Maddox, Down and Dolton, I’ll go alone for now, I’ve got something I need to sort out… And for god’s sake.” He added looking over his shoulder. “Try not to get bloody killed will you?”
The men split up and made their way in opposite directions amongst the maze of huts. Harry could hear the camp sirens wailing as gunfire rattled around the camp. It was clear now that other prisoners had taken the initiative and risen up against the guards. The sharp bark of the tower machine guns was a worrying bass line that accompanied the angry sounds of armed revolt.
Rounding a corner, Harry spotted a group of German guards, armed heavily, making their way between the huts hunting the rioting prisoners. The definitions of guard and detainee were now almost totally forgotten; the former lines of battle had been redrawn within the wire perimeter of the camp.
Before the Germans could get any closer, or see the pair, a group or prisoners had jumped the Guards, beating them and mercilessly dispatching them with whatever means at hand before gathering their weapons for themselves. It was clear the camp was in full scale revolt.
“Jesus this is a bit busy,” Mike Down muttered under his breath. “That silly limey’s gonna get us all killed.”
“He saved me.” Harry said quietly, but enough for down to hear, and turn towards him. “He started this to save me.” He added looking the American airman in the eye.
Down shook his head slowly. “I hope to heck he knows what he’s doing all the same.” He added quietly, his eyes scanning the alleyway. Harry could see the worry in Down’s eyes without the need for his friend to verbalise it: They all felt it.
Harry turned suddenly, hearing the crunch of running boots behind them and raised the Luger pistol in his hands. He squeezed the trigger sharply as the shape of a German helmet rounded the corner, hitting the man squarely in the throat before he had a chance to raise his weapon. With a gargle and a look of surprise the soldier dropped, his hands gripping his throat.
“Damn Harry, that was damn good shootin’,” Down grinned with admiration. “I barely heard that fella.”
Harry didn’t answer, he was still looking between the German’s body and the smoking barrel of his pistol, shocked at what he had just done. He had trained with his issued revolver, but he had only ever shot targets. Hell, he had shot down enemy aircraft… men had died. The angry impersonal outline of an enemy aircraft however was far less personal than killing a man face to face. The act seemed far more gruesome; it was hard not to see the man lying before him was a fellow human being… rather than an enemy.
Down spotted the look on his friend’s face, “Harry for gods sake! we can’t stay here.” He persisted, recognising the state the British pilot was in. “Come on.” He yelled grabbing Harry by the arm and pulling him down another alley with him. “You can worry about that Kraut later; we still need to get the hell out of here.”
A loud explosion, shortly followed by a second reverberated around the camp, deadening all other sounds for a brief second. The sound of machinegun fire had grown quieter in their aftermath. Down whooped as they ran, “Fuckin A’ man! I think he’s actually done it!” he cheered punching the air, “Come on, let’s beat it.” He insisted, making sure the English pilot was still in tow.
They reached the edge of the huts nearest the explosions and looked out on a scene of mayhem across the camp. The dead ground between the huts and the gun towers was littered with the bodies of prisoners and guards alike, there were people running to and fro, mostly allied prisoners, and mostly armed. Both of the towers had been nearly shredded by explosions that left them twisted and burning; only the crackle of burning ammunition was left where the machine guns had formerly been housed.
Matheson ran over to the pair. “Got the bastards,” he grinned broadly, clutching his submachine gun in one hand and pumping the other wildly. “I think we might just make it.”
It wasn’t long before the remaining machine gun towers surrounding the camp fell silent, and infrequent bursts of gunfire and explosions died down as prisoners began to break through the wire and make their break for freedom into the dense forest surrounding the camp.
Harry, Mike Down, and Matheson were soon rejoined by the other men from their hut as others took advantage of the confusion and anarchy.
“What’s the plan then Andrew?” Hamley enquired calmly, as he rested his captured weapon against a hut wall and lit a borrowed German cigarette. “Don’t get me wrong, this little bout of payback was great craic, but how does ye magic plan go on from here?”
Matheson smiled calmly. “Well of course, we drive home.” He offered as if it was the most logical solution in the current situation. “We take German uniforms, identification papers, and one of the vehicles outside, and drive to Switzerland.”
“That simple?” Mike Down asked sceptically. “They aren’t going to stop us? Or wonder why we don’t speak German?”
“Probably,” Matheson shrugged, “But we can cross that bridge when we come to it, and we have to act fast.”
“So what next boss?” Maddox chipped in, racking the bolt on his weapon.
“I’m the boss now am I?” Matheson chuckled. “I don’t think I deserve that.”
“Well someone’s got to be I suppose.” Maddox shrugged. “You seem to have the answers, I’ve no issue defaulting to your command, friend.”
“Yeah well we can deal with that later.” Matheson muttered, “We’re all equals in this. If you guys want to come with me, I think I can get us out of Germany alive… we may have to do some bad things, but we will survive, and make it back to England in one piece. Anyone that wants to go it alone, or stay, now’s your chance.”
“You know my answer.” Hamley grunted, “My Missus would skin my hide if I didn’t get back to her as soon as possible.” He chuckled, stubbing out his cigarette butt.
“Just as long as you limey’s buy me a pint of that English beer you keep telling me about,” grinned Down.
The group looked at Harry, who stood still fingering the pistol in his hands. Harry looked up and smiled. “Didn’t like the food here anyway”
Matheson nodded and grinned. “Good, that’s settled,” he said quietly, but with the tone of relaxed authority in his voice that outlined the true character of the man. “We need to get to the admin building outside the wire, and take whatever uniforms and documents we can to aid our escape, if we do this half arsed like most of the chaps here, we’ll be back inside, or shot inside a week. If we take a little time to prepare, and cover our tracks, we can make this work for us.”
“So what do you need us to do?” Down asked purposefully.
Maddox kicked in the door to the Administration block and swept the room with his weapon. “Clear,” he called moving forward into the room. The group made their way into the Administration building and began to rifle through papers and documents. “Damn,” Maddox muttered as he moved past a row of desks. “They’re all dead… Some bugger’s shot them to hell, we can’t use these.” He said turning to Matheson, “The uniforms are ruined. And there’s only four men here.”
The group moved through the building to join Maddox by the group of bodies on the floor.
“Damn.” Hamley muttered, “They were executed.”
“Dead kraut is a dead kraut.” Down shrugged, “few less for us to deal with.”
Hamley turned on the American and slammed him against the wall with his hand around the American’s throat. “Now listen here you…” he spat with menace. “Yes, we might be fighting the Germans, but when people are prisoners… they are prisoners. Both sides look after them… these were not armed soldiers, or a threat, yet they were murdered in cold blood. This was not a fair fight… That’s not on where I come from. Mind your damn tongue.”
Matheson put his hand on the Irishman’s arm and shook his head. “Not here,” he said quietly. “We’re on the same side, and it won’t change anything. Hamley… he’s still on our side, and Down… watch your tongue like the man says. Try to be a little bit more respectful.” He ordered turning back to the group of corpses.
“Maddox,” he ordered “These German’s must have lived in here somewhere, find their billets. They will have had more than one uniform, unlike us.”
The Navy pilot nodded before disappearing through a side doorway.
“Sort these bodies out,” Matheson said turning to Harry, “Find any papers on them and any effects and Identification material, we need it all.”
Harry nodded his understanding and set about his gruesome task.
The bodies had been riddled with bullets by escaping prisoners. It was a scene that was terribly disgusting in a war like this. That people descended to such a level… They had all been treated fairly by the Germans. It was one thing to break out as they had, but as Hamley had said, this wasn’t fair… not one had been armed as far as he had seen.
Several of the bodies yielded identification disks and papers that Harry piled on a desk by his side. The final body was that of a young German woman, an Oberleutnant. Harry stared at the woman for a moment. Her face looked calm in death, despite the horrid wounds that blossomed from her chest. Harry carefully slipped the identity disk from her neck and read the inscription. “Maria Horler,” he said quietly to himself. Clutching the disk in his palm, he said a silent prayer for the young life cut so tragically short. Harry couldn’t help but believe that it would be one prayer too few in this terrible war.
Maddox reappeared at that moment with a grin of triumph on his face. “Boss, I found their quarters… Just as you said, spare uniforms and everything we need.”
Matheson nodded, “Did you find the papers Harry?” he continued, turning to the younger pilot. Harry nodded, still clutching the disk in his hand.
“Right then, what do we have?”
Harry sorted through the stack of identity papers before him, “One Major, a Hauptman, two Oberfeldwebel, and… and Oberleutnant.”
Matheson looked strangely at Harry for a moment, “I’m sure we had only four men a moment ago?”
Harry nodded quietly, “We have five sets of identities, five sets of uniforms, and five of us…”
Matheson knelt down in front of his friend. “You’re thinking about what I think you are, aren’t you?” he asked quietly, so as not to be overheard by the others.
Harry swallowed and nodded. “It’s the only option really, and…. Well, it would lend credence to our authenticity… if they are looking for escaped prisoners, it would be a group of all men no?”
Matheson was quiet for a moment before nodding slowly, “I suppose you have a point, but do you really want to do that? Tell me you haven’t taken those bastard’s words seriously… before…” he asked softly, trying to understand his friend’s feelings.
Harry nodded again. “Yes and no, I suppose,” he said quietly. “No, I’m not suggesting this because of… before, but it’s.” Harry grimaced, “I suppose this has been something weighing on my mind for a long time… with my problems… I’ve been confused, worried about myself, I just want to know if these stilly thoughts rattling around in my brain are real or not…You can understand that can’t you? But I’d prefer if it was just for the other reason… to the others, you know? For the sake of the mission.” he asked, his eyes pleading with his friend.
Matheson was still for a moment before nodding, and straightening up. “Not a problem,” he reassured his friend, “I won’t pretend I can understand, but I need your head in the game… if this clears things up… well why not.” Matheson shrugged. “Anyway, the ‘official’ reason is actually a damn good one. It might just keep us out of trouble.”
Matheson nodded at the doorway Maddox had indicated lead to the billets of the officers. “Go on,” he gestured. “Best get on with it.”
Harry nodded quietly before leaving his friend and making his way down the corridor towards the officer’s quarters. His heart was hammering at the thought of what he had suggested and was about to do… part of it seemed right… part, he wasn’t sure. The months after the accident, he had had nothing but time to think…. The physical ramifications coupled with feelings he never expected to be able to confront were difficult to interpret, but he was positive that he had to try.
The idea seemed so… convenient. He could only hope the others could accept the ruse. If Matheson was right, then this would help them; perhaps that was all the justification the others would need.
Finding the door to Oberleutnant Horler’s room, Harry turned the knob and slipped inside. While Spartan, the room had delicate feminine touches that marked it out as a woman’s. Sitting heavily on the bed, Harry looked around slowly, wondering where to begin. Lifting the identity disk by the chain, he looked at it for a moment before slipping the chain over his head and around his neck. “Maria Horler,” he said quietly again, as if repeating the name would change anything.
Harry wasn’t sure why this had felt like such a good idea at the time… or why the idea called to him so strongly. It was an opportunity, he realised, that he would have taken, whatever form or time it arrived in. At the present time, the truth was, Harry Dolton wasn’t sure who he was; or even if he had ever felt like a complete person in his entire life.
Harry carelessly stripped out of his camp clothes, allowing them to lie where they fell. Washing quickly in the room’s basin, he dried himself off, he began his search for clothing.
In the wardrobe, he found a full Luftwaffe officers uniform and carefully laid it on the bed before adding a blouse and shoes from the same wardrobe beside it. Aware of the timeframe they were working to, he began to search the drawers for the appropriate undergarments.
Harry was unsure where to begin: Most of the items seemed extremely alien to him. Thinking back to his childhood, he began to recognise items his mother had owned and worn. He held a pair of knickers in his hands uncertainly. He knew it was only underwear… simple fabric and stitching, but there was a distinct social line sewn into the soft satin fabric of the garment he held. With a sigh, Harry shook his head and began to dress. After all, he rationalised, it was only clothes.
The underwear seemed to fit relatively well, and once he had battled with the awkward stockings and suspender clips, After several failed attempts to fasten the brassiere, he managed to secure the garment around his chest. The brassiere’s cups, Harry had planned to pad out, to his surprise and shame, were not quite as empty as he had expected. Searching the drawers for something appropriate, Harry ended up using a spare pair of stockings to pad out his faux bust, before turning to face the clothing on the bed.
The blouse turned out to be relatively simple once he had realised the location of the buttons mirrored that of his own shirts. The crisp cotton was darted at his bust waist, and fitted better than he had expected. After slipping on the skirt, and buttoning it higher at his waist, he smoothed down the clothes and checked his reflection in the mirror.
The image that returned his gaze was a shocking one. The gangly young pilot had been replaced by a somewhat skinny girl with relatively short blonde hair, and a less than plain face. Harry stepped towards the mirror and raised a hand to his cheek involuntarily, his lips parted slightly in surprise. Somehow, the image that looked back at him through the glass felt reassuring to Harry Dolton. The young woman seemed so familiar to him, but he couldn’t place her in his memory. All that Harry knew, was that at that moment, they were the same person: She was him, and he was her: His feelings and confusions aside, he chose to bury the worries for the time being and accept things as they appeared…
Harry sat down carefully at the small desk in the room and began to sort through Maria’s makeup bag looking for items she could use. She didn’t know much of anything about makeup, but supposed she would be fine if she stuck to the basics.
Carefully, she applied mascara to her lashes while trying to keep the wand from stabbing her in the eye. Once satisfied, she took a pair of tweezers to her eyebrows, carefully tidied them just enough to give them the hint of a feminine arch. She proceeded to unscrew a tube of lipstick and attempted to paint her lips. The first few attempts were pitiful and childlike in result, forcing her to wipe off the remains and left her lips bare instead. Looking in the mirror, she fingered her short hair idly. She would have loved it to be longer, but for now, it fell haphazardly to the collar of her blouse, due to the neglect it had seen In the camp. Tutting quietly to herself, Harry picked up a pair of scissors and began neatening and shaping what she had to work with into some semblance of style she had vague images and memories of seeing before she had gotten into this mess.. After a short while, and with the help of some hair crá¨me, Harry sat back and looked at her reflection in the mirror on the wall. The young woman that looked back at her was almost pretty. Her fine features and delicate brows gave her a look of childlike innocence that was at odds with her pretty but short hair tucked nearly behind her ears, and parted over her left eye. Harry couldn’t believe it was her…
Quickly stuffing the rest of the belongings into a small suitcase she had found, Harry slipped her feet into the low heeled shoes and donned the uniform. Steeling herself, she opened the door to the room, and with a last glance, stepped out into the corridor. After a wobbly few steps, she became accustomed to the shifted centre of balance the shoes forced her into, and made it to the door to the main administration area sooner than she had hoped. As confused, and yet happy as she felt about herself, there was a niggling feeling that all would not be well when she walked through that final door… Harry placed her hand on the door and pushed softly,
To be Continued...
From the Author:
Hey guys and dolls :) Sorry this took so long, I've been out of action recently... (long story, those that want to know can PM me, or already know) So i've compensated everyone with a bumper chapter to make up for it now im coherant again.
Hope you enjoy it, and please comment :) (I really apreciate the input)
Alyssa P xx
Prisoners of War on the run in Nazi Germany. A journey of self discovery never had this many Panzer divisions hot on their heels...
A tale of War, of love, and of friendship. (And a few Nazis)
Harry opened the door slowly, nervously inching her head forward of her body as if to catch sight of the others sooner. Andrew Matheson was stood with his back to her on the far side of the room reading a document, otherwise the room was mercifully empty.
“I’m finished,” Harry called apprehensively, uncertain of the reaction she would receive.
Andrew Matheson had used his time productively and was dressed from head to toe in the uniform of a Luftwaffe Major; the uniform fitted him smartly and made a stark contrast to the image of his scruffy, torn Navy uniform that Harry was so used to. Even his unruly black hair had been slicked back with wax sharpening his image and giving him a visible air of authority. On hearing his friend’s voice, Andrew turned crisply, and was momentarily struck dumb by the sight that befell his eyes.
“I’m not sure what I expected you know,” Matheson admitted slowly, almost with a hint of admiration. “I had a fair Idea you might pull it off somewhat but…. Jesus Harry.” He said, gesturing embarrassedly towards his friend as if to express his feelings on the subject.
Harry blushed and looked down at her feet. “I look stupid don’t I?” she asked shyly, finding it difficult to hide the obvious tone of disappointment in her voice.
Matheson blinked before shaking his head vigorously, “My god no… no, you look… Well, it’s hard to say politely,” he grinned sheepishly. “I think you look smashing, I just didn’t expect you to look so… natural I suppose,” he added, crinkling his brow. “Sorry, that came out wrong.”
Harry lifted her head and smiled weakly, “Thank you.” She offered quietly, a crimson tinge growing on her cheeks, “Please don’t be sorry; I understand, I think... Well, I’m not sure if even I understand this… or expected to look this way. I don't really know what to think,” she trailed off quietly shrugging her shoulders.
Matheson nodded. “Well it certainly solves our identification problem, and looking the way you do, It gives us another ace up our proverbial sleeve... Nobody’s going to clock we’re a group of escaping allied airmen...” he laughed nervously.
Harry flinched slightly at the last word Andrew Matheson used, but kept her mouth closed. “Where are the others?” she asked quietly in an attempt to fill the awkward silence that had descended, her eyes scanning the room for the rest of the group in almost an afterthought.
Matheson lit a liberated German cigarette and lent back against a desk, “Off collecting a few items we need. The other prisoners have mostly scarpered, so no worry of being shot for wearing these Jerry uniforms.”
Harry nodded quietly, “What’s next?”
Matheson took a drag on his cigarette and exhaled before responding, “We take the Staff Car and Jeep we've rustled up, and we make our way north, to the main road, and we take it from there. We need to put distance between ourselves and the camp as soon as possible and make best speed for neutral territory. I’ll tell you the fine details once we’re all back together.” he added tapping his nose conspiratorially.
Maddox and Down returned at that moment, “Boss, we’re ready to go when you are. Is Dolton back yet?” Apparently unnoticed in the corner, Harry decided to bite the bullet and coughed lightly, drawing Maddox's gaze to the far corner of the room causing the man to jump and raise his submachine gun sharply. “Who’s the fraulein boss?” Maddox asked narrowing his eyes and watching Harry's movements extremely carefully.
An expression of fear crossed Harry’s face and she raised her hands nervously, unable to find her voice.
“What are we going to do with her Andrew? Maddox asked lowering his weapon, but keeping his guard up. “We can't well leave her, but can we take her with us?”
“Well,” Matheson said pointedly, sighing, “I was going to suggest we take her with us and all... Give us slightly more camouflage than a group of all men in an area with a POW camp breakout... Less likely to suspect us as a group.”
Matheson nodded, “Good plan, Will she play ball?”
“Oh yes.” Matheson agreed nodding.
Hamley walked back into the room at that moment, “I don't know how these bloody Krauts manage this in the heat.” He muttered pulling at the collar of the slightly too tight grey wool tunic, “These uniforms are bloody hot.”
Heads up Paddy,” Down called, “We have a prisoner.”
Hamley looked across the room and spotted the object of discussion.
“I thought those idiots killed them all?” The Irishman asked with a hint of disgust. “What are you going to do with her?”
“That's what we're discussing old chap.” Matheson replied casually. “I think it would be a bit of an idea to use her as a distraction for any roadblocks till we reach the Swiss boarder.”
“I don't like it... What happens if she decides to drop us in it with her Kraut buddies?” Down asked, frowning sceptically.
“Won't be a problem,” Matheson said smiling. “She wants to get back to England as bad as the rest of us.”
“You what?” Maddox asked frowning. “She'd be a prisoner of war then... Ours are no better than this holiday camp if I'm honest.” The Navy pilot added raising his eyebrows.
Matheson could barely suppress a chuckle, “No she won't,” he said carefully. “She's a serving officer in the RAF.”
“Man you're confusing me.” Down sighed shaking his head. “You Limeys and your weird logic.”
“Harry, let them in on the joke won't you?” Matheson asked turning to their silent comrade.
Harry blushed scarlet as all eyes in the room focused on her.
“That's Harry?” Hamley asked incredulously. “Harry Dolton...?” He asked staring wide eyed at Harry.
Harry nodded self-consciously.
“I'll be damned.” Maddox muttered. “You bloody had me going there Andy.”
“It was my idea to use the identity papers and clothes from the dead Jerry woman.” Matheson offered holding his hands up in submission, “I figure if sh... he's good enough to fool you bunch, the Jerries won't have a clue. Which means my plan will work.”
“You think dressing him up as a Fraulein is going to help us to escape occupied Europe?” Down asked sceptically. “I mean, he looks the part... but that's a bit of an odd one isn't it?” he added looking across at Harry. “You look far too convincing like that... Was this really Matheson's idea, or are you a bit queer?”
“Stop right there...” Matheson interjected angrily. “Harry is taking the biggest risk here... If he's captured, you know what would happen...” Andrew allowed the sobering conclusion to hang for a moment before continuing. “I suggested this, Harry reluctantly agreed. If you hadn't noticed, we have only five sets of Identification documents to choose from, and He has the best chance of pulling off this little ruse. If anything, he's got a bigger pair than you Down.” Matheson added tersely.
“Too right,” Down admitted grudgingly, “But which pair are you talking about?” He added grinning at his own joke.
“Those do look rather real from this distance.” Maddox agreed peering at Harry's cleavage. “What did you do to get it to look like that?” He asked stepping forwards for a closer look. Harry backed up quickly and shrugged dismissively. “Oh, some clever make-up, I was always picked for the leading lady in school... you know how it is...” Harry waved gesturing at her height. “Remembered a few bits, and anyway, I don't fancy spending time in another POW camp in this uniform, so I. Figured I'd best make a good job of it.” she lied finally finding her voice.
“I'm certainly convinced,” Peter Maddox agreed, “I'll be damned if I can tell and I know who you are...” he added frowning slightly. “Darn good job.”
“Aye, no debate the lad looks like a lass at the moment,” Hamley shrugged, “And that's right strange enough, But how can he convince them he is one? Behave like a lady and whatnot.” Hamley added with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Its one thing to look like a lass, but if he wanders around like a scrum half, he's going to draw attention to us. The wrong sort.”
Andrew Matheson thought for a moment, “Point taken, but, as Harry said, he was a bit of a Thespian... and from the sound of it, this isn't his first cameo in skirts, I'm sure he can manage to fool a few Krauts.”
Hamley nodded and agreed.
“So are we a go?” Matheson interjected, drawing the group's attention back to himself.
“We have uniforms, weapons, transport, and money... “I suggest we make best speed for the land of Clocks and Chocolate chaps.”
* * *
While not ostentatious, the staff car Harry rode in with Matheson and Maddox was a far more comfortable and pleasurable way to travel through the winding bumpy German country lanes. Looking out of the window as they drove, Harry began to reflect on the situation she now found herself in. The minor issue of the war removed from the picture, she began to wonder just how she felt about her present circumstances. The group had been traveling for the better part of a day since leaving the ruins of the camp. During their flight, the group had treated her with thinly veiled curiosity confusion and trepidation, as though she were an unexploded bomb. On the whole, the men had been unable to stop themselves from treating her as the woman she appeared to be, despite their own knowledge to the contrary. Often, the very awareness that they were treating her that way, even in the privacy of their own company, seemed to confuse them even more.
Harry/Maria sighed to herself as she watched the hedgerows fly past from the window. This day had done more to unravel her feelings than secure them as she had so hoped. Her self-doubt brought to the forefront of her mind by her accident and the subsequent changes she had experienced, were now very much her life. She knew that before she reached England, and sanctuary, she would have to first win the battle of her heart. One part of her enjoyed the treatment, and the reflection she had seen in the mirror. Another part of her told her this was wrong and sinful, regardless of how right it felt. Though not overly religious herself, she was positive that it shouldn't feel so right. The calmness that had swept her body in the weeks following the accident, and the subsequent changes that made her the target of less than civil treatment in the camp now presented themselves in a new advantageous light. Try as she might, she could only balance the scales of her mind, unable to truly tip them in favour of either viewpoint. With a sigh, Harry tried to force the notion from her mind for a short while and simply live.
* * *
It was nine o'clock in the evening before the traces of dusk in the sky encouraged the group to seek accommodation for the night. Masquerading as they were, the option of camping out of sight, as sensible as it seemed, presented far too many risks; should they be happened upon by soldiers or civilians alike, the likelihood of explaining why German military personnel were hiding in the forests of the Fatherland. Choosing instead to hide in plain sight, the group pulled into the yard of a small tavern and sent Harry into the tavern to enquire about rooms for the night.
Walking to the door, Harry steeled herself to slip fully into the role she had chosen. For better or worse, their escape from occupied Europe would depend partly, if not entirely on her ability to throw their hunters off their scent. Nowhere was it more important than here, their first interaction with the German people. Closing the door behind her, Maria Horler removed her field cap and swept her eyes over the room before her. Mercifully, the room was mostly empty, save a handful of patrons dotted around the various booths and stools. A radio by the bar was playing a faceless swing track piped fresh from the dance halls of Berlin. The bored looking bar girl was leaning on her elbows on the bar counter and looked up from the book she was reading as she heard Harry approach.
(Italic text speech in German)
“Good evening, Do you have any rooms available?” Harry asked with a slightly exasperated smile on her lips, and nervous butterflies in her stomach.
“Uh, Ja, I think so, one moment please.” The girl offered flipping through a large leather-bound book beside her on the bar counter.
“I… Yes we do,” she confirmed looking up at Harry with a grin. “Is it just for you?”
“Nein.” Harry replied, shaking her head, “There is my Major and three other men also.”
“Yes, I think we have five rooms free.” The girl added checking her book, “There is not much tourism these days really.” She offered with a sardonic smile.
“I know what you mean.” Harry sighed wistfully as she glanced around the traditional Bavarian design of the tavern, thinking how nice it might have been to be here for another reason, in a different time. Turning back to the woman she nodded sharply, “We will take the rooms for the night, and breakfast please.”
“No problem,” replied the girl as she scribbled in the book before looking up at Harry. The girl looked at her for a moment before smiling and speaking with a playful tone “I expect you do this a lot.” she added conspiratorially, a sly smile on her lips..
Harry balked as she tried to understand what the young German woman had meant. Had she seen through her masquerade? Was she having fun at her expense? Seeing Harry’s confused expression the German girl giggled to herself before explaining; “I meant run errands for the men outside,” she added rolling her eyes. “They still find a way to make you do everything for them ja?”
Harry sighed with silent relief before effecting a regretful air, “Life does not change, even in the Luftwaffe.” she shrugged with her own smile.
“It never will.” The girl agreed shrugging and going back to her book.
Turning and making her way back to the door, Harry allowed the breath she had been holding to escape. As difficult as the situation could have been, she had made it apparently undetected, and by another woman no less. No, she mentally reminded herself, by a woman. The strange façade she presented was merely a result of circumstance and disguise: As she returned to her comrades, she tried to convince herself that she meant it.
* * *
It was late in the evening, and Harry was still very much awake. She had changed into a nightgown she had thrown into the case in her hurry to pack up the possessions of her namesake. At first, stepping into a dead woman's life felt strange and morbid to Harry, but the more she thought about it, the more she realised that She had Maria Horler to thank and celebrate. Had it not been for the woman's death, she might not have had the chance to experience life. She would find a way to pay the woman back for the opportunity, even if she was still unsure of the complete meaning at this time...
Harry put down her book, unable to recover her mindset after such deep thought. Slipping off the bed, she began to rummage through the belongings in the case at the foot of the bed. Aside from the motley collection of clothes and under garments, there were a few personal items. The make-up case she had packed, and toiletry items, along with a small Photograph album. Sitting cross-legged on the floorboards, Harry began to leaf through the pictures in the album. What she saw began to tug on her heartstrings from the first moment she realised who she was looking at: As she turned the pages, Harry watched as an infant Maria grew, amongst her family and friends, and developed into the young woman she had found bloodied and cold on the floor. The photographs showed a vibrant happy young woman, full of life and love that would never reach fruition thanks to the callous action of a spiteful prisoner. Harry felt tears rolling down her cheeks as she looked at the photographs in the small book. Such a small item, but so powerful she mused. The powerful emotions welling up inside her were overpowering, forcing her to close the book and set it to one side before she found herself in an uncontrollable fit of tears. Harry thought back to her promise to thank Maria for her gift of life and changed her mind. She would not merely thank Maria, for she owed the woman far more than mere thanks could ever compensate. She vowed instead to live the life that Maria could not, to find happiness and joy, and contentment in whatever form it was presented. If that was as a woman, so be it.
Note from the Authory person:
Well.... Its been a while hasn't it? I'm awfully sorry for leaving everyone in the lurch, but I've had a lot on my plate with that terribly distracting 'real life'. Work, work and more work... Starting a career is never simple... and Festival season isn't the easiest season of work... I hope you'll forgive me, and I hope you enjoy this chapter, (its taken about 20 edits to get myself happy with it, so I hope its satisfactory.
As for posting only complete things as people seem to want... Tough, this will come in segments, as its ongoing, however, Focal Point will not be posted till it is finished, (a few weeks now I think.) And there WILL, I say again, WILL, be a removal, revision, and reposting of The Road to Haifa, complete and unabridged, with conclusion. :)
How's that?
Love
Alyssa xxx
by Alyssa Plant
Born Twice
By Alyssa Plant
Chapter one
Rebecca Juliette Anderson, a first with honours from the University of Manchester… That paper seemed so important, like something she had waited her whole life to see.
Becca read her graduation certificate over and over again as she sat in the Departure lounge at Manchester Airport. As the crowds surged around her, going to and fro, she felt like her world was a bubble, she couldn’t hear anything outside her own thoughts. She could feel her heart thumping inside her chest, this was her new start, her rebirth, that beginning again she had dreamt of since she first started to truly become herself during her first year at university. She wanted Bogart to pop out of nowhere and sweep her off her feet, ala Casablanca, but she knew her life wasn’t a movie, she giggled as she started to think about her life. It felt so cheesy to be doing that, at a time like this. It’s a stock montage in films. If her life was a movie, it would be going straight to rental she thought. The more she thought, the more feelings welled up from her past, what was being left behind.
21 years ago, a whole lifetime ago, a beautiful baby boy was born on a ward in St Mary’s maternity hospital in Manchester not 10 miles away. That beautiful baby was given the name; Charles Richard Anderson. His loving parents David and Christine Anderson raised their child with love and care. The very best School, the best chances and the best life they could offer. Little did they know what their good intentions did to little Charlie…
From the age of 2, though to his 18th birthday, Charlie suffered the all boys private school his well meaning parents sent him to. He was different to the other boys, so very different. It took him years to realise how. His pain was completely invisible to his ever so loving parents. Charlie wasn’t a boy. The shy, friendless bullied teen was a girl in boys clothing. She was the only person who truly knew what went on inside her turbulent brain. Throughout her teenage years, our heroine struggled with her identity, was she just mad? Was she really a girl? What would her parents think? Fearing the worst, she bottled it up inside her, keeping her darkest deepest secret, herself, hidden from view.
She did her time in what felt like a jail sentence. She pretended to be a boy, she acted, and she was someone else a male caricature. Her parents never noticed their child slowly withdrawing from them. Dismissing it as simply teenage angst and rebellion, after all, what young boy wants to be loving and emotional, and close to his parents? How desperately she wanted to be there, be her daddy’s little girl. To help her mother, to shop for pretty clothes, to be taken on dates by cute boys. The boys she shared her jail with. It got far too much for her. Her mother’s sleeping pills and her father’s whiskey offered her a way out of the misery. One night, she simply went to sleep. Free at last, from the torment, anguish, and pain. She very nearly succeeded. Had her caring mother not come in to kiss her goodnight, something she had never known about. Her mother’s love saved her life. Waking up in hospital gives you a different perspective. The tubes and wires, our heroine made a promise to herself, she would be herself, and it would NOT kill her. It had killed Charlie, he had left her body. She was only a girl now, no more hiding.
Her parents had been shocked to find out she was depressed, but her fear of rejection kept her from telling them why. It got worse.
When she turned 18, she left home for university, finally free of the all boys’ prison she had spent so long in. She felt so free, and began to be more herself; her hair grew longer, behaviour more natural, she flourished finally beginning to become herself. It was a long slow process, she mustn’t let her parents realise that their son was dead. It went too far after she started taking female hormones with her doctors help. She couldn’t hide the changes. And she had to face her worst fear.
Becca remembered that vividly, like it was yesterday. She remembered her stomach being so knotted and flip-flopping around like a fish out of water. She felt so vulnerable and fragile when she finally did it. She poured out her soul to her family, and instead of loving the child they raised, they threw her out in the cold to fend for herself, disgusted by their perverted child with a new attention seeking ‘hobby’. Our heroine was utterly devastated Left alone and unloved, she fought to pay for her university tuition, and to survive on her own. She vowed that the night she graduated, she would be onboard a plane somewhere, to begin again, where nobody knew her, As Rebecca, and only Rebecca.
This is how she came to be sat in the departure lounge at Manchester Airport…
Stretching, Becca slid her certificate back into her carryon bag, a small purple rucksack. Shouldering it, she walked over to a nearby caffeine dealer and purchased a large cappuccino. Holding the warm cup between her hands, she stood looking out the dark window across the airport. She couldn’t see much, but the lounge itself reflected back at her. How she had changed, her mousy brown hair fell just past her shoulders in luscious waves. Her slim toned body was perfectly feminine, nobody would ever imagine this young girl, had once been physically male. Of course part of that remained. It had taken every penny Becca could earn to stay afloat, and with a roof over her head, and the plane ticket and apartment rent hadn’t been cheap. She wasn’t going to be a complete woman just yet. Her one dark secret remained, hidden beneath her jeans and underwear. It was the last dirty smudge on her life, something she regretted not being able to resolve before beginning her new life, but something she would have to live with for the time being. It had cut short many a relationship for her, either out of whichever guy’s impatience for sex, or her revealing her past. Either way, she was a lonely young woman.
It was time to break with her past, to start fresh and aim for the future. She pulled her hoodie tight around her to keep out some of the chill of the evening. Hadn’t airports heard of heating? There was one last thing she had to do. Turning she walked over to a payphone, her fingers fell to the numbers in practiced order. Her home telephone number was something she would never forget.
The ringing was deafening. It was like a death knell chiming;
“Hello, who is it please?”
“h, hi mum, its m, me”
“I’m sorry, who?”
“It’s me, uh, Rebecca… your daughter?”
“Oh Charlie, well you are still playing this silly game are you? When are you going to come home and be out handsome boy again? Isn’t this silly game getting tired? We said we would pay for a psychiatrist to cure you of this madness…”
“Look mum, I don’t want to talk about that right now, it’s not why I called…”
Christine Anderson snorted quietly “Can’t you even talk normally? You sound ridiculous”
“Um, this is normal mum. And look, I just wanted to talk to you one last time, I’m going away… for a long time a long way away, and I, uh, I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“What are you playing at? Are you going to go through customs dressed as a woman? They will see your passport!”
“MUM, my passport says I’m a girl” Becca hissed looking around to make sure nobody was overhearing her. “I’m legally a girl; you’re the only ones who don’t see the plain damn truth. Look, I just wanted to give you a chance, and it seems some things don’t change, look, I love you, and ill always love you all so much, but I cant go on like this, your ignorance and bigotry is killing me inside, and I need to leave, to go somewhere nobody knows my name, somewhere I can move on. You took away the chance of a family. You wanted what you wanted and be damned to anyone else!” Rebecca could feel herself getting angry and tried to count to ten.
“Look, I love you, more than words can say. I always will”
“Charlie lis…..”
*Click*
With that, Becca replaced the handset onto the phone, and quietly sobbed, the tears felt like acid on her cheeks. She had known the final goodbye would come. She had always seen it as something in the future. A distant threat that would never come to fruition. But it had come, it was time, dabbing her eyes, she put on a brave face and headed across the lounge to the boarding gate for her flight.
Could it be different? Would it be? Would she find the love her parents couldn’t give?
This was her Baptism of fire; she was getting her second birth.
Born Twice
By Alyssa Plant
Chapter two
“May I see your boarding pass please ma'am?” The smiling stewardess behind the little desk beamed.
Becca just grimaced back, handing over the pass feeling entirely rotten. This was some new start. Shouldn’t she be happy? Excited?
There was a pang of uncertainty in her heart, a good one, she admitted, but it was overshadowed by the loss of her parents. It had been that way for months she knew, years even, but hearing and experiencing the end didn’t make that any easier.
“Have a lovely flight and thank you for flying American” The hostess chattered, still with the superglue smile on her face
Becca walked up the boarding ramp; this would be her last footfalls on British soil for some years she admitted. Although technically she hadn’t been touching the ground for the last hour or two… Seeing the aircraft lightened her heart. This was her chariot, her vessel to another world. A spaceship taking her to an alien world, where nobody knew Charlie, where the past was just that. This wasn’t the end, this was a new beginning.
Once aboard the aircraft, she followed the other passengers to her seat, ‘was F isle or window?’ She mused. Becca had a thing for flying, even if she couldn’t see where she was going, the twinkling lights, and passing clouds still made her feel good. To her pleasure, she found that her seat was indeed a window seat, and there was a tall dark haired man sat in the isle. Excusing herself, she moved past him and took her seat. The man seemed engrossed in a newspaper, ‘The Washington Post’ Obviously an American going home she thought.
The cabin crew performed the pre-flight briefing with all the associated arm waving and superglue smiles of practiced Stewards and Stewardesses. Like most passengers, she ignored them, choosing instead to watch the airfield outside as the plane taxied to the runway. This was it, her break… turning back to the world inside the jet, she adjusted her seatbelt and stared directly forwards as the aircraft began to roll forwards. She sighed as the aircraft became airborne, visibly relaxing. She was free.
The man looked across at her; “So who are you running from?”
Becca almost jumped out of her seat, was she that easy to read? Had her nerves been that obvious?
“I um, err, nobody, just, moving, to start work.” She looked across at the man. “You’re an American aren’t you?”
“Good guess, I’m Tony, you are?”
His smile was intoxicating, she felt instantly at ease,
“Um, Becca, I mean, Rebecca, uh, Rebecca Anderson” she stammered.
Still smiling, Tony spoke; “So let me guess, your running away to America to start a new life, because….” He looked deeply and theatrically thoughtful “You got pregnant, and had a fight with your parents, and chose to emigrate after having an emergency abortion on the way to the airport?”
Feeling ever so slightly remorseful that that could never be the case, “I, erm, your half right, I had a fight with my parents, and I just graduated from university today, and I’m moving to begin my life, on my terms, why were you in England?” attempting to divert his attentions.
“I’m always right, so if it wasn’t pregnancy, a bad boy lover? Or you’re really a man, who had a sex change to hide from the law, and you’re fleeing the country post haste?”
She felt a stab of fear shoot through her heart
“Well let me tell you, if you were, I'd feel honoured to tell you that I’ve never met a cuter escaped convict”
Feeling slightly cross and relived she bantered back considering calling his bluff the best way around such a sticky topic, “Well you got me, my name was Fred, and as I’m a guy, I like girls, so you’re out of luck Mr Tony, My parents and I fought because I’m a lesbian” she said smirking, attempting to suppress a giggle.
“I’ve not met one lesbian in my 28 years, that gave me the eyes like you’ve been doing so I don’t buy you’re story Fred, or shall we just stick to Rebecca?”
She felt herself going bright red, was it possible for the human ears to steam? She felt as though she was doing a damn good job of it. Tony had this cat got the crá¨me grin on his face, ear to ear of white straight teeth, an American smile…
“You know” he smiled, “This is one of those movie things, guy meets girl, nature forces them together on a airliner for 5-6 hours, all we need now is turbulence, an you to tell me your afraid of flying…”
He hadn’t bought her story, any of them, and he seem to have dropped it, she shot him a short coy smile,
“Oh, dear, sorry, I’m going to have to deviate from the plot Mr Director, I’m just fine with flying and the more turbulence the better.” She giggled.
Slipping her headphones into her ears she thumbed through her ipod for something obnoxiously violent. She liked the guy, but that’s just what this was, he was right, one of those airplane things. She would probably never see him again after they got off the plane, their lives would fork, and never return. Meeting the right guy wasn’t this easy. She began to dose off, it had been an eventful day, and she was beginning to nod off. Sleep finally came and Becca slipped into a dream world free, and serene.
Becca woke slowly, she had been dreaming of her childhood again. How it could have been. The first thing that she noticed in her groggy near waking state, was that she wasn’t sat up, or leaning on the fuselage. It was soft, and warm, and breathing….
She sat bolt upright in her seat, and looked at where she had been lying. Nestled into the side of Tony’s chest, the owner of which was wide awake... She expected him to be uncomfortable, but he had a warm smile on his face, not the Cheshire cat grin from before, but a friendly smile. Feeling herself turn red she started to jabber about how sorry she was, and how she hoped he wasn’t offended.
He hushed her to silence; “You know, as payment for using me as a pillow, you can accompany me to dinner when we get out of this tin can.”
“But I never told you where I was going to be living?” Becca replied cautiously.
“Well we’re flying into Dulles International, and we both have connections to Norfolk, so the chances of you being in the Norfolk/Portsmouth area are high. Also, I saw the top of the printed map in your carryon, with directions to an apartment Portsmouth…”
Tony pretended to suck on a pipe, and after puffing away symbolically, he announced in a rather good parody of Basil Rathbone; “So my deductions are, that not only am I right, but you will accept my gracious offer, and agree to my escort.”
That grin was back; that big toothy cheesy grin that seemed to sum him up. Becca was quite surprised at how easily he had worked it all out. He was funny, smart, good looking, and judging by his Armani shirt, wasn’t living in poverty. Should she give him a chance? Was it right to make a friend or possible ex this soon? Did she want to start dating already?.
Pushing that to the back of her mind, she smiled back, and looking into his laughing eyes, almost whispered; “Id like that Mr Holmes.”
Curling up on the sofa she quietly sobbed and let out her pain. This really was it. This was the pain of childbirth; her second birth, her new life. She was grounded now, this was her place, and she wasn’t just visiting. The reality hit her hard. She could quite possibly never see her family again. And this thought rocked her very being.
After landing in Washington, and passing through US customs, Becca finally gave up the last of her tension. She was home now, she could feel it. The Cross state connection was almost like a bus ride; Almost as soon as she had settled in and began to relax, she was getting off again and back In the bustle of the crowd. She had grown comfortable around Tony, and enjoyed being in his presence. Having insisted on carrying her luggage for her, he saw her to the taxi rank outside the main doors of Norfolk International. Their parting was awkward; neither knowing what was appropriate, and settling for a quick friendly hug.
She had felt nervous leaving someone she had grown quite fond of. Her first and only friend in this new place was gone, and she finally had to work things out herself. Silly, she admitted, as it was little different to visiting another big city in the UK. Regardless the innocent little girl resurfaced, and she felt very aware of her surroundings. He had her number; she felt a few butterflies flit around her tummy as she wondered when he would call.
The Cab driver pulled over in front of a building she recognised by the advert, her place. After helping her with her luggage from the trunk, he was gone.
Standing on the sidewalk, Becca looked up and down the street that was now her home, her neighbourhood, her neck of town. With a sigh, she turned and headed to the door, hitting the apartment manager’s buzzer.
It crackled to live, and a middle-aged woman’s voice answered.
“Um, hi, its Rebecca Anderson, I’m the new tenant for 4C…”
The microphone clicked off and the door started buzzing. Unperturbed, Becca pushed the door open and began to heave her belongings inside the hallway.
A stout middle-aged woman appeared from an apartment near the door;
“Hello dear, you must be Rebecca, its lovely to meet you at last; I hope you had a pleasant journey?”
“Hi, yes, it was fine thank you” she replied smirking at how pleasant it indeed had been.
The Manager led Becca up the elevator to the 4th floor of the building, which was cleaner than Becca had expected, and considering the rent she was paying, surprising. Once the manager had let her in, and shown her around, Becca was left alone.
She stood there, in her new den, luggage around her, and felt a shiver shoot down her spine. She then broke down sobbing. Curling up on the sofa she quietly sobbed and let out her pain. This really was it. This was the pain of childbirth; her second birth, her new life. She was grounded now, this was her place, and she wasn’t just visiting. The reality hit her hard. She could quite possibly never see her family again. And this thought rocked her very being.
Being outcast was one thing, as much as they hated her, she couldn’t bring herself to feel the same way. She loved them with every ounce of her being and that would never change, but her leaving the country broke that tenuous denial in her heart that they still cared. For the first time in her life, she felt truly alone.
What felt like hours later she rose from her trance like depression and began to actually look around her apartment.
The den was spacious and clean looking. The furniture had been included in the rent, and the place was quite comfortable. It would still need those touches before it felt like home though.
Getting up and stretching, Becca dragged her cases into the bedroom and began to unpack her worldly possessions.
After nearly two hours, she felt moved in, and grabbing her coat, headed out of her apartment and down to the street, food wasn’t going to come to her…
Standing on the sidewalk, she tried to remember the map, everything felt so disorientating now she was on the ground. Feeling convinced that she was right, Becca headed off down the road, very wary of her surroundings. Soon, she was on a main road, and nearing a small row of shops, Becca was relived to find a grocery store. Stepping inside was another culture shock to her. Whilst she recognised a few major brands, most of the foods were alien to her by name. Becca was reminded very vividly of how she was now in a different country, just the same language.
Once she had loaded her basket, she proceeded to the checkout area, where a cute guy in his mid 20s rang up her items and packed them in bags for her. He wanted to chat, but she was so shy and overawed by the new experience that she probably came across as rude she thought to herself in hindsight as she walked back down the street.
Several blocks from her apartment, her phone began to ring, nearly causing her to drop her bags. Her heart flipped as she recognised the number, one she had input only that morning.
“Hello?” she answered anxiously.
“Hey there, how are you settling in?” His voice sounded melodic, a happy warm sound that swam around her tummy making the butterflies take flight.
“I’m ok I guess, just been out for groceries and I’m all unpacked, not much of that to do to be honest, did you get home ok?”
How stupid she thought, he was the native, of course he got home ok.
“Hey, so I thought you could do with a friendly face to show you around the city, so why don’t I pick you up tonight, and take you out to dinner?”
The flipping turned into full scale acrobatics in her tummy.
Mentally checking her sparse wardrobe she replied, “Uh ok, sure, since you’re so smart, I won’t need to tell you my address… what time?”
“Well I know I’m amazing, but telepathy isn’t one of my skills yet, so how’s about a trade, I pick you up at… 8, and you tell me where you live?
“Apartment 4C, 232 Columbia Road, ill see you then?”
“It’s a date” And he hung up.
Becca’s heart was racing, not even 24 hours in the US and she was going on a date with a gorgeous, funny, intelligent man… what had she done to deserve this? Why her? Oh god, what about when he found out? It would be good till then, but after? She promised herself that she wouldn’t let it be like the others, she would tell him before it got serious, or she would break it off. Her heart wouldn’t stand being broken again. She would be open early, and suffer the consequences.
Arriving back at her building, she headed inside. She had only brought two going out dresses with her, and only one fitted the bill for tonight.
After depositing her groceries she dove into the shower to shave her legs and do her hair, wanting to look her best.
Becca did her best not to look at her crotch. Seeing that thing between her legs upset her a great deal. It didn’t belong, she didn’t deserve this torment, her nakedness mocked her, she couldn’t be happy while it was still there; it was her skeleton in the closet, only this skeleton donned black robes and a scythe whenever she fell in love; a curse on her heart.
Becca towel dried her hair as she stepped from the shower and slipping on her robe, before padding through to her bedroom.
She selected her dress, a classic Black sheath dress with a sweeping neckline that plunged suggestively towards her cleavage, but keeping its modest distance. She looked good in it, she knew. It’s the dress she had worn to the graduate party at her University department the week before the actual graduation ceremony, she was simple, yet elegant, and she wanted that classic look tonight. Tony was a man that appreciated the finer things in life, and subtlety. The modest glamour of her dress would please him more than 6 inches more of thigh she decided.
She dried and styled her hair into luscious vibrant waves cascading down over her shoulders, and highlighted her deep slate blue eyes and high cheekbones with just the hint of makeup. She viewed her creation in the mirror, classic elegant beauty, he would love it.
As she was checking her hair for the 5th time, the buzzer rang…
Born Twice
By Alyssa Plant
Chapter four
As Becca hung up the handset and left her apartment: She felt like she had a shoal of fish leaping and swimming around her tummy, those pre-date nerves coming back with vengeance.
She had always been this way since she started dating, crazy nerves; this first time was always the same. She knew it shouldn’t be, but it was. Her fragile heart wouldn’t survive another break. She couldn’t be hurt this time, or she might never recover.
There was something about Tony, his eyes; he had kind eyes, gorgeous dark pools of happiness. Just thinking about him made her feel better.
The lift doors swished open and her eyes immediately darted to the apartment door. Tony was stood outside by his car, a green sporty thing, Becca wasn’t sure what exactly.
His bored far away expression turned into one of those dazzling smiles as Becca opened the front door and stepped outside: He was dressed in chinos and a dress shirt; the whole casual outfit probably cost more than most formal ones she thought.
“Wow, you sure know how to make an impression…” he beamed giving her more than a subtle once over, “you look amazing.”
Becca felt herself blush and looked down at her feet, slowly raising her eyes to meet his. “Uh, I, uh, thank you, you look, ni…, very handsome.” She half mumbled feeling her ears steam with embaracement. Becca couldn’t believe that she was acting like a high school girl on her first date, mashing her words, her heart in her mouth.
That smile was intoxicating, it just destroyed her every fear and inhibition, she felt almost like this was her first date, her first REAL date, with a REAL man. Right about now the musical medley would start and one or other of them would break into song and dance she thought.
“Come on” he laughed “They will hold the table for a few hours, but days even I can’t guarantee” He held the car door for her, the perfect gentleman: As she passed him and slid into the passenger seat she shot him a coy smirk.
Tony joined her in the car and he set off towards, she guessed, the river. The drive was fairly mundane, initial difficulties gotten over, they chatted about this and that; mundane things to avoid awkward silence.
After a short while, they arrived outside a restaurant by the river. A valet rushed to open Becca’s door for her. Smiling at the young man, she anxiously looked for Tony; worried about how to behave, or what to do. This was a first for her; her previous dates weren’t quite as upmarket.
Becca took Tony’s arm as he offered it, and allowed him to escort her into the restaurant.
It was busy inside, but not completely full. Clearly one of the more popular places in the area to dine she mused. They waited by the doorway for the Maitre de to find them a table.
Once seated, and drinks ordered, that awkward silence took over, where each waited for the other to break the ice.
“So tell me about you… who is Rebecca then?” He seemed to go straight after what she wasn’t telling him. It was a fairly mundane question, but with so many answers.
“Well I don’t think there’s much to know, I’m 21, graduated from college yesterday, a first with honours In Physical Geography from the University of Manchester. I’m sat in a restaurant with a very handsome man who bugged for the entire flight and then took me to dinner. What about you?” she beamed innocently.
“Nice subject change, but I’d rather find out why you ran so far? I don’t want to press, but what did your parents do?” She looked up from the table and met his eyes, the dancing had stopped, they were sad and lonely, she couldn’t help but feel the compassion flowing from them; he seemed to genuinely care.
“We had an argument, about my life, they wanted me to be someone I’m not, do things that would make them happy, not me. I guess they saw me as a trophy child they wanted to mould as they saw fit. Not a dynamic human being, with her own feelings and desires”
She realised that she had been talking to her wine glass, and looked up at Tony. He was looking at her with compassion. No sign of confusion, realisation, or anger. He clearly hadn’t caught the clues she had dropped so carefully.
After he had so blatantly joked about the scenario on the plane, she wondered how he felt about it really.
“Well their loss is my gain it seems” he smiled. “My folks were sorta like that. My old man was all ‘Tony you’re gonna do this, do that, be this! You gonna make me and your Mama proud?’ “He joked in a thick Italian accent.
A waiter Arrived and took their orders. The restaurant specialised in Seafood, and both ended up ordering Italian dishes.
There was light chatter during the meal, and Becca really enjoyed being around Tony. He was a funny, exciting, and energising presence.
After the meal, and the coffee, they headed outside, and waving off the Valet, Tony lead Becca towards the waterfront.
They strolled down the waterfront promenade, looking out across the Potomac and seeing the twinkling lights of the naval docks on the far bank. Tony slipped his arm around Becca’s waist as the walked.
Not feeling at all inclined to remove it, Becca Snuggled into his side.
“I love coming down here after work, it’s a nice place to think, to air your troubles to the waters… Now do you want to tell me what’s really eating you? You didn’t run across an ocean because your parents didn’t like your choice of degree, career. Now you’re clearly not gay. So we can rule out sexuality clash, I hope you aren’t running from an arranged marriage?” he half grinned but somehow still maintaining that serious air he could filter through his humour.
“Tell me why” he whispered in her ear.
Becca felt the hairs standing up on the back of her neck as his words permeated her brain.
Looking up into his eyes, she felt weak, this was not something she wanted to confront so soon, but she knew that if she told a lie, she wouldn’t see him again. He could tell when she was open or closed about something. She really liked him, maybe even she could love him, she certainly felt that she was starting to fall for him.
Now was better, the fall was shorter. She might even survive.
“They threw me out….. Because…” She took a deep breath as she carefully worded her death warrant. “I, I mean they, wanted me to BE someone I’m not.”
She had told this story so many times, said these words, but it never got any easier. It had gotten harder after she transitioned, as she got more ‘so when are you having your breasts removed?’ comments from people genuinely thinking that she was coming out as a preoperative Trans guy. But the words, the action. The unknown, haunted her each time she uttered the words, and her stomach was tied in a vicious knot as she formed the words, staring into Tony’s eyes.
“They wanted me to be the son that they thought they had. I was born a boy, but I’m not one….” She tailed off, her eyes still locked on his.
A red hot tear rolled down her cheek as she spoke, leaving a trail of shame in its wake. She turned her head away from his in shame, breaking that penetrating eye contact.
She knew it was over as she looked out across the river. What a start to her new life in America, Disappointment and heartbreak.
Becca Felt a hand touch her cheek and she winced before realising it wasn’t a slap, but his hand gently turning her head till once more, she was staring into his soul.
Her eyes closed involuntarily, not wanting to see the disappointment in his eyes.
Then she felt it. His warm breath, his lips lightly brushed hers.
This wasn’t how it was meant to happen? It couldn’t be happening? But it was; she could hardly deny the lips against her own. Her aching heart soared as she returned the kiss first gently in response, then opening her eyes and seeing nothing but love in his, returned the kiss with greater passion.
Note from the Author:
Sorry guys and gals, i know its been a while longer than i anticipated, but with starting college again, and then catching flu (with which I've been out of action for the past 4 days) I've been unable to get my creative juices flowing. Truth be told, i'm still not at my best, so i apologise if this Chapter is sub par, and will get my bum moving with further chapters!
Alyssa
Born Twice
By Alyssa Plant
Chapter five
Becca trembled in Tony’s arms, she felt so utterly weak and powerless, this man had heard her story, and still liked her, still wanted her.
Becca Closed her eyes, she was so happy. She never saw the fist coming.
She felt the fist connect with her stomach and she fell back onto the pavement winded, he towered above her with a mask of rage distorting his features.
‘This is it.’ She thought, ‘It was too good to be true’
She saw a foot come falling down towards her face and as it connected, she realised it tasted like carpet.
Becca opened her eyes; yes, it was carpet; her bedroom carpet. She had fallen out of bed, it was all a bad dream.
She rolled over and stared up at the ceiling of her room and waited for her heart to stop vibrating inside her ribcage. Casting her mind back to the night before, she remembered her fear, the talk, the kiss….
Her beating heart was replaced by the squiggly feeling in her stomach. Was this what love felt like? Was there such thing as love at first sight?
Becca picked herself up from the floor and trudged through to the kitchen to make herself a coffee. The clock on the wall read 10am.
She stretched and looked around her apartment. It somehow felt like home now. Even thought it had only been a day. She felt grounded now. Finally she had ties in a place. And her life seemed more solid. She had something to live for.
Some time later, a more human and more suitably dressed Becca left her apartment building.
She was a woman with a mission, Ever since she had been a little girl, she had wanted to be a police officer, now that she had her own life, it was time for her to fulfil her dream.
Riding the bus into downtown Portsmouth was an interesting experience for Becca, she was finally seeing the place where she lived; people going about their lives.
The bus pulled over at the stop downtown, and Becca stepped down to the pavement. The City seemed bigger. Alive now, Of course she had been in the downtown area the night before, but it was quieter then. The bustle was disorientating.
If this had been a film, time would have slowed down and the camera panned around Becca standing on the sidewalk in the midst of the flowing human sea. But its not, and standing still for any amount of time would have left her trampled and hospitalised. So Becca forged forwards, and along the sidewalk till she came to the main police precinct.
Becca felt increasingly nervous as she climbed the steps to the building, Her subconscious told her something had to go wrong as the mist of her dreams condensed into reality.
Smiling at the man holding the door for her, she stepped inside the lobby and approached the main reception.
A bored looking Sergeant was alternately filling in a form and drinking from a ‘DAD’ mug.
After standing at the desk for what felt like an age, Becca coughed lightly, and the Sergeant looked up startled
“Oh sorry Ma’am, I didn’t see you there, what can I do for you?” the man smiled
“Um, I’m not sure of the procedure, but I was wondering if you were recruiting at the moment? She asked hopefully.
The Sergeant looked a bit surprised. “ you don’t strike me as the type, still, yes, we are, I don’t think we ever stop recruiting.” He chuckled
“Let me make a phone call and ill have someone come down and see you, have a seat over there” he gestured to a row of bolted down plastic seats by the wall.
Becca thanked him, and took a seat on the hard plastic.
“Hardling? Yeah… all quiet, one of those days… Got a kid down here who wants to talk to you about getting on the force…. Yeah, ok, ill send her up… Yeah, later…”
Listening to the half a conversation, Becca approached the desk as the Sergeant hung up the receiver and waited expectantly.
“Ok Miss, take the elevator over there” He gestured to the far side of the hall, “And ride up to the 6th, Our recruiting officer will meet you there. Good luck” he smiled.
“Ah, thank you, goodbye” Becca crossed the hall to the elevator, and after waiting for a moment, stepped into the steel box.
As the elevator reached the 6th floor, the knot in Becca’s stomach returned.
As the doors of the Elevator slid smoothly open, Becca was met by a tall matronly looking woman,
“Rebecca Anderson?” the woman asked, extending her hand. “ My name is Detective Hardling, please call me Mary”
Becca shook the police woman’s hand, and followed her to a small office off the main floor.
“Please have a seat Rebecca” Mary said gesturing to a chair in front of her desk, “So, why do you want to join the Portsmouth PD?
“Because I’ve been at the hands of injustice, and I know how it feels to think you’re alone, and that nobody can help you, or will, and I want to have the chance to be there for others who cant help themselves. I want to protect and enforce the laws for honest citizens who have done nothing wrong, and bring those who break laws to their selfish knees.”
Becca felt herself getting flustered; this was something she felt passionate about. Detective Hardling seemed to be smiling at least.
“Your British aren’t you?” The detective asked.
“Yes, well, half, my mother is American, so I hold dual citizenship, so my nationality wont be a problem?”
“of course not, it might have been had you been entirely British, but considering your Resume, I don’t think there will be any issue. We have an academy class beginning in a week’s time, can I sign you up for that?”
"Oh, id assumed that class would be full now, id expected to be stuck in the application process past them..."
"Were down on recruits over recent years" Hardling said almost ruefully, "So we have plenty of space right up to the wire."
Becca couldn’t say yes fast enough.
Returning home later that afternoon, her hand sore from filling in forms, Becca unlocked her apartment door to hear her answering machine bleeping.
Her heart bubbled like a school girl as she pressed the play button, hoping for Tony’s voice.
She didn’t have to wait long.
After several Utilities calls, she heard his voice:
“Hey there, just wanted to say I had a wonderful time last night, I cant believe I’ve found someone so wonderful, I guess this is a first for me, I’m not usually this tongue-tied, but can I see you again? Please? Call me…”
As the message ended, Becca was dialling…
“Denelli”
“hey its me” Becca rolled her eyes at saying ‘me’ one of her little habits, hoping people recognised her voice.
“hey there, I was wondering when you would call, how are you?”
He knew her voice, her tummy flipped happily. “I’m wonderful, I just got accepted to go to the Police Academy I was so worried they wouldn’t want me. How are you?”
“yeah, better now you called, PD huh? That’s a surprise, wow, didn’t figure you for the type, but that’s awesome, congratulations! When can I take you out to celebrate?”
“how about when I graduate?, but I might let you take me out on Thursday… maybe.” Becca grinned and twirled the phone cable around her finger as she spoke.
“you might huh? Well Thursday it is then, hope I don’t inconvenience you milady…”
Becca giggled, “Well then good sir, don’t be late….Bye”
“Bye”
Becca clasped the phone to her breast, god she liked this guy, he made her feel so special, like the only woman in the world.
Was this how life was meant to be?
A tear rolled down Becca’s cheek as she wished that her parents could see her now. The depressed, distant boy that they rejected was long gone. She was a happy, successful, pretty girl, and they would never see that…
Life clearly wasn’t perfect.
Born Twice
By Alyssa Plant
Chapter 6
Becca sat on her bed with her belongings around her, she had been in the apartment a week, and she was already leaving.
She had seen Tony on Thursday night, and being in his presence had been intoxicating.
She had allowed herself to get closer to him, now that he knew all her secrets. She felt so free being with him, so relaxed and happy. She understood how she felt, but she wasn’t ready to tell him she loved him yet, it was too early in their relationship for such strong words. She didn’t want to scare him off by looking desperate.
A whole 8 months of training and exams lay ahead for Becca; it was all so daunting.
She would show them, she would prove herself…
Becca giggled to herself, pondering her future was so deep, but not a subject to be thinking about when packing underwear.
It still felt strange to be finally getting the job she wanted, after all, this was her first real job since university, she was a grown woman now…
University seemed a distant point in her life… her childhood…. Remembering back to the years when Rebecca first came to be…
She began to drift off into a daydream…
Charlie sat on his bed, reading a novel in his room in the halls of residence.
It was quiet.
He liked quiet, and he preferred to avoid his flatmates for the most part. They were mostly sporty types and big guys, he liked them, but he didn’t want to push his luck hanging around with them too often.
It was hard enough for him to become close to anyone, because they wouldn’t know who he really was.
Any friends he made now, were befriending a lie, he was a lie. He was a she. As cheesy as it sounded in his head, he really was a girl in a boy’s body. Bouncing and rattling around in a misshapen vessel.
He had grown up in a loving family. Well, at least, they loved the shell. They probably suspected he was gay, but he couldn’t allow them to know the truth. It would break their hearts, and he needed their love, at least, the love directed his way, even if it wasn’t for who he was.
Here at university he was free from the pressure of his family, and she could blossom more.
Fate had intervened.
The university Accommodation officials had placed him on a floor with all the sporty boys. As such, the testosterone in the place was sometimes unbearable for Charlie.
He felt like he was back in school, the odd one out, the girl in disguise. The disguise she couldn’t remove…
Charlie began to drift off to revolutionary France and the mysterious ‘L'Homme au Masque de Fer’.
He was brought abruptly back to the real world from his wander in dreamland by a knock at the door.
“Coming”
He glanced at the clock on his nightstand… Five twenty seven. Just past jock face stuffing o clock.
Unlocking the door and opening it a crack, he came face to face with Paul, one of the guys from his floor.
Face to face is a bit of an over generalisation, there was a good foot height difference between the two, Paul standing an impressive 6’6.
“Uh hey man, look, I’ve got a problem, well we, uh,” Andy blushed and looked down the corridor “Hey Danny can you do this? I can’t ask him this man.”
Danny appeared at Charlie’s door moments later, and grinning like an idiot explained;
“Look, what our eloquent neighbour was trying to say was can you do us a favour and come to a party tonight? Its fancy dress you see and we’re doing sports teams.” He stated as if it was the most logical thing in the world.
“ aaaand were one down… we don’t have a tennis player…”
Charlie looked confused for a moment,
“Um, ok, but why cant you use Paul?”
Danny looked at Paul and grinned.
“Well, we are, he needs a partner…”
Charlie didn’t think Paul could have gone any redder if he had tried.
He smelt a rat.
Not a nice white lab rat… not even Pinky and the brain… a huge smelly rat…
“What’s the catch guys?”
He could see Danny working out how to word the next bit most diplomatically…
“Well you’d have to go as a girl, its guys and girls pairs… we have Tom and Annie doing American football. Me and Page doing Footy, James and Megan are doing hockey, I think?” He said looking at Paul for confirmation.
The still beat red Tennis player nodded
“Yep, and Well Paul was going with Tina, but she can’t go… work due in tomorrow, you know…” he tailed off.
The two looked at each other, Paul’s colour returning to near normal, then back at Charlie.
“I, uh, let me think about it ok?”
Charlie closed the door and slid down till he was sitting with his back to the door. His heart rate was racing…
Did they know?
Was this some joke on his part?
Why had they come to him?
They must suspect!
He felt as though a hammer was being beaten against his rib cage. He so very much wanted to accept their offer, but how to do so without looking too keen?
To them, he was a man, and as such, should be outraged by such a suggestion.
But did they see him as a man?
They were men or at least societies ’vision of manliness, sporting Adonis’. What was he?
He was surprised they allowed him to hang out with them at times, he was nothing compared to them,
This suggestion almost confirmed it in his head; they see me as a girl… or at least a sissy boy…small, feminine, unmanly…
“Maybe I should say yes?” he sighed to his empty room.
Slowly, he regained his feet, and made his way to Danny’s room. He knocked, each time, wondering if this was the right thing. The boy opened his door and smiled when he saw Charlie.
“Ill do it” he almost blurted out. “Just don’t make fun of me ok? I know I’m not as big as you guys.” Charlie looked at his feet, feeling himself turning red.
What he didn’t see was Danny’s expression, the young man hadn’t realised what this would suggest to Charlie that they thought of him.
”Hey man,” he said gently. “Look we really need a hand, and you’re a total dude for doing it… you have more balls than any of us to do it…”
Charlie giggled at the irony of that statement. And cut it off realising how girlish he probably sounded.
Looking up he said, “Well ill do it, just don’t rib me for it, and no photos ok?”
Danny grinned and said he would be back with Charlie’s costume.
Charlie wandered into the kitchen and flicked the kettle on and waited for Danny to return.
He was looking forward to this, but had to act like he didn’t like it. Any sign that he enjoyed it could spell doom for him. How easy that would be, he didn’t know.
The door banged open as Danny and Tom came in with a bag and a box of beers.
Handing one of the bottles to Charlie, they dropped the bag on the table before pulling their own beers from the box, and grabbing chairs.
“Right, here’s all the stuff, she threw in some bits to make it look less silly, and it’s not like you need a wig mate.” Danny said, punctuating his gentle dig with a swig from his bottle.
“Come on then, show us what she’s given you man” piped up tom.
“Uh, nah guys ill show you in a moment, ill just go change, ok?”
Tom looked disappointed but shrugged, “ok man, we’ll keep your beer cold.”
Charlie grabbed the bag nervously and disappeared into his room. After shutting the door and making sure it was locked, he put the bag down on his bed and began to go through it.
The first thing was a tennis dress, pretty standard, white, with the little skirt.
Bellow that, was a note, and some underwear
It read:
‘Charlie, thought you might like to borrow this stuff, ill never wear it, so chuck it out when your done, thought it might go with the dress better than boxers and you’ll need someplace for the other things, I wasn’t always so full of myself
Tina x’
Charlie picked up the bra and knickers from the bag. He could see why she wouldn’t wear them, they were probably a gift from some ex, with a creepy taste… all red lace and rather provocative.
“Well, if I’m going to do this, I might as well do it right,” he said to his favorite companion, his room.
Stripping down he stepped into his shower, and began to wash and remove any body hair.
Luckily he’d missed getting most of the more disgusting effects of puberty his floormates sported.
He stepped from the shower clean and fresh, and wrapping a towel around his hair, he walked into his room to face the challenge ahead.
Despite his feelings, this was the first time he had ever dressed as a girl, at least, fully, and people were going to see him. It was a scary prospect.
He slid the disgustingly trampy knickers up his legs and tucked his pitiful excuse for manhood out of sight. The smooth front that greeted him was what he had dreamt of since he was little.
The bra proved a challenge, but fastening it at the front and spinning it seemed to work. Maybe it would come with practice he giggled to himself.
In the bag he found what Tina had meant by ‘full of herself’, a pair of silicone breast forms which seemed to fit the cups of the bra quite snugly.
His hands trembled as he ran his hands over his new contours, or where they her hands at the moment?
This felt so right, so natural; something began to click inside Charlie’s head as she stood there in the room in just her underwear. This was who she was meant to be. Just this simple action of getting dressed seemed to calm her down; her body looking female seemed to fit so well in her head.
Charlie jumped as she realised she had began to think of herself as ‘her’ in her head.
Collecting her thoughts she turned to the Dress on the bed, and after working out it was meant to be pulled over, began to fight her way into it.
After a short and bloodless battle, it was on, and standing before her bathroom mirror, still misty from the steam, she saw the image of a girl. A young, lithe tennis player, she had a cute face and long legs, and a towel encasing her wet hair.
Mindlessly, she pulled it from her head and watched as her damp hair cascaded down to her shoulders.
As she stood there gawping, she began to feel a slight fluttering in her tummy, and felt her knees weaken.
Sitting down on the bed, she felt a tear trickle from her eye. She was alive. This was who she was; she felt it more now than ever. The feelings and confusion of her childhood so far were nothing compared to this.
Here she was, in her university room, in just underwear and a dress, and she felt so comfortable, so right. And looked so much like the girl she had dreamt to be come for years.
There was a knock at the door.
“Hey man, you coming out? Just because you’re dressing like a girl doesn’t mean you have to take for fucking ever dude.”
She got up, whipping the tears from her eyes and approached the door.
She opened it fully and was met by Danny’s shocked expression.
“Holy shit man, you’re a girl.”
Note from ze Author:
Sorry for taking forever guys! Ive had so much college work, and spending a week in the lake district measuring rocks (yes i'm a geographer) has really eaten my time for writing. Anyway, im on spring break now, so ill try to catch up by putting some serious work into this... Ill aim for chapter 7 by friday, and 8 by next monday at minimum!
Sorry again.
Alyssa
Born Twice
By Alyssa Plant
”Don’t worry. I’d never let anyone hurt you.”
“I believe you.” She whispered, looking into his eyes, feeling almost warm in the chill night air, a squiggly feeling swimming around her stomach.
Chapter 7
Danny’s jaw must have been resting somewhere around his crotch, he was speechless…
Charlie could feel her cheeks turning red as she stood there, realising how silly she must look, at least to them.
Danny seemed to regain his composure, and yelled into the kitchen something Charlie didn’t hear, but moments later, he was joined by the other boys from the floor, all gawping similarly.
Shifting her gaze, she began to fidget uncomfortably under the pressure of their eyes.
“Man, I can’t believe it, this is so freaky.” Tom was shaking his head with a confused, amused half grin on his tight lips.
General muttering broke out amongst the boys, and before jokes and insults could start, Charlie pushed her way past them and disappeared to hide in the kitchen.
She REALLY needed that beer now to calm her nerves.
Paul was the first to return to the kitchen. He was quite sheepish, and clearly uncomfortable.
“I bet you didn’t expect this when you asked huh?” Charlie said grinning nervously.
Paul slumped into a chair and after taking a long swig from his beer, sighed.
“Not really, we figured you might pull it off better than any of us, but not like that. I mean, your just wearing the stuff she gave you, most of us would look like bad cross dressers if we tried that…” he tailed off realising what he was saying.
“I guess you won’t be embraced at the party then?” Charlie ventured. “That was what you were wondering wasn’t it?”
Paul looked away, confirming her suspicions.
”How’s this then” Charlie blurted, very conscious that she was about to go out on a very narrow, weak limb, in a very high wind. “What if I get one of the girls to do makeup on me, and stuff, and I can just go as your date? Call me something else and pretend its not me?”
”You’d do that?”
His eyes gave his relief away.
“Uh, yeah, well you think I want people to know it’s me too?”
It at least made sense to play along for now. Play like she didn’t enjoy this, if she was ‘pretending’ to be a girl, then she could do the things she wanted, act how she wanted, and not raise questions.
Downing the last of her beer, she stood purposefully, and turned to Paul.
”Ill see you later, have a good time tonight ok?”
Paul looked confused and before he could form the words.
”Well, you’re going with Rebecca aren’t you? Charlie said smiling, and left Paul sat confused in the kitchen.
Where was this confidence coming from? Charlie had never been confident, especially around his floor mates, but SHE was...
She shook her head as she climbed the stairs in the hallway up to one of the girls floors where one of her few friends stayed.
Julie was in most of Charlie’s classes, and the two had grown close in an innocent way.
It was her door she was knocking on now, fully aware that she had never raised this subject with Julie.
The door opened to reveal her friend, some unintelligible TV show still playing in the background. She wore a blank ‘can I help you?’ expression.
“Err, yes?”
“Um, Jules, I was wondering if you could help me with a little problem…” Charlie stuttered, once again feeling like an idiot.
Julie’s jaw joined the others that had hit the floor that evening. “Charlie? Is that you? Oh my….”
“It’s for a party” Charlie blurted, knowing this was not the time to tell his friend, even his best friend.
“I need someone to help with makeup and things, I’m clueless…”
Julie just grinned and opened the door wider to her friend
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Charlie knew that Julie knew. They were too close for that. But she would respect her wishes for now. Words were not important.
“So this is your floor mates isn’t it? Some sport nut party I bet, why are you going?” she called over her shoulder while she pulled some things from her bathroom.
“I don’t know, they asked, I wasn’t doing anything, it seems like a laugh” Charlie said shrugging as Julie came back into the room with a handful of cosmetics.
She directed Charlie to her desk chair, and perching on her bed, set to work with brushes and sticks of things that Charlie had very little idea about.
“Werl, I gesh if vey aren’t going to give you problemsh, it cant ‘urt” She mumbled through a mouth of brushes.
Overcome with a wave of guilt at this white lie she was feeding her friend, she began to say something, but was immediately silenced by a marauding tube of something.
Julie stood back and admired her work.
“Not bad. Not bad if I do say so myself.” She grinned. “Its scary how much like a real girl you look…” She said shaking her head slightly.
”Here, take this, and this, oh, and this might help.” She said throwing some bracelets, a necklace, and a small bag into Charlie’s hands.
After popping some essential touch-up items into the bag, she sent her friend packing.
Charlie was still numb from Julie’s comment. ‘Real girl…. You aren’t a real girl’ kept swimming around her head
Would she ever be a real girl? Would she be forever just out of reach?
Fingering the silver chain around her neck, she opened the door to her floor. There was a pre party in full swing in the kitchen at the far end, and she began her walk.
The first person she met was Page, stood in the doorway on her phone in a far from match ready version of the Chelsea football strip. Rebecca smiled at her and entered the kitchen. Feeling emboldened, she walked over to Paul and tapped him on the shoulder before standing back with a hand on her hip.
He turned as he was sipping another beer, and nearly choked.
“Holy crap, uh Rebecca, you’re hot” he said dumbly.
“Well aren’t you one with the Ladies Paul” shot a raven haired Indian girl, grinning like a devil.
“I don’t think I’ve met you… I’m Annie.” she said, extending her hand to Rebecca.
Shaking it nervously, she smiled, “Rebecca, Rebecca Thompson, I’m a friend of Paul’s from class.”
”Nice to meet you.” She smiled.
Page returned to the kitchen announcing that the Taxi’s had arrived, and after making a bee line for her Tennis partner. Rebecca joined the merry crowd heading out of the building.
The way down the stairs, she could feel Paul’s eyes on her. It made her feel special, even if nothing would happen, they could pretend tonight, and she would go back to being Mr Invisible the next day. It wouldn’t happen, so what did it matter?
In the Taxi, she felt her leg against Paul’s. She retracted hers about the same time he did, and the pair shared a nervous glance. This wasn’t an ordinary situation for either of them.
“Cheer up Becca, he might get pissed and pass out” Shot Danny from the other side of Paul.
Those words made her feel so normal, like she was meant to be there. She could be herself now, and let her hair down, metaphorically speaking. In reality, it was up in a playful sporty ponytail, with a few errant strands framing her face.
Julie had artfully accentuated her natural looks, not trampish, not overdone, but elegant, and fresh.
They arrived at the party, taking place at a house off campus. And all made their ways inside.
Music was thumping, and people were drinking and laughing, sports kit was the order of the evening, and Rebecca was hard pressed to not find a sport represented in some form or other.
She couldn’t help but giggle as she saw a pair running around and slamming into each other. One Dressed as a tennis racquet, and the other, a ball.
The party went well, Rebecca and Paul Mingled and circled, and chatted to people they knew, dancing once or twice. Rebecca felt truly comfortable with herself. Happy for once, she was finally letting her guard down. Paul was nice…. It was a pity this was a Cinderella story of sorts she thought.
The two of them had gotten over their shyness, and were acting like a couple. Holding hands, dancing together, even the others hadn’t batted an eyelid at the obvious chemistry developing between the pair.
”Do you want something to drink?” Paul asked, his shyness clearly wearing off.
”That would be nice…” She said smiling up at him
He disappeared into the crowd and left Rebecca alone.
Moments later, Rebecca felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned expecting Paul, She was faced by a rather drunk looking guy in a tracksuit.
“Hey there sweetie, you here with anyone?” he slurred.
”I uh, yes, he just went for drinks…” Rebecca said looking around desperately for any sign of Paul returning.
Pressing her back into the wall, Mr Tracksuit grinned at her and moved forwards opening his lips, before moving backwards rather quickly.
Paul had the guy by his collar and was glaring at him.
“I wus only talking to her man, chill”
“Fuck off Phil, she’s mine…” he growled shoving the guy into the seething mass of bodies.
He turned back to her, his mask of anger melting into one of concern. “Are you ok? Did he hurt you?”
Just barely keeping from hyperventilating, Rebecca just nodded and grimaced.
“You want to get some air?” he said, handing Rebecca a bottle.
Rebecca nodded, and allowed Him to put his arm around her waist and guide her out through the kitchen to some seats in the garden.
“Are you ok now?” He asked, still looking worried.
”I’m fine, he just scared me, that guy was really drunk.” She said taking a sip from her drink.
They sat for a moment in silence, the throb of the party in the background.
”Don’t worry. I’d never let anyone hurt you.”
“I believe you.” She whispered, looking into his eyes, feeling almost warm in the chill night air, a squiggly feeling swimming around her stomach.
“You know, I meant what I said in there…” He tailed off. “I, you know…”
“That I’m yours?” She half whispered, half sighed. As she said it, she felt so silly, she was a boy, pretending to be a girl, she would never be a real girl, he knew that….
He lifted her chin and stared into her eyes, cocking his head slightly,
”Yeah, if you want to be.”
She closed her eyes and parted her lips slightly, she felt his lips brush hers, tentatively, almost asking. She let her mouth open slightly and cocked her head, accepting his kiss. The squigglyness began to magnify, and she felt light headed as he wrapped his other arm around her waist and pulled her to him. Their tongues danced like flickering flames, and arms roamed tentatively.
Rebecca opened her eyes and sighed.
“This is all make-believe…. You know that right?” She said, trying to convince herself that this wasn’t happening, that she wasn’t falling for him. To almost remind him that she wasn’t a real girl.
“You know, after what I’ve seen tonight, and when I kissed you….” He took her hand in his, “I don think it is, do you?”
Born Twice
By Alyssa Plant
'A slight smile came to her lips as she realised she was on her boyfriends bed where the two of them had just been making out.'
Chapter 8
Charlie awoke the next morning. She was in her room, the party had happened, she could feel the dry, carpety taste in her mouth from a night of alcohol and cigarette smoke.
Swinging her feet out of the bed, she padded to the bathroom to relive herself.
Sitting on the toilet she could see her image reflected in the mirror above the wash basin…
Bedraggled; yes, tired; yes, but she realised she still saw Rebecca staring back at her.
Touching her fingertips to her lip she recalled the kiss. Her very first kiss… and it had been with a boy. A floor mate for god’s sake.
That would lead to problems she thought as she finished her business and wandered out of her room towards the kitchen in search of caffeine.
Walking into the kitchen he was surprised to find Page and Annie sat at the table, chatting over mugs of coffee.
Charlie froze.
“Oh morning, not feeling to hung-over I hope?” Page smiled.
“I uh, no, not really, I didn’t drink that much” Charlie shrugged as she moved to the coffee maker to pour herself a mug of thick black wakeup juice.
“You girls stayed here last night?” She asked casually.
Annie giggled, “Uhuh, looks like someone else has a walk of shame later too… How long have you and Paul been seeing each other?”
Charlie turned bright red. “No no! We’re just friends, I just went as his date because another friend couldn’t make it…”
Page looked confused for a moment.
“But you’re here…. Who did you stay with?”
I stayed in my room… I live here.”
It was Annie’s turn to look confused;
”isn’t this an all guys floor?”
”uhuh” Charlie mumbled as she stretched, suddenly realising how she was dressed, and where things were going, quickly, she dropped her arms. A baggy band tee-shirt and the underwear from the night before wasn’t the most sensible outfit to wander the floor in.
“Now this might sound stupid” Page said slowly, taking a sip from her mug, “But why do you live here then?” arching her eyebrows as if to punctuate the question.
It looked like she was flat out of options.
“Uh, it’s a long story,”
Charlie told them everything. And she was in tears by the time she had finished talking.
Annie moved her chair around the table and pulled Charlie into a hug.
The Dams burst and Charlie sobbed against Annie’s shoulder.
“I promise your secret is safe sweetie” Page soothed. “We honestly had no clue, and you’ll just be Rebecca to us, hell, anyone can see you’re not a boy”
Charlie sniffed and slumped down in her chair.
“I never realised what it would do to me, how I would feel, I just know its right, like when I kissed Paul… something just seemed… right. You know?”
The girls nodded
“What are you going to do now?” Annie said collecting up their mugs to wash.
“Well I guess there’s some music to face somewhere.” I just know I can’t cope with how I was, it feels like a lie… but it’s all I have.”
The girls looked at each other, “Well were taking you shopping” announced Page, “You need clothes girl, can’t run around like a tomboy for ever.”
“You, you’d do that? For me?”
“You’re a sweet girl, and Annie and I really like you. And don’t even think about it, that’s what friends are for right?” Smiled Page,
”Come on, you have someone to talk to, and we need to head home, pick you up about lunchtime? The girls both gave Charlie a hug on their way out as she steeled her nerves to knock on Paul’s door.
“Ugh, here goes nothing” She muttered as she rapped on the door.
There was a loud thump and a “coming!” from inside.
Paul opened the door and was surprised to see her there.
“Uh, Rebecca, um, sorry Charlie, uh, sup?”
“You had it right the first time.” She blushed, “We nee to talk”
“Oh, uh, sure, come in” he said standing aside to let Rebecca into his room. She walked in, and standing with her back to him, she sighed, and tried to find the courage to say the words.
”Look, about last night, I need to know how you feel about this, because, I uh, this has changed things a great deal. I can’t go back” She said as she turned to face him.
“Did you mean it?”
The confusion on Paul’s face melted, and he pulled her to him,
“Of course, every word. I was worried that you would hate me, or avoid me, or what would happen if you had gone back, I, I, I’m not gay.” He stammered.
“But then, you’re not a boy are you? Were you ever?”
”I’m here for you, please know that, I know its only been a day, but I feel something Becca, I need you, and ill kill anyone who tries to harm you. ANYONE”
Becca felt him tighten up as he said those words. And she sobbed quietly into his chest.
Paul lifted Rebecca’s chin up to meet his eyes. “You’re mine”
His lips brushed hers ever so lightly and she willingly accepted his kiss, moving her arms to surround his neck.
Their tongues danced and played and Becca felt her knees going weak.
They sat on the edge of Paul’s bed and began kissing once more, their hands touching each others bodies almost shyly.
Becca felt at peace with the word in Paul’s arms; she felt safe, and happy.
She felt his hand reach to touch her non existent breast and she shied away slightly fearing his reaction to her flatness.
There was none, and she sighed as he lightly rubbed her nipple though the material of the tee-shirt.
Almost unconsciously she felt herself leaning back against the bed and felt Paul coming with her.
Rebecca felt beyond aroused, this was the first time she had ever felt this way, and it was intoxicating, it seemed so natural, so, right.
What Paul was doing to her chest was amazing, and she pushed him off and sat to remove her tee-shirt, leaving her lying there in just her knickers feeling extremely exposed.
She saw a warm smile spread across his lips as he lowered his head to her chest.
Becca felt her breath quicken and warmth spread around her body.
There was a knock at the door, and the pair quickly detangled from each other and Rebecca redressed in her tee and sat cross-legged on the bed.
A slight smile came to her lips as she realised she was on her boyfriends bed where the two of them had just been making out.
Tom and Danny stood at the door, and seeing Rebecca behind Paul made Danny laugh out loud.
“I won, he’s a chick, and they got it on, so pay me bitch”
Danny turned back to Paul still grinning.
“Hey look man, if you’re not too busy were going for a game in the part, you up for it?”
Paul looked back at Rebecca who just smiled and nodded.
”Sure guys. Becca, you coming?” He said turning round again.
Rebecca shook her head, “Nah. Going shopping with Annie and Page, you go have fun.”
The guys bounded off down the corridor and Becca headed back to her room.
Why had nobody made a fuss? They all acted like they knew… or at the very least suspected…
Rebecca vowed to take this opportunity to do something right with her life.
So this was what happiness felt like?
Please remember to post a comment! I really appreciate your feedback!
Born Twice
By Alyssa Plant
”You really need our help girl; we have to save you before tomboyitis takes a firm hold.”
Chapter 9
Rebecca wondered what she should wear to go shopping with Annie and Page. She had no girls’ clothes, and even if she did, she was unsure about going out in public, as right as she felt.
Donning a pair of androgynous jeans, and a university hoodie, she sat on her bed to wait for the girls.
This had happened so fast; she had been forced to confront the issue, and now it was carrying her along in its wake… decisions making themselves…
She began to wonder what family life would be like, as a girl. She could stop pretending to like sports to please her father, a weight off her shoulders. She prayed that he might love her.
As Rebecca drifted off into a daydream about her father giving her away at her wedding, her phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Hey love, its us, come down, were outside” came the voice of Annie through her phones speaker.
“Sure, 2 secs” Becca hung up and left the building to begin another leg of the bizarre journey.
As she exited the building, she saw Annie in the passenger seat of Page’s car, a cute little hatchback.
Greeting the girls, she joined them in the car, and before she could even fasten her seatbelt, she had Annie shaking her head melodramatically at her.
”You really need our help girl; we have to save you before tomboyitis takes a firm hold.” She giggled.
”I didn’t have anything else” muttered Rebecca, “And besides, I don’t think I’m comfortable with the idea of being a girl in public yet.”
“Seriously love, nobody sees a boy anyway, even dressed like that, and Annie is right, you so need saving, nobody would see anything but a tomboyish girl hiding her figure under baggy clothes.” Page said locking eyes with Rebecca through the rear-view mirror, “Are you sure you’re a boy physically?” she giggled.
Rebecca felt a tear roll down her cheek and turned to look out the window.
Page hadn’t missed it.
”oh my god, I’m sorry Becca, you know I didn’t mean that like that. I was just trying to be light-hearted, I’m sorry.”
Rebecca didn’t say another word for the rest of the journey.
Arriving at the out of town mall, the girls left the car to conduct some intensive retail therapy.
Rebecca didn’t feel nervous, after all, why should she? She was dressed how she did day in day out. But was page right?
Did people see her as a girl anyway?
Once inside the store, Annie and Page dragged Rebecca into the Lingerie department.
”If were doing this right, we’d best work from the inside outwards…” Said Annie as she flicked through a rack of bras.
“What’s your band size?” Annie looked at Rebecca who shrugged.
Sighing, Annie pulled a tape measure from her. “Page, deal with her” she announced. “Ill go get some of the other essentials.”
Taking her hand, Page dragged Rebecca into the changing rooms.
“Come on then, off with it, I need to measure you” she said impatiently while Becca stood dumbly.
Almost giving in, Rebecca removed her hoodie, and Page slipped the tape around her torso.
”34, brilliant, you’ve got the pick of styles” She said handing Becca her Hoodie back.
“You know, even without b... visible breasts” Page corrected. I still have a hard time believing you were born in a male body…”
“Don’t make me prove it,” Rebecca quipped on their way out, “I don’t think either of us would like that”. She giggled.
The trio blazed through the department stores and boutiques of the mall, and 4 hours later, sat drinking cokes in the food court.
After 20 minutes convincing and bargaining, Rebecca sat in a pair of crá¨me girls’ jeans, and a black fitted blouse, assisted in the chest department by some strategic hosiery.
“See? That wasn’t so hard was it?” Annie asked after taking a sip from her drink.
”I know your scared honey, but trust me, nobody has a clue, and they have even less chance to have a clue now your dressing like a girl too… people see a duck shaped, duck sounding, duck walking, um, duck, and they see a duck….
You look like a girl, considering you’ve never tried, you move like a girl, and you sound like a girl. I doubt any store here has in-house gynaecologists or x-ray cameras… so were safe for now…”
Rebecca sighed, she knew here fear was irrational, but it was all so new, she was sure something had to go wrong soon.
As things were going, the only person who was having a bad day was her bank manager.
“I know Annie, and I cant thank you guys enough, I wouldn’t have had the courage to do this without you, you’re the best friends ever.
Rebecca began to tear up as she smiled broadly at her friends.
Finishing their drinks, the three began to head towards the car when Page spotted a Claire’s Accessories store, and tapping Annie on the shoulder, diverted Rebecca in.
“This love, is on us” The pair announced as they directed Rebecca to the earrings section.
“I don’t have pierced ears guys; I can’t wear any of these….” Becca absent-mindedly announced as she flipped through the racks.
“We have that covered” Page grinned as Annie returned with an Assistant.
10 minutes, and a great deal of noise from Rebecca, she left with a double piercing in each ear lobe.
“Don’t worry Bex; I kicked up a worse fuss when I had mine done….”
“You weren’t 18” Rebecca muttered. She felt somewhat embraced at her performance, but it had been a very big piercing gun…
Linking arms, the 3 left the mall to return to the car.
On the way home, Rebecca couldn’t help but giggle at the thought of the little car scraping along the road with the weight of her shopping.
She had spent over £600 on clothing and accessories, and it really hadn’t felt like 4 hours either…
Rebecca wondered what damage she could do to her bank balance with a full day.
She was making friends for the first time, and she was accepted for who she was. She could feel herself floating on an emotional high.
Rebecca’s tummy did flips as she imagined what Paul was doing right now.
Probably eating, drinking, or playing video games with the guys she guessed, it would be nice to imagine he was thinking of her though.
Clouds began to drift across Rebecca’s sunshine as she thought of her parents.
Would they accept her like this? They had known she was horribly depressed in her teens, but could they accept this as why? Would they try to convince her she was still depressed? Or delusional?
What scared Rebecca the most was that she didn’t know what they would think? It scared her that she so blatantly didn’t know her parents. Almost as bad as them not knowing HER.
As the car pulled into the grounds of the Hall of residence, Rebecca was roused from her mental conflict.
As they carried the small mountain of bags up to Rebecca’s floor, she passed Danny on the stairway.
Danny raised his eyebrows when he saw her
“You just proved beyond a doubt that you’re a woman Becca…. No man could buy that much crap so fast”
Rebecca grinned up at her floor mate/
”I had a lot of catching up to do, and I had help of course….” She giggled jerking her head in the direction of Annie and Page.
Danny threw his hands up in surrender, “I give up! I don’t get you women.”
“Is pa…” Becca began before Danny broke out laughing.
“Oh yeah, he’s in his room, he’s been pining about you all afternoon. And don’t worry, he’s talked to us all, we know the score, and were cool with it, were on your side ok? I am sort of to blame…” he admitted sheepishly as he took some bags from Rebecca.
“No you didn’t Danny, you just catalysed things” She admitted shaking her head.
“It would have happened with or without you guys,” she sighed, “It’s not over yet though, this was just the beginning.”
“of your shopping?” he grinned
“no, dealing with the fallout of coming out…” she sighed. “I am glad that you guys are ok with it, I really worried that you would all hate me for it.”
“Why? You’re our friend, and we aren’t stupid, were at university, if we had closed minds, we wouldn’t have lasted here….” Danny said as he dumped the bags onto Rebecca’s bed.
“See you later lass” he called as he left the room. “Oh, lost puppy incoming” he laughed.
Rebecca spun around to see Paul stick his head around the door.
“Wow you girls were busy, god Rebecca, you look amazing.” He gasped.
“What? This old thing?” she giggled plucking at her blouse. “Glad my efforts are appreciated” she giggled as she snuggled into his arms.
“EHEM” Page cleared her throat.
”Could you two lovebirds keep off each other for a moment?
Rebecca looked back over her shoulder without detaching from Paul’s embrace,
”like I said to Danny, I have a lot of catching up to do” She giggled.
Born Twice
By Alyssa Plant
“Ah fair enough” She smiled. “I guess all boys’ school must have been hard.”
Charlie stopped walking and looked at Sarah panic stricken.
“Hang on; I thought you thought that….”
Chapter 10
Rebecca woke almost instantly. It was the sort of waking that occurred once your body had spent enough time resting, and the power automatically tripped back on, not the groggy awakening that occurred due to nasty things, like alarm clocks.
She looked around her room. The hazy morning sun was breaking though the cracks in the curtains, casting beams of light across the room.
Rebecca sighed at nothing in particular, a most contented sound.
Slipping out of bed, and sitting up, Rebecca rubbed her eyes and pulled her fringe out of her vision.
She had class today, several, and a seminar group meeting. It looked like it was time to return to being Charlie.
With a heavy heart, Rebecca pushed herself to the back of her mind. This was going to be hard
Half an hour later, Charlie found himself stood at the bus stop. It felt so strange to be a boy again. Surely that was weird? He mused.
If anything, he felt like this was truly the act, a fact emphasised by having to constantly check that he didn’t lapse back into more feminine mannerisms.
Stepping off the bus at the university was the first time Charlie felt nervous, a sea of people, itself a nameless faceless mass, but how could he hide things from his classmates? His lecturers? God, the university? How would they treat him?
Considering things for a moment, Charlie pulled out his mobile, and made an appointment with the University doctor. At the very least, it was time to face facts.
He would begin the process, and then deal with things when he was forced to. At least it was a stay of execution, perhaps when he started to look more feminine, he could deal with the process of coming out.
As normal, Charlie took his place towards the rear of the lecture theatre for his first class, ignoring his classmates. Being alone solved problems. He didn’t have to explain to more friends and acquaintances if he was a ghost.
4 hours of lectures later, and nothing untoward happening, Charlie made his way through the sea of human traffic to the building that hosted to his Seminar class.
Once seated in the room with around 20 other students, the class leader, Professor Elegy silenced them.
“Ok class, today were going to do group work on presentations, the subjects you can decide, but i want a good 10 minute presentation at the end of it…” he enthused.
The room descended into mayhem as people shuffled around the room to find people to work with.
“So much for a low profile” Charlie muttered to himself as he wandered over to a group of 3 girls and a boy.
“Um hi, can I join you guys? I don’t have a group” he timidly asked.
“Hey sure, pull up a chair” Smiled a slightly chubby blonde girl.
”I’m Sarah, this is Amy, Hannah, and our lone ranger is Toby.” She beamed.
This girl has far too much energy, Charlie thought. Ah well, at least I wont have to do much speaking in the presentation.
“Charlie.” He replied softly
As the group got down to work, Charlie began to open up. The people he was with weren’t so bad. Maybe some friends couldn’t hurt?
The group had decided to present a piece about popular music through the ages.
Before long, Charlie forgot how he was meant to be acting, and slowly slipped back to more feminine body language and speech patters that almost seemed natural now.
“So” announced Hannah with a finality. “Us girls will do the first 4 sections, and you can sum up Toby, how’s that work?”
Charlie did a double take. Surely they didn’t think he was a girl too? The conflict in his heart hurt. He so wanted to accept the words. But could he? It could have been a slip of the tongue he reasoned.
General mutterings of agreement circled the group, and they waited their turn to present their subject.
“Ok girls, you’re next” Announced Professor Elegy “Oh dear, Girls and boy. Sorry Toby” He corrected.
Toby blushed as the as mattering of laughter emanated from the room.
Nobody noticed Charlie blushing furiously too.
After the class, Charlie was walking out with the group chatting to the bubbly Sarah. As they crossed the road, Charlie spotted Paul walking on the opposite side of the road.
Almost at that moment he looked across and caught her eye and smiled and waved as he walked.
Charlie Sighed and waved back.
Sarah spotted the silly little grin on Charlie’s face and smiled broadly.
“Your boyfriend?”
Thinking for a moment about the class, Charlie threw caution to the wind. “Yeah, I guess he is.”
“You guess?” Sarah asked, her eyebrows rising.
“Uhuh, we only just got together, I’m still a bit new to the whole relationships thing.”
“Really? You never dated in school?” Sarah questioned, obviously looking for a reason more than confirmation.
“Uh, yeah, I was at a single sex school” Charlie replied, hoping that it would do. Well it was true she guessed, just the wrong sex.
“Ah fair enough” She smiled. “I guess all boys’ school must have been hard.”
Charlie stopped walking and looked at Sarah panic stricken.
“Hang on; I thought you thought that….”
“Relax honey” Sarah said putting her arm around Charlie and guiding her on.
“It was guesswork mostly” plus id noticed you in class once or twice. Mainly because you’re too pretty to be a boy, something I only found out when I saw the student profile photos in the office. Plus with the way you were acting today, it wasn’t like a gay guy, so I figured you were transitioning or something?”
“Well yeah, I am I guess” Charlie whispered shyly. “How do you know about trans….” Her own eyebrows rising towards her scalp.
“I had an ex back in school who became a girl, but she wasn’t as pretty as you. How long have you been on hormones? It must be horrid hiding as a boy, well ish” she giggled.
“I, uh, I’m not.” Charlie stammered.
“Wow really?” god, you look just like any other girl, except you’re a little flat up here” she said, gesturing at her bosom.
Charlie giggled. “Yeah, I can’t really help that at the moment”
“So are you going to start coming to class dressed a bit more normal?” Sarah asked.
“Um, it’s a bit soon I think, I’m still a bit worried what everyone thinks or would think…” Charlie sighed.
Sarah stopped and placing both her hands on Charlie’s shoulders, she said; “Look sweetie, you do realise half the class think you’re a tomboy and the other half, a lesbian…. So dressing a bit more girly wont make them think anything…”
Charlie was stunned.
“I, uh, i…. really?”
Sarah nodded.
“Oh” was all Charlie could manage to say in reply.
All this time, she had wondered what her classmates would think, when in reality, they already assumed….
“I guess ill make more of an effort tomorrow then.” Charlie smiled. “Ah this is me” She said pointing at the residence hall. “I guess ill see you tomorrow?”
“Ya” Sarah grinned, giving Charlie a hug. “Meet you here at like, 9.40 and we can walk down?”
”Id like that” Charlie smiled.
Waving, she turned and walked into the building, a broad grin fixed to her face.
Bouncing into her room, she stripped off the tee-shirt and jeans, and dove into her wardrobe.
Fifteen minutes later, she emerged in a pink camisole, denim ripped miniskirt, black ankle leggings, and ballet flats, her hair pulled into a bouncy ponytail.
Slowly she climbed the stairs to Julie’s floor and knocked on her door.
Julie’s eyes went wide as she opened the door. “I guess its time we had a talk huh girl friend?”
An hour later, the two friends sat hugging and crying on Julie’s bed.
“You know, I always wondered.” She said between sniffs.
“UGH” Grumbled Rebecca.
“did anyone ever think I was a boy?” she giggled.
“I thought you didn’t want to be one missy?” smiled Julie.
“That madam, is not the point” Rebecca grinned dodging a swipe from Julie.
Julie’s face got serious for a moment.
”Have you figured out what your going to say to your mum and dad?”
Born Twice
By Alyssa Plant
Chapter 11
It was a quarter to ten the next day as Rebecca made her way out of the Hall of Residence and headed for the main road. It felt oddly relaxing that she was here finally going to be herself.
She wondered if Sarah had been kidding about her classmates all thinking her a girl already.
Nervously, she tugged at the hem of her skirt, suddenly alarmingly aware of the brevity of it, and the reality of her situation.
This wasn’t a party, it wasn’t a bet, or even the trip to the mall. This was reality. This had consequences and reactions; she would be accountable for once.
At the back of the fear however, she felt a warm feeling. She felt complete, herself finally. It seemed so clichéd she thought, giggling to herself.
She had dressed to blend in today; wearing what was unofficially a girls’ uniform for their university. Her denim miniskirt with leggings; providing much needed warmth in the morning chill, topped off with a grey university sweatshirt. Simple, yet invisible. She had spent forever wondering what to wear to not look like a transsexual, that her clothing could out her by making an error.
There was a niggling feeling in the back of her mind that told her someone would know; someone couldn’t be fooled by her attempts. After all, she was a boy wasn’t she? Physically at least she knew she was male, granted not a very good example of it. But surely a male body couldn’t look like a girl?
Conflict wracked her brain as she considered weather she was allowed to enjoy being a girl, being herself?
A happy voice snapped her out of her thought as Sarah bounded up behind her.
“Morning! Wow you’re looking much better this morning!” she beamed.
Rebecca smiled as they set off walking side by side.
“Thanks, I’m still fairly scared though.” She whispered.
“Oh don’t be love” Sarah admonished. “I swear, if I didn’t know, I couldn’t tell, and if anyone would tell you I would, now stop being scared you silly goose”
Rebecca shrugged her shoulders and grinned sheepishly.
”Well I guess it’s still taking getting used to.”
“So you’re sticking with Charlie?” Sarah asked, lowering her voice.
“Hrm, no,” Rebecca decided. “My name’s Rebecca” She smiled, remembering where the name came from.
“Coolness” Beamed Sarah. “Well most people don’t know your name; just say Charlotte was your middle name.”
Arriving outside the department, Rebecca froze with fear in front of the door.
Sarah caught her and led her over to a bench near the entrance.
“I know this is scary honey, ok? But believe me, it’s a none-issue to them. You’re just confirming what they already believe.” She whispered hugging Rebecca tightly.
“I, I don’t know, it just seems so big, I can’t go back after this, not that I want to.” She quickly stated,
”It will just be real, and I’m scared of change, its all been so fast. But I’m so excited, and want this. Its so confusing.” She sighed.
The two girls hugged till Sarah reminded them they had a class, and shaking, she led Rebecca into the building and down to their Lecture hall.
Walking into the room, Rebecca felt like she was going to be sick, but very few people actually looked at her.
Sarah pulled her onto a row of seats and up to a group of girls chatting away merrily.
“Hey guys, this is Becca.” She announced collapsing down onto a seat.
Mutterings of greeting were exchanged and before long, Rebecca was surrounded by other girls from her class, none of whom seemed to notice anything out of order.
By the End of the first class, Rebecca had almost forgotten her past. Nobody cared, or noticed. And that normality finally grounded her. This was what she was missing?
People smiled at her, talked to her, and treated her like a human being.
The world seemed to blur around Rebecca as she realised that she was happy. That she hadn’t been before. It was a shock to her system.
“Come on dozy”
Rebecca snapped out of her trance.
“Come on” Sarah giggled, “Were going for coffee before the next class, better than hanging around here”
Rebecca shrugged and followed Sarah and her friends.
As they walked, Rebecca heard running behind them and felt a hand on her shoulder before she could turn.
“Heya” Panted Paul.
”I saw you walking and hoped you didn’t have a class next?” He smiled at Rebecca.
Sarah and her friends automatically pulled back giving the two some space.
“Not really, I was just heading to the union for coffee with my friends, you want to come?” she asked, then looked back at Sarah;
“Its ok if Paul comes isn’t it?” she questioned.
“Sure, more the merrier! We couldn’t have you sulking alone” she laughed.
Rebecca beamed and felt her tummy doing flip flops. She liked being around Paul, he was so sweet and kind and utterly gorgeous. She felt lucky to be his girlfriend.
After brief introductions, the group headed off to the union building to waste away the hours before their next class.
Once they had collected their drinks, the gang found a small seating area, and Rebecca joined Paul on one of the sofas; curling up next to him with his arm around her.
She felt so safe, so, happy. Sipping her Cappuccino, she glanced across at Sarah who was grinning at her shaking her head.
Rebecca raised her eyebrows and smiled. It felt good to have friends.
Somehow she knew the days of whiling away the time between classes in a computer room somewhere, or wandering the campus with her mp3 player were melting away.
She didn’t feel inclined to stop them either.
“Rebecca”
Becca snapped out of yet another trance hearing her name. It was Jenny, one of Sarah’s friends.
“So why the big change?”
Rebecca’s blood ran cold, did she know?
“Um, I don’t know what you mean” She stuttered, looking to Sarah for help, who just grinned and sipped her drink.
She would get her later.
“Well one day you’re dressing like a boy, and being all antisocial, and now you’ve become all girly overnight, what’s the deal?”
Rebecca felt a wave of relief wash over her, this she could handle.
“I don’t know what I was thinking quite honestly. I was really shy and was s unsure of myself.
I guess you can say my meeting Paul changed my outlook on things…” she grinned.
Jenny smiled. “Well it’s sure an improvement, plus it’s destroyed the rumours that you were gay or something.” She giggled.
“I can confirm she is NOT gay” Paul grinned dodging a playful slap from Rebecca
“Did many people think that?” asked Rebecca
“Jenny nodded. “That or you were a girl who wanted to be a boy”
Rebecca grinned inwardly at that one.
“We all make mistakes,” she mused out loud, “I’m just glad I found myself as it were.”
“Are you two coming to the end of year ball?” Amy asked.
“Are we?” Paul asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Hmm, I think so, I hadn’t planed to, to be honest, but I think we might, if you want to?” Rebecca replied.
“God their acting like a married couple already” Sarah groaned.
“Are you going to start answering for each other next?” she laughed as she ducked the newspaper Rebecca launched at her.
“Oh crap, look at the time” Amy announced. “We have hst242 in 10 minutes”
“Ugh I hate Tomkins; he drones on and on and never puts his lectures online.” Jenny grumbled.
The group extracted themselves from the coffee shop and began to walk over to the lecture theatre.
Paul deliberately slowed Rebecca down as they were walking and quietly asked her about the ball.
“You sure you’re ok with going? We don’t have to if it’s too much for you.”
“No, id love to go, its something I always dreamed of.” She replied.
“I definitely think it would be fun. Plus you’d look cute in a tux” she giggled.
“Well having you on my arm won’t hurt my reputation” Paul grinned.
“Oh, is that all I am to you? Eye candy?” she said trying to look hurt.
It didn’t work, but it did win her a rather public and very passionate kiss which answered her question.
The two parted and Rebecca caught up with her friends to continue the strange new experience of normal life.
Please comment! thier really helpful and i love reading your views.
Alyssa
Born Twice
By Alyssa Plant
'Sat on her bed in her underwear, Rebecca stared at her dress on its hanger.
Was this something she was prepared to do? She knew she wanted to, but could she compete against the real girls? Would anyone notice? '
Chapter 12
Part one — Prelude to the Ball
Rebecca woke slowly; drowsily becoming aware of her surroundings.
Had it been a month already?
She gazed lazily around the bedroom, not wanting to move and admit to the world that she had woken; around her she saw the little changes in her life that had occurred:
The vanity; makeup scattered across its surface, the little feminine trinkets that littered her personal possessions...
The ball dress that was hanging on her wardrobe; its silken material glittering in the morning sunlight.
She looked towards her bedroom wall, the photographs, the nights out, her and Paul, her and friends, a documentation of happiness.
Sitting up in bed, she felt the tears roll down her cheeks.
Shaking her head with a slight giggle, she dried her eyes; these hormones were playing with her body something chronic.
It was an amazing feeling, every day that passed; she felt more like one person. More like herself, that emerging little girl within her.
Looking down, prodded the slight bulges on her chest, tender, itchy, but still breast, her very own breasts.
“My left breast” she muttered as she felt the swelling bellow her nipple, “and my right breast” repeating the action.
That little actualization made her feel good. She was growing up. Growing into a woman.
Stretching, Rebecca crawled out of bed to find a source of caffeine that would permit her to begin the day. She would need it, today was going to be a long day.
Three classes followed by an appointment at a nearby salon for a pampering session before the ball that evening. The very thought of being on Paul’s arm made her feel gooey inside.
40 minutes later, Rebecca was on her way to class.
The sun was shining, and she felt so alive that morning. Nobody who met her would have recognised the dismal withdrawn person she had been.
The world seemed so vibrant in her eyes; smells so vibrant, colours so rich. Rebecca didn’t know if it was the hormones, or just feeling alive for the first time in her life.
Her joyous reflective mood was dampened when she arrived at her class. The gorgeous day was hidden away behind darkened rooms and PowerPoint projections. The tedium of class soon killed off any enthusiasm that had been present in the students previously.
As much as she knew she shouldn’t, every five minutes she was checking the clock.
Chewing her pen, her head on her hand she absent mindedly watched the screen, and daydreamed. Time would pass, it was inevitable.
Several hours later, she was released from the dark prison with her fellow students.
Spotting Sarah, Jenny and Amy in the crowd, Rebecca made her way through the sea of bodies towards her friends.
“Heya guys” she beamed.
“You’re in a bloody good mood, did our coursework get canceled?” Smiled Sarah
“Nupe, I just feel really good today. And I can’t stop dreaming about tonight! We going then?”
“Sure, sure” Sarah laughed, “Let’s get sexy ladies!” and arm in arm the group left the campus and headed into town.
The troop descended on ‘Les Mademoiselles Maginfiqué’ like Locust to a crop field, and soon all 4 girls were being attended to.
“Hi, I’m your stylist today! My name’s Megan! What can we do for you today?” Gushed the bubbly Hairdresser that had come to assist Rebecca.
”Well, id like something done with this” Becca Mused, running her fingers through her mousy hair, “And my nails and face done please”
“Awesome, we can do that” Replied Megan standing behind her chair.
”What can you see yourself wanting with your hair?” she chirruped fiddling with Rebecca’s mane.
Rebecca could see the funny look on Megan’s face as she saw the split ends and length.
“How long has it been?” she asked Rebecca through the mirror.
“Uh, I was sort of a tomboy, I never got my hair cut” Rebecca admitted.
“Thank god you came to us now! We may save you yet!” Beamed Megan clearly pleased to have a willing clean slate to work on.
As Megan began to work on her hair, Rebecca slipped into a daze, minutes blurring into each other. Eventually, she felt a light hand shaking her shoulder and she rose from her slumber.
Sleepily, Rebecca looked into the mirror at her reflection. Was that her?
“Is that me?” she asked a beaming Megan dumbly.
“Uhuh sweetie, you’ve been out for a while” She giggled
“Its cool I get like that when I get pampered too”
Rebecca could only nod; the girl in the mirror had a gorgeous razor cut, layered mane that fell down to lightly caress her shoulders, and a jagged fringe diagonally covering half of her right eye. Blonde highlights reflecting the light. Her makeup was sexy and subtle. Deep dark eyes, and full pouting lips, just a hint of colour oh her high cheekbones.
The girl reached up and touched her hair with deep black talons. The girl looked like she had fallen face first out of a fashion magazine.
“Wow, thank you” was all she could manage, and finally breaking contact with herself, she looked to her sides, at her friends, similarly gorgeous.
Once they had finished, the four friends paid their bills and met in the lobby of the salon; all 4 were similarly speechless…
As they walked back through town, Rebecca was conscious that every male eye gave her a good undressing, not once, but twice in most cases. She knew how she looked, but she was still terrified that their glances were realizing she was a boy underneath it all.
Sarah could see her friend’s anxiety and reached to take her hand.
Rebecca looked at Sarah, and her hand, then took it smiling a thank you. She was privileged to have someone like Sarah around for her.
Arriving back at the halls, the four parted, and went their separate ways, vowing to meet up later at the ball.
Rebecca headed inside to her floor to wait and get ready.
Sat on her bed in her underwear, Rebecca stared at her dress on its hanger.
Was this something she was prepared to do? She knew she wanted to, but could she compete against the real girls? Would anyone notice?
This would be the longest she had been with any of the others in her class; most of whom still remained nameless to her.
There was only one reason she would go tonight, and he was down the hall.
Shrugging a tee-shirt on and a pair of shorts, she left her room to find Paul. His room door was ajar, so she went to the kitchen where she found him sitting at the table with a coffee.
“Hey” she half whispered as she padded up behind him, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“Well hello” He smiled turning.
“Wow Becca.” He sat, mouth a gape.
“You like? She smiled twirling.
“God, wow, seriously, you look amazing, wow, uh, wow….” He tailed off.
Taking the opportunity to plonk herself down on his lap, she wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled into his chest.
He started to open his mouth to speak, when Rebecca put her finger to his lips and hushed him;
”Now if you’re going to go ‘wow oh my god’ again, ill have to tickle you” she mock scolded.
“Actually, I was going to say how proud I am of you, and how good it’s going to be to have the sexiest girl there tonight on my arm.” He smiled, leaning forwards and kissing Rebecca on the lips.
The tentative peck quickly turned into a more urgent lip lock which Becca forced herself with a heavy heart to break off, before she ruined her makeup further.
”Save it for later, ok?” she smiled.
”Later, if you want, I’m yours.” She whispered huskily staring into his eyes.
Rebecca watched Paul’s face go through a transition from confusion, to excitement, then back to confusion;
“Are you sure?” he asked, “I mean, are you ok with it? I mean, this is just because you want to… Isn’t it? Not because you feel you have to?” he spluttered.
Placing her finger on his lips once more she smiled.
“Yes, I love you Paul, Later; I want us to share that next level, ok?” she said smiling.
As she sat there, she felt a hardening beneath her and leapt off Paul’s lap.
”I said later buster…. Pass the memo on to the front lines ok?” She giggled, skipping off laughing as Paul turned Red.
This is part one of a two part chapter today. I felt it deserved breaking up, but still retained the need to be a single chapter. Part two, slightly longer, will be available this afternoon/evening. Enjoy! and please, remember to comment!
Born Twice
By Alyssa Plant
'Tonight felt weird. She couldn’t put a finger on it. It wasn’t the weather, anything that had happened; she just felt nervous.
Sighing, she realised it was just her stupid fear of being seen as a boy cropping up once more. Stupid irrational, senseless, fear... She kicked herself mentally.'
Chapter 12
Part Two — A night to remember.
“Well, you look amazing” Jules commented as she zipped the back of Rebecca’s dress up.
Becca had found the dress in a sale at a small boutique in town; it was black, and floor length, with thin spaghetti straps, and a fitted bodice. Simple elegance…
”Come on then, do a twirl for me sweetie.”
Rebecca slowly rotated around, watching anxiously for Julie’s reaction.
“Any good?” she asked nervously.
“Love, your smoking, there’s more chance that you will come out to your parents tonight, than there is of anyone realising your little defect sweetie” She replied softly hugging Rebecca.
“Knock em dead girl” She smiled crushing her friend to her.
Rebecca walked out of her room with Julie, and locking the door, went to knock on Paul’s door, the nerves from that first morning that she visited this room returned. Julie smiled and gave her a thumbs up as she left the flat.
Paul opened the door, looking so dreamy in his black tuxedo and bow tie.
‘God he’s sexy…’ Rebecca mused to herself.
“Wow you look even better than before!” he exclaimed.
“Wow, that dress is SO good on you!”
Rebecca beamed and twirled for him
“God I could eat you alive” he groaned.
“Hey save that for later” she giggled winking and taking his hand, dragging him out of the room.
Outside, their taxi was waiting, and the two climbed in to head to the ball.
As they drove through town, Rebecca reflected on how things had been, how she ended up here and now. A shiver ran down her spine, causing her to pull her shawl tight around her shoulders.
Tonight felt weird. She couldn’t put a finger on it. It wasn’t the weather, anything that had happened; she just felt nervous.
Sighing, she realised it was just her stupid fear of being seen as a boy cropping up once more. Stupid irrational, senseless, fear... She kicked herself mentally.
The Taxi pulled up outside the Hotel that was hosting the event, and Paul, having paid the taxi driver, jumped out to open Rebecca’s door for her; assisting his lady to her feet.
Arm in arm, the couple walked up the stairs to the hotel lobby. Rebecca felt majestic on Paul’s arm, like a princess. She knew she would remember tonight forever.
A waitress approached the pair with a tray of champagne glasses, which they gladly accepted.
Rebecca spotted Sarah and Amy across the room, and waved to the pair and their dates. Both girls returned the wave, and steered their partners in Paul and Rebecca’s direction.
“Hey guys” Rebecca smiled, “Are you going to introduce us?”
“This is Mark, my boyfriend beamed Sarah happily, and this,” she gestured to Amy’s date, is her brother Toby.
“Looking to go on the pull then Ames?” Rebecca grinned.
“Not while I’m still sober enough to beat whichever toe rag she tries to….” Grinned Toby; earning himself an elbow to the ribs.
“Siblings eh?” grinned Sarah.
“Come on guys, lets go, the meal is about to start” Amy chimed in.
The 6 joined the others making their way into the dining room.
Rebecca was overawed at the splendour of the room, chandeliers glistened, and silver sparkled in the candle lit room.
Finding their allotted Table, Paul held Rebecca’s chair for her, a move that put Mark in Sarah’s bad books.
The chatter at the table died down as the Starters were brought out, and the classical ensemble struck up a piece by Chopin.
The group chatted lightly throughout the meal, discussing everything from their course work, to home lives. Rebecca felt a pang of guilt at that topic, and had to avoid most of the questions when they were directed at her.
As the meal ended, the group rose, and the girls excused themselves to make use of the facilities.
Once inside, Rebecca went to check her makeup, a gaggle of girls entered behind them. And one girl, Marisa Jenkins stopped dead.
“I want you out of here” she hissed at Rebecca.
“Wha?” Rebecca turned to face her, feeling the blood drain from her face.
“You know what I mean you… you little gender bender, I’m not sharing this bathroom with you or any of your other girlyboy kind…. Get out!”
Just then, Sarah joined Rebecca at the sinks.
”Leave her alone Marisa, she’s done nothing to you” Spat Sarah with venom that Rebecca didn’t know she possessed.
“NO I WONT” screamed Marisa.
“GET OUT, you aren’t a girl, you don’t belong in here, I don’t want you perving on me freak!” she screeched.
Feeling tears coming, Rebecca pushed past her and out of the toilets, and ran into Lobby to find Paul, hearing laughter and shouting behind her.
Running into his arms she sobbed.
“What’s wrong sweetie?” he asked her, concern written on his face.
“Marisa” she sobbed, “Marissa knows about me, she’s going to tell everyone” she said, her voice cracking as she cried.
“Hush baby, nobodies gonna hurt you ok? I’m here; I’m yours no matter what. Fuck them.” He whispered into her ear.
Lifting her face to his, he whispered again, “FUCK THEM, you hear?”
Rebecca nodded softly, sadness engrained on her face.
“Now fix yourself up ok? Come on, over here, use the ladies down here, ill stop anyone else following you to cause trouble ok?” he soothed as he led her down the lobby to a different set of toilets.
Sarah came running out of the Toilets then, and spotting Paul guarding the door, ran over to him.
“Where is she? Is she ok?” she asked anxiously.
“She’s ok I hope, she’s just fixing her face, she’s been crying, what the fuck did that girl do to her?” he hissed through clenched teeth.
Sarah retold the story from the bathroom.
Marisa fully intended to tell everyone about Rebecca, vindictive backstabbing bitch that she was.
Sarah slowly slid into the toilets, and found Rebecca slumped on the floor, sitting staring into space.
“You ok sweetie?” she soothed as she knelt down beside her, wrapping the girl in her arms.
Rebecca sobbed again into her arm.
“Come on honey, let’s fix your face and help you enjoy the party. They can’t spoil it for you. Not everyone is like her; I bet most people hate HER for it….”
Rebecca nodded sadly and got to her feet.
Shakily, she repaired her makeup, and turned to Sarah.
”I, I don’t know if I can go back out there.” She said blankly. Her eyes almost glazed over.
“Yes you can, and have to, or she will have won.”
Just then, Amy and Jenny came into the bathroom.
“Oh guys I’m sorry” Rebecca wailed, “I lied to you, I’m sorry”
“Are you a boy or a girl Rebecca?” Amy asked.
“I’m, I am a girl.” Rebecca announced, with resolve she didn’t know she possessed.
Amy looked at Jenny; “Well then, what’s the bloody fuss love?” She smiled hugging Rebecca.
“We really don’t care, Jenny said smiling. “You are a girl, trust us, we know one when we see one!”
Rebecca started to feel less lost. Her friends supported her, surely others would too? Maybe they were right. She had to stand up for herself, or be trampled in the process.
“I’m ready to go back out.” She announced more to herself than the others.
“You sure?” Sarah asked,
“Not really, but hell, I wont ever be” Rebecca grinned nervously.
The 4 headed out of the toilet to meet Paul, still playing guard dog by the door.
His expression of anger softened to one of concern.
“Are you ok? He asked, reaching for Rebecca’s hand.
She nodded, still pale, but resolute.
The 5 headed back out to the Lobby, and entered the now thumping ballroom to join the others and resume the party.
One or two looked at Rebecca, she felt it was many more.
Mark and Toby rejoined the group, and pledged their support for Rebecca.
She glanced across the room to see Marisa and her cronies laughing and staring at her, whispering to one another.
Seconds later, Rebecca heard a cough behind her.
“Excuse me, um sir, um miss.” Muttered a rather confused looking Hotel manager.
”It’s been brought to the attention of the hotel that you’re a cross dresser using the ladies toilets. We must ask you to use the men’s room, or if you ask us, the disabled toilet. We have standards here.” He announced with increasing pompousness.
Rebecca stood gawping at him. She snapped out of her trance as Marisa and her cronies and their boyfriends pushed rudely past muttering things like ‘shemale’ and ‘tranny’ at her.
“Sir, I must confirm you understand this rule.” The manager pushed.
The man didn’t see Paul’s fist come out of nowhere.
“Who the fuck do you think you are you asshole?” he yelled at the manager.
“Leave my girlfriend alone, how dare you come in here insulting her like that!” he seethed.
The man got to his feet holding his jaw and glared at Paul
“Get out, and take your boyfriend with you” he sneered at Paul and with a disgusted look at Rebecca, he turned and left.
The gang exchanged looks, and they prepared to all leave.
“Guys seriously, stay, finish the night. We’ll just go; we don’t want to stay here anyway.” Rebecca said to Sarah and the gang.
“This is totally not fair!” Sarah growled. “I Swear, I’m telling my dad about this guy, he’s a lawyer and will sue his ass for gender discrimination!”
“Leave it Sarah” Rebecca begged. “I just want to forget this now”
Tugging Paul’s arm, the two exited the hotel and began to walk down the Drive towards the main road to hail a taxi.
About halfway down the drive, Rebecca felt a huge force knock Paul from her.
She tried to scream, but as before she could she was grabbed roughly around the arms by a large body.
She could see Paul on the floor, being kicked by two large boys. Boys she recognised from her class, the dates of Marisa and Karen. She felt herself being turned. And came face to face with Marisa Jenkins;
“You fucking shemale slag” screeched Marisa, punching Rebecca in the tummy.
She wanted to double over to regain her breath, but she was pinned upright, and the blows continued until she blacked out from the pain.
The last thing she remembered was crying out Paul’s name.
Born Twice
By Alyssa Plant
Chapter 13
*Bleep bleep*
*Bleep bleep*
*Bleep bleep*
The first thing that Rebecca noticed was her hearing, swirling back into function. What was that sound?
*Bleep bleep*
*Bleep bleep*
Was she dead? Where the hell was she?
Everything seemed so white, so barren….
Ceiling tiles, that was it, and neon lights, it was noisy beyond the annoying bleeping. Rebecca felt like she had woken up in Piccadilly Station.
Rebecca blinked twice, trying to clear her vision. Her other senses began to swim back into her control.
Hospital?
It hit her like a train. It was dark, fists, angry voices. Oh god, it wasn’t a dream.
She felt the ears welling in her eyes, and sliding out of the corners of her eyes as she lay there.
Where was Paul?
Fear washed over her as she tried to sit up in the bed.
Immediately the pain made her scream out and fall back. She had just started pulling at the drip on her arm as a nurse burst through the doors.
“Stay still love, you’re in hospital, Shush, its ok.” She soothed as she held a sobbing, struggling Rebecca.
As Rebecca’s sobbing slowed to infrequent shudders. The nurse moved to lower her to the bed.
”You have to rest dear; you’ve been through a lot.”
“W… Wha” Rebecca croaked. “Wh... what happened to me?” she managed to get out as the nurse offered her a sip of water that she gladly accepted.
“You were admitted about 11 this evening. You’re in the Manchester Royal Infirmary. You were attacked love.” She soothed as she brushed some hair from Rebecca’s eyes with her hand.
“Ill go get your doctor love, he can tell you more, ok dear?”
Smiling at Rebecca, the nurse left the room to make a phone call from the nurses’ station.
About 20 minutes later, at least it seemed that long to Rebecca, a young doctor knocked on the door to her room and entered.
He was in his mid 30s, tall and handsome. His eyes were caring and soft, he was a gentle man.
“Hi there, I hear your awake now?”
Rebecca nodded slowly.
The doctor came forwards and sat down in the chair next to her bed. This could not be good she thought.
“Well, uh, First, I need to sort something out; you are a girl aren’t you?”
Rebecca nodded slowly once again, a look of panic spreading across her face.
“I understand, don’t worry, your friends that came to visit you told me everything, I understand it can’t be easy for you.”
“Firstly, your parents are driving up once they heard about you being hurt.”
Rebecca nearly passed out again; this was NOT the time for this talk.
“Ah…” said the doctor with realisation.
“They don’t know they have a daughter do they?”
“No” Rebecca mumbled in a tiny voice.
“How long have you been on hormones?” he probed gently.
“Uh, a month or so?”
The doctor looked stunned.
“Are you being honest with me?” he questioned.
“Yes, of course I am, I’ve only really known for just under 2 months, its all been sort of sudden.
“That is interesting…” the doctor admitted with a frown,
”Id like to take some blood and run some tests, but that can wait till after.”
“This isn’t easy…” He began, and she knew what was coming.
“The boy you were brought in with, Paul?”
A stone dropped into the pit of Rebecca’s stomach.
“He suffered a great deal of brain damage, and we lost him shortly after he arrived. I’m sorry.”
Rebecca felt a wave of nausea flood over her, then her mouth suddenly went dry and she felt cold.
He was dead?
Paul was dead?
This was her fault…. This was all her fault.
Rebecca burst into tears and not quite sure what to do, the young doctor placed his hand on hers and gave it a squeeze of comfort.
She didn’t know how long she had cried for, but when she finally realised she had stopped, the young doctor was still by her side, and her head hurt like hell.
The wave of guilt had been replaced by the realisation that his loss was her fault
She had become who she was, she had gotten involved in the ball, the fight, and the eventual attack was her fault entirely…
If she hadn’t existed, Paul would still be here.
Her dear, sweet beautiful, kind Paul.
He didn’t deserve this.
”WHY” she asked out loud to herself.
“They were animals.” Came the quiet reply from the doctor she had forgotten was there.
Rebecca turned to look at him with a look of confusion and shock on her face at being reminded of his presence.
“What they did to you… to Paul, and why…. It was wrong.” The doctor said quietly squeezing her hand.
“I’ve known you for short period of time, but I can see you’re an amazing person… They are evil sad people.”
“Look, I have to go, but ill send your friends in, I Know there’s several of them down in the relatives room. It will help take your mind off things….”
“Oh, and there’s a police officer who wants a word with you later, ill tell them you need some time ok?”
Rebecca nodded noncommittally.
A few moments later there was a quiet knock at the door.
Sarah was there, so was Amy and Jenny, Mark and Toby.
“Come in guys, I’m not contagious”
Sarah walked up to the bed and hugged her friend tightly.
”I’m sorry” she whispered. “I’m so sorry”
Rebecca felt the hot tears falling from her friends eyes and hugged her tight. Soon they were joined by Jenny and Amy, leaving the boys standing awkwardly by the door.
The group chatted quietly for the next hour or so. Rebecca began to feel more human again.
She had heard that Marisa had been gloating about the attack once she returned to the ball, shortly thereafter, she and Paul had been found, and the guilty had been arrested rather publicly for murder, and attempted murder.
It gave her a small satisfaction to think of that bitch in a cell. Her smug demeanour shattered.
There was a knock at the door, and looking up; Rebecca spotted 2 people in suits. The police?
“Uh hello?” she asked, her friend immediately falling silent.
“Charlie Anderson?”
“Uh, yes” Rebecca responded, already wondering if this was going to be as difficult as she feared.
“Guys, can you give us some time?” Rebecca said to Sarah and the gang.
“Sure sweetie, see you in an hour or so.” Amy whispered, giving Rebecca a hug.
The detectives stood by door looking uncomfortable as the gang made their way out.
“Uh, what can I do for you?” she asked.
“We are from the Greater Manchester Police. We are here for your statement on your assault Miss.” Announced the young woman detective; a petite blonde in a sharp suit. “I’m Detective Miller, and this is Detective Parker.” She announced, gesturing to her colleague, a tall man with greying hair and glasses.
“Ah right, I’m sorry, I don’t remember much.” Rebecca replied.
“It was all so fast. Once it happened.”
“So why did you go to the party as a woman?” the cold voice of DI Parker chipped in.
“I uh, I am one?” Rebecca struggled.
Detective Miller Gave Parker a dirty look.
“I’m sorry MISS Anderson, My Colleague is a little antiquated.” She said glaring at the older man.
“We have a rough idea of what happened from your friends and some other witnesses. Can you fill in the blanks for us?”
The police officers and Rebecca talked for about 2 hours. And by the end, Rebecca was physically and emotionally drained.
She had the faces of the 5 attackers etched in her memory now. Weather that was good or bad, she did not know.
The thought of a trial made her blood run cold. She would be the media’s plaything….
Rebecca was pondering the possibilities of the trial as there was a sharp intake of breath at the door.
“Charles?” Her mother and father stood at the door, mouths agape…..
Born Twice
By Alyssa Plant (evil cow)
'“How are you feeling, ah, Rebecca?” the doctor asked consulting his chart.
“Like I was beaten up” Rebecca replied dryly.'
Chapter 14
*Bleep bleep*
*Bleep bleep*
“Ok, put her on a 24mg drip, I’ll check back in about an hour.”
“Yes Doctor”
*Bleep bleep*
*Bleep bleep*
Rebecca felt like she had been lying with her mouth open for a long time, her mouth and throat were bone dry and sore.
Everything seemed so over sensitive at the moment, pain spread though her body like a slow burn.
Clenching her fist she felt the tug of her skin against a needle in her arm.
It felt like she could feel everything. Almost as if it was easier than visually trying visually assess things. Keeping her eyes closed for now felt safe; a detachment from the reality of where she was.
Clearly a hospital bed.
Opening her eyes felt like a labour.
Bright light filtered through her barely open eyelids; it seemed almost blinding.
Maybe not yet.
“Ugh hello” she croaked.
“Doctor, she’s awake”
“Can you hear me love?”
Footfalls and detached voices, bodiless voices filled her mind.
Rebecca forced her eyes open, and a room flooded into view.
A concerned nurse and a middle-aged male doctor stood by her side.
“Where am i?”
This all seemed like a bad dream, a sadistic dream, or was it? A strong feeling of déjá vu swam around her head.
“You’re in the Royal Manchester love… Do you remember what happened?”
Nodding sorely, Rebecca checked her recollection.
”I was attacked at my End of year ball?” she whispered.
“Yes dear” Soothed the nurse. “Its ok, you’re safe now.”
“Paul?” Rebecca questioned more to herself than the nurse.
“Ill check love.” She soothed. “This is Doctor Martin; he will tell you what’s been happening.”
With a warm smile the nurse vanished.
“How are you feeling, ah, Rebecca?” the doctor asked consulting his chart.
“Like I was beaten up” Rebecca replied dryly.
“Yes, you were. You were admitted last night. He answered.
“You have several broken ribs, and a lot of bruising, but I think you’ll live to fight another day… ah sorry” Realising his sense of humour was not needed.
“Are you feeling up to visitors? We have several of your friends outside.” He asked trying to divert Rebecca’s attention from his faux pas.
Rebecca nodded and the doctor nodded, writing on his chart and left.
About 5 minutes later she was inundated by very gentle hugs from her friends. Amy, Sarah and Jenny looked like they had not been home. Their hair was messy and still in their gowns. Mark and Toby were in just their dress shirts and tuxedo trousers. That wasn’t what she thought it was on their shirts was it?
“We were so worried” gushed Amy. When we heard the commotion outside we came to find you and by the time we got there, they had run off.
“I’m so sorry we didn’t come with you, it might not have happened.” Sobbed Sarah
“Guys, I told you not to.” Scolded Rebecca, she had to remove the blame from her friends.
“Is Paul….?” She whispered glancing at the boys bloody shirts.
“No no he’s ok” Jenny soothed. “He got stabbed; there was a lot of blood.” The ambulance got there just in time they said.
Rebecca felt a massive weight lift from her chest.
“Can I sit up guys” she asked, almost smiling. Soon, with her friends’ assistance she was sitting in the bed and feeling almost her old self again.
Giggling at the irony of such a thought made her clutch her chest in pain as her ribs moved.
”What is it?” asked an anxious Toby.
”Oh nothing, when you told me he was ok, I just felt great, I had a bad dream I think. And I thought to myself ‘you know, I feel like almost my old self again’” Rebecca replied, refraining from the temptation to giggle again.
“We were so worried Bex” Frowned Amy.
“We all feel partly to blame, I know you said we aren’t, but still, I feel partly responsible for everything. We...” she glanced around the others.
“We are here for you, for good now. We’re on your side, and nothing will stop that.”
Rebecca felt a tear roll down her cheek, friends? This wasn’t exactly new, but friends who had her back? Who had and would stand up for her? This was new, and try as she might, she couldn’t keep herself from crying.
Later on, after the group were ushered out of the room by the mother hen nurse, Rebecca sat by herself. Quietly aching and reflecting on this whole mess.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the doctor’s reappearance at her bedside.
“Are you feeling better Miss Anderson?”
Rebecca nodded.
“Can I see Paul? My boyfriend? Please…” she begged.
“I’m not sure you should be walking around right now, but I can see if we can find an orderly with a wheelchair if you promise to not get too amorous, he’s still in Intensive Care.” The doctor mock scolded.
Sitting down on the end of her bed he set his clipboard down and sighed.
“Its funny, I’d have thought a girl in your position would have asked for us to contact her parents at the first opportunity…. I take it they aren’t privy to everything?” he said nodding his head towards Rebecca.
She blushed.
“Uh, yeah, I don’t think now is a good time for them to see me…” she trailed off.
“How long have you been transitioned?” Doctor Martin asked.
Rebecca studied his face for a moment. He looked genuine and caring enough.
“A few months” she whispered.
“I understand how hard it is, believe me.” He replied “Have you thought about how you’re going to tell them?”
Rebecca shook her head.
“It was something I was avoiding I guess.” She admitted, breaking eye contact with him.
“I understand.” He replied.
“I remember coming out to my parents at your age. They were sort of ok with a gay son, but never the same. It’s what pushed me into medicine”
Rebecca looked into Dr Martin’s eyes. This was a kind caring man.
“I just worry that they will think I’m some pervert” She whispered. “Like they…” she tailed off.
“I hope they catch the bastards that did this to you two. It was disgusting, and heinous.” He growled.
The anger that flared in his eyes was palpable. Rebecca could see the flames of his soul dancing in those glassy pits.
It made her feel good; human. She was a victim, not some weirdo getting her just deserts. It empowered her. What’s more, his words made sense.
“Can you call my parents” She asked.
Dr Martin didn’t look entirely surprised.
“Sure.” He said with a hint of a smile. “What should I tell them? Gender wise?”
Rebecca thought for a moment.
“Tell them their child has been attacked, and is here. They will probably mention ‘Charlie’” she mused.
Try to not drop them any hints I guess. Ill try to make myself more androgynous before they come.” She said.
Dr Martin snorted.
“Look love.” He grinned. “You don’t look remotely androgynous. I can’t imagine you looked any more male before you accepted yourself. Just go with the flow, and possibly pull the blanket over your chest. Hmm?” He grinned as Rebecca as she blushed, realising her chest was that obvious.
Patting her leg he smiled. “You’re a good kid. I hope it works out. Ill go call, then send an orderly to take you to lover boy.” He smiled and left.
As Rebecca was pushed though the hallways to the ICU, she felt acutely aware that people were looking at her.
Not confused, but pity…
As they passed a glass walled conference room, she realised why.
“Can you stop a moment.” She begged the bored looking orderly.
Looking in the darkened glass, she saw why she was the focus of so much attention.
She looked like a frightened little girl. Her face was black and blue. Bruised cheekbone, black eye, swollen lips.
She looked like she had gone 6 rounds with boxer.
As they continued down the hallway, she wondered what people must think.
A beaten up girl? Was she the sort of image people associated with pity?
She wondered if they would feel as sorry if they knew the full details.
As they Entered Paul’s room, she thanked the orderly, who went to wait outside.
Gingerly, she got to her feet, and approached Paul’s bedside.
He was sleeping peacefully. Tubes and machines bleeped away oblivious of her presence.
She crawled onto the bed next to Paul, and wrapped her arm around his chest, bellow his bandages and dressings and snuggled her head into his armpit.
She felt so safe next to him. So protected.
”You must be Rebecca” A voice said behind her.
Sitting up abruptly, she slid off the bed and turned to face the voice.
A woman was stood before her; she looked to be in her early 40s, about 5’8 with her Auburn hair up in a bun. She was by the door with a coffee in her hand looking distinctly tired.
She nodded meekly.
“I’m Mrs Harper” She explained. “Paul’s mother.”
“My you poor dear, you were there when he was attacked?” She said, looking sympathetic.
“I uh, was the reason he was attacked, I’m sorry” Rebecca answered, before sinking to one of the bedside chairs; “it’s all my fault she sobbed.
Mrs Harper Put her arm around Rebecca and pulled the girl to her bosom and allowed her to cry it out of her system.
The two talked for some time.
“Your past was no justification.” Mrs said.
“You’re a lovely young woman, and I’m glad my son is seeing someone as truly special as you. You’re true to yourself and him.”
“Can I ask you something?” she asked quietly.
Rebecca nodded.
“Do you love him?”
“Very much” Rebecca whispered.
“Good” Replied Mrs Harper. “Then I want you to know you are welcome in our home at any time dear, as if you were one of my own daughters.” She smiled, opening her arms to Rebecca
It was truly too much, and Rebecca hugged Mrs Harper as she cried tears of happiness.
Please comment!
Born Twice
By Alyssa Plant
'There was a knock at the door and as she turned she came face to face with her mother.
Rebecca’s heart skipped a beat and her mouth began to work but no sound came out.
“Oh sorry, wrong room” Christine muttered and turned to go.
“Wait mum!” Rebecca cried, more upset now by the lack of recognition by her own mother.'
Chapter 15
It was later that day. Rebecca had been returned to her room after seeing Paul’s mother.
She felt strange.
Almost as if she had experienced this painful day so many times, so many ways.
Any way this happened, it was still her fault. That was clear. Her tired brain ran through possible scenarios again, nothing seemed different.
It was her fault.
That much was clear in her head. Whilst so many things swam around. She knew that much.
Meeting Paul’s mother had been unexpected, but not an unpleasant experience. She was a lovely woman Rebecca thought. Would her parents be able to see things the same way?
Surely people who were meant to love her unconditionally could accept something easier than the parent of a lover; a person without the blood debt of family bonding them together, making them face issues like this.
They would be ok with it?
Right?
Rebecca shook the thought from her head. Her stomach was twisting and churning enough without constantly wondering. That knot of fear gripped her belly so tightly she felt light headed with nausea.
Sliding out of her bed she gripped the IV stand tight for support, walked over to the window.
The sun was strong and bright this morning. It all seemed so pleasant, such a beautiful day.
There was a knock at the door and as she turned she came face to face with her mother.
Rebecca’s heart skipped a beat and her mouth began to work but no sound came out.
“Oh sorry, wrong room” Christine muttered and turned to go.
“Wait mum!” Rebecca cried, more upset now by the lack of recognition by her own mother.
“Charlie?” Her mother turned with a look of confusion written on her face.
“Oh dear, I didn’t recognise you, you really need a haircut.”
Her parents seemed to be ignoring the issue again.
“What happened to you son?” her father asked, standing by the end of the bed with his hands in his pockets, holding his suit jacket open.
“I was beaten dad” She said quietly.
“Why didn’t you fight them boy? What have I told you about how a man should act?” He sighed.
“I bet they thought he was Gay” David muttered to his wife.
“DAD!” Rebecca Screeched, immediately covering her mouth with her hands. “I uh, um, sorry.
“What was that?” Her mother turned looking shocked.
”Talk more like a young man should, not screaming like a teenage girl dear.”
Rebecca looked away at that comment. She felt like she had been slapped in the face by her mother.
“Mum, Dad…” She looked at each of them in turn before staring off into space to compose herself.
“I am”.
“You are what dear?” Christine asked.
“I’m a girl mum”.
Christine Anderson stood looking slightly confused for a moment.
”You are a boy dear, I gave birth to you. If anyone knows, I do.”
Feeling emboldened by saying the words, Rebecca pressed on.
“Mum, I’m not a boy; I might be one, there…” She gestured towards her crotch. “But I’m not one here.” she said, placing her hand to her heart.
Her Mother sat down rather abruptly in the chair beside her bed.
Through her teary eyes, Rebecca looked up at her father, who had remained silent throughout.
He simply stood there with a stern expression on his face. Rebecca longed for him to shout and be angry. At least then she would know how he felt.
”Daddy?” she whimpered.
“You got a real bang on the head didn’t you son?” he said matter of factly.
“They sent you to a doctor about these delusions you are having?”
“Dad…” Was all she could say... Her heart was broken.
“Don’t dad me…. Do you know what you are saying Charlie?” he continued.
“You are telling me and your mother, the two people who raised you, that you aren’t who we raised, and you don’t think you are mentally unstable? You are a not a woman…. You won’t ever be a woman, and I won’t let you be a woman. So you had better get used to being a man, and act like one.”
There was a fire in her father’s eyes she had never seen before. She was scared.
“But Dad, this isn’t because of the attack…” I’ve felt this way for a long time, please, just try and understand what I’m saying…” she pleaded
“Don’t tell me you were dressed up as a woman when you got beaten up?” her mother sighed.
“Is this why you are in hospital? Some boys didn’t like seeing a man in a dress and attacked you? Oh god, you can’t prosecute now… what will they think?”
Rebecca’s mouth fell open.
”MUM!?” she gasped.
“Well dear you don’t look like a girl, what did you expect? Really?”
“Uh mum, have you looked at me recently?” Rebecca said feeling rather hurt by her mother’s comments.
Christine cocked her head slightly and looked at Rebecca.
“You look like a boy with breasts dear.” She said simply. “Hang on, you have breasts?!” she exclaimed.
Reaching out, she touched Rebecca’s chest. What are you wearing under that gown? Stuffing a bra with tissue doesn’t make you have breasts dea…..” her voice trailed off as her hand contacted Rebecca’s chest.
“Oh my gosh.” She said simply.
“When were you going to tell us about this?” She asked.
Rebecca felt tears rolling down her cheeks.
“I don’t know” she whispered. “I was working out how to tell you before this happened…” She sighed.
Looking across at her father, he just looked angry still.
”I can’t deal with this.” He announced. “My son is a fucking fairy…” He yelled as he walked out the door.
Looking back at her mother. She was sobbing uncontrollably now. “Mum…?” she half begged.
“I don’t know Charlie, I don’t know if we can deal with this. I’m sorry.” She said solemnly.
“But Mum” Rebecca sobbed.
“Mum nothing Charlie, I don’t know if I’m comfortable with what you are doing to yourself….
All these years I’ve never seen you act remotely feminine, you were our good handsome boy.”
”MUM I'M YOUR CHILD” Rebecca hissed through clenched teeth. “How can you leave me like this?”
“Now you pull yourself together you hear?” her mother shouted. “I have to go find your father and we have things to do, I’m sorry, I cannot, no, I will not deal with this. You are our son, not our daughter. You will always be our son.” She announced with an air of finality.
She was about to speak again, when a nurse appeared at the door.
”Excuse me Mrs Anderson, But Rebecca needs to rest now.”
Christine looked scandalised. “REBECCA? Cant you see he’s a boy?” she gasped.
“Mrs Anderson, you’re child needs to rest, she’s still unwell.” The nurse repeated flatly ignoring Christine’s tirade.
“Gathering her bag and glaring at the nurse, Christine Anderson marched out of the room without a backward glance at Rebecca.
“MUM!” Rebecca shouted through her tears.
The nurse came into the room and sat down on the bed next to Rebecca.
“I’m sorry dear” She whispered. “I thought it was best I ask her to leave, you were getting very upset.”
Rebecca nodded through her sobs.
”Aw love it will work out in the end” the nurse cooed hugging Rebecca to her and letting her cry.
Her parents, the ones who were meant to love her forever were acting like she was some deviant freak.
Maybe she shouldn’t have called for them? What if she hadn’t been attacked?
What if she had been a boy for her parents? Could she be a boy for them? Would they forgive this as past?
The last thought Rebecca had before she drifted off to sleep was that there was no way she could go back now. This was her life that she was beginning to live. She would die before she went back to being that shroud of sadness they called their son.
She could, no, she would live.
From the Author: Really sorry this has taken so long guys! I’m snowed under with coursework, not sure when the next chapters will come, but ill try to get something out once a week if I can. Damn degrees, Damn Tonsillitis, and Damn Dams!
Life and Love are far more complicated than we can possibly understand. For one young cop, a journey of self-discovery will teach them that true strength was inside them all along.
Life and Love are far more complicated than we can possibly understand. For one young cop, a journey of self-discovery will teach them that true strength was inside them all along.
Bright lights shone down on the stage illuminating a redheaded woman as she paced back and forth before the boisterous crowd. A microphone was held in her hand like the hilt of a sword ready to strike at any and all that stood in her way. She was clad for battle in a skintight red satin cocktail dress that hugged every inch of her generous curves. She stared out into the crowd with a sly smirk on her lips as she waited for their laughter to quieten.
“Well,” she purred into the microphone, “I don’t suppose I’m allowed to finish my set tonight without telling you all a little bit about myself, am I?”
The crowd cheered enthusiastically.
“I’m twenty-four years old… Ancient I know! I’m a Libra which means I’m meant to be pleasant, calm, and mature…” She paused for effect and grinned. “But fuck that, I should have been a Scorpio.”
The crowd laughed.
“I’m depressed, which you can tell because I’m up on stage with a microphone trying to make people like me.”
“And despite my accent,” she began, slipping a little of her native twang into her voice. “I’ve never slept with a cowboy.”
The crowd roared.
“Now can any of you tell me why that would be a terrible idea?” she asked the assembled crowd, “And no, that guy you met on Grindr with the plastic hat with fifteen STDs doesn’t count.”
There was a wave of shouted calls and suggestions but the woman shook her glossy red mane and chuckled. “Not a single right answer, but then again this is Los Angeles, I don’t think I was going to see many experts.”
She paused for effect and wrinkled her nose. “Can you imagine the ball sweat from spending that much time in a saddle? No? Trust me, it's bad, No way am I getting my face anywhere near that level of nasty.”
The crowd collectively grimaced and cheered.
“This is why all the barrel racing girls go for the bronc riders. They spend so little time in the saddle it’s almost fresh after the rodeo is done!”
The woman paused for effect and raised her eyebrows and grinned, “That and finding a cowboy that can last eight seconds or longer is so impressive they give them goddamn awards.”
The crowd exploded into laughter and cheers.
“Give it up for our host tonight Dorothy Russo” The woman laughed, “The mistress of ungraceful dismounts!”
A short-haired redhead behind the bar flipped her the bird.
The crowd exploded. The woman waved to the crowd and clipped the microphone back into the stand. “Pitchers, I’ve been Mia Calafia, thank’s for having me. Now go get drunk before they let Miss Teak on stage, it makes it better. Goodnight!”
The crowd laughed and clapped as the woman left the stage with a wave. Grabbing a bottle of water from a stage tech, she downed half the bottle before Miss Russo made her way over through the mass of bodies in the nightclub.
“Really going to end on a punchline about the one paying you?”
Mia grinned at the woman and finished the bottle. “That’s exactly why you pay me.”
Dorothy rolled her eyes, “I created a monster.”
Mia sauntered her way through to the dressing room after signing a few autographs and began the long process of transforming herself into her far less glamorous and boring version of herself.
Mia Calafia, a tawdry play on an adult entertainer’s name raised the odd eyebrow, but more often raised a chuckle. It was a useful hook for a drag queen whose specialty was insult comedy. Thirty minutes later, nobody noticed a small skinny individual in a hoodie slip out through the smoking area door of the nightclub and into the Los Angeles night.
The pickup truck was obnoxious in LA traffic, but it was one of the few things Harry had brought from home. There hadn’t been a lot he wanted but his independence was one of the few things he cherished. That truck had taken him over nine hundred miles from Montana all the way down to the city of stars on the coast of the Pacific. Harry Dalton drove mindlessly through the late-night traffic, his mind still somewhere in that nightclub.
Growing up had been painful. He had always been different from his peers. Being different in a state like Montana was a bad thing. Picked out quickly by the school bullies, he was on the receiving end of more than enough harassment and ass-kickings from his peers. His parents and the local cops didn’t join them, but they didn’t stop it either. Harry was convinced they thought that it would ‘correct’ him. Their disapproval and inaction was more than he could handle.
As soon as he’d graduated high school, Harry left home for college in Los Angeles and had not looked back since that day. He would miss the wild open spaces of Montana. The state, his home, was a beautiful place that was beyond compare. The mountains and valleys stretched to the stars at night and the sun by day. This city was entirely different; Its valleys were streets and they formed a grand concrete prison; a storage rack for humanity. He hated it, but it was a small price to pay to be somewhere he might be accepted as who he was, not who they expected him to be.
Perhaps it was the harassment of his peers and the inaction of everyone else that had drawn him to his career. He knew what the law was meant to be, but he also saw how it was enforced in practice and it had made him feel helpless. Upon graduation, he’d applied to the academy and joined the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department as his own way of fighting back. Perhaps it was his chance to be the kind of Officer he’d been so desperate for growing up. It was idealistic and the reality was sometimes far from ideal, but he felt as though it made a difference. If he could be the ear and the defender of just one person like him that had cried out for help, he would have made the world a better place.
He wasn’t sure how he’d been dragged into this whole circus he called his life. Getting on stage at clubs in the darkness of night and wearing a badge during the day. Both jobs were technically in a uniform of sorts, he felt like two entirely different people when he was moving in each world. Who was Harry Dalton though? He hoped he could keep the two worlds far apart; Law Enforcement was not as open-minded as the city it policed.
Harry lived in a small apartment overlooking the beach down in the bohemian Venice Beach area of Los Angeles. It wasn’t the ranch at home and it was almost constantly noisy but he was afforded a great view of the Pacific if he ignored a few condos and trees. It was good to be able to look in at least one direction and see the horizon.
Parking his truck in the bay beneath the apartment, he let himself in and went straight to bed. In a few hours, he would be up again. This time in a different costume where people were far less excited to see him.
The surf crashed against the shore like a volcanic eruption as the amber glow of the sunset glinted off the water. Harry paddled hard through the waves toward deeper water. Surfing was a glorious escape from the pressures of daily life in LA. Out here was about as close as he could get to his native Montana without driving hours outside the city; His home was a wild lonely beautiful place that he missed dearly. Out on the waves he was alone in nature’s grasp, even as he looked inland toward the city's concrete sprawl. Turning on his board, he dug hard as the wave rose behind him. Catching its leading edge, he stood with practiced ease as his board began to dip, the wave swelled around him.
The ride was always exhilarating. The natural power of the ocean was harnessed briefly as he raced toward the shore. Like life, it was fleeting and over before you really knew it. After the wave deposited him in the shallows he stood, pushing his hair out of his face. Glancing at the dying sun, he calculated he had time for at least one more wave before he had to head back to real life.
Slinging the board ahead of him, he began to paddle back out toward deeper water. Surfing was something he had picked up when he first got to LA for college. He was fresh from the mountains and valleys of Montana and the ocean provided one of the few escapes from the noise and exhausting vibrance of college life. If it had felt like he had a choice, he would never have left his home. Nothing, he knew, is ever really that simple.
Harry’s childhood had been a difficult affair. His family owned a ranch outside Livingstone and were more than comfortable enough. The problem hadn’t been abuse, not in the classical sense at least. Harry had known he was different from other boys from a fairly young age. He was gay, which simply didn’t fit with life in the last bastion of the Old West. He was bullied in school and while his parents technically loved him, they did nothing to stop it. They hoped that a little tough love might encourage him to be what they expected.
One of Harry’s greatest loves was riding. On horseback, he was so very far away from the abuse of the others his age. On a horse, he was their equal or better. Out in the wilderness, he could be anyone he wanted, it didn’t matter what people thought of him. His brother and sister had remained civil but he knew he was a disappointment to them all. Montana just wasn’t the kind of place he fitted in; not belonging in a place you loved crushed a person’s soul.
Reaching deeper water, Harry straddled his board and rested after battling out through the surf and tide. The sea breeze whipped against his face and the salty spray was wonderfully refreshing. He closed his eyes and allowed the world to cease to exist for a moment; this was his Montana now.
“Just can’t face going back in huh?” a voice called from a short distance away breaking his moment.
Harry opened his eyes and glanced back over his shoulder. Another man was paddling out to catch one last wave like him.
Harry nodded. “Yeah, sometimes I just like to pretend I don’t have to.”
The man smirked. He was a little older than Harry and had short dark hair and a smattering of scruffy facial hair. Unlike Harry’s wetsuit, he simply wore bright tropical board shorts.
“Richard,” he nodded a greeting, offering a hand between their boards.
Harry took the offered hand and shook it. “Harry.”
“I just need this sometimes. Nobody can call or bother me out here,” the man laughed, rolling his eyes. “Going back means a bunch of missed calls and needy people.”
Harry laughed along with him as the two bobbed in the swell. “I know the feeling, can’t feel alone back there.”
“I work in the legal field, I don’t think I can go a moment without being bothered about something,” Richard admitted, shaking his head. “Plus I spend so damn long at a desk or in a courtroom that I don’t get as much fresh air as I’d like.”
Harry nodded. “I spend a lot of my day cooped up in a car. It’s just constant noise and people and I need some time alone to clear my head.”
Richard regarded him for a moment as though trying to get a read of him. “Let me guess,” he mused regarding Harry with a critical eye. “You’re certainly not a cab driver. Give me a little more to work with?”
Harry smiled. “I deal with a lot of people, not all of them happy. I have to wear a uniform, and I don’t get paid anywhere near enough.”
Richard stroked the scruffy stubble on his chin theatrically. “People don’t like you, you wear a uniform and you get paid poorly… plus a lot of time in a vehicle.” He smirked. “You must be a bus driver.”
Harry shook his head with a grin. “Not even close, but I do ferry people around quite often.”
“Uber to the rich and famous?”
Harry shook his head. “I’m a cop.”
“Don’t worry, I’m a prosecutor,” Richard smirked. “We’re kinda on the same team.”
“So you were just pulling my chain, huh?”
Richard smiled. “A little.” He raised a leg up on his board and stretched. “I just like to have a little fun.”
“Is that what this is? You make fun of random guys when you surf?”
The man laughed and shook his head. “No, I just don’t take life that seriously to be honest.”
Their conversation was interrupted by a large wave heading toward them from deeper water. “Time to go,” Richard grinned and began paddling hard towards the shore. Harry turned and followed suit.
The wave crested and caught his board, Harry stood and found his balance. Richard was sweeping ahead on the leading edge of the wave, the man was obviously an experienced surfer. Harry found his groove and dug in as the wave began to rise as it approached the shore. Riding a surfboard was a lot like riding a horse: you had to be fluid, move with your board and steer it gently. Harry swept down the wave and cut a wall of spray.
He hit the shallows and the ride finally came to a stop. Hauling up his board he walked ashore regretfully.
“That one was gnarly,” Richard laughed from behind him as he hauled his own board back to dry land.
Harry grabbed his towel and began to dry himself. “All good things come to an end.”
The older man nodded and grabbed his own towel and ran it through his short dark hair. He gave Harry a look. “I might be reading into things a little,” he said with a quizzical expression. “But I’m a pretty good judge of people.”
Harry raised an eyebrow and shot him a look, “you thought I was a bus driver.”
Richard smirked and waved his hand dismissively before taking on a more serious expression. “Can I buy you a drink perhaps?”
Harry wrapped his towel around his shoulders over his wetsuit and looked over at the man. He was handsome, there was no doubt about that. He had classically refined features and stylish neatly trimmed stubble. He was well-muscled and athletic in build. Harry could tell that the man knew he was attractive. He hadn’t pegged him as gay from their brief conversation, however. That was something he was still woefully hopeless at.
Harry thought for a moment as he dried himself off, “Sure, I’d like that.”
Richard grinned broadly. “I’m not far from here, you local?”
Harry nodded.
“Al-Dente’s at Six?” Richard asked over his shoulder as he walked away up the beach.
Harry threw his hands up and laughed at how sudden it all was. “Sure,” he called, shaking his head. How had he managed to get asked out so casually?
He shook his head at the absurdity of it all as he slipped his sandals on before carrying his board back up the beach toward his apartment.
It was just before six that evening when Harry pushed the door open to Al-Dente’s restaurant and bar. He’d managed to shower and wash the salt from his hair. He’d changed into something a little more presentable than a wetsuit. He’d been uncertain as to what to wear for a date, especially with someone like an attorney. He’d been on a handful of dates since moving to LA and hooked up a couple of times but in reality, he never really knew the rules. This was the first time he’d really been asked out like that by someone. It was so normal it felt unusual. The man, Richard, was so sure of himself. It was a feeling Harry had never really understood. Confidence always seemed to be something he had to force or find behind a mask when he was on stage.
Al-Dente’s wasn’t exactly high society but it wasn’t a dive bar either, Harry had selected a pair of faded jeans and a simple gray T-shirt; it was simple and stylish but it didn’t make any particular statements.
He approached the bar and waited for an opportunity to order a drink. He needed something to calm his nerves before the man arrived. The place was busy but not crowded and there was music playing in the background behind the buzz of conversation. The place had a good atmosphere. It was a relaxed environment, there was no pressure.
He didn’t get a chance to order before he felt a hand on his back. He turned around and found himself looking up at the man from the beach. He looked completely different; he wore a crisp blue cotton shirt with the top two buttons open and a pair of dark slacks. His hair was neat and he was smiling broadly. “Hi, have you been waiting long?”
Harry shook his head. “Just a few minutes really. You look different with clothes on.” He blushed, immediately regretting his choice of words.
Richard laughed and ignored the choice of words. “I slip back into a legal eagle when I’m not being a surfer bum.”
“It suits you,” Harry answered, noting Richard hadn’t removed the hand from his back.
The barman approached and Richard ordered a beer and looked at Harry questioningly. He indicated the same and the man ordered two. They managed to find a relatively quiet booth in a corner and settled in with their drinks.
“So you’re not from around here are you?” Richard started out, breaking the ice. “I hear an accent but It’s pretty neutral?”
“Montana,” Harry offered, “Near Bozeman originally, came here for college and stayed.”
“I’ve had a few colleagues that attended UCLA, it’s a good school. I’m from here myself. Born and raised under the California sun.”
“You’ve surfed all your life?” Harry asked.
Richard nodded. “Since I was a teenager, I love it. I know it doesn’t fit with the image of a prim and proper attorney but I’m not entirely conventional I suppose.”
“I only discovered it when I got here. Montana doesn’t exactly have a huge surfing scene.” Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s one of the few escapes I have when this place gets too concrete.”
“Not used to city life yet huh?” Richard took a sip of his drink.
Harry shook his head. “No, I still wake up at the slightest sound at night, even after six years.”
Richard smiled sympathetically. “It’s a different way of life,” he agreed. “I hope you don’t think I was too forward making assumptions about you. I have been told I can be a little direct at times.”
Harry waved a hand dismissively. “I suppose it comes with your job. I have to admit I didn’t see it myself. You, I mean.” he gestured vaguely.
Richard nodded. “I’ll be honest with you, I’m bisexual. I’ve dated men and women for years and I’m open about it, it’s just who I am. I don’t want to let who I love define who I am. I find people beautiful and it’s more than a superficial thing; it’s about the person.”
“That’s a very LA thing to say,” Harry observed. “Not quite the same thing where I’m from.”
Richard nodded. “Montana’s a pretty red state I imagine.”
Harry nodded.
“You weren’t very hard to read though,” the man admitted switching topics. “Not many guys are as pretty as you are.”
Harry blushed. “I don’t think I’d say pretty,” he protested sheepishly.
“I think you are,” Richard statedly bluntly with a gentle smile as he reached across the table to touch Harry’s fingers.
Harry froze, his heart beating faster. “Thank you,” he managed to whisper, feeling extremely embarrassed. “You’re quite handsome.”
Richard smiled softly. “You’re not used to being pursued are you?”
Harry wasn’t sure how to feel. He shook his head slightly.
Richard looked extremely serious for a moment. “I like to think I’m a gentleman. I won’t force myself on you and I don’t engage in hookups or one-night stands. I’m not looking to embarrass you, but I find you extremely attractive and delightful to be around even after this short time.”
“Nobody has ever called me those things.” Harry looked down at the table.
Richard reached across the table and raised Harry’s chin with his fingers. “It’s my job to meet someone and know as much as I can about them as quickly as possible. Often a case will depend on getting a first impression right, I became quite good at it. It’s also a pretty cutthroat world out there so I’ve learned to never miss an opportunity.”
Harry blinked. “I’m an opportunity?”
Richard shook his head, “I like to take chances in life. I meet someone I want to know better and I take it. You’re someone I want to get to know better.”
“All that from twenty minutes on a surfboard?”
The man smirked. “Let me tell you what I’ve learned so far and you can correct me if I’m wrong ok?”
Harry nodded.
“You’re from a state where few residents ever leave by choice because frankly, it’s beautiful. You live in the city still but still don’t like it and try to escape when you can which means this is a refuge, not a home. You’re a cop, but you’re not some macho douche that wants power. That means you care about people even if they don’t care about you which speaks to an inner sensitivity and care for others. You have a sense of humor that you use to hide your insecurity.”
“I thought you were a lawyer, not a psychiatrist?” Harry asked, feeling as though he was transparent.
Richard smiled, “Similar jobs and skills but you prove my point; more comedy to deflect.”
“Yeah ok you can stop analyzing me, I get it, I’m interesting.”
Harry paused and tried to redirect the conversation toward the other man, “I know so very little about you though, how do I know I’ll like you too? Is there more to you than the courtroom charm and good looks?”
Richard smiled and sipped his beer and shrugged. “I’m afraid you already know so very much about me, I’m an open book.”
“So you’re an attorney, a surfer, a psychiatrist, and a prolific pickup artist?”
“Pretty much yes,” he smiled nonchalantly past his beer bottle.
The two sat and talked for over an hour. Richard, Harry realized, was as open as he purported to be. The man was extremely charming and self-confident, but it wasn’t a false confidence put on as an act; he was comfortable and it was an extremely attractive quality. Harry enjoyed how the man treated him. It was a very new experience for him. Not having dated at home in Montana, his only experiences were the fumbled young experiences of his college days. Those were mediocre at best and soul-crushing at their worst. Since graduating, he’d dated on and off, but he always seemed to end up going out with guys that were obsessed with themselves and only saw him as a physical being. He had spent a great deal of time single and was comfortable in that fact as he hadn’t found the right person but one day might. Richard was a whole different world he found himself in.
Richard made him feel special, important, and valued. He wasn’t a piece of meat or a conquest for someone to use and throw away as had happened in the past. His heart had been broken more than once and this kind, caring gentleman was a salve on that raw wound.
They had left Al-Dente’s shortly before eight and Richard had walked him back to his apartment a few blocks away. The man had shown no fear of holding his hand the entire way there. It was an intimate gesture that made his heart flutter. Conversation between the two had been light and interesting and they arrived outside his apartment sooner than he’d hoped. They stood for a moment near his door.
“I had a lovely night,” Harry said quietly. “Thank you.”
“The pleasure was all mine Harry. I would very much like to do this again, but properly,” Richard replied, stroking his fingers along Harry’s cheek.
Butterflies fluttered in Harry’s chest at the touch.
“Yes,” he whispered.
“I know it’s only been a drink, but I would really like to kiss you if that’s ok?” Richard said softly.
Harry couldn’t speak, he nodded slightly and looked up at the man in front of him under the pale light of the porch.
Richard lent down and brushed a strand of hair from Harry’s eyes and gazed into them for a moment. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered and gently pressed his lips into Harry’s, his arms wrapping around his waist.
Harry felt like he was melting at the man’s touch. He could feel power and control in the man’s gentle and tender grasp. He closed his eyes and slipped his hands around Richard’s neck and felt his lips part.
The two kissed for what felt like hours but in reality, was only mere moments. Richard gently released Harry and stroked his cheek. He reached into a pocket and slipped a business card into Harry’s hand.
“This has my personal cell on it. I’d really be honored if you’d call me,” he asked with a vulnerability Harry hadn’t expected to see. This man actually was hoping he would call him, not demanding or telling, but hoping.
Harry nodded and smiled. “I will,” he answered as he slid through the doorway to his apartment. Closing the door behind him Harry released a breath and lent against the closed door.
Harry wasn’t sure what he’d just experienced. Their date wasn’t anything like any of his past experiences. It had been romantic and exciting. For once, he felt as though he had been respected by a date. This was a man that wanted to spend time with him and get to know him better. Harry realized he wanted the same thing very much. He fingered the business card and glanced at the number on the card.
Richard Knight
He was going to call.
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Life and Love are far more complicated than we can possibly understand. For one young cop, a journey of self-discovery will teach them that true strength was inside them all along.
Harry rolled over in his bed and peered at the alarm clock with bleary eyes. He thought back to the night before and a flutter of excitement rippled through his stomach. He had been on dates and met up for drinks with a few people over the last couple of years, but last night had felt like an almost magical experience. The kiss at the end of the night was something he hadn’t expected or even dreamed possible. Even now, he could almost feel Richard’s lips on his. Was this what he had been missing the entire time?
He smiled to himself and looked over at the card on the nightstand. How long was he supposed to wait to call? The morning? The night? A few days? Richard seemed like a man who had the answers to all things romantic but Harry had no idea what he was supposed to do. Feeling sure about something for the first time, he picked up his cell and entered the numbers. He hesitated for a moment, his finger hovering over the call button before pressing it and holding it to his ear as he lay there in bed. The phone rang twice before it was picked up.
“Richard Knight.”
Harry paused for a moment, “Hello, Richard? It’s Harry, did I catch you at a bad time?”
The tone shifted almost immediately. “No of course not, I’ve been at work for an hour already. “How are you doing?”
“I’m good, still in bed actually,” Harry answered honestly. “You told me to call you and I realized I didn’t know how long I was supposed to wait.”
Richard laughed on the other end of the phone. “That keen huh? No, seriously I have no clue either. It’s fine and no, I asked you to, I didn’t tell you. I am however pleased you did.”
“I know this is going to sound so silly, but I really enjoyed last night, I’ve never woken up this happy.”
“You did me the honor by accepting. I had a great time too. I’d love to take you out properly, what’s your week looking like?” Richard asked.
Harry considered for a moment, “I’m working today and tomorrow, but I’m off Friday and Saturday, would that work?”
“Friday it is then, I’m in court most of the week but we should let out early Friday. I know where you live so, I’ll pick you up at seven, dress nice.”
“Sounds great,” Harry answered shyly.
“I’ll see you then,” Richard replied, “I really enjoyed last night. That kiss was pretty amazing too.”
Harry smiled. “Me too, I’ll see you then.”
He hung up and closed his eyes and smiled to himself. Harry slipped out of bed and went to get a shower before getting ready for work.
“Look, we can sort this all out down at the station.”
“Fuck you man, I didn’t do nothin',” yelled the suspect. “And you look like a fucking fag, you’ll feel me up.”
Harry rolled his eyes and raised his open palms towards the man. “Look, you’re coming down to the station but this doesn’t have to be a problem.” Harry turned and glanced at his partner, Deputy Kelly Anderson. “Please feel free to step in any time you want.”
The redhead chuckled and sipped her coffee as she lent against the hood of their cruiser outside the strip mall where the man had been caught shoplifting. “Nah you got this.”
Harry gripped the man’s arm and turned behind him, twisting the limb up into a hold that used the man’s own resistance against him. The shoplifter yelped in pain and the fight left him rapidly. “Okay man shit stop oww,” he cried, still wriggling in the token effort of escape.
Harry closed the handcuffs over the man’s hands and led him to the front of the police car.
“I’m going to pat you down. Is there anything on you that’s going to poke, stick or stab me?” Harry asked robotically, the man stunk of urine.
“I don’t want you touching me faggot,” he yelled. “Get her to do it,” he pleaded, looking over at Anderson.
“I like dick more than he does, how’d that improve things?” she chuckled.
Harry ignored the man and patted him down in view of their patrol car’s camera as efficiently and professionally as possible. He pulled several pairs of women's underwear out of his coat pockets.
“And you had the stones to call me names?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Man they weren’t for me!” the man protested weakly, “I was just going to piss in them and sell ‘em.”
Anderson grimaced. “I think I need therapy.”
After processing their creative entrepreneur, the pair left the station and headed back out into traffic to continue their shift. Anderson glanced over at her partner and frowned.
“Why do you let scumbags like that bother you?” she asked.
Kelly had always been incredibly direct with Harry. They’d been partners since they’d finished training. As long as he’d known her, he appreciated her extremely no-nonsense approach. Despite being a native Californian, it reminded him of a lot of people back home.
“I don’t, not really,” Harry replied without looking away from the traffic. “It’s just frustrating.”
“Yeah, but what’s it going to do really? You are who you are, who gives a fuck.”
“I give a fuck, I had to deal with this shit growing up when I didn’t even admit to it. They all knew regardless, and now I don’t exactly hide it, people think they have the right to call me anything they want.”
“Funnily enough you get treated like us.” Anderson laughed.
Harry looked across at his partner with curiosity.
“You get treated like female cops do,” she smirked. “You need to work twice as hard to get half the respect from people. People think they can attack you for any reason because you’re smaller, weaker, and in their eyes, inferior.”
“Thanks, Doctor Phil.”
“I’m serious, you’re a great guy, but other than having a dick you’re basically one of us.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard myself described that way before.” Harry grimaced.
“Look at how you dealt with that asshole earlier. If you’d been one of the guys, you’d have used your power and size to force him to comply, told him to be quiet, and made him do what you wanted. Hell even if you couldn’t muscle the douchebag, you’d have frustrated yourself trying. Instead, you asked me for help and when you had to do it yourself you used his strength against him and let his crap roll off you.”
“Why didn’t you help?”
“Because you gotta learn this life lesson yourself, girl.”
Harry scowled. “Leave it out.”
“You know I’m just kidding you, but come on, you’re prettier than me, it’s not right.”
“I can’t control how I look, and honestly, I like it but I’m not… a girl.”
“There’s nothing wrong with it.” Kelly shrugged. “What the hell does being male even do for you? It's 2023, who cares? I mean you dress up as one, just come over to the team for reals.”
Harry cringed and looked pleadingly at Kelly. “I know ok? I have to explain that subject already so leave it out.”
“Wait you have to tell someone you do drag… that means, you’re seeing someone?” She asked with excitement. “You’ve got to tell me.”
Harry turned onto a side street and pulled the car over before turning to face his partner properly. “I met him when I was surfing last night and I wasn’t looking or expecting it. One minute there he was and things just, happened.”
Harry went on to recount his meeting with Richard while they were surfing and their evening together. Kelly seemed to lap up every detail with great excitement.
“He sounds wonderful,” she beamed. “A suave gentleman to sweep you off your feet.”
Harry smiled. “It’s the first time I’ve felt this way. He makes me feel special and protected.”
“God, you’re such a girl.”
Harry was silent for a moment. “Yeah, I do wonder sometimes.”
“You don’t really seem like much of a boy.”
“You make me sound like a kid.”
Kelly shook her head, “There’s nothing manly about you.”
“That really should bother me more, shouldn’t it? I’ve been fighting that all my life and It’s just so big I don’t even know where to start.”
“When are you telling Richard about your nightlife?”
Harry shrugged. “Friday I guess. I’m seeing him again for dinner. It still bothers me he pegged me as gay so damn fast. He’s so comfortable in himself that it’s weird. I thought he was cute but I wasn’t going to even hint at anything or come on to him, he seemed so straight acting.”
“You’re fine-featured and pretty, soft-spoken and not that macho.” Kelly ticked off on her fingers. “Even that dumbass today saw it.”
Harry knew what she meant. It had been that way his entire life. He had self-confidence and strength but it simply came out in a different way to guys around him growing up. Then the beatings started and he withdrew those parts of himself and hid. Moving to California had allowed him to be more like his old self and he had found some element of confidence again. He could stand up for himself, he wasn’t a wimp but no matter how hard he tried he just stuck out.
The rest of their shift was a parade of routine calls and duties. Before he knew it he was home again and feeling more confused than ever. Kelly’s words had struck home in a way she always managed to find. That woman was like an emotional icepick. He guessed being the only girl of four kids would do that to someone.
He dismissed the thoughts and went to bed, Friday couldn’t come soon enough.
It was six thirty on Friday evening when Harry checked his appearance in the bathroom mirror for the fifteenth time. He had rummaged through his clothing to find something suitable for the evening’s date. His selection wasn’t entirely significant and tended toward the more casual style. He had plenty of clothes, just not for him. He’d chosen a white tank top under a blue dress shirt with a handful of buttons closed and a pair of slim-fitting black slacks. He wasn’t sure if it was right, he didn’t really know where they would be going. He knew he looked smart enough for anything short of a Michelin-star restaurant in this town.
Just after the clock struck seven o’clock, the doorbell rang and Harry felt his heart jump. He waited a moment to pretend he hadn’t been pacing in the hallway and opened the front door.
Outside, Richard was leaning against the railing with a smile on his face. He was dressed in cream slacks and a salmon button-up shirt that was open at the collar, he looked gorgeous.
Standing upright he drew a bunch of flowers from behind his back and held them out toward Harry. “I wasn’t sure of your favorite, so I hope these are ok. I’m never quite sure about the etiquette of flowers. I just know I wanted to get a beautiful person something beautiful” He smiled sheepishly. Harry accepted the bouquet of pink lilies.
“I should put these in water, would you like to come inside for a moment?” He asked, blushing at the gorgeous gift. Richard nodded and followed him through to the kitchen of his apartment while Harry looked around for a vase.
“Your home is lovely,” Richard observed, glancing around the living area. “And you look wonderful.”
Harry blushed as he placed the flowers into the vase. “Thank you.”
“I have a reservation for us at the Venetian.” Richard added. “We have some time.”
Harry turned and faced the man feeling suddenly underdressed. “The Venetian? Do you think I should change?”
“You look great just the way you are.” Richard checked his watch and smiled. “My car’s downstairs, shall we?”
The two descended the stairs from Harry’s second-floor apartment and stepped out onto the street. The boardwalk was at the end of the block to the left and to his right, the lights of Venice’s downtown glittered.
Harry gasped when he saw Richard’s car. Parked at the curbside was a silver Porsche sports car. The low-slung monster sat glistening in the sunset.
“You don’t see many of those where I’m from. It’s beautiful.”
Richard smirked. “Got to spend my money on something to woo the beautiful people of Los Angeles.”
Harry cocked his head to one side and smiled. “You think flowers and a fast car can make me fall for you?”
“I certainly hope it’s a start, but I was banking on my winning personality.” Richard quipped, holding open the door for Harry.
Smiling his thanks, Harry slipped into the brown leather interior of the sports car. Richard joined him a moment later and pulled away from the curb with surprising gentleness. Harry had almost expected him to peel out to show off as so many men did. Despite owning a high-performance car, he drove with the care of someone that appreciated its value.
The conversation during the drive was light and casual. Harry still felt quite intimidated by the entire scenario. None of his prior dates had been like this. Richard was clearly a man that was able to have anyone he wanted, but he seemed to really want Harry to like him. They arrived at the restaurant shortly before seven-thirty and pulled into the valet spot. Richard made his way around to the passenger side and opened the door for Harry then offered his hand. Harry blushed and felt slightly awkward but the valet paid them no heed and took the car away. Richard smiled and offered him his hand to hold. “Shall we?”
Harry nodded as Richard led the way inside. The Maitre D welcomed Richard with familiarity and led them over toward a secluded table near the patio. After they were seated, Richard ordered a bottle of red wine and the man disappeared off to fetch it.
“This place is lovely,” Harry mused. “I do feel a little out of place. Do you come here often?”
Richard nodded. “I do come here on occasion although it’s more often for business than pleasure; the owner is a client. Enough about me though, tell me about yourself?”
Harry lowered his eyes and glanced at the menu in front of him before returning his gaze to Richard.
“Well, I already told you I grew up in rural Montana. I didn’t exactly have a great time in school, but I loved spending time in the mountains on horseback. I’d help around the ranch and I spent a lot of time on my own I guess; Things were pretty unfriendly when you were like me.”
Richard frowned sympathetically. “That’s really unfair but I get it. I was lucky to grow up in California where it’s just not as big a deal.”
“I knew of course,” Harry admitted. “I just couldn’t express it or I’d get my ass kicked. The local cops didn’t seem to care, nor did my parents. They gave me the whole ‘tough love’ approach. It’s why I became a cop after college; I wanted to try and be the officer I would have wanted.”
“That’s the same reason I got into law myself.” Richard smiled. “I want to ensure justice is served and the guilty pay for what they do to people’s lives.”
The waiter interrupted their conversation with a delicious bottle of red wine and took their orders. Once he had gone, Richard raised the question Harry had been wondering when he’d have to answer.
“So, other than saving people, busting bad guys and surfing, what do you do with your time?”
Harry sipped his wine to buy himself a moment before placing the glass down on the table. Rather get it out now than wait till the end of the night and suffer the disappointment. He knew the whole thing could be a turn-off for some guys so he was tactful about its placement in dating conversation.
“I do drag actually.” He replied in what he hoped was a conversational tone. “I’m a comedian.”
Richard raised his eyebrows. “Really? I don’t think I would have expected you to be a comedian. You’re very attractive and you’re incredibly interesting but I must admit, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you tell a joke.”
Harry shrugged. “Weird I know, but I only tend to get funny when I’m in-character.”
“Do you have any pictures? Of you in character that is?”
Harry pulled out his phone and slid the device across the table to the other man. He’d selected one of his promotional photos for his standup act at a bar in Hollywood. She was wearing a pink bias-cut cocktail dress and her hair was a blend of blue and pink. Her makeup was dramatic but he knew it was not overdone or clownish. She was striking a quirky but attractive appearance that Harry felt was a good balance of her personality.
“Mia Calafia,” he explained. “My funnier half.”
Richard looked at the photograph for a moment and grinned. “You know it’s the great thing about being Bi, I think you’re both hot.”
Harry blushed. “It doesn’t bother you?”
Richard shook his head. “I find it quite interesting actually. I’m not a big scene guy but it’s a dramatic art and one that requires a great deal of talent to do well. By the looks of this photograph, you’re certainly talented.”
“I found that world by accident when I first got here. I was encouraged to try it and I discovered I became a totally different person. Unlike me, she’s confident, funny, popular, and beautiful.”
Richard shook his head. “You’re beautiful all the time.”
Harry sipped his wine. “It’s different, It’s like I become a totally separate person. She’s everything I’m not and I really enjoy entertaining people.”
“I suppose it makes a change from people cursing you out or fighting you for trying to do your job?”
Harry nodded. “When I’m Mia, I feel like I’m wearing a suit of armor, people’s opinions don’t matter and I can just exist. It lets me get up there and throw myself out into the world and be bold. It’s exciting and enthralling but it’s something I have to hide from work, it’s bad enough already without them knowing about her.”
Richard looked curious, “How do you mean?”
Harry shrugged and looked away. “Sure it’s all equal opportunities and acceptance officially. Sure there are no overt problems but I get treated differently by other people, anyone different does. It’s like I’m not one of them. Anyway, I didn’t want to burden you and turn this into a therapy session.”
Richard smiled apologetically and squeezed Harry’s hand.
The waiter arrived with their meals and the pair chatted comfortably about their childhoods and experiences. Harry found Richard to be a charming and sensitive man who displayed genuine care for him. Unlike men he’d dated in the past, he didn’t spend the entire date talking about himself or trying to tell jokes to impress him. Their meal was a comfortable shared experience where two people were able to get to know each other better without any pressure or demands. Harry really found he liked the man he was getting to know.
Richard stopped the car by the curb outside Harry’s apartment and killed the ignition.
“Thank you for accepting my invitation; I had a wonderful time this evening,” Richard said softly.
Harry smiled. “Me too.”
“May I kiss you?”
Harry nodded, the flutter returning to his stomach. Richard looked like a nervous schoolboy rather than the well-heeled attorney driving an expensive car, Harry found it incredibly endearing.
Richard leaned across the center console and stroked his hair. Harry closed his eyes and leaned forwards and felt his lips caress Richard’s. They kissed softly for a moment before he felt his lips part and Richard’s tongue enter his mouth. Harry felt a warm tingle spreading throughout his body as he responded to the man’s touch. He moaned involuntarily and ran his fingers through Richard’s hair. They kissed for what felt like an eternity before Richard withdrew.
Harry opened his eyes and gazed through the fog of his brain at the man across from him.
“Would you like to come in for a coffee?” he asked softly.
Richard grinned. “Aren’t we being a little forward?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to sleep with you if that’s what you mean. Not yet, I’m not that type of person.”
“I wouldn’t be here if you were,” Richard smirked.
Harry led Richard up to his apartment and let them in. He turned on some soft music and set about making their drinks.
“I really enjoyed tonight.”
Richard looked around from the balcony window he was staring out of toward the ocean and smiled. “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever dated before.”
Harry raised an eyebrow as he brought the coffee cups over to the sofa. “Should I be offended?”
Richard shook his head. “No, not at all, It’s a good thing. I just can’t seem to put a finger on what it is.” He sat down beside Harry.
“You’re an enigma to me,” the older man admitted. “You’re so kind and empathetic despite everything you endured. The more people have mistreated you, the more you want to help others. Between that and your beauty, I really find myself wanting to just hold and protect you.”
Harry blushed. Richard was the first man that had ever referred to him as beautiful. His role in their budding relationship was quite clear and where he honestly felt most comfortable. Other men he had dated always tried to act so macho and dominant, almost asserting themselves on him. Why, he reasoned, it never worked out for long. Richard however, seemed solely focused on making him happy. It was an intoxicating experience that gave him tingles across his entire body. This gorgeous man was so considerate and attentive that it made him feel wonderful.
“What are your usual dates like?”
Richard smirked wryly. “They’re good mostly, I haven’t ever gone looking for romance as much as I find it and part of me is a wandering spirit. I enjoy the experience and I don’t expect things to last. It’s hot and it’s passionate and it passes almost as quickly. You, however,” he added, caressing Harry’s shoulder. “You make me feel like I’m stepping on eggshells. I desperately want this to last as long as possible and I’m afraid I’ll mess it up.”
He shook his head. “Sorry, this is an awful lot for a first date.”
“It’s our second technically.” Harry pointed out, “Third if you count the beach.”
Richard smiled, “I can get behind technicalities.”
He placed his coffee mug on the table and leaned forwards and kissed Harry tenderly. Harry lent forward into the kiss and wrapped his hands around the back of Richard’s neck. He moaned softly as the man slid his kisses down his neck and across his collarbone.
“Richard,” he whispered.
The tender kisses became impassioned as Richard shifted position on the sofa and Harry felt himself underneath the man as their kissing grew in hunger. Richard slid his hand under Harry’s shirt and began to caress his skin. His body was tingling with energy and he could feel Richard pressing against his crotch. Somewhere in the maelstrom, he felt Richard slide his top over his head and the man lowered his head to his bare skin. Harry gasped as he felt cold breath against his wet skin and he ground his hips against Richard. Whatever the man was doing felt amazing and made him feel alive with a passion he hadn’t experienced before.
Harry would have slept with Richard then and there if the man hadn’t pulled himself upright, buttoning his shirt breathlessly.
“Did I do something wrong?” Harry asked with concern as he reached bashfully for his top. “I’m sorry.”
Richard shook his head, a dopey grin on his face. “No, I just didn’t know if I could control myself if that went on much longer, I respect you too much to do that.”
Harry kissed Richard gently, “Thank you, I don’t think I could have either.”
“I want to treat you properly and I want this to be right,” Richard said with almost adolescent sincerity. “I haven’t felt this way before about someone so quickly.”
Harry snuggled into Richard’s side and picked up his coffee, taking a sip before replying. “This has all been so fast but it feels right, I do too.”
“Would you do something for me?” Richard asked cautiously.
Harry looked at him uncertainly.
“You live somewhat of a dual life. I would be honored to meet the other person I’m going to be dating.”
Harry smiled. “She’s not real you know? It’s just an act. Something I do.”
Richard had a curious expression on his face. “Humor me please,” he added smiling, “After all, I have only ever seen a drag queen on television. If you don’t I might get the wrong impression of you.”
“Blackmail really? You’re trying to make me glam up for your entertainment?” he frowned, a smirk escaping his stern look.
Harry considered this for a moment before answering. “You’ll be here for an hour if I go the whole nine yards, want the short version?”
Richard nodded. “I’m sure I’ll get to see the masterpiece when I come to your wonderful show at some point. I’d like to at least meet her first before I share her with others.”
Harry agreed and left Richard after a brief kiss and retreated to his apartment’s second bedroom where he kept Mia’s things. He didn’t want to keep Richard waiting long so he chose to aim for a more toned-down, normal version of his wild side.
Stripping out of his clothes he slipped into a panty and bra before selecting a simple little black dress from Mia’s wardrobe. Slipping small silicone forms into the bra to fill out the shape.
He brushed his hair back and slipped on a wig cap before affixing a short blonde wig to his head. Brushing it out, he added a little body with hairspray and ensured it was securely fixed. Sitting down at the vanity, he opened his makeup case and applied a light daytime look. Harry wanted to gently introduce Richard to Mia, knowing full well how much of a handful he could become when she came out in full.
Adding a touch of perfume to her pulse points, Mia turned her face in the mirror, examining her reflection with a practiced eye. She was pretty, but in a more natural way than she usually appeared. It was a lot more muted compared to the vibrant and bright look she usually wore on stage to perform. Harry had never been fond of the garish clown styles some queens wore and opted for a more feminine approach. This was a new style in its own right. It was strange seeing himself appear as a relatively normal woman.
Smoothing her dress, she slipped her feet into a pair of three-inch pumps and stepped out into the hallway with a confidence she knew Harry didn’t possess.
Richard was scrolling through his cell phone when Mia coughed lightly from the hall to catch his attention.
He turned toward the sound and froze at the sight before him. Doubt suddenly filled Mia’s stomach as she fought the urge to turn and run back to the bedroom. She felt Harry’s doubt returning, this had been a terrible idea.
“I know it’s probably quite silly but I didn’t have much time, I’m sorry.” She admitted feeling deflated.
Richard stood slowly. He was unable to tear his eyes away from the nervous girl before him. He walked toward her, almost afraid he would scare her off. His eyes traced her every curve and detail until he arrived at her eyes.
He shook his head and smiled, “I didn’t think it possible for you to be any more beautiful. There you go again destroying my preconceptions.”
Mia looked at Richard, she was just below eye level in her heels. “You don’t think I look stupid?”
“No,” he answered quietly. “Far from it. It’s uncanny really You transformed from this beautiful boy into a stunningly attractive woman and It’s messing with my head something terrible. I know it’s you in there but you seem like someone else.”
“I’m sorry,” Mia admitted, glancing away at the floor. “I know a lot of guys don’t like this.”
Richard lightly touched her chin and tilted her head up toward his.
“Never apologize to me,” he said seriously. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mia.”
Harry smiled weakly and swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “I promise I look a lot better normally.”
Richard leaned forwards and whispered. “May I kiss you?”
“Like this?”
He nodded, not taking his eyes off hers.
Mia nodded shyly and Richard wrapped his hands around her waist and drew her toward him. Their lips met and he kissed her gently, her body melting into his. She found herself returning his kiss with greater passion as a wave of warm energy flooded her body. Mia felt herself becoming aroused by his touch in a way she had never known before as she gripped the back of his head and ran her fingers through his hair as she nibbled on his lip. His kisses were driving her wild and she felt a deep longing within her.
She moaned softly as he kissed her neck again. Her skin felt as though it were on fire, the moisture of his lips was a cooling balm.
“Richard,” she whispered, withdrawing from his grasp. “Come,” she cooed, leading him gently by the hand towards her bedroom.
She could see the lust in his eyes as his earlier restraint left him. She didn’t feel a similar reservation anymore. The only thing that mattered to her at that moment was being close to him. She led him into the bedroom and allowed his hand to drop as she walked backward toward the bed. She had no idea what she was doing, but it felt entirely right as she sat on the edge of the bed and beckoned him towards her.
Maintaining eye contact with him, she unbuckled his belt and began to unzip his trousers.
“You don’t have to,” he said softly, a husky tone filling his voice. “It’s ok.”
Mia shook her head and smiled, “I want to.”
She unzipped his trousers, letting them fall to the floor, and hooked her fingers around the waistband of his underwear.
Lowering them slowly, his erect penis sprang free and stood at full mast. He was not a small man she observed.
With their eyes locked, she gently kissed the tip of his penis before taking him into her mouth.
Richard moaned and stroked her cheek. “Oh my god,” he whispered.
Before he could reach climax, he gently stopped her and helped her to her feet. Kissing her softly, he reached behind her back and unzipped her dress allowing it to fall to the floor.
Mia was frozen in place. She felt every nerve ending on her skin screaming at her as her breath caught in her throat.
Richard stared into her eyes as he unclipped her bra and slid it from her body. She was entirely under his spell. Richard gently caressed her breast and grazed her nipple with his finger and thumb. She gasped at his touch. Her fingers shook as she began to unbutton his shirt. Slipping it from his shoulders, Richard stepped out of his trousers and gently lowered Mia to the bed.
She didn’t know why she still felt like Mia, but at that moment she was entirely absorbed by the emotions of her heart. Richard lowered her panties and slid them gently down her smooth legs before discarding them.
She took his hand and drew him to her on the bed. Richard lowered himself onto her and she spread her legs to accommodate him. They kissed and touched each other and explored each other’s bodies tenderly. Richard’s touch was gentle and loving and he drove her to new heights as he prepared her for him.
Richard gazed into her eyes as he pressed forward and entered her. Mia smiled up at him and bit her lip as she felt the brief pain of his entry. Mia arched her back and moaned. She pulled him to her and melted into his body.
They made love long into the night.
Comments are the lifeblood of authors. Please leave a comment with your thoughts/feelings and I'll answer! Let me know what you think!
Life and Love are far more complicated than we can possibly understand. For one young cop, a journey of self-discovery will teach them that true strength was inside them all along.
The next morning Mia woke with a start. Her heart was pounding as she felt the hair against her neck and the memory of the night before flooded back to her. She glanced across the bed and saw that she was alone under the soft sheets. A pang of sadness ran through her before she noticed a folded piece of paper on her bedside cabinet.
Rolling onto her stomach she picked up the paper and unfolded it.
“Mia,
I’m sorry for vanishing. I don’t want you to think it was anything you did but I got called into work early to check over some filings and I’d far rather still be in your bed with you. Words cannot begin to express what I felt last night. I never planned to sleep with you this soon as much as I wanted to. You mean far too much to me and I didn’t want to sully that. I realize this sounds silly but I want this to be real and I want to respect you. When we first met I fell for this amazing guy that I never expected to find. Last night I met the other half of you and she turned the world upside down. You’re an incredible person and I’d love you to call as soon as you get this note.
Richard.”
Mia smiled to herself, the worry she’d felt melting away at the sweetness of his note. She picked up her phone and called him. The phone was answered after only two rings.
“Hey.”
“For a minute, I thought you’d used me and run away. I was almost going to look for money on the side table.” Mia purred into the phone.
Richard chuckled. “Never in my wildest dreams would I dare do that to you. How are you feeling?”
Mia rolled over onto her back and brushed the hair out of her face. “Great, you were amazing last night.”
“Now that’s what a man likes to hear.” he laughed and changed to a more serious tone, “Would you like to do something this afternoon?”
“Like what?” she mused.
“I’m exhausted and I know it sounds like rather a high school affair, but I expect you never got a chance to go to go for pizza and a movie did you?”
Mia laughed, “No I didn’t, that sounds lovely. When and as who?”
“You obviously. But I can tell you’re still Mia you know.”
Mia frowned, “How?”
“Your voice is slightly higher in pitch and you sound more playful and energetic.”
Mia paused a moment and considered this. “I wasn’t doing anything in particular,” she admitted.
“Remember I read people for a living, I notice these things.”
“I’ll surprise you.” She giggled and glanced at her watch. “It’s eleven now, so two?”
“I’ll see you then.”
Mia clicked off the phone and hugged her knees to her chest. Was she acting differently? She didn’t think she was. She blew a strand of blonde hair out of her face and rolled her eyes. What was more concerning to her mental state was that her first time with Richard had been as a girl. That didn’t feel right. Her memory drifted back to their lovemaking the night before. That was what it had been; not sex. She’d had sex before as a male, and it was a raw and hot experience. She was still unsure if what she had experienced last night was because of Richard or her. Shaking herself mentally she got up and padded out of her room to take a shower.
The water cascaded down over her body and washed away the last dregs of sleep and sweat from the night before. As she washed, she felt slightly uncomfortable. She’d never liked her body growing up, although it was parts of that slender soft frame that allowed Mia to come into existence in the first place. Now, however, it was as though a switch had been thrown in her brain; she felt both happy for that fact and a gnawing sensation that it was now wrong for entirely different reasons.
Shaking her head, she finished washing and dried herself before making her way into her bedroom.
She sat wrapped in the towel on the edge of the bed debating her choice for the day. Who should meet Richard? Mia or Harry? She reasoned it should be Harry; Mia wasn’t real. Mia was just a creation; an act for the stage to entertain and have fun. Part of her speculated that there was maybe more than that but she wasn’t willing to face that yet. She made a decision and dropped the towel and began to get ready for the day.
Just before two, Richard rang the doorbell outside the apartment. He had come directly from his office and was still wearing a shirt and tie. He hated leaving that morning; she had been so beautiful lying there under the covers that he had almost considered blowing off the vital preparation work for the upcoming trial. She… It was strange he thought; he almost imagined them as separate people.
The door opened and he found himself face to face with a vision beyond his wildest dreams. Mia was still there and she looked incredible. Her blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders in soft waves, framing her pretty face. Her makeup was subtle but hinted toward a more dramatic eye. She was wearing an off-the-shoulder top and a pair of shorts that showed off her tan legs ending in strappy sandals. She looked pleased to see him but was equally apprehensive. He could see she was hoping she’d chosen the right persona to greet him.
“God, you’re beautiful.” Richard grinned leaning in to kiss her painted lips. Her perfume was delicate but hinted at spices and fruit.
She ran a hand through his hair and kissed him back. “I hope you don’t mind,” she whispered, looking serious for a moment. “I didn’t want to jar your memory of me so suddenly after…”She trailed off with a sly smirk.
Richard shook his head and stroked her cheek. “You’re wonderful however you want to present to me. Perhaps I should get to know the girl I slept with a little better for decorum’s sake though.”
Mia grinned at him and nodded.
He took her hand and led her down to his car. Opening the door, he took her hand and helped her into the low-slung vehicle. Her every mannerism screamed femininity and confidence. He knew who she was but at that moment he couldn’t see the skinny shy boy he fell for in the surf.
Mia luxuriated in the car as Richard drove them through the city. The leather of the seat was hot against the back of her thighs and she could feel the wind whipping her hair through the open window. The world felt delightfully vibrant all of a sudden. Her senses seemed to be absorbing everything she was experiencing in stereo. She looked across at Richard as he drove. How was she here and why did this feel so utterly correct?
Drag was something she did on stage, it was a performance. Why had she gotten so carried away that she had slept with him as Mia? Why was she right that moment sitting in his car as Mia? The entire experience was amazing and exciting but it was also confusing and caused great conflict within her.
For the longest time, this had been a fun light-hearted act she kept to the stage, nothing more. It was enjoyable and fun and she was good at it. It gave her a level of confidence and armor that permitted her to be someone she’d only ever dreamed of being; popular. Why was she trying to act and look like a normal woman? She didn’t feel like one she reasoned; what did one even feel like? Was Richard just entertaining this or did he even want her as Harry now he’d seen Mia? Did he want Harry instead and was he simply humoring her strange choice?
The idea of being like this hadn’t just arrived the second she slept with Richard. She knew she’d had little moments in the past where the idea had flickered across the back of her consciousness. It was silly she reasoned. She wasn’t unhappy, was she?
“Why so quiet?” Richard asked, glancing over at her in the passenger seat.
Mia felt a strange desire to be entirely honest with him in that moment.
“I’m having a little difficulty wrapping my head around a few things. Notably myself.”
“How so?”
“I’m going, to be honest, I don’t know who you like or how this feels to you.”
Richard nodded, “You’re afraid because I slept with you as a woman last night, that for some reason I’ll dislike you as a boy and not want to be around you. You’re questioning whether you have to be a woman to keep me.”
“Pretty much.” Mia muttered feeling more than a little frustrated that he’d picked her conundrum apart so expertly.
“As for how this feels for me, you know I’m bisexual, so I’m easy either way. Sometimes somewhere in-between,” he grinned.
Mia frowned and gently slapped his arm.
Richard continued undaunted. “I met a gorgeous beautiful guy on the beach and we spent some great time together, then I find out he lives this dual life and… I get the impression this…” he gestured at her. “Is a new thing off-stage?”
Mia nodded shyly.
“Do what makes you happy.” he shrugged. “At the core, you’re the same person, whether that’s Harry or Mia is up to you. I can’t decide how you want to present yourself to the world, but I can tell you it’s the person inside there,” he said sincerely, placing his hand on her chest above her heart. “That is the person I want to spend time with and get to know far, far better.”
“You said you wanted to wait last night, and then when I became a more normal version of Mia you couldn’t resist. I thought that meant you found me more attractive as a female.”
Richard shook his head. “I’d take either of you to bed. I was happy to wait. I told you I respect you. If it pleases the court, I would like to point out that it was you, madam, that initiated that little adventure.”
Mia smiled at the memory of her boldness. “I don’t normally do that, I promise.”
“Maybe she’s the more outgoing side of you that’s willing to take what she wants.”
“I am far more confident like this,” she admitted, running her hand through her hair.
They arrived at the theater complex and found a place to park before Richard led her inside. He was right, she realized, she felt like a high schooler on a date while they waited in line for their tickets. There was something so new and beautiful about this entire experience that it felt as though she was back in school. She hadn’t had any dates in high school of course, and most of her dates since had been in restaurants or bars and clubs. None had offered to take her for something as casual and unassuming as pizza and a movie. It seemed so childish but in its own way, it was adorable and fun.
Richard bought her a soda and a large popcorn for them to share and lead her by the hand into the theater itself. They found their seats and waited for the lights to go down.
“I really do want to come to one of your shows.” Richard whispered in her ear.
“I’d love to see you in your full glory and a sea of adoring fans, I’ve never dated anyone famous before.”
“Hardly famous,” she scoffed. “And perhaps I’ll let you one day.”
The lights dimmed and she felt Richard wrap his arm around her shoulder and pull her towards him.
“Little early don’t you think? You didn’t even wait for the scary part.”
“First off, this is a comedy so there is no scary part. Secondly, I think last night earned me at least this,” he whispered playfully in her ear.
Mia smiled in the darkness.
She didn’t remember the majority of the movie’s plot as she spent a significant portion of it with her lips locked with Richard’s. The two kissed like teenagers and barely maintained a level of decorum in the populated space. After the film had ended, she darted to the bathroom to fix her makeup.
It took her a minute to realize where she was as she stood fixing her lipstick in the mirror. Women were coming and going minding their own business and not a single one of them paid her any attention. She had, without thinking, nonchalantly entered the most forbidden of places for a boy; the women’s room. The fact she hadn’t thought about it, she blamed on her immersion that day, it had felt normal for some reason. She was more glad that she hadn’t blindly rushed into the men's room looking as she did. She shrugged and checked her reflection before leaving to rejoin Richard.
After she got back, Richard took her to a nearby pizza place for an early dinner. Nothing about this date was classy or expensive but she could honestly say she was having the best of times. It felt delightfully comfortable as they sat in the restaurant sharing a pizza and chatting. The experience was something she should have had as a teenager. To finally experience it was a little exciting.
“This is nice,” she said, munching on a slice of pepperoni pizza.
Richard leaned back in his seat and grinned. “I forget sometimes how fun the simple things can be.”
“Back home this was the highlight of the week for many of the kids at my school,” Mia admitted. “I always felt so jealous of them being out with someone on a date, kissing at the movies, guess I can check that one off my bucket list.”
“Afraid I can’t take you to prom, but I might have an event or two coming up where a glamorous lady might be helpful.”
Mia thought for a moment. That raised an interesting question. While Richard might not mind who she presented as when they were together, what would others think? No matter how she felt, she owed it to Richard to protect his reputation. How long would he stay with her once people started talking? The least she could do was be consistent regardless of how she felt inside, it was only clothes, wasn’t it?
“I could always give my partner at work a call, she’s always looking to find a nice guy to take her out,” she grinned.
Richard rolled his eyes and poked her knee under the table. Mia laughed. It was a great feeling to be that happy.
After their meal, Richard drove her home and they kissed briefly by her door before she went inside. She was slightly disappointed that he didn’t want to come in to continue their activities the prior night, but she understood, he looked as exhausted as she felt.
As she undressed, Mia felt another jolt of displeasure at her body. She dismissed the feeling, but still found herself wondering about what she was planning to do for Richard. Was it just for Richard?
Mia sat down heavily on the edge of her bed and sighed. Glancing at the mirror on the bedroom wall, she frowned before looking away. When she was Harry, none of the feelings that bothered her as she was now, felt quite as raw. She had gotten used to feeling out of place in the world around her. When she was Mia, those feelings were hard to ignore.
Shaking her head, she shrugged into an oversized T-shirt before slipping under the covers of her bed. It was early, but she really didn’t want to remain awake and marinade in her thoughts. Switching off the bedroom light she rolled over and waited for sleep to claim her.
Mia rose early on Sunday morning and rolled out of bed. She padded through to the kitchen and started the coffee maker. Waiting for the machine to do its work, she plucked at her short hair and frowned. She couldn’t do much with it as her job had relatively strict regulations about that sort of thing. That meant considerable time in her expensive wigs. She shrugged, variety adds to the spice of life.
Taking her coffee she slipped onto the sofa and crossed her legs. Why was she considering spending the day as Mia? She didn’t need to, she didn’t have to but she felt as though she wanted to. She argued she needed some practice if she was going to spend off-stage time as Mia and convince others for Richard’s sake.
Maybe she should go shopping? She would need more than just clubwear and a few bits and pieces to really sell Mia as a real person, especially a girlfriend. First, she needed a new name for this character… Mia was a comedian, she was a showgirl, and had a rather potent personality. That and her name was a comedic parody to start with, that wasn’t girlfriend material. What would the female Harry he was playing be called?
Mia thought for a moment and played a few names around in her head. What would fit her? What would be proper for the social circles Richard moved in?
A name popped into her head she hadn’t considered. It felt right, she smiled to herself and went through to her room to dress for her day.
Olivia Dalton checked her appearance in the mirror. She had dressed down more than she had ever managed as Mia but she felt comfortable. She had her blonde hair up in a messy bun held back with a French clip and wore her shorts from the day before along with a UCLA sweater she had from school. A simple pair of sneakers finished her look. She didn’t want to look dramatic or dressy today and she had limited choices otherwise. Her overall plan was to look as uninteresting as she could. She hoped it would help her blend into the background.
Olivia jogged down the stairs to the parking bay and climbed into her truck. Pulling out into traffic she briefly worried about being pulled over. She knew how overzealous cops in the city could be at times. She shook her head and eased off the gas slightly as she slipped into the flow of traffic.
She drove up to a popular mall in Santa Monica and managed to eventually find a parking spot for her pickup. She’d been shopping for women's things before many times but somehow it felt more terrifying when it wasn’t for a costume. Blowing it off as drag was easy, but now this was clothing she was buying for herself, at least in the short term. Suddenly Olivia felt extremely vulnerable; by creating a new persona that was more Harry than her stage persona, she suddenly felt naked without Mia’s bravery and bravado. The rational part of her mind told her that nobody would notice or care in this city. This was Los Angeles after all, things were extremely liberal. The irrational part of her mind told her that she no longer had the excuse of drag to protect her.
Wandering through the crowds, Olivia felt extremely nervous. She was alone and felt a vulnerability far greater than she ever had at home in Montana. There, she at least appeared outwardly normal to most people. Now, she felt as though everyone could see through her and into her mind. She knew it was likely nothing, but every glance gave her a jolt of panic.
Stopping off at a clothing outlet, she began to browse the racks. At first, she felt like every eye in the store was on the imposter in their midst. She caught her reflection in a mirror as she shopped. The girl looking back appeared to be any young woman out clothes shopping on a weekend. She saw no trace of Harry. There was nothing that might give someone cause to call security or bring attention to the deviant. She channeled a little Mia and felt stronger. She held her head high and set about her mission.
Olivia was glad she had chosen to wear sneakers that morning. Her feet still hurt as she left the mall several hours later. Her trip had been successful and she now owned a significantly larger feminine wardrobe that would help her to fill her new role.
Perhaps it was a little early in her relationship to think this far ahead but she felt differently about Richard. There was something that separated him from anyone she had dated before him. Before she had dated boys but Richard was a man.
She had spent nearly five hundred dollars in the mall buying everyday necessities that would be needed to fill out her wardrobe. She had bought everything from underwear to casual and more dressy outfits. She rather enjoyed the experience after her initial fear had subsided and allowed her to really enjoy the experience. She had a good eye, she knew. Olivia knew how to dress to her body. Her fashion sense was, she realized, a lot closer to what Harry would wear. That is, if Harry had been born a girl. Jeans and T-shirts, tank tops, tops, and boots played a significant part. Even the skirts and dresses she had bought were far longer than anything Mia would wear on stage. She realized she had been making an unconscious separation between the two of them. Olivia was going to be classy but a little country. She was proud of her culture and wasn’t about to give it up to the Californian way so quickly. As she maneuvered her pickup through traffic, the scowls of some tiny hatchback drivers made her smile. City folks.
Unpacking at home, she folded and hung her new wardrobe in Harry’s room rather than Mia’s before cooking dinner for herself. Shopping was hungry work she realized. The day had flown by far quicker than she realized. She thought over her decision. Becoming Olivia might do in the short term but was she kidding herself? Would it ever be enough for him? Would he force her to choose? Richard seemed to be casual about his opinion of the two of them but a part of her mind and her emotions told her that he would prefer her over Harry in the end. What would the future hold? How long could she maintain this facade and would it be a lie? She couldn’t answer that question yet.
As the hour grew late, she decided to change into one of her more indulgent purchases; a short silk nightdress. Slipping it on, she reveled in its luxury. Her mind told her she should probably feel more conflicted about her stupid plan but she dismissed the thoughts almost as quickly as she slipped between the sheets.
Comments are the lifeblood of authors. Please leave a comment with your thoughts/feelings and I'll answer! Let me know what you think!
Life and Love are far more complicated than we can possibly understand. For one young cop, a journey of self-discovery will teach them that true strength was inside them all along.
The next morning, Harry drank his coffee as he waited for Anderson to bring their car around. It felt decidedly odd to be male again after his feminine weekend. Everything felt suddenly far more clunky and out of place. It would be a useful reminder to kick some of the behaviors he had found himself noticing over the past few days. After leaving the locker room he’d caught himself walking in a more feminine gait and had to deliberately butch up his stride to compensate.
Behavior, he realized, was like accents: Exaggerate one long enough, and you begin to sound more natural when you relax rather than trying to nail that perfect tone from the beginning. Mia’s behavior was feminine but exaggerated. It was nowhere near as over the top as some queens but it was femininity at full volume. Olivia, he reasoned, was so easy to slip into because it required so little thought.
Anderson pulled up in their cruiser and he climbed in beside her.
“So like I was saying,” she continued their earlier conversation from the squad briefing. “The dude nearly took my fucking head off. It took three of us to get him in cuffs.”
“That’s what you get for messing with junkies with power tools.” Harry deadpanned with a smirk. “One wrong choice and…” he made a neck-slicing gesture.
“Working over the river sucks man, I hate picking up mandatory overtime shifts.”
Harry nodded. The east of the city was considerably rougher than the majority and often required additional manpower after payday when the local population went on an excited binge.
“So…” Kelly asked changing the subject as she pulled out into the city traffic. “How did your date go?”
“Oh, it was fine,” Harry offered dismissively. “Pretty average actually.”
Kelly looked across at him trying to work out if he was lying. “You are so full of shit. Tell me everything!”
“It was good,” he admitted cautiously. “Dinner was lovely, he was a real gentleman. We had a really lovely time and he took me home.”
“Was that it?” she pressed.
“Well no,” he admitted. “He had a really cool car, a Porsche.”
Kelly looked at her partner and rolled her eyes so dramatically that Harry feared they might fall out.
“He came in for coffee and… we might have slept together.”
Kelly let out a whistle. “You move fast,” she chuckled.
Harry felt defensive. “No, it wasn’t like that, it just happened ok? It felt right, we were caught up in a moment and it was really special.”
Kelly lowered her mask of bravado for a moment and looked more serious. “He called you, right? Afterward?”
Harry nodded. “We actually went out again Saturday, pizza and a movie.”
“From glitz to the pits huh? Maybe you sucked in the sack?”
Harry slapped her arm and shook his head. “Nope.”
She gave him a knowing look and grinned. “Ok, so you two are compatible in a biblical way, how’d he deal with your nightlife?”
Harry blushed. “Yeah, he was ok I guess. Didn’t mind.”
Kelly didn’t buy it for a minute. “No way Missy, you’re holding out on me, spill! How long have we known each other?”
Harry sighed. “Well he’s bisexual, you already know that. It doesn’t bother him like it might if he was full-on gay.” he paused, staring out at the passing buildings. “He wanted to see Mia.”
Kelly pulled the car over and parked before turning to face him. “And?” she prompted with a look approaching a child on Christmas morning.
Harry stared at the dashboard with a frown.
“Well, I asked him in for coffee and we fooled around a little, and then he wanted to see Mia. I didn’t want to leave him waiting for the full Mia so I kinda toned it down, more normal I guess.”
He couldn’t look at Kelly. He closed his eyes and took a breath. “He didn’t sleep with me, he slept with Mia.”
Kelly squealed and covered her mouth. “What?” she whispered. “He slept with you in drag?”
“Yeah.” Harry admitted glancing at her cautiously. “And it was the best sex I’ve ever had in my life,” he admitted quietly.
“Aren’t you reading into things a little?” she asked, “It could just be Mister Gentleman being a smooth operator.”
Harry shook his head. “I felt different; it was different. It was nothing like the other guys I’d been with. He was sweet and gentle and so caring. I thought I was going to cry. It wasn’t him that initiated things with Mia, it was me.” he added shyly.
Anderson leaned back in her seat and thought for a moment. “Your date Saturday was as Mia too wasn’t it?”
Harry nodded. “I didn’t want to jar his memory of me and risk him running for the hills.”
“That’s why you were acting oddly this morning,” she observed. Seeing Harry’s questioning glance she continued. “You’re walking a little differently, holding yourself a little differently, and small mannerisms are a bit softer than usual. It’s not much, I don’t think the guys will think you’re any fruitier than before but I can see it,” she said simply.
“You think I’m crazy don’t you?”
Kelly shook her head. “No sweetie, but I think you’ve got some serious mental gymnastics ahead of you.”
“What the hell do I do?” Harry whimpered.
“Do what makes you feel happy,” she answered softly. “I’m your friend and I’m here for you, whoever that is.”
Olivia pulled out of the strip mall and joined the flow of traffic. Returning from work she realized that she lacked any kind of workout clothing and needed a quick stop to remedy the issue. A surf shop up the coast in Malibu and a sporting store had solved her issues. Traffic on the coastal highway was extremely heavy even at that late hour. One of the country stations was blasting out one of the older Shania Twain tracks and she was drumming her fingers to the beat as they crawled forwards.
The welp of a siren and a flicker of lights behind her snapped her reverie. Glancing in the rearview she saw a cruiser with its lights on behind her. A shiver of panic ran through her as she slapped the radio off and pulled over to the shoulder.
The car was a Sheriff’s Department vehicle which only made her situation worse. There was a reasonable chance that she might know them or they’d know someone she did. Pulling her license and paperwork from the glovebox she held them in her lap and waited for the deputy to approach. A younger brunette woman stepped from the car and started to make her way along the side of the vehicle until she drew level with the passenger window.
Olivia smiled weakly and waited for the woman to speak.
“Hi, sorry for stopping you but you have a left rear tail light out.” The deputy explained. “License, registration, and insurance please?”
Olivia sat still for a moment. “I have a firearm in the vehicle,” she explained quickly. “Bag” she added gesturing with her license to the passenger seat and her handbag. The woman’s eyes flicked to the handbag and nodded. “Thanks, can I see those please?”
Olivia froze and contemplated explaining herself. She knew the woman by appearance but not by name, the stripes on her sleeve marked her out as one of the department’s training officers.
“Problem?” She asked, there was a look behind the smile she still had on her lips.
“Ah, no, sorry,” Olivia replied, handing the items. “This is going to look a little strange,” she explained as the woman took her documents. “I… can explain.”
The deputy took the paperwork and held up the license and glanced across at Olivia. Her raised eyebrows meant she had made the connection. “I see,” she replied with a quirk of her lip. “I’ll be right back,” she answered, returning to her cruiser.
Time seemed to pass extremely slowly on the side of the highway. Traffic was starting to ease up and flow faster beside her. Despite the cooler evening temperature, Olivia was sweating. Once the deputy returned, she handed back the documents and gave her a look. “I think you have some explaining to do, Deputy.”
Olivia pointed at her door and the woman nodded. Stepping down from the truck, she made her way around to the side of the shoulder and stood in front of the woman. “I…” she began not entirely sure what she was going to say. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
“And what does it look like?” Replied the woman, hooking her thumbs into her belt.
Olivia shrugged, “I’m not sure honestly.”
“Are you transgender?” she asked more gently.
“I don’t know,” Olivia replied honestly, her cheeks turning red.
The woman shrugged. “It’s not a crime last I checked, but you’re going to land yourself in hot water with those documents. I’m betting the department has no idea, do they?”
Olivia shook her head. “I… I know you need to file a report, but does it need to include this?”
The woman shook her head. “Not really, but if my footage is reviewed it might. It’s not exactly a controversial stop and I’m not citing you so I don’t expect so.”
“I think I’ve seen you around,” she added, giving Olivia a closer look. “Dalton sounds familiar, you work third up in West Hollywood right?”
Olivia nodded. “With Anderson.”
The woman smiled, “I trained her, she’s a good cop.” She looked at her again and smiled. “You do look very pretty, I wouldn’t have known if you hadn’t shown me your license.”
Olivia blushed and dropped her head. “Thanks, I guess.”
The woman patted her shoulder. “Look, get out of here, get that fixed, and try to not get pulled over again. Here,” she added, handing a card. “Give me some time and you can explain some more of this to me, I get the feeling you’re going to need allies.”
Deputy Sheriff Abigail Taylor.
“I’ve heard of you.” Olivia answered with reverence. “You’re the one that handled the Orson Crowe cases?”
Taylor smirked. “Yeah, that guy’s unique.”
She walked back to her cruiser and stood holding the open door. “What’s your name?”
“Olivia,”
Taylor smiled and gave her a quick wave before slipping back into her car and pulling away from the stop. Olivia hugged herself for a moment, she was starting to create a real mess for herself. She shook her head and climbed back into her truck and pulled back out into traffic and headed for home.
Letting herself into her apartment, she changed into her new surf gear, grabbed her board and made for the beach. It was a liberating experience to ditch the wetsuit. She’d always worn that to hide her frame and bulk herself up to fit in. She’d also never felt comfortable without covering up. Now she wore a one-piece swimsuit with board shorts over the top. Her wig was securely glued in place so she wasn’t afraid of losing it if she bailed.
Dusk was starting to settle as she jogged into the waves and began to paddle. The heat of the day had kept the water warm enough to be pleasant and the tide was coming in. Olivia grinned as she dug deep and hauled her way out into the swell.
Exhausted and with darkness falling, Olivia waded ashore and grabbed her towel. Her balance had been all off and she had fallen more than she would have liked. She wasn’t sure if it was long wet hair or her boobs, but she felt like a beginner again.
A wolf whistle from further up the beach caught her attention.
“So that’s why you didn’t pick up your phone.” Richard’s voice called in the darkness.
Recovering quickly, Olivia smiled as the man approached in the fading light. “Hi,” she replied, continuing to dry herself off.
“This is a new look.” he offered with a raised eyebrow.
“Trying something new with my hair,” she quipped.
“I was going to see if you wanted to grab a bite, nothing super formal.”
Olivia shrugged, “I was about to make dinner if you want to join me?”
Richard smiled, “I’d like that.”
The two chatted as they made their way back up the beach toward her apartment. Richard carried her board at his insistence. He’d gotten off work late which appeared to be a consistent trend. Trial preparation tended to result in long hours and little free time. That he wanted to spend a little of it with her made her feel special. Olivia let them in and grabbed Richard a beer before setting the oven to preheat. Grabbing a quick shower, she dried and dressed quickly in sweats and a tank top before returning to the kitchen to prepare the meal.
Richard watched her move around the kitchen as she prepared the food. She was singing softly to herself and moving her body to the music on the stereo. This wasn’t the gawky shy boy he first met that day on the beach, this was a woman. He sipped his beer and simply watched as she moved around unaware of his gaze.
“This isn’t a stage persona is it?” he asked as she stirred a pot.
Olivia glanced up at him with a look that reminded him of a deer in the headlights of a semi-truck.
“I just want you to feel comfortable,” she answered meekly.
Richard walked through to the kitchen and leaned against the counter next to her. Reaching over, he stroked her cheek gently. “I don’t care what you look like. I want it to be what you want.”
Olivia raised her hand to touch his and held it against her face. She stared into his eyes as though trying to find an answer to an unspoken question.
“I do,” she said flatly.
“Why?”
“You’re too good for me,” she answered softly. “You deserve someone better and someone that won’t embarrass you.”
Richard cocked his head to one side. “Why would you embarrass me?”
Olivia shrugged gently and stirred the pot absentmindedly. “You started dating a boy, then things happened and now I’m in a mess and I can’t keep switching back and forth on you. It’s not right.”
“This isn’t a performance,” he stated matter-of-factly.
“No,” she admitted sadly.
“This is LA,” Richard reassured. “Nobody cares and if they do then it’s their fucking problem. I’m not a celebrity, I’m a lawyer. You should see the crap my clients and colleagues get up to. This is honestly nothing. I’ve never hidden who I was and I’ve dated men and women very publicly. I don’t give a damn.”
“People would talk if you were with me one day and Harry the next.”
“Let them, it’s our lives.”
Olivia stared into the sauce she was stirring and sighed. “I don’t know why, but this feels so much more real than any relationship I’ve ever had.” she admitted. “I want this to work out so badly.” she added, looking pleadingly into his eyes.
Richard kissed her fingers. “I do too. You’re very special and I care about you. More than I have for anyone in some time. But I insist you be happy. Don’t feel you have to change who you are because of me.”
Olivia occupied herself with serving their meal and led Richard over to the table. They both ate in silence for a moment before she spoke.
“At first, I created this persona to make what we did that night easier for you… and me.”
Richard tried to comment but she held a finger up. “The more serious this began to get, the more I felt I owed you consistency. I didn’t plan for this to happen, but there is perhaps a little more to it than I first thought.”
She gestured towards herself. “I spent my entire weekend like this. Not Mia, but someone different, someone… in-between Harry and her. Right now I’m not sure what it means, but if you’ll put up with me I’d like to see how I feel about all of this.”
Richard stroked her hair and smiled sympathetically. “Regardless of what you wear or who you are on the outside, you’re the same person inside. That’s who I’m quickly falling for. Do what makes you happy; I’m not going anywhere.”
He paused and smiled. “Would the lady care to grace a gentleman with her name?”
The girl smiled and cocked her head to one side, “Olivia, a pleasure to meet you.”
Richard left later that evening after spending a few precious hours with Olivia on the sofa. They had done little more than hold each other and kiss, choosing instead to spend the time enjoying each other’s presence. She felt comfortable there;. his warmth and his scent lingered long in her heart long after he had departed.
His touch and presence excited her. She felt a heady rush when he was near that she hadn’t experienced before with any man. Olivia glanced into the hallway mirror after he had left and sighed. The dejected image of a girl hugging herself uncertainly looked back. It felt incredibly real to her at that moment.
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Life and Love are far more complicated than we can possibly understand. For one young cop, a journey of self-discovery will teach them that true strength was inside them all along.
“I’m really starting to get confused Kel,” Harry murmured as they walked up the steps to a property just off Van Ness. “I’m starting to feel like two people.”
His partner shook her head and smirked, despite her eyes glancing around cautiously as they approached the door. She knocked and announced them before turning to Dalton. “You’ve gotta find what feels right for you or you’ll go crazy… well crazier.”
Harry shot her a look as the door opened on its chain. “Mister Martinez?” Anderson asked neutrally. The man nodded slowly. “We had a report of another argument, want to come outside and talk to us?” The man seemed extremely uncertain as he glanced between the two deputies but eventually the door closed briefly before the sound of the chain rattling was followed by the door opening more fully.
The man stepped forward into the doorway and rolled his shoulders, “Ain’t nothin’ wrong Officers, all tranquilo here eh.”
Kelly pointed out onto the front yard, “Come on over here and talk to me for a minute ok?”
While the surly man followed his partner over, Harry glanced inside the hallway. There was a short dark Hispanic woman with her arm around a short boy standing in a doorway toward the rear of the property. “Can I come in?” He asked gently, smiling to reassure the woman.
She hesitated for a moment before nodding and gently encouraged the small boy off into one of the side rooms. Harry stepped through the threshold and glanced around casually, trying to take in as much as possible. “hablar Inglés?” Do you speak English?
The woman shook her head, “No mucha,” she admitted quietly looking nervous.
Harry switched to his broken Spanish, something he was learning to master quite quickly on this job. “You are well?”
She nodded, “We have an argument, it is fine, we argue about money.”
Harry nodded, the home was bare but appeared to be proudly kept. The couple certainly seemed to be trying. He didn’t notice alcohol bottles or any signs of disturbance. “I am sorry, I must ask, you are not hurt yes?”
The woman seemed shocked, “No, He does not hit me, we argue but we are happy… well, we try.”
“I understand, I must ask, I am sorry.” The woman seemed genuine and there were no signs of abuse visible on her and she appeared genuinely surprised by his question. It was likely that they’d just had a good old fashioned shouting match the way some couples do. Harry glanced at the small boy who was hovering in the kitchen, clutching a toy police car under his arm.
Harry glanced at the mother and then at the boy and smiled. “Hello, what is your name?” he asked squatting down to be less intimidating to the child. “Is that a police car?”
The little boy nodded and held it out in front of himself proudly. Harry grinned and reached into his thigh pocket and pulled out a small plastic Sheriff’s Department badge. He always kept a few on him for children. He glanced at the mother who nodded her assent and held it out towards the boy. “Here, for you.”
The boy approached slowly and took the star from Harry’s hand and smiled happily.
“What do you say?” his mother prompted.
The little boy smiled shyly, “Gracias señorita.”
Harry blushed slightly and nodded, “You’re welcome.” He stood and returned his attention to the mother, “I won’t take up any more of your time, have a good day.”
Harry said goodbye and made his way out of the home. He caught Anderson’s eye and nodded; everything was ok. He walked down the steps and waited by the car while she finished speaking with the husband.
A few moments later Kelly joined him and they got back into their patrol car. “All good,”
“One Adam Ninety-Three, Dispatch, we’re Ninty Eight on our call, show us back Ten-Eight.” Kelly called lazily over the radio as she slipped the car into gear.
“The kid called me señorita,” Harry mused as they pulled away from the curb.
Kelly chuckled as they merged into traffic. “Kids are preceptive,” she grinned. “You do seem different though, more relaxed.”
“I don’t feel relaxed,” muttered Harry as he watched traffic. “I feel more tense than I ever have in my life.”
“Want to get a drink later when we’re off shift? I think you need to let your hair down a bit.”
“Yeah,” Harry agreed slowly. “I think I could do with that.”
“Who’s coming?” Kelly grinned glancing over at her partner.
Harry thought for a moment. He was pretty sure it wasn’t really a question anymore. “Olivia.”
Olivia was hit with a wall of noise and music as she stepped into the Baja Catina off Washinton at nine that evening. The decor was a gaudy SoCal mix of Mexican beach bar and tourist trap but it was relatively popular. Most importantly, it wasn’t an establishment frequented by cops; Olivia didn’t want to deal with possibly running into colleagues that evening. She felt apprehensive going out at night dressed as she was. It was funny, for a woman born in the clubs of West Hollywood she should be used to nightlife in a skirt, but if anything that made her more aphehensive. She knew it was one of the city’s safer areas but she’d seen enough in her work to carry a healthy caution.
She’d worn a dress that evening and she was starting to regret the choice as she noticed several men glancing in her direction the moment she entered the bar. It was short and floral and fell off her shoulders with a peasant neckline. She wore a simple pair of heeled sandals and her hair was flowing around her neck. She felt as though she had to make an effort for her partner, as silly as it was. This was technically Kelly’s first time meeting Olivia, even though she’d met Mia more than once in the past.
She approached the bar and waited to order a drink. The bar was busy, but not entirely packed. Weeknights never got entirely quiet in the city but they did slow down a little from the weekend rush. She’d barely spoken to the barman when a tall handsome man had approached her and attempted to engage her in conversation.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you here before, but I wish I had,” he grinned broadly eyeing her up like a piece of meat. Olivia glanced at him and smiled thinly, a neutral gesture. She’d met plenty of men like him before, although they hadn’t been straight. She wondered if certain stereotypes of men were universal across sexuality.
“First time here and I’m waiting for a friend,” she replied over the music before turning back toward the bar to collect her drink as she surreptitiously kept the tip of her finger over the open bottle.
“I don’t see them yet, want to hang with me for a little while?” The guy asked not reading the signals.
Olivia’s eyes flicked nervously around the bar to see if she could spot Kelly, but came up short. “Sorry no,” she offered politely, not wanting the man to ask her any further.
“Ah come on, you’re too pretty to be on your own,” he asked again, reaching out a hand to guide Olivia by the hip away from the bar.
“No thanks,” Olivia said a little more firmly than she’d intended as she pushed his hand away. “I’m good here, leave me alone please.”
“No need to be like tha…” the man trailed off as a woman slipped in beside Olivia.
“Fuck off buddy, she’s not interested.” Kelly stated flatly. She was smiling politely, but her gaze was ready to melt steel. The man scowled, finally taking the hint as he slinked away into the crowed bar.
“Well then,” Kelly grinned, “Not even here a few minutes and you’re already beating them off with a stick Blondie.”
Olivia rolled her eyes, “He wasn’t taking no for an answer.”
“You have this deer in the headlights innocent look that makes men melt,” Kelly chuckled. She looked Olivia a lot closer. “I recognized you because I know Mia but damn girl, this is a very new look for you.”
Olivia blushed, “I don’t look silly do I?”
Kelly shook her head and grinned broadly, “Not even remotely silly Mi…Olivia, you’re gorgeous and I’m jealous.” Kelly shook her head, “You know it’s funny that I’m going to trip up on calling you Mia more than… you know.”
Olivia nodded and felt a little embarrassment, “I’m not her, not like this. This is… me, I think.”
Kelly eventually managed to order a drink after shouldering her way to the bar and the pair made their way over to a booth where they were able to talk a little more freely away from the press of the crowd. Despite knowing her for years, Olivia was still extremely nervous around her partner. She knew she didn’t care, she’d seen Mia in her full glory many times and had a blast coming to shows, but this was a different situation entirely.
“So, you’re not weirded out by me?” She asked after they’d gotten settled.
Kelly shrugged and took a sip of her drink. “No, not even a bit to be honest. I’ve seen you in dresses before girly and it does seem to suit you. It’s a new look and I don’t know this version of you yet, but you’re still my partner.”
“I’m still not sure how I feel about this Kel,” Olivia admitted shyly. “It feels good, right maybe? It’s like I relate to people differently and I’m so much more free, but I still feel like I’m doing something wrong.”
“Why is it wrong?”
Olivia took a long drink of her beer and shrugged, “I don’t know, shouldn’t it be?”
Kelly shook her head and her expression softened, “No it’s not, not if its right for you. You’re the only one that matters kid.”
“That’s where I’m stuck, I have no idea.” Olivia admitted sadly. “The world tells me it’s wrong, but the more I do this, the more I don’t want it to stop.”
“Then don’t. But you need to see someone about it for sure.”
Olivia rested her elbows on the table and placed her chin on her palm. Why was she doing this? Was it for Richard or was that simply an excuse? She told herself at first that it was simply to make his life easier but she knew that wasn’t the case. Mia had been the excuse for this hadn’t she? Mia Calafia was a somewhat socially acceptable excuse to be someone else and who did she choose? A girl.
“When I first decided to continue with this after… that night, I told myself it was to ease Richard’s mind and to stay like that to prevent embarassment to him but that’s bullshit.” she sighed. “I could have just gone back to Harry and achieved the same thing.”
“Yeah,” Kelly agreed. “You didn’t though did you?”
“No.”
Kelly scooted around the booth and wrapped an arm around Olivia. “A couple of weeks ago when we had that nasty shoplifter, I told you that you were basically one of us. I didn’t mean because you were gay, I meant you specifically.”
“Me?”
Kellly nodded, “I maybe made some jokes about it, but I never really saw you as a guy, not really. I know that… technically you’re a guy, but somehow I never saw it. We’ve been partners for a year and the academy before that. I never felt like i had a guy as a partner, gay or not. It always felt like you were just another woman but a little different.”
Olivia frowned and made a face, “I feel like I should be insulted by that, but I’m not.”
“I’m no expert on this crap, I can’t tell you what specifically it is, but you’re just girly.”
“When did the woman raised by wolves become an expert on all things feminine?” Olivia smirked.
“I have the vagina card you snarky bitch.” Kelly grinned. She shook her empty drink at Olivia, wordlessly asking if she wanted another. With her answer she scooted out of the booth and vanished toward the bar.
Once she returned, Olivia chatted with her partner about less depressing matters. It felt good to be out and socializing, if only for a while. With how complicated her life was becoming, having Kelly in her corner was comforting. Raised with four brothers, the girl was a bit more brusk than most women she knew, but it was an endearing quality when mixed with Kelly’s trademark sarcastic honesty. She knew her friend would always tell her the truth.
As she took a cab back to her apartment, she contemplated Kelly’s opinions on her situation and wondered if things really were that simple. Who did it really effect other than her and Richard? If he was happy and so was she, the world’s opinions didn’t really effect her. Nobody else could decide her fate, that was all on her. All her… The more she allowed herself to think honestly, the more she knew what she’d been denying. This wasn’t for Richard, this wasn’t for anyone but herself.
The next week was exceedingly normal. Kelly didn’t seem to change how she treated Harry, but, the more she considered it, Olivia realized that she had always treated her like another girl anyway. Realizing it was what had changed.
Each night when she got home, she became Olivia once again. Her life was becoming more and more comfortable as she spent increasing time as this new version of herself. She shopped for groceries, ran errands and surfed. The only place she was really beginning to feel uncomfortable was at work. When she had to become Harry, it felt as though she was lying now. When had being who she was born as become a lie?
She knew that very little about her situation made sense. The world seemed to fit Olivia far better than it did Harry. He had existed, while she seemed to be blossoming into a more complete person. One that she was beginning to enjoy getting to know a great deal.
She’d performed two more shows since Olivia had entered the world and her appearance had raised a couple of eyebrows when she arrived at the club. Nobody had said anything to her but she could tell that they were more than curious. Her reception on stage had been as good as ever; Mia still had it despite the girl behind her’s growing turmoil. She had originally thought there was a world of difference between who she was on and off the microphone. Mia was hot, brash and sexual, a vivacious creature that lived to tease and prod. The world was her stage and she owned any room she entered.
Olivia had once thought that she personified everything that Harry was not, but she was starting to see that she shared far more with her than she realized. While she wasn’t anywhere near as loud as her stage persona, she was beginning to notice that a lot of her personality traits existed within her in a more normal way. Olivia was far more confident than Harry had ever been, her reservations currently aside. She was more ready to tease and joke and she felt more free to move and was more prepared to try new things.
Richard was a new thing she was starting to enjoy a great deal. With their work lives busy, they’d managed to snatch a few evenings together during the week. They’d only been dating for a couple of weeks, but she already felt like they were in a real relationship. She’d dated before, but nothing ever seemed to really stick. A relationship was new for her, and it was quite a rewarding experience. She found that while Harry had been frightened by the prospect, she embraced the feelings it brought her. She was really starting to feel strongly about the man.
That evening was no exception: It was Saturday night, and Olivia was sitting across from Richard in a beautiful restaurant just off Marina Del Rey. The mood was relaxed and romantic and Olivia was feeling wonderful.
“I feel very lucky tonight.” Richard said softly, caressing Olivia’s fingers across the table. “Every man in this place is jealous of me.”
Olivia blushed and looked down, “you’re too much.”
“I mean it, you look amazing.”
Olivia had dressed up a little more than she had felt comfortable with that evening. She’d taken one of Mia’s cocktail dresses and spent over an hour on her makeup. Her dress was a black silk cocktail affair with sphagetti straps that clung to her body in the right places. Her hair was up and hung in delicate ringlets. She wanted Richard to feel like she deserved to be seen with him.
“How was your case? Did you win?” She asked deflecting his attention from her appearance.
Richard shrugged, “Yeah we did, Judge ruled in the State’s favor like we expected. I don’t want to talk about work tonight though, I just want to enjoy the moment.”
“Sorry,” Olivia offered sipping her wine. “I find your work really interesting.”
“I’m glad you do, my hours aren’t exactly wonderful sometimes.” Richard admitted.
“We’re making it work,” Olivia offered, “and I like spending time with you. Even if it’s just dinner at my place or watching a movie on the sofa, its special.”
Richard smiled. “I’ve never done that with any of my past relationships you know; just spent time together. It always seemed about the sex, or about going out and being seen. I wanted to experience all the thrills and adventure.” He suddenly looked sheepish. “Not that I don’t want to do those things with you… I just love to spend time with you, it doesn’t need to be glitzy, I just want to be close.”
Olivia placed her desert fork down on her plate and pushed it away gently as she smiled at him, “yes, I know what you mean.”
“You want to head up the coast and make a day of surfing this weekend?” Richard asked hopefully, “I wanted to try Point Mugu up past Malibu, there’s a great little diner on the way back we could grab lunch at.”
Olivia smiled, “Yeah I’d love to, it would be nice. Spending the day together would be great.”
Richard grinned broadly and signalled for the waiter, “Great! We’ll get away from it all and have a blast, I can’t wait.”
The waiter brought Richard the cheque and he passed them his card as he stood and helped Olivia with her chair. “I can think of other amazing ways to spend time together too.” he whispered as he led her toward the door.
Richard pulled his car into the garage below his apartment in Santa Monica. The building was just off the main strip and had stunning views of the pier and the beach. She knew he had an expensive car, but the whole place felt like an entirely different world to her.
“I still can’t believe you’re this rich,” she marveled as she walked into the apartment with him.
Richard shrugged dismissively, “crime pays, well, arguing in court about crime does at least. Why? You only in this for the money like all the other girls?”
Olivia gently slapped his arm as he led her to the huge floor to ceiling windows of the living room. “I did it for the view.”
Richard grinned and retreated to a small bar at the side of the room and retrieved a bottle of champagne and a pair of glasses. “A drink?”
Olivia nodded, still staring out over the twinkling lights of the city toward the beach. “It’s beautiful up here.”
Richard popped the cork and poured two glasses. “You know, I bought it for the proximity to work. I wasn’t really that worried about the view beyond it being close enough to the beach to surf.”
Olivia took one of the offered glasses and smiled, “if I lived here I’d watch the sunset every day.”
Richard gently took her elbow and turned her to face him. “You’re so beautiful tonight.” he murmured, staring into her eyes. “Every day you just seem to amaze me again and again. I don’t know how you do it.”
Olivia glanced away then back up at him, “I feel lucky that you even want me,” she admitted shyly. “I never dreamed I’d find someone like you.”
Richard took her glass and placed it with his on the edge of a sidetable. He shook his head gently, “I’m the lucky one. I found someone that makes me want to slow down and enjoy life. someone that I care very deeply about and want to spend time with. She’s beautiful, exciting and an intellectual equal that I can talk to.”
Olivia blushed deeply as she stared into Richard’s eyes. “You’re being too generous,” she whispered softly, “I’m so broken.”
Richard shook his head and wrapped his arms around her waist. He lowered his head until they were almost eye to eye. “You’re not broken, you’re perfect.” He silenced any reply by kissing her gently on the lips.
Richard pulled their bodies together as they kissed and Olivia’s heart fluttered. The world around them seemed to close in until it was just a small bubble of existence occupied by two human beings. She returned his kiss with passion as his hands slid lower until they cupped her rear, the soft silk of her dress moving gently against her skin felt sensational.
Olivia felt her lips part and she moaned hungrily as Richard’s tongue slipped into her mouth. She ran her fingers through his hair as they stood entwined by the window, the lights of the city glittering like stars in the night sky.
Being this close to Richard did strange things to Olivia. She felt weak in his arms, yet, at the same time she buzzed with electricity. His every touch seemed to reach into her very being. Here in his arms, the world simply didn’t matter.
Richard withdrew gently and brushed a strand of hair from her eyes as he gazed at her with a silly expression. For such a confident man, he looked so innocently boyish at times she thought. She smiled shyly and pressed against his body. She knew what he wanted to do with the rest of their evening, and she wanted him just as much.
Richard took her hand and led her through to the bedroom. Thankfully, the blinds were drawn over the massive window as he led her toward the bed. Olivia’s breath caught in her throat as he slipped the straps of her dress from her shoulders and let it slide to the floor.
Olivia woke early the next morning. It took her a moment to recognize the unfamiliar surroundings in which she found herself. She could feel warmth beside her and glanced across to see Richard’s sleeping form beneath the sheets. She smiled happily, her heart singing proudly. He had been such a tender and considerate lover the night before she had wanted to cry.
She looked down at her own body under the knot of sheets that was partially covering her and felt disappointment well inside her. It seemed that every moment Olivia existed, Harry became more of a reminder that she was wrong. Each moment she felt a shard of happiness, he remind her that she was so very wrong. Slipping from the sheets, she wrapped herself as best she could with her dress and slipped into the bathroom. Self consciously, she locked the door behind herself and stepped into the shower.
Fifteen minutes later she returned to the bedroom wrapped in a towel and approached the bed. Richard was still sleeping and she knelt beside him. He looked so peaceful, it felt almost sinful to wake him but she had to go to work in two hours. She gently kissed him on the lips and stroked his cheek to rouse him.
Richard stirred and his eyes fluttered open. He glanced at her and smiled sleepily.
“Can you drive me home?” she asked softly, “I have to work.”
Richard’s sleepy smile transformed into a sly grin as he pulled her on top of him. Olivia squeaked and grabbed her towel as she landed on Richard’s chest. “I’m serious,” she pouted, “I’ve got a shift this morning.”
Richard kissed her playfully and rolled her off so he could climb out of bed. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll run you home. I’m just disapointed we can’t spend the morning in bed together.”
Olivia sat up on the covers and smiled sadly, “I’d far rather stay here with you today.”
While Richard showered and cleaned himself up for the day, Olivia changed back into her underwear then glanced at the dress that now lay on the foot of the bed. She grimaced and chose not to highlight her commute of shame. Checking Richard’s wardrobe she spotted a white shirt and snatched it from the hangar. Grabbing one of his belts she shrugged into the large shirt and buttoned it most of the way up before wrapping the belt around her waist. Rolling the sleeves, she slipped into her heels and applied a light amount of makeup and checked her reflection in the mirror.
She still had that ‘Spent the night at her boyfriend’s place’ look, but it was far better than the previous evening’s dress. Slipping into the kitchen, she managed to find her way enough to make a pot of coffee and a locate a pair of mugs. By the time Richard emerged fully dressed from the bedroom, she was sitting at the breakfast bar sipping her steaming elixir and feeling far more human.
“I can get used to this you know,” he grinned taking the offered mug. “Is that my shirt?”
Olivia grinned and nodded. “I didn’t want to look cheap going home in last night’s dress.”
Richard rolled his eyes and smirked. “Come on, my car’s downstairs.”
Comments are the lifeblood of authors. Please leave a comment with your thoughts/feelings and I'll answer! Let me know what you think!
Life and Love are far more complicated than we can possibly understand. For one young cop, a journey of self-discovery will teach them that true strength was inside them all along.
A Double Whammy this week... Chapters Six and Seven are importantly linked to the story, so I felt you'd enjoy them both together! This is where things get big!
Harry yawned into his coffee and stretched. It seemed as though emotional turmoil was as exhausting as physical exercise, and he’d been through both in the past twenty four hours. He felt extremely out of place in his uniform that morning after he’d finally made it to work. When his mind flickered back to the night before, the memories almost seemed as though they had happened to a different person; perhaps he was truly losing his mind after all.
“You’re doing it again.” Kelly laughed as they walked out to the motor pool.
Harry glared at her and straightened his stride, “shut up.”
Anderson cackled to herself. “You’re getting worse, girl. I don’t know how long you’re going to be able to hide things now the cat is out of the bag.”
“I don’t need to hear it, Kelly. My head is already all over the place as it stands.”
“Well get your head in gear or you’re going to start rumors,” Kelly chuckled. “Work time.”
Most of their morning was thankfully boring and uneventful. They were dispatched to a burglary and handled a couple of traffic stops with little fanfare. When midday arrived, they were parked up at a fast food stand to grab lunch.
Harry placed their order once they reached the front of the queue. “Two pulled pork Burritos.”
“Coming right up, senoritas.” the older Hispanic man replied cheerfully as he set about preparing their food.
Harry was going to comment but Anderson elbowed him in the ribs. He rolled his eyes and waited silently for their food. He kept his mouth closed until they received their lunch and got back to their car.
“That never used to happen before,” he sighed.
Kelly grinned at him past her burrito. “You’re spending more time as Olivia than Harry, it’s becoming second nature. That and your sex life has you all girly-girl.”
Harry was going to reply when their radio chirped. He glared at Kelly while he pulled up the call on their computer.
“One Adam Ninety-Three, Armed robbery in-progress, Bani Market, 591 South La Brea cross of South Market.”
“One Adam Ninety-Three, Dispatch, show us en route,” Harry responded as Kelly threw the car into gear.
Their lunch was forgotten as Dalton and Anderson switched focus to business as they roared away from the taco stand with lights and siren blazing. Harry drew his sidearm and checked that it was loaded as their dispatch relayed further details. Mentally, he ran through a list of checks as they raced to the scene of the robbery. “Think it’s going to be bad?”
Kelly shook her head, “no idea, we’ll see.”
They rolled to a stop outside the store, set into a strip of buildings off the main road and got out of the car with weapons drawn. Anderson looked across at Dalton and nodded. The pair moved up slowly, weapons raised, and approached the door. As they approached the door, they maneuvered to attempt to see inside. A man by the counter turned around and sprayed a submachine gun at the door. The glass erupted between them as both deputies flattened themselves against the building wall.
“Sheriff’s Department, drop the weapon!” Dalton yelled.
The man inside yelled something unintelligible and sprayed another burst in their direction.
Anderson was hurriedly calling for backup on the radio, her face a mask of anxiousness and resolve. Dalton glanced around the doorway and withdrew fast as more bullets flew.
“Clerk behind the counter, Bravo Mike, black hoodie, tech nine.”
Anderson nodded.
“I’ma fuckin’ shoot this fool, get out of here.” screamed the man.
“Look we just want to talk, let’s stop shooting ok?” Dalton yelled back. “Put it down and talk to me. Nobody needs to get shot.”
Anderson turned to her radio, “Barricaded suspect with hostage, roll us SWAT.”
Several cars began to arrive behind them and they were joined by additional deputies. Anderson began to fill in the new arrivals as Dalton continued to talk.
“Come on, let's not get anyone killed, we can solve this peacefully man. What’s your name?”
“I ain’t telling you my name.” screamed the gunman. “I wanna get out of here or I’m gonna smoke this fool.”
Harry shook his head at Kelly and nodded back behind them. “Ok,” he called. “We’re going to move back ok? Don’t hurt him, we’ll let you come out, you can get to your car alright?”
The deputies around the door began to withdraw to positions of cover behind their vehicles. Minutes passed before the store door began to move. A short Asian man was shoved forward while the gunman kept his weapon to the side of his head. The man was jumpy as all hell; his eyes darted everywhere in rapid succession. This guy was on the edge of losing it and Harry knew it. One false move, one car backfires, and the hostage is dead.
He tucked himself into the alley beside the building tighter hoping he would remain out of sight. The gunman was moving along the sidewalk in their direction towards the vehicle they assumed he’d arrived in; a dirty old Buick.
Deputies were behind him and more toward the intersection at the far side of the standoff. The man drew closer and Harry could see his fingers flexing on the gun in his hand. The dark metallic machine pistol was twitching against the clerk’s head.
The man was barely ten feet from the alley and approaching his car when the clerk made a terrible decision. Time slowed down as the little old man elbowed the shooter and tried to run as his fight or flight instinct kicked in at the worst possible moment. Harry watched the shooter stumble and then begin to raise the weapon toward the clerk’s fleeing form. He didn’t think, he launched himself from the alley and dove at the shooter. The man squeezed the trigger as Harry connected and a burst of fire scattered uselessly into the sidewalk as he stumbled backward.
Harry heard yelling and screaming voices as though he were underwater as he wrestled the man for the gun. Everything within him seemed laser-focused on accomplishing that single act. The man fought him, he was stronger by a good measure. Adrenaline and muscle revolted at his efforts to contain the deadly device.
Harry struck the suspect in the face several times with his free hand as he tried to control his weapon hand. The man flexed and moved to throw off his balance. The gun moved and Harry brought his weight down on the arm as best he could. The gun went off. Its sound was deafening in close proximity even though it was wedged between their bodies. He felt a stabbing pain in his lower body as the man’s arm overcorrected from his resistance. White pain flooded Harry’s body as his mind tried to process that he’d been shot. He could barely focus as he convulsed in pain. With the last of his strength, he brought up his free hand and punched the man in the temple with everything he had.
The man went limp and the weapon arm relaxed. Harry rolled off the suspect and lay on the sidewalk, his body feeling suddenly extremely cold. He looked down, his green uniform trousers were dark red from the knees up.
Kelly appeared above him, a look of fear and panic etched into her features. She was yelling at him, but it was dull, murky, and distant.
“I don’t want to die,” she whispered as the world turned black around her.
Harry awoke slowly. His body ached in a dull, expansive way he could barely describe through the fog in his mind. The first thing he was able to recall was the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor somewhere nearby. As his vision swam into focus, he began to make out the ubiquitous furniture and fittings of a hospital room around him.
He tried to raise his head and found it far heavier than he remembered. His body felt like it was full of lead and his muscles would barely cooperate. The movement gained the attention of Richard who had been sitting beside his bed.
“Hey, it’s ok, don’t panic, you’re in the hospital.” he whispered soothingly, brushing the hair from his eyes.
“What happened?” Harry managed to croak dryly.
“I need to get the nurse.” Richard explained as he stood, squeezing Harry’s hands. “I’ll be right back I promise.”
Harry watched dimly as he left the room in a hurry before returning moments later followed by a pair of nurses with Kelly Anderson trailing behind them.
“How are we feeling?” the first nurse asked.
Harry shook his head gently, “Not great,” he rasped.
The nurses ushered out Richard and Kelly before checking his dressings and taking readings from the various machines.
“When can I find out what happened?” He asked dryly, accepting a cup of ice chips from one of the nurses.
“A doctor will be through soon to see you honey,” she offered with an apologetic smile. “It’s best if they explain.”
The nurses finished up and elevated the head of the bed for him and made their exits allowing Richard and Kelly to return.
Richard sat down beside the bed and stroked his cheek. “I’m so glad you’re back with us, Kelly told me what you did you silly fool.”
Harry attempted to shrug but didn’t have the energy. “I was just doing my job, I screwed up is all.”
Kelly shook her head. “You’re getting a whole bunch of awards, some fuck up.”
Harry looked confused as Kelly held up her hand and started counting. “Medal of Valor, Line of Duty and Life Saving awards and a Purple Heart to boot.”
“Jesus.” Harry muttered. “It wasn’t a big deal, and I got myself shot too.”
Richard shook his head. “You dived at a gunman about to kill a hostage and subdued him single-handedly preventing loss of life and protecting your fellow officers.” he explained with admiration. “You are a hero.”
“I don’t feel like one.”
Kelly sat carefully on the edge of the bed. “I’d have gotten hit if he started spraying at that guy from the store. He was right between the shooter and me. I couldn’t get a clean shot nor could half the guys behind me. You saved my life, partner.”
As they were talking, a woman in her forties entered wearing a lab coat over a smart pantsuit. The doctor, Harry presumed.
“How are we feeling? I’m Doctor Miller,” she asked, consulting Harry’s chart. “My colleagues told me you were awake and I wanted to pop in and have a little chat about your condition.”
“Like I got shot I guess, the first time,” Harry muttered. “Can they stay?” he asked, glancing at Richard and Kelly.
The doctor nodded. “So as you’re aware, you were shot, but perhaps not how many times. You suffered six separate gunshot wounds to the pelvis and thighs resulting in significant hemorrhaging. You coded twice on the operating table, but we were able to stabilize the bleeding. One bullet nicked your femoral artery, and one broke your left femur. One was embedded in your right femur, but it remained intact. You suffered several flesh wounds and the final bullet did the most damage.”
The doctor looked uneasy for a moment. “Are you sure you want them to remain for this?”
Harry nodded, feeling a pang of nerves. “They’re both important to me, They should hear it too.”
Richard squeezed Harry’s hand.
“Well,” the doctor continued. “The final bullet perforated your scrotum and damaged your testicles. I’m afraid they were beyond saving. We had to surgically remove the remnants.”
Harry felt strangely numb. He knew this should be a major disaster for him, that the doctor expected this to be horrific news but he felt oddly calm.
“I’m alive though, and I can walk?” he asked quietly.
“We had to use plates to secure your femur and you still have the bullet embedded in your right but otherwise you will make a full recovery in time, aside from the obvious.”
“Are you ok?” Richard asked.
Harry looked between Richard and Kelly. Richard was deeply concerned, he looked almost afraid for Harry. Kelly on the other hand looked sick to her stomach.
“Yeah, I mean, I’m glad to be alive. I very nearly wasn’t. This is going to take some time to absorb, doctor.”
The doctor nodded. “You’ve been out for a couple of days, but you should be able to return home in a week or so depending on how well your wounds heal. You were quite lucky in many respects, your injuries should heal without major complications to your mobility. Other aspects though…” she trailed off. “May cause issues. I’m very sorry. I’ll give you some time to process this news.” she added, making her exit politely from the room.
Kelly punched the wall. “I’m so fucking sorry Harry.” she groaned, “I should have done something.”
“You couldn’t, you already said that.” Harry tried to comfort her. “It’s not your fault or anyone else.”
“How do you feel about this?” Richard asked softly.
Harry wasn’t sure. “I guess I get to be the terminator now, I contain metal parts.”
Richard smirked but his expression returned to one of serious concern.
Harry looked away for a moment before returning his gaze to Richard. “I don’t know yet. I’m so glad to be alive, I think I got off kinda lucky as she said. I will walk again and I can still work I hope. I will surf again but I’m just going to set off some metal detectors. The other part? God, I don’t know honestly. I wasn’t exactly the manliest guy before this and I’m not sure they were much use anyway; I was never going to father a child.” he admitted.
“Mother perhaps.” Kelly chuckled in an attempt to raise the mood.
Harry threw an ice chip at her, “I’m serious. It could be much worse really. Considering recent events, it’s not as though it will damage my masculinity; I never had much, if any.”
Richard squeezed his hand softly.
Harry looked him directly in his eyes. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to stick around, but I’m glad you were here when I woke up. I know this is a lot to heap on someone so early in a relationship. I’m sure you don’t need the baggage, it’s ok.”
Richard shook his head. “How can you even imagine that? I’m going nowhere baby.” he leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on Harry’s forehead. “Nearly losing you made me realize how much I love you.”
Harry swallowed. “You love me?”
Richard nodded. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Harry whispered, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I’m so happy you’re here.” he choked.
Richard hugged him gently and kissed him on the lips.
Their kiss was only broken by a gagging sound in the background. The pair looked up sheepishly at Kelly who was miming sticking her fingers down her throat. “God you guys are too fucking much, I’m going to hurl. Shot to shit and you still get your hallmark moment before me you bitch.”
Harry smiled. “You can get shot too if you want.”
The gunman saw him as he darted from the alleyway. Harry had misjudged the timing and the man started to turn toward him. The barrel of the machine pistol glinted in the sunlight as he stared down the muzzle of the brutal-looking weapon.
The gun barked and Harry felt the bullets striking him and he felt cold. There was blackness and suddenly he was falling.
Harry woke to find a nurse hovering above him, she was looking down with concern in her eyes. “Are you ok?” she asked softly.
Harry swallowed, he felt cold and his gown was clammy where it stuck to his skin. His breathing was heavy and his heart was hammering.
“I…” he began, glancing around. He was still in the hospital room. “I… bad dream.”
“It’s ok,” the nurse soothed. “You were screaming, I think you were having a nightmare. It’s perfectly normal after something this traumatic.”
She helped change his gown and sheets before giving him something to help him sleep. Chemical blackness took him quickly, but it was barely possible to call it restful.
The rest of the hospital stay passed incredibly slowly. Each day included a parade of visitors from members of the department, his few friends along with nurses and doctors. There were a couple more nightmares that plagued him during his stay but they began to fade with each day that passed. Each one was a variation of what could have gone wrong; in nearly every situation he died painfully.
After four days, the catheter was removed and Harry was encouraged to walk to the bathroom in his room. Even that short exertion was exhausting for him. He was soon able to shower with great care. His body felt strained and stiff and his thighs were a mask of red wounds, but being able to wash his hair was more refreshing than he realized. Feeling clean and wearing his own bed clothes made him feel significantly more comfortable.
Kelly had brought him needed supplies from home. She had jokingly included the nightdress that had been on his bed from the night before that fateful day but Harry hadn’t felt comfortable wearing it in his current appearance.
It was just after ten in the morning on a Friday when there was a knock at his door.
“Come in,” Harry called, pushing himself upright in the bed with only significant discomfort.
The door opened and a tall blonde woman in a Sheriff’s Department uniform entered cautiously, she appeared hesitant to disturb him.
“Deputy Dalton?” The woman asked.
Harry nodded, then recognized her, “Sheriff Reilly, Ma’am.”
The woman nodded and clasped her hands in front of her. “I hope I’m not disturbing you?”
Harry shook his head. “No Ma’am.”
The sheriff shook her head. “No more of that Ma’am business, you’ll make me feel old. Kate please, you’ve earned that much at least unless we’re at work.”
Harry nodded.
“I wanted to come and visit sooner but I was trying to give you some time to recuperate. I’ve spoken to your partner and read the reports of the incident.” she paused and raised her eyebrows. “What you did was insanely dangerous and almost certainly saved lives.”
“It just seemed like the right thing at the time, I guess it was kinda stupid really,” he admitted sheepishly.
The Sheriff shook her head. “That’s what all brave people say when they do something above and beyond the call of duty. I wanted to inform you personally that you’re receiving the Medal of Valor, Line of Duty, and Life Saving awards along with a departmental Purple Heart. I spoke to the committee the other day, congratulations.”
Harry smiled. “Kelly, ah, Deputy Anderson already told me,” he admitted. “I don’t deserve those.”
The sheriff shook her head and leaned against a cabinet next to the bed. “You know what medals and awards are for?” she asked.
“People that deserve them?”
She shook her head. “It’s mostly for the people handing them out and your friends and family. Nobody that gets them wants them or feels they deserve them. We do it to celebrate the act, the achievement; It’s for the people you saved.”
Harry hung his head. “I just want to be able to work again, if I’m allowed to.”
“If a doctor signs you off you absolutely can. If not, a full pension.”
Harry looked up at the Sheriff. She was a beautiful woman in her thirties. The youngest they’d ever had in the state apparently. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a neat ponytail and her trim figure was dressed in a patrol uniform with her stars affixed to the collar. Their boss went out on the road, unlike many others.
“You know how many times I’ve been injured in the line, Harry? I can call you Harry, can’t I?”
Harry nodded, “I know of a few Ma… Kate.”
The Sheriff nodded and smirked, “too many. I couldn’t stand the idea of riding a desk even in this job. We’re thigh buddies now,” she added, patting her left thigh. “Titanium plate after I got run over a few years ago.”
Harry pushed his hair back out of his eyes and nodded.
“I’ll be honest with you,” Sheriff Reilly pointed out after a moment of quiet. “I’ve had a lot of my deputies hurt on the job, many more than I’d like. Often it’s no fault of their own and sometimes it's entirely their own stupid fault, but it’s rare when it’s such a selfless act.”
The Sheriff frowned. “I know things haven’t been wonderful for you with us, I’m aware of some of the comments and jokes. Believe me, I want us to do better. As much as we’ve tried to improve things, old habits die hard in such a macho environment. I know some of my deputies won’t ever respect me as their leader because I’m a woman but I’ve worked extremely hard to prove them wrong.”
She walked over and sat on the end of Harry’s bed. “You’re not the most macho and you’re gay; you don’t really fit into either camp in people’s minds. You made a very tough choice when you decided to answer this calling and they ought to respect you for that. After what happened to you and what you did, you’ve changed a lot of minds in the department and our colleagues in others. You too can change perceptions, Harry.”
The Sheriff’s radio crackled to life and Harry heard her number called. Reilly rolled her eyes and stood. “Babysitting to do. Take your time and heal, your job will be waiting for you when you’re ready. The Department thanks you for your sacrifice.”
After the Sheriff left, Harry considered her words. He had no intention of being an example to anyone but he understood her point about perception. Reilly had a storied career within the department before and after she was elected to her current post. That she, with all her accomplishments, didn’t feel entirely respected showed a human vulnerability he hadn’t expected in someone of her rank. Would this really change the looks he got in the locker room? Would it make people answer his calls for backup? He wasn’t sure.
The nurse wheeled Harry’s chair towards the door of the hospital. It was just over three weeks after his admittance that fateful day. The doctors had taken extra time to ensure that Harry’s wounds were healing and his initial rehabilitation was proceeding successfully. His whole body hurt from the exertion of walking back and forth, even with the aid of rails and walkers. Richard and Kelly were by his side as they exited into the LA sunshine for the first time in what had felt like an eternity.
Kelly had her SUV pulled into the bay at the doors of the hospital and the two helped Harry into the back before returning the chair to the staff. Seeing the world passing by again as they drove through the city felt novel and new. The vibrations and bumps of the road however, reminded him that it was still a very long road to recovery.
Before long, they were pulling up at Harry’s apartment in Venice. He felt incredibly frail as they helped him climb the stairs up to his home. The second-floor apartment had never felt so far away. Richard had been insistent that Harry should stay with him until he was better and he had agreed on one condition; that he be allowed to return home and pack for himself. Begrudgingly, the two agreed and helped him to his room.
Harry sat carefully on his bed. He was tired but he had something he needed to accomplish before he could rest. Slowly and painfully, he began the process of becoming Olivia once again.
While she was still in significant pain, Olivia felt suddenly far more comfortable in her own skin, her time in the hospital as Harry had felt decidedly false. She had refitted her wig, much to her frustration at her own short hair before reattaching and blending her breast forms into her skin. Slipping into comfortable underwear she dressed simply in sweatpants and a tank top and sports bra. Even with no makeup, she looked female in the bedroom mirror, that was enough for her; pretty could wait until she felt less like death warmed up.
Part of her mind realized this was beginning to mean far more to her than was probably healthy for her, but right now, comfort was important and she needed her head on right. It wasn’t as though she had anywhere to be for a while.
Packing enough clothing for a couple of weeks along with her makeup and essentials she left the cases where they were before facing the elephant in the room and stepping back out into the hallway to deal with Richard and Kelly.
The pair were waiting in the hallway when she emerged and turned to help her as she shuffled out of the bedroom expecting her to be trying to move her own bags. Kelly’s hand flew to her mouth and barely hid her smile. Richard grinned and nodded at her.
“I figured,” he said simply. Olivia smiled and shrugged.
“It’s not right you know,” Kelly muttered. “You nearly died, you can barely move, you’ve no makeup on and you look better than me.”
Olivia smirked, “Don’t hate the player, hate the game.”
Kelly shook her head and went to collect the cases while Richard helped her back down to the car.
“We’re going to have to talk about this when we get home,” he remarked casually as he held her weight as she hobbled down the stairs.
“Home?” Olivia asked with mock skepticism. “That’s presumptuous.”
“For now at least, consider it yours too.”
She smiled at him and kissed his cheek.
Loading her belongings into the trunk of Kelly’s SUV, the three set off for Richard’s apartment in Santa Monica. It wasn’t long before her partner started her interrogation.
“So,” Kelly asked without looking back at Olivia. “Spill the beans girly, what’s the deal here? I take it Harry’s not coming back, right?”
“I don’t know what label to put on things at the moment but I have a long time ahead of me before Harry has to come back, and I want to see how I feel about everything.”
“I mean it’s not a huge leap really. You certainly suit it and you should do what you feel like. My real question is how does this genderfuck work with Richie boy?”
With a grimace, Olivia leaned forward and smacked her partner’s arm.
Richard shrugged. “I don’t care, She’s beautiful either way.”
Kelly simply grinned and returned her attention to the road. Olivia snuggled closer to Richard’s shoulder. While still miffed she wasn’t allowed to stay in her own home to recuperate, she was secretly pleased he wanted to look after her.
“I’m going to feel totally out of place staying here with you, it’s so ostentatcious.”
Richard grinned, “You’re not exactly poor you know, your family makes more than I do per anum. Doesn’t that make me the gold digger?”
Being held around the shoulders made slapping the back of someone’s head extremely easy, she discovered.
Before long her belongings were put away in the bedroom and she was carefully placed on the expansive sofa to rest. The doctors had told her to ensure she was immobile as much as possible but maintained their physical therapy schedule of appointments and at-home routines. She knew the road ahead was a difficult one, but their prognosis of a full recovery was extremely positive if she was proactive.
There would always be a bullet to remind her of that fraught decision on that filthy sidewalk. She knew her decision had been correct as much as she felt she had failed to accomplish it. She was determined to return to the job and prove that she deserved it. Not for the sake of anyone else, but for her own sake. The rest of this mess she had gotten into would have to be addressed too. As much as it hurt, this situation gave her time to work out how she truly felt.
“Push yourself, Harry, give me five more laps.”
Amanda Carter was a hard taskmistress. Harry cursed her name every time he completed the length of the therapy room they were using at the hospital. Walking was possible, but more than a dozen meters at a time was painful and it took all of his strength to continue moving his legs. The program set out for him was designed to maintain muscle mass and aid the knitting of the shattered bone.
Harry completed the demanded laps and Carter helped him sit on a bench to rest.
“This is exhausting.” He grumbled.
“By the time it’s not, we’ll add more, then move on to strength exercises once your healing is further along. We don’t want to risk any reopening of wounds while the stitches are still in.”
Harry nodded. “It will get easier, right?”
Carter finished her notes and nodded. “Yes, but we’re not just aiming for basic recovery and healing. Your job demands a lot and it’s going to need to go a bit further.”
He understood of course, but it would be a grueling experience all the same.
“You’ve got a check-up with Doctor Miller, then I’ll see you next week.” she added, “I’ll get you an orderly to take you upstairs.”
One of the hospital orderlies arrived and wheeled Harry up to the eighth floor to wait for Doctor Miller at her office. He only had to wait ten minutes before she arrived and held the door for him while he wheeled himself inside. He was exhausted from the exercise so was glad for the excuse to move around in the wheelchair.
“How was your first session with the physical therapist?” She asked, sitting at her desk.
“Psycho you mean,” Harry grumbled. “Awful, I feel like I ran a marathon.”
She smiled. “It’s going to be like that. The majority of damage is in your thighs, which are the main motive power of your body. It’s going to take some time.”
Doctor Miller helped him up onto the examination table and helped him undress so she could examine his wounds.
“These are knitting nicely, but they’re going to be extremely sore for a while. I should be able to remove the stitches in a week or so. The bone won’t start to really mend for another month but the titanium plates we fitted will hold things nicely. How are you sleeping?”
“Poorly,” Harry admitted. “Mostly nightmares. The pain is bad but I’m trying to moderate the painkillers I'm taking, I’d rather not feel too numb.”
Miller nodded in agreement and helped him to redress. “So, the biggest topic we need to address is your ongoing health from here. Your body has suffered a major trauma and it’s going to need to heal. A big part of that, and especially the recovery of muscle tissue is your body’s endocrine system. Right now, your hormones are flatlined and you don’t have any testosterone flowing through your system aside from the small amount that’s produced by your pituitary gland.”
She paused to see if he was following.
“The way the human body works is that it needs those hormones to develop, or in your case, recover. Lack of those hormones also can lead to bone problems and your physical health declining. With the loss of your testicles, this means you’re going to need that testosterone injected every month so that your body can maintain its normal function and muscle mass. This is something we’re going to start today.”
Harry didn’t reply. He knew this was something that would be brought up, but he also knew he wasn’t ready to decide yet.
Doctor Miller glanced at him and noticed his expression, “Is there something wrong?”
Harry frowned. “How vital is this to my recovery?”
“Vital honestly,” she replied. “Is there something wrong with this? I know it’s going to be inconvenient but you’ll get used to the regimen over time. Eventually, you won’t even notice. Naturally, you won’t be able to father children, but I believe you do have a boyfriend, yes?”
Harry nodded. “I do, but that’s not it Doctor.” he paused, the words suddenly seemed extremely difficult for him to form.
“What do you see when you look at me?” he asked.
Doctor Miller regarded him for a moment with an analytical medical eye.
“A young man recovering from an extremely traumatic event.”
“Physically, specifically.” Harry pressed.
“You’re,” she consulted her notes, “five foot eight, one hundred and forty-three pounds, slim, perhaps a little on the skinny side of healthy, fair-haired.” she stopped for a moment and ran a finger along his cheek and forearm.
“Extremely light body hair, low facial hair growth, when did you start shaving?”
“I didn’t.”
“There is a possibility you had reduced hormone production before this, which does make a replacement regimen extremely important to balance your body’s endocrine system. This will help you grow facial hair, and build muscle mass and strength. Your parents never took you to your local practitioner about this?”
“What if I don’t want that?”
Dr Miller thought for a moment. “Have you been taking anything?”
Harry shook his head. “No.”
“Are you experiencing underlying gender issues?”
The million dollar question Harry mused. Was he? There was confusion, certainly, but was he ready for a pathway in either direction? His incident left him at a fork in the road where each pathway led in extremely different directions and neither were easy.
“Yes,” he replied quietly, unable to meet the doctor’s eyes.
“Are you seeing any psychiatrists about this?” she asked gently.
Harry shook his head. “I was getting to that point I guess.”
“This leaves us in a quandary,” Miller explained. “You need to begin replacement as soon as possible for your physical recovery to progress as smoothly as possible, if you’re not willing to take the Testosterone injections, you don’t exactly have many options.”
“Waiting doesn’t work?”
Miller shook her head. “You need this. Now your circumstances are far from normal, and this presents you with a choice. As things stand, you don’t have a supporting psychiatrist or a diagnosis but I could in my remit, prescribe Oestrogen instead. Now, This would only occur if you promise to see a professional and gain a diagnosis to continue after this initial round. You’ve had recent bloodwork to clear you for either really. I have your baseline levels, and given that you lack any natural primary production, one or the other is necessary. Now, while this will benefit your recovery, you shouldn’t experience any irreversible changes within three to four months should you change your mind.”
“The Oestrogen,” Harry answered flatly. It felt like the right choice, but he also realized he was beginning a pathway he might not be able to return from, or want to.
Doctor Miller nodded. “We can do that. However, I insist you get an appointment to see a specialist soon, I’ll have my receptionist give you a few numbers.”
Harry was in a mental fog as Doctor Miller left to gather the necessary items for his first shot. This decision felt monumental but he also felt strongly that testosterone would be far more wrong. Within moments, Miller returned and had him lower his pants for her to jab him in the buttocks.
“So, fair warning, you’re going to experience some emotional changes and you might notice your skin will feel softer. If things are particularly virulent, you’ll develop some sensitivity in the breast area and body fat will begin to move around. Nothing should be too extreme, but prepare for tears.”
“I’ve always been pretty emotional anyway.” Harry shrugged.
“Oh then you’re going to be a wreck soon,” Miller smirked. “Expect random mood swings.”
After the appointment was complete, Harry collected the list of names from Miller’s receptionist and was delivered back downstairs to the lobby where Kelly was waiting to take him back to Richard’s apartment.
“Go alright, blondie?” She asked, taking his arm carefully. “How long before you can dance in heels again?”
Harry didn’t answer straight away. “Sooner than I thought, I guess.”
Kelly helped him into her waiting SUV and climbed in beside him. “How so?”
“Well, the doctor jabbed my ass with my first hormone shot to replace what I lost.”
“So you’ll be sporting a huge beard soon? Won’t kissing Richard be weird when it's velcro on velcro?”
Harry shook his head. “No beard, but I might grow boobs.”
Kelly slammed on the brake and flipped off the honking sedan behind her before staring at him in shock, “what did you say?”
“She told me I needed one or the other to heal, and I didn’t want the testosterone.”
“So you’re all shot up with girl juice?”
Harry nodded and didn’t turn to face his partner. “Yeah.”
“Dude, this is big isn’t it?”
“She told me I shouldn’t expect too much and nothing permanent yet. She wants me to see a shrink to talk about all of this girl stuff.”
“You talk to Richard about this?”
Harry shook his head. “Wasn’t expecting to be given an ultimatum or a choice today. I guess I have to explain some stuff to him tonight.”
Kelly spent the rest of the journey making fun of her partner and telling him stories of what he was missing at work. She knew his head was a mess at the moment and hoped he would find the path that was right for him. Once they arrived back at the apartment, she helped him inside and got him settled before leaving with a promise to call later and hear how his conversation went.
Harry limped back into the bedroom slowly and changed out of his neutral sweats and changed back into Olivia.
Was she making the right choice? Was this a phase, a fad or a place to hide from reality? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was every day that passed left Harry feeling more and more like the disguise. Perhaps the junction she’d reached was the catalyst she needed to really face those feelings she’d forced down for so long.
Olivia woke later that evening when Richard softly shook her shoulder. She was lying on the sofa in the living room of his apartment. She opened her eyes to see him kneeling above her with a worried look on his face. “Hey”
“You looked restless, you were muttering, How are you feeling?”
Olivia pulled herself upright with a grimace. “Bad dream I guess, Physical therapy was really exhausting. I sat down for a rest when I got back and then you were here.”
Richard placed a bag of takeout containers on the coffee table. “Must be the life, sleeping and working out while I go out all day to hunt for dinner.”
Olivia rolled her eyes as the scent of Chinese takeout filled her nose. “Must be hard to spear the guy at the Chinese restaurant.”
Richard grinned at her and took the bag through to the kitchen to serve their food before joining her on the sofa. The pair ate in silence for a few moments.
“I like this,” Olivia admitted as she wrestled with a dumpling.
“I’d hope so, he does make good food.”
“No you idiot, this,” she added, gesturing with her chopsticks. “Us, here, together.”
Richard smiled. “I know what you mean, it feels right.”
Olivia frowned, “It does feel wrong that more of our relationship has been in a hospital room than anywhere else.”
“We have all the time in the world to correct that,” Richard replied softly. “And I plan to.”
He kissed her cheek gently and went back to his noodles.
“Today was awful,” she admitted. “I thought my legs were going to fall off.”
“It will get easier. What did the doctor say?”
The big moment of truth had arrived. She had to be honest and she was afraid. Olivia put down her carton and turned as best she could to face Richard.
“Well, I’m healing well, there’s no infection to worry about. She’s started me on hormone replacement shots to make up for what I’m missing so my recovery proceeds as well as possible.”
Richard looked at her for a moment. “When do the tears start?”
Olivia couldn’t speak. Her voice felt like it was trapped in her throat. “How?” she managed eventually.
Richard set down his meal and smiled. “Can you really sit there like that and tell me you asked her to make you a big muscly man?”
Olivia looked down at her hands. She could feel a lump in her chest as her emotions swirled. “No, I can’t.”
“Baby, the more I see you, the more I see that this is the real you,” he gestured toward her. “That beauty I saw in you; that kind, caring, wonderful person is so much more vivid and full of color when you’re Olivia. You might not be sure yourself but I can see how you feel when you’re dressing as Harry compared with now. You look like shit, but you look like a whole person.”
Olivia glanced at the T-shirt and sweatpants she wore, catching the curve of her chest and a strand of her hair against the top.
“I wish it was real.” she muttered. “I really think I’m crazy.”
“No.”
“No?”
“You’re not crazy,” Richard kissed her forehead. “Not at all.”
As the month passed, life became frustratingly monotonous for Olivia. Recovery was difficult and was progressing painfully slowly. Her stitches had been removed and her pain medication had been reduced further. Physical therapy sessions continued much to her chagrin, although she was walking more on her own and with both Richard and Kelly as she became able to leave the apartment for longer stretches. Eventually, she was able to walk along the pier for short stretches as long as she was given frequent chances to rest.
The injection was beginning to have an effect on her, she could tell. As far as she could see, it was only emotional at the moment. She found her mood far less stable and caught herself crying at the slightest thing and flying into tirades of frustration at her condition. She wasn’t sure, but she thought her sense of smell had changed too. One morning, when Richard had bent down to kiss her, she had asked if he had a new cologne but he hadn’t changed a thing. In truth, she loved what was happening to her and it was the most peaceful she had felt in her entire life.
She had arranged to see one of the psychiatrists on Doctor Miller’s list and the day had approached all too quickly. She hadn’t questioned her choice to arrive as Olivia for the session as she now consigned Harry to a disguise of necessity. Summer was in full effect and the city sweltered. She had dressed comfortably in a strappy sundress that didn’t expose a lot of her chest and fell to her mid-thigh. Flat sandals and light makeup completed her look. She had fussed for a long time in the mirror before she felt satisfied with her appearance.
The psychiatrist’s office was a thirty-minute drive up the coast by a pretty little pier overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Olivia stepped out of the Uber and rested against a railing. She looked out towards the vast expanse of ocean for a moment while she collected herself. She had come alone, wanting to face this herself, and she took the moment to steel her nerves before entering the office.
When she entered, she found the small office comfortably appointed and a young female receptionist sat behind a low mahogany desk in the waiting area.
“Can I help you?” She asked cheerfully as Olivia limped in through the door.
“I’m here to see Doctor Barton at twelve-thirty, Olivia Dalton.” she replied, leaning against the desk.
“Let me check, are you ok? Do you need a hand?”
Olivia shook her head. “I’ll manage, they told me to use my crutches but I hate them.”
“I have it here. Please take a seat over there,” she answered, pointing to a sofa by the window. “I know the feeling,” the girl smiled slyly. “I broke my ankle last year and I couldn’t stand it.”
Olivia was barely waiting five minutes when a middle-aged woman with gray-salted red hair appeared at the door. “Olivia?”
She waited patiently for Olivia to drag herself to her feet and limp through to her office. Her energy waning, Olivia accepted her arm to help her sit in a padded armchair by a huge picture window overlooking the beach.
Doctor Barton took a seat in a chair facing her and regarded her for a moment.
“So you were referred to me by Doctor Miller at Kaiser, I hear you experienced a traumatic event?”
“I was shot at work.” Olivia answered shifting in her seat to find comfort.
Doctor Barton’s eyebrows rose. “Oh?”
“I was fighting a man for his gun and it went off, I was hit in the pelvis and thighs.” she answered, raising the hem of her dress slightly to show the lowest of the still-healing red welts on her leg.
“You poor thing, the file she sent over explained you were a police officer? You didn’t want to go through your department’s own therapists?”
“Well, I was told you were a specialist in other areas, Doctor Barton.”
Doctor Barton nodded. “Call me Marie, yes, as I’m sure you’re aware I’m a specialist in gender issues although I do deal with post-traumatic stress and sexual assault survivors.”
“I suppose my…experience,” Olivia explained. “Well, it forced me to evaluate feelings I’ve been having, and given that I have a lot of time on my hands, I realized it was time to confront them.”
Marie Barton jotted down something on her pad. “So would you explain how you feel about yourself? Your background? What is it about you that makes you feel as though you should have been born a boy?”
Olivia balked. “A boy?”
Marie nodded. “I’m sure you already explained to Doctor Miller but her notes are typically awful, the referral wasn’t very detailed.”
Olivia shook her head, “No, no, I was born a boy. I guess I really don’t think I should be, I think?”
It was Marie Barton’s turn to look surprised. She set her notebook down on the arm of her chair and regarded Olivia more seriously.
“You’re extremely convincing I have to say. How long have you been living as a woman?”
Olivia shrugged. “Mostly the last month or two but I suppose I’ve been dressing for five or six years.”
Olivia began to explain her childhood and her feelings to Doctor Barton. She started back at her earliest memories and tried to be as honest as possible. She explained her discovery of drag performance since arriving in California from the conservative world of Montana. She described meeting Richard, their romance, and her gradual acceptance of her new presentation.
“Do you have any photographs of your stage persona?” Marie asked.
Olivia dug out her cell phone from the small shoulder bag she carried. How had she lived without a handbag before? She pulled up the same image she had shown Richard over dinner. It was the wild blue and pink promotional photograph she loved the most.
Marie’s eyebrows rose. “This is quite a look.” she admitted. “You’re extremely convincing for a drag artist.”
Olivia flushed. “I never wanted to be a parody. That felt right.”
Marie nodded and made some notes before glancing at the clock.
“Our session is nearly over, but I want to see you more regularly. I realize that your situation is relatively unique given your injuries and Cathy, Doctor Miller made the right choice given the circumstances. Estrogen will be far less emotionally damaging to you in your current state and I feel confident we will make a diagnosis in enough time for no harm to occur permanently in either direction. Leaving you without would be far more harmful to your recovery in the time being.
Tentatively, you would seem to match the criteria for a Gender Dysphoria diagnosis, but I won’t set that in stone until we’ve spoken more. Your experiences are in line with many in your situation although you’ve taken a highly unusual path to reach it.” she admitted.
“So I can continue with the shots, can’t I?” Olivia asked with concern.
Marie nodded. “Yes, but we’ll make another appointment to discuss this, and I absolutely want to address your trauma too while we’re here. I feel we can work better with that in this environment than a department therapist. You can let them know you’re seeing me and I am capable of providing a report for them when the time comes.” she noticed the look on Olivia’s face.
“And I’ll gender the report however you wish at that time should you need me to.” she added with a smile.
Olivia thanked her and allowed her to help her out to the waiting Uber once they were done. Giving the driver her address she watched the ocean pass as they drove back toward the city. She felt a mixture of relief and calm as she reflected on the session. She had expected pushback or denial from the psychiatrist. The world told her this was wrong, that she was wrong. She had, however, been heard and told she wasn’t entirely crazy. This was the first time she had articulated her entire life story and what surprised her was that this seemed to fit. Memories and thoughts she had understood only in the isolation of a disjointed mess of fear and harassment suddenly made a lot more sense. A single tear rolled down her cheek as she smiled to herself. She might make it out of this in one piece after all.
Richard unlocked the door to his apartment and entered. He was working long hours for an upcoming trial and he would far rather be spending time with Olivia. He saw how painful movement still was for her and he wanted to be available to help take her to the various places she needed to go. He knew she was independent and willful but he couldn’t help wanting to look after her.
The scent hit his nostrils as soon as he passed the doorway. Following his nose, he entered the kitchen to see Olivia hovering over the stove stirring a pot. She was propping herself up against the counter and he could see the pain that was wracking her body. His heart broke when she attempted to smile through the obvious pain.
Without a word, he scooped her up in his arms as delicately as he could and carried her through to the living room, and placed her on the sofa.
“I could have finished,” she muttered, the tension already leaving her body.
Richard shook his head. “I told you I’d take care of the food while you were healing, I don’t want you hurting yourself.”
Olivia seemed defeated. “I just wanted to do something nice for you, I feel like I’m a leach.”
Richard leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Thank you, but it’s unnecessary. You shouldn’t have strained yourself like that, what would happen if you’d set yourself back? Or hurt yourself? Fallen?”
“I’m not an invalid.” Olivia pouted.
“I know,” Richard stroked her hair. “And a man could get used to having his lady make dinner for him when he gets home.” he added, stepping quickly out of reach before she could smack him.
“I got this, just give me instructions,” he called as he made his way into the kitchen to finish what she had started.
Olivia dispatched orders to her servant from her well-padded throne. She was disappointed that she was unable to finish her surprise but admitted she had overdone things a little. Richard completed the remaining tasks and soon the pair were eating while Olivia replayed the day's events and her visit to the psychiatrist.
“So she thinks this is something real for you?” he asked between bites.
Olivia nodded. “The more I explained it and the more she directed me to expand on feelings it started to click together. I’m starting to feel that it explains a lot more than I was willing to admit. I had never even considered it to be a possible outcome to how I felt. When I experienced various feelings of dissociation, I attributed them to my sexual attraction to men rather than who I was at my core. It explains perhaps why I never wanted to be a caricature on stage and why I started to do this more often now I feel safe. I think before I was so afraid of what others thought of me that I bottled things up inside and buried them,” she admitted. “This doesn’t bother you, does it?”
Richard shook his head. “No,” he replied. “Ever since I realized this was more serious for you, I think I almost expected this outcome. I want you to do whatever you feel is right for you and I’ll stand by that. I love you.”
Olivia kissed his cheek. “Well, I can finally say I turned a man straight.” she chuckled softly.
Comments are the lifeblood of authors. Please leave a comment with your thoughts/feelings and I'll answer! Let me know what you think!
Life and Love are far more complicated than we can possibly understand. For one young cop, a journey of self-discovery will teach them that true strength was inside them all along.
Going forward Driftwood will be posted in two chapter packages to let the story flow a bit better, one at a time worked, but now... it feels better this way. Enjoy!
The next morning Olivia was focusing on walking around the apartment when she heard the doorbell. Hobbling over to the door, she checked to see who was there. A slim, brunette woman that looked vaguely familiar was standing there smiling. It took Olivia a moment to recognize Deputy Taylor out of uniform.
Opening the door, she smiled curiously. “Hey, ah, hi?”
Taylor smiled. “Kelly told me where you lived, I figured after everything that happened I’d give you some space, but I wanted to check in and see how you were doing?”
Olivia gestured for her to come in before hobbling back over to the sofa and plopping down in her regular spot. “I was going to call.” she admitted, “I got a little occupied.”
Taylor sat down beside her and nodded. “Yeah I noticed.” she chuckled with a wrinkle of her nose. “Not doing things by halves, huh?”
Olivia smiled. “Yeah, It’s been pretty rough, I can’t lie; but it’s really changed a lot of things for me.”
Taylor regarded Olivia’s appearance and grinned. “Yeah, I get the impression the guy that got shot that day isn’t coming back is he?”
Olivia shook her head without reservation. “He’s not.”
The woman inclined her head and put her hand on Olivia’s arm, “Want to tell me about that?”
Over the next few hours, Olivia explained everything to Abigail Taylor. She spared no detail in her story and the woman listened with rapt interest. The two talked about their lives and their interests, their hopes and dreams. Abigail was more like her than she realized. The girl was originally from a small, rural town in Central California called Morro Bay and she regaled Olivia with tales of her small town High School even revealing her past as a varsity cheerleader, a fact on which she swore Olivia to secrecy.
Olivia told Abigail all about her childhood in the wilds of Montana and the difficulties she faced there. It turned out their rural pasts were surprisingly similar, something she hadn’t expected to find in the urban metropolis of LA. By the time they parted ways, Olivia felt she’d found a true friend.
As Abigail was leaving, she turned to Olivia one final time, wrapping her in a warm embrace. “You know, you’re like the kid sister I never had.” she admitted with a smile. “From another mother and state entirely.”
Olivia grinned, “Anyone that drives a pickup and earned the right to wear cowboy boots is good by me.”
Abigail smirked and then took on a more serious expression. “Hey, look, make sure you talk to the boss directly about this topic, she’s surprisingly accepting.”
“Really? Like right to her?”
Abigail nodded, “I mean she knows you by name, she visited you in the hospital. You’ve got an in and she’s the one that can make things happen if you need her to.”
Olivia seemed uncertain. “I’ll think about it, but it’s all a bit scary at the moment.”
“Sooner the better, you don’t want this crap hanging over you till you find yourself coming back to work and having to drop it on them.”
“I guess,” Olivia admitted. “Would you come with me?”
“You bet.” Taylor smiled. “
Over the next month, Olivia began to notice more changes. Her skin was starting to feel softer and some of her sharper edges were beginning to smooth out. Her face appeared softer and her emotions, so tumultuous to start with, were beginning to find a new balancing point. She had begun to notice that her nipples were becoming extremely sensitive and itchy. The changes filled her with more joy than she realized, she was on the cusp of womanhood and rather than fear, she felt hope for the first time.
She continued her sessions with Doctor Barton and the lady had formalized her initial diagnosis; Olivia was transgendered. By the point she reached her conclusion, Olivia had already reached her own and become more comfortable with the idea. This was her future and she would need to start preparing for it to leave the shadows.
Her physical recovery was proceeding well and while her physical therapy was exhausting, she was more capable than she had been. She was able to leave the apartment alone with only mild discomfort and a limp as long as she used her crutches.
She knew she would need to change her name, that was now a necessity. Harry Dalton had died that day on the grimy sidewalk. She hadn’t realized it at the time, but what happened to her had been the wake-up she had needed to understand herself.
She had already broached the subject with Doctor Barton and the woman had explained the necessary steps to take to begin the process. With Richard’s help, she had a court date and a plan of action coming up. This was why she found herself outside of the Sheriff’s Department headquarters with a knot in her stomach.
Olivia had dressed as a boy for her meeting with the Sheriff. She knew the bridge would have to be crossed at some point but her first time returning was not the right time. She’d begun to notice the changes happening to her and was positive that her opportunity to handle this return before questions were asked was running out faster than she would like.
Steeling herself, she made her way up the steps to the entrance and approached the front door. A pair of deputies leaving saw her approach on the crutches and held the doors open. She didn’t know them and wasn’t in uniform but they likely noticed the badge around her neck.
The pair nodded a greeting and went on their way while Olivia entered the building. Her journey to the top floor and the command offices took far longer than she had expected. Deputies and support staff she’d barely spoken to all wanted to shake her hand and ask about her recovery. She didn’t realize that many people knew what had happened to her. She lost track of how many times she had to explain her ordeal but left out one notable detail of the injuries she had sustained. The level of friendliness and camaraderie from her colleagues was a new experience for her. It was depressing that she had to nearly die to earn it.
Eventually, she managed to successfully navigate the throngs of well-wishers and found herself in the corridor outside the Sheriff’s office on the top floor of the building while administrative staff bustled around her. Taylor was waiting outside when she arrived. She greeted the woman with a smile.
“Different look for you.” Taylor smirked. “Not much different, but still.”
Olivia rolled her eyes, “I mean I can’t exactly surprise them can I? It won’t be long before doing this is kinda difficult.”
The older Deputy chuckled.
Olivia reflected on what she was going to say to her boss. She knew what she wanted to cover, but she had no idea how she was going to bring the subject up. She was prepared to leave the job and move on, but she hoped that wouldn’t be necessary.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of running feet on the carpet tile floor. Anderson rounded the corner and nearly collided with a clerk laden with paperwork. She ignored the man’s hateful expression and made for Olivia.
“I’m glad I caught you, I heard you were in the building.” she panted, glancing between Dalton and Taylor with curiosity. “What’s going on?”
“Seeing the Sheriff. It’s just some procedural and paperwork stuff with me coming back.” Olivia explained.
Anderson looked momentarily confused before her eyes went wide with realization. “You want me in there with you?”
Olivia glanced at Taylor and grimaced. “More the merrier I guess.”
“The Sheriff will see you now.” an executive assistant interjected.
Kelly and Abigail helped Olivia stand and followed her into the office. Sheriff Reilly was behind her desk typing at her keyboard, her eyes fixed on the monitor. Olivia had never seen her wear glasses before.
Reilly looked up as they entered. “Dalton, It’s wonderful to see you on your feet, you’re recovering well?”
Olivia stood to attention as best the crutches would allow. “Yes, Ma’am. It’s slow but it’s getting there, I expect about three to four months.”
Reilly nodded and glanced at Kelly. “Taylor, Anderson, why are you here?”
“Support, Ma’am.” The pair answered.
She looked back at Olivia before eying Anderson again. The Sheriff smelled a rat.
“Ok you three, what’s going on? And for god’s sake sit down Dalton, you don’t need to stand there.”
Olivia took the time to seat herself in one of the chairs in front of the Sheriff’s desk. She could sense the others hovering protectively over her shoulder.
Olivia swallowed and decided to get things over with. She was done waiting and it would go right or it wouldn’t, she didn’t care.
“When I was shot Ma’am, I was hit six times. It broke my leg, cut my femoral artery, and most significantly damaged my genitalia. I was left unable to produce hormones naturally.”
She noticed the Sheriff’s mildly annoyed expression shift to one of concern. “No babies, no hormones, no more function really. I was offered replacement therapy to continue a normal life which would allow me to heal and have a sex life, but it would come at a price I wasn’t willing to pay. This incident placed me at a decision-making point for something I’ve been dealing with for some time in private: I’m transgender.”
Reilly’s eyebrows moved, but nowhere near as far as she expected.
“To permit my body’s normal function and allow me to heal properly, I had to be started on hormone therapy, and I wasn’t prepared for that to be testosterone. I’m seeing a psychiatrist and I’m…” she paused to gather her emotions. “I’m leaving Harry behind to exist as me, the real me.”
The Sheriff was silent for a moment. She looked back and forth between Dalton and Anderson and nodded.
“Now I see why you wanted some moral support, Dalton. This must be difficult for you to discuss. Allow for my ignorance, how is this going to impact your return to the job?”
Olivia couldn’t look the woman in the eyes. “I was hoping that you might see fit to allow me to keep my job and come back to work as… well, me.”
The Sheriff stood and walked around to the front of her desk before leaning against it.
“What happened to you was awful and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Are you sure this isn’t a result of losing some perception of manhood?”
Olivia shook her head. “This was something I was wrestling with before that happened, Ma’am, for a long time. This situation forced me to address my own feelings.”
The Sheriff nodded and her expression softened.
“If I may, Sheriff?” Taylor asked politely.
Reilly glanced at her and nodded.
“I first met her by accident, she had a tail light out and I had no idea till I saw her ID. It turned out she was partnered with my old boot Anderson, so after the shooting, I visited her at home. We got to know each other pretty well, I can honestly say she is deadly serious about what she’s saying. On top of that, she looks ridiculous dressed as a guy.”
“She?” The Sheriff raised an eyebrow at Taylor’s choice of pronouns.
Taylor nodded.
The Sheriff pursed her lips and nodded curtly. “I trust your judgment on character, Taylor. You know that and I wasn’t going to say no. I’m just surprised at your choice of words given their appearance.”
“Ma’am, I can’t actually see her any other way even now.” Taylor shrugged.
Reilly studied Dalton for a moment, her eyes regarding the sweatpants and loose hooded sweatshirt Olivia was wearing.
The Sheriff shook her head and smiled. “Maybe you have a point, Taylor.”
She stood and walked over to the window before continuing. “Fair enough then, I’ll approve the change. You’ve got my official support and that of command. I won’t pretend it’s going to be an easy road for you or that you won’t experience any issues. I like to think I helped to craft this department into a progressive example of Modern Law Enforcement. It might be the twenty-twenties and society has progressed a great deal. A lot of prejudices are hard to quash, especially in a masculine environment such as this.”
She looked at Olivia. “You’ll face discrimination and I’m sorry for that. Both as a woman and because of how you got there. I work hard to try and end that sort of crap but it’s like fighting to hold back the tide with a bucket.”
Olivia nodded. “I’m prepared for that, Ma’am. I spent my childhood dealing with people that didn’t like me for who I was.”
The Sheriff regarded her for a moment. “I can see why, no offense.”
Olivia shrugged. “I can’t say it’s not an advantage now.”
Riley smiled. “Quite so,” she agreed, returning to her desk. “You’re taking care of things legally, I assume?”
“I have a court date set for my name change and other formalities, Ma’am,”
The Sheriff nodded. “Send those through to Personnel once you get them, but I’ll have them change your records now. You may be on leave for recovery, but you still hold a badge and a gun and I won’t have you getting into trouble because of this. I’ll need your new name and a promise.”
“Ma’am?”
“Tone down your look from the stage please.”
Olivia gawked. “You knew about that?”
“I’ve seen you perform twice, I never knew it was you till quite recently. Miss Russo keeps trying to turn me to the dark side.”
Olivia felt herself turn bright red. “No,” she stumbled, “I mean of course not, Ma’am. That’s not really me, I mean that’s a character.”
Reilly held up her hand. “I know, I just want you to smile for once in this meeting, Dalton. Lord knows you’ve had a rough go of it. I want you to know we have your back.”
“I appreciate that Ma’am, and thank you. And it’s Olivia Evelyn Dalton.”
“Olivia Dalton,” the Sheriff noted on a pad. “Wonderful. Now get out of here and get yourself healed, I’ll expect full compliance with the female dress code on your return, Deputy.”
Anderson and Taylor helped Olivia to her feet and followed her out into the hallway. Once they were safely out of earshot of the administration staff, Kelly turned and hugged her partner.
“Congratulations girly. One step closer.”
Olivia let out a sigh she’d been holding. “That’s it then, I’m dumping this for good.” she grimaced, plucking at her hoodie.
“Hate to break it to you dear, but you haven’t really looked like a guy in a while.”
“Nobody said anything today.”
“Men won’t notice anything unless you slap them in the face with it.” Abigail smirked.
“Duh, all they see is the crutches and the limp.” Kelly added
“Well I want my boobs back till they’re permanent.” Olivia muttered.
Kelly laughed as they walked out into the parking lot. “Trust me, I wish I could take mine off sometimes.”
Olivia lay curled up in bed beside Richard later that evening. His soft, rhythmic breathing soothed her spirit. He was the first man she had ever slept beside without first having sex. They had gone to bed because that’s what couples do; to sleep. She hadn’t simply slept beside someone since she was little and she’d forgotten how comforting it was. Glancing at the clock told her it was just after one in the morning. Since her injury, she found herself waking up at strange hours but rarely felt like getting up. Lying beside her man while he slept felt magical.
As she thought back over her journey so far, she was still surprised to find herself here. For so long, her life had been a grueling experience where every day was an exercise in avoiding getting her ass kicked. She had family, but it wasn’t like other people. They loved her because she was blood, but not because they liked her. She never overtly told them about her sexuality but they seemed to know regardless.
Disappointed was probably the best word she could use to describe how they felt. When she came home with black eyes or bruises, they never commented and the only advice she received when she complained was that she should learn to stand up to them; to help herself.
They were right, she realized, only helping herself probably hadn’t turned out the way they might have expected.
Olivia rolled over slowly and snuggled up to Richard’s back. She felt a slight pressure as the small mounds behind her nipples pressed into his back through her nightdress. The girl smiled to herself in the darkness.
Her day in court came and went a week later with little fanfare. Richard had asked one of his colleagues to represent her in the simple hearing as his relationship prevented him from doing so himself. In a state such as California, the process was formal but trivial. She had the paperwork she needed and the judge handled the proceedings efficiently. An hour later, Olivia left the courthouse officially Olivia Evelyn Dalton, a female in the eyes of the law.
Weeks turned into months as Olivia began to heal more rapidly. She had stopped taking pain medication entirely and her Physical Therapy sessions had turned into strength-building exercises as her crutches became a thing of the past. She’d long ago given up attending the sessions as Harry.
The changes to her body had become more dramatic as time passed. Her skin was far softer and her breasts had started to properly develop, much to her excitement. The repeated and unrelenting PT sessions had helped her body to recycle its fat stores and she felt her hips and buttocks broadening as her waist narrowed. Her wig had been cast aside as her own hair had grown long enough to be styled in a feminine manner. Relatively adept with hair styling from her wig collection, she had managed somewhat awkwardly to give herself a haircut and now sported a cute shaggy pixie style that accentuated her fine features. She wasn’t quite ready to face a salon full of women yet.
Her relationship with Richard had begun to resume its physicality as the pain faded and her strength returned. Richard was a cautious and caring lover that took great care in ensuring she was comfortable and not over-exerting herself. The changes her body had experienced gave sex an entirely new meaning for Olivia; it had become a whole-body experience that she greatly enjoyed.
The couple lay naked in bed basking in the afterglow of their love. Richard’s fingers were lazily tracing the edge of Olivia’s nipple as he caught his breath.
Olivia rolled over to face him on the pillow.
“I love you.” she whispered, her fingers dancing through the hair on his broad chest.
“I love you too.” he replied with a lazy, tired smile.
“I hope I can be enough for you.” Olivia said softly as she felt a pang of doubt in her heart, “I feel so awful that you’ve had to deal with all of this mess”
Richard looked hurt. “Never say that honey. You’re never a burden and I couldn’t imagine my life without you”
“I can’t give you children.” she sighed, a tear rolling down her cheek. “You deserve more than my fucked up mess in your life.”
Richard pulled her into his arms, her back against his chest. “I don’t care,” he whispered, kissing her hair. “I nearly lost you once, and I don’t ever want to again. Whatever I face in life, I want to do it with you.”
Olivia looked up at Richard, their bodies pressed together.
“I think for the first time in my life, I’m actually happy.”
Richard squeezed her, “I always went through life looking for the next experience, the next person to spend time with. I never realized that it was a void I was trying to fill with shallow human connection. I see so much damage at work it began to affect me. We started to get more serious than I ever have with anyone before. When I nearly lost you, It cut me to my core far more than I was prepared to understand. Seeing you go through that and battle your own demons at the same time makes me want to just hold you and keep you safe.”
Richard rested his chin on the top of Olivia’s head and sat quietly for a moment before he spoke again. “It sounds so cliche, but it’s like I found a missing part of myself when I fell in love with you. You complete me.”
Olivia was leaving the hospital after a checkup and PT appointment when her phone rang. The number on the screen stopped her dead in her tracks.
Mom.
Olivia hadn’t spoken to her mother more than a handful of times in the past six years. She could always tell the woman was disappointed in her and felt the strain over the phone line each time.
Steeling herself, she dropped her pitch slightly into Harry’s vocal range and answered.
“Hello?”
“Harry, are you ok?” His mother sounded worried.
“Sure,” she lied, “How are…”
“Harry, I know what happened. Why didn’t you call us?”
Olivia was starting to panic. She moved away from the busy entrance and found a quiet bench to continue the conversation. “What do you mean, Mom?”
“One of your father’s friends was visiting LA and he saw an article in the newspaper about a Sheriff’s Deputy shot in a robbery, it had your photograph and name.”
Olivia swallowed, she hadn’t told them. She didn’t think they’d care.
“I’m ok, it wasn’t bad,” she lied. “It was a few months ago, I didn’t want to bother you.”
Her mother’s tone shifted to one of sadness. “No baby, you were shot six times.”
Tears welled in her eyes and she tried to keep her voice level. “I didn’t think you’d care,” she muttered.
There was silence on the phone for a moment. “I know you hate us, but I was so worried when I heard, I had to call, I needed to see if you were ok. I’ve missed you.”
Olivia sobbed. “I don’t hate you, I… miss you all but I know I’m not welcome.”
“You’re always welcome, we… we just didn’t know how to help you. By the time we thought we knew how to, you’d grown distant. Then you left.”
“I had to get out of there. I felt like I was alone, it hurt Mom.”
She could hear her mother crying on the other end of the phone. “Please, I want to see you.”
Olivia felt a pang of fear. “I’m fine Mom, it’s ok.”
“No baby, it’s been too long. I won’t lie, your father and I made mistakes, and I want to try to fix them if you’ll let me. The fact that my own child got shot and nearly died, and didn’t tell me means I screwed up as a parent.”
Olivia was silent.
“Say something please.”
“Are you sure?”
“Harry, you’re my child. I wasn’t the best mother and I tried to make choices that I thought would help you grow strong. I thought I was preparing my sweet baby boy to face the adversity of life. You were always so gentle and caring, the world was going to eat you alive… I thought I was helping.” she sniffed.
“I’m not the same person that left home Mom.” Olivia replied vaguely. “I’ve changed a lot.”
That was the biggest understatement of the century, she thought.
“That’s ok, we all need to.” her mother answered softly.
Olivia thought for a moment. No matter what she did, their meeting was going to be difficult. Should she explain now? Should she wait and arrive? Letting her mother come to her would be too much of a culture shock, she thought.
“I can come home if you’d like. I’ve still got some time off for my recovery?”
“Are you well enough to travel?”
“I am, I guess. I think I’d like to see the mountains again.”
“I’ll tell the others, they’ll be happy to see you.”
“We’ll see, I still have my doubts.”
Olivia glanced at her reflection in the smoked glass of the building beside her. Her hair was messy from her exercise and she was wearing a cropped tank top and yoga pants. She looked like any other young woman.
“Mom, I’ve really changed a lot.”
Her mother sniffed, “That you’re alive and willing to speak to me is enough, everything else doesn’t matter now.”
They continued to speak for a while until Olivia’s Uber arrived and she said her goodbyes. She didn’t know how she felt about the situation. For her entire life, she had decided her parents really didn’t want her. Like all children, she had thought her parents were mythical beings that achieved everything they intended and did no wrong. She blamed them because she saw their actions as intentional, not a mistake. Her mother admitting that she’d been wrong made her doubt her own feelings. Was there a chance they could understand?
Later that evening, Olivia explained the phone call to Richard. As she expected, he insisted on going with her no matter how much she protested. The idea of returning home at first terrified her. Home only held bad memories from her childhood but her phone call had begun to make her doubt herself. She knew she missed the place itself. Montana was unlike any other state in the country, it wasn’t somewhere you ever forgot.
A plan began to form for the coming week. She would fly out to Bozeman with Richard and they’d get a hotel room in town. Once she was there she would meet her mother somewhere public and make further plans depending on how the big reveal was received. It seemed the safest and most risk-free approach to face the situation. If things went wrong, they could leave and never look back. She imagined arriving at the family ranch in a sundress and heels and knocking on the door unannounced; that could end poorly.
She wasn’t sure how they would react to her new self. Life was bad enough when they thought she was gay. Technically she wasn’t anymore, did that count in her favor?
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Life and Love are far more complicated than we can possibly understand. For one young cop, a journey of self-discovery will teach them that true strength was inside them all along.
As they descended over the mountains, Olivia felt a strange sense of calm wash over her despite the meeting she would have to face. The view of the wild landscape of Montana was breathtaking and it drew with it a powerful feeling of joy for the place she had left so long ago. That joy was darkened by the bad memories of her childhood.
Richard sensed her discomfort and took her hand in his as he joined her watching the view outside the window.
“Good to be home?”
She nodded, still staring out into the early morning glow that bathed the peaks and highlands below. “I think so. I’ve missed it, but it’s not all good memories. I don’t think I really realized how much I loved it here till I left.”
“A cowgirl at heart.” he chuckled. “I’m afraid I’m going to be very much out of my depth.”
Olivia shook her head and grinned. “You’ll do fine, Bozeman even has indoor bathrooms now.”
Richard gave her a look as though he wasn’t sure if she was kidding.
They touched down at Bozeman Yellowstone International shortly after nine that morning. The skies were clear and the sun was warm as they disembarked onto the tarmac.
Olivia closed her eyes and tilted her face towards the sun and took a deep breath. The air was pungent with jet fuel and exhaust but it was her first breath of Montana air in over six years. It felt good to be back. The clear sky made her realize how normal the LA smog had become to her in her time away. After clearing the airport and collecting their luggage, Olivia collected the keys to their rental and the couple made their way toward the parking structure connected to the terminal. After a short walk, she pressed the fob and saw a pair of headlights flash in the gloom. She grinned and approached their rental for the week.
“Isn’t this a bit much?” Richard asked with a frown.
Olivia looked at the large black pickup, it was a new model Dodge Ram. “No honey, it’s not.”
“I’ve never driven a truck before.”
“Oh you’re not driving, city boy.” she laughed lifting her luggage into the bed. “This beauty is all mine, and I don’t need you tarnishing my nonexistent reputation by driving like a tourist.”
Richard shook his head and climbed up into the passenger seat with a little trepidation at the scale of the vehicle. Turning the key, Olivia felt the vibrations of the truck roll through her body. Switching on the radio, she picked a country station and pulled out of the bay.
“You’re really going to force me to listen to this, aren’t you?”
“Sure am, cowboy,” she drawled with a smirk. Richard grimaced as he started to realize what he was getting himself into.
They joined Interstate 90 south towards the city of Bozeman. Everything looked exactly as she remembered. The wide-open landscape dominated the sprawling city ahead of them. Bozeman wasn’t a small place by a long stretch. The city was home to just over a hundred thousand residents and more during tourist season. The world around it was just so darn big that it made man’s impact feel grossly insignificant.
They had booked a room at the Hilton Garden Inn just outside the city center. It was a little high-brow for Olivia’s taste, but she hadn’t wanted to throw Richard too far into the deep end. Before they arrived, Olivia pulled into a strip mall off the freeway and parked the truck. “Stay here.” she explained, “I’ll be right back.”
Hopping down, she headed for a country outfitter. She’d brought her boots with her to Los Angeles. For a native Montanan, they were almost a part of her religion, they couldn’t be parted with but she had left one item behind and it was something that had to be corrected.
Stepping into the store, she reveled in the scent of leather and old wood that permeated every surface of the establishment. Soft country music was playing on hidden speakers and people moved around examining various items. She made a beeline for a display of hats and found the item she was looking for almost straight away; a tan Stetson Skyline.
Placing the hat on her head she turned towards the mirror and examined her reflection. She certainly looked the part. The clothes were quite similar to things she’d worn growing up, but they fitted her entirely differently now. She was wearing a blue plaid shirt tucked into her bootcut jeans. Her boots, buckle and now the hat finished the look. This wasn’t the glamor of Mia Calafia, this wasn’t the male facade she’d worn growing up here, this was Olivia Evelyn Dalton.
“That suits you, ma’am.” a gravel-laden voice behind her announced.
Olivia turned to see an older rancher tip his hat in her direction.
She smiled politely. “Lost my old one a long time ago,” she explained. “I didn’t feel right buying one out in California.”
The man smiled. “Sure don’t.”
The man departed with a nod. Olivia smiled. People were exactly the way she remembered. The fact the man had spoken to her confirmed that he hadn’t seen a tourist when he looked at her. Feeling good about her choice, she removed the hat and made her way to the cashier, and paid for her purchase. Far poorer, she left the store and made her way back across the parking lot toward the waiting truck.
Hopping up into the cab, she backed out and set off for the hotel.
“I should get myself one of those.” Richard mused examining the hat that had been dumped in his lap.
“I don’t know if it would work with your suits.” Olivia teased.
They arrived at the hotel and checked into their suite shortly before eleven that morning. Olivia took the opportunity to rest on the luxurious king-sized bed for a while. She felt almost healed sometimes, but after a while, she ached and needed a break. It was frustrating, but a vast improvement from the previous months.
It was one in the afternoon when she was woken by her phone ringing. She picked it up and hit the accept button.
“Mm, yeah,” she mumbled sluggishly.
“I’m calling for Harry?” It was her mother.
“Uh, yeah,” she affirmed, letting her voice settle a bit lower.
“Are you ok? You sound a little strange?” his mother asked. “Did you get in ok?”
“Tired sorry. Yes w… I got in a few hours ago, I’m at the hotel now.”
“I don’t know why you needed to get a hotel,” her mother sounded mildly hurt but as though she understood. “I’d like to see you?”
Olivia thought for a moment. “Wild Joe’s for coffee, an hour?”
“I’m in town on some errands, so sure, that works.” his mother agreed somewhat skeptically as she began to notice a pattern of distance forming.
“Look, Mom,” Olivia began. “I just want to meet somewhere neutral and public this first time at least… things have changed a lot for me, and I’m still really uncertain about being here, It’s not all good memories. Just promise me one thing?”
“Anything?”
“Hear me out, ok?”
“I will, I’ll see you soon Harry.”
“Bye, Mom.”
Olivia ended the call and held the phone to her chest. This might be the last time she saw her mother. The idea of a permanent end to her relationship felt extremely painful despite how distant they’d become.
An hour later, Olivia was walking down the sidewalk of West Main Street towards Wild Joe’s Coffee Spot, a local institution in Bozeman. She hadn’t changed, she wanted to ease her mother into her surprise daughter. She had opened the neck of her shirt a little further to expose her white tank top and a small amount of décolletage just to drive the point home, however. She had left her breast forms behind on this trip opting only for a padded bra to emphasize her small but developing bust. While not significant, she wanted to make the change a little easier to accept.
She stepped into the coffee shop hesitantly, the smell of roasting beans was heavy in the warm air. Glancing around, she saw her mother sitting at a table on the far side of the establishment. She looked good, Olivia hadn’t realized just how much she had missed the woman.
Evelyn Dalton had always been a beautiful woman. She was five foot five, blonde, and shared the same fine Nordic features as Olivia. Seeing her now, she realized her mother looked much older and tired. She hadn’t seen her yet, and Olivia watched for a moment as she sat, nervously glancing around the room.
Realizing she had to move, Olivia approached the table where her mother sat and stood nervously before her. “Hey Mom.” she offered quietly, not hiding her voice.
Evelyn Dalton looked up at the young woman in front of her and seemed confused at first, her mouth opened as though she were about to speak, to tell this girl that she was mistaken when she froze and her eyes went wide.
“Harry?” she asked uncertainly.
Olivia sat slowly in the chair facing her mother. “I told you I’d changed a lot.”
Her mother stared at her silently, her eyes taking in every detail. Olivia felt her heart beating in her chest.
“Is that you?” the woman asked, slowly reaching out for Olivia’s hand on the table.
Olivia brushed her hair out of her eyes and nodded. “I didn’t really know how to explain this, Mom.”
Evelyn shook her head. “I never expected this at all. I guessed you might be gay, but this I never saw.”
“Growing up, I never fitted in,” Olivia explained. “I didn’t really want to do what the other boys did. I didn’t want to behave like them and then… I started to find them attractive, I thought I really was gay.”
Olivia paused for a moment. “When I left for college, I was putting this place in my rearview. I was leaving the pain, the bullying, and the rejection behind and I threw myself into my new life. I embraced who I thought I was but I never seemed to fit there either. I started doing drag when some friends introduced me to it and it became one of the few times I felt happy. It was when I felt like a whole person. Things ended up spiraling from there and I started to explore myself and when I got hurt, well it changed things for me quite significantly and I realized I had to do this, I had to be me.”
“What do you mean?”
“One of the bullets,” Olivia said softly, feeling a pang of pain as she relived the events that had torn her apart. “It damaged my genitals, I would never produce testosterone or have kids, and when they offered me shots to replace it I couldn’t do it. It felt wrong.”
Evelyn held her hands to her mouth as a tear ran down her cheek. “That you felt you had to go through that alone, I’m so sorry, we never knew.”
Olivia frowned. “I didn’t tell you,” she admitted. “I blamed you and Dad. Mark and Sarah didn’t want anything to do with me.”
Her mother sat dejectedly, tears forming in her eyes. “We tried baby… Your father and I, we thought you were such a gentle small boy, we thought the world would eat you alive.” she shook her head. “We thought the best thing we could do for you was let you fight your own battles, learn to be like your brother, and toughen up to find your own strength. By the time we realized what that had done to you, you had withdrawn into yourself and barely spoke to us… We failed you.”
Olivia realized she was crying too. “I thought you hated me for being who I was,” she admitted quietly. “I felt so alone. That school was hell, I had no friends and my own family just let it happen.”
Evelyn stared at her sadly. Her mother suddenly looked far older than her fifty years. “Now I see why you wanted to meet me here,” she sighed. “In case I rejected you or made a scene.”
Olivia couldn’t answer, she simply nodded.
Evelyn stood and rounded the table. She pulled Olivia to her feet and hugged her tightly. Olivia couldn’t hold back, she cried. She cried for her misery, she cried for her loneliness, and she cried for her soul. Every emotion flooded out of her eyes as she gripped her mother fiercely. Every ounce of fear and pain flowed freely.
She wasn’t sure how long they stood there holding each other, but she finally felt love. She felt the connection she had dreamed of with her parents and the closure of a chapter in her life. A new one was beginning and she felt her heart sing with hope for the first time.
The two detangled themselves from one another and just stared into each other's eyes. It was the first time Olivia saw her mother as a woman, not a mother. She could see the pain in her eyes, the realization that she had made a mistake and she regretted it.
“I forgive you.” she said gently. “Mom, I love you.”
Evelyn smiled sadly. “I love you too Ha…” she frowned. “That doesn’t work does it?”
“Olivia Mom, Olivia Evelyn Dalton.”
Her mother smiled. “That’s a beautiful name for a daughter.”
Olivia walked along the sidewalk with her mother. The pair had spoken for several hours in the coffee shop. Olivia eventually brought up Richard after her mother asked if there was anyone in her life. Naturally, Evelyn had asked to meet the man that stole her child’s heart. As they walked back to the hotel, Olivia reflected on her childhood and experiences. She had hated growing up, but she realized now that her own confusion and pain had been a major component of that experience. Her mother’s explanation helped her to come to terms with how they’d treated her, but she still wished it could have been so very different.
She could see her mother glancing in her direction as they walked. “Still hard to get your head around?”
Evelyn nodded. “It is, I won’t lie. I don’t think I expected it at all. In hindsight, I think it explains a lot of things dear.”
“And you’re ok with this? And me loving a man?”
Evelyn thought for a moment. “I’m so very blessed that you came back into my life after these years and we were able to talk and understand each other better.” she paused for a moment, “and to think that you nearly died in that awful city… How my child wishes to appear is less important in the grand scheme of things.”
Olivia seemed unconvinced.
“Is this a lot for me to get used to? Yes.” Evelyn admitted. “I don’t know how to deal with this, but what I do know is you’re here, and you’re alive. I will get used to everything else. For a daughter, a man is entirely normal… so there is that.”
Evelyn turned, taking her daughter’s shoulders as they arrived at the foyer of the Hilton. “For what it’s worth dear, you’re very pretty, I do love you.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Olivia smiled and hugged her mother. “You don’t know how much those words mean to me.”
Olivia had called ahead and by the time they reached the bar of the hotel, Richard was waiting for them. On seeing the two women, he stood and waited for them to approach.
“Mrs. Dalton.” He greeted the older woman, offering his hand. “A pleasure.”
Evelyn regarded Richard with a critical eye. He wasn’t a Montanan and his crisp suit betrayed his well heeled city life. His hair was neat and his facial hair was fashionably scruffy. He looked like the lawyer Olivia had described him as. The look of concern in his eyes for her daughter, however, told her all she needed to know: This man loved her, it was plain to see.
Richard took Olivia’s hand as he gave her a quick look which she returned wordlessly with a slight nod. Evelyn smiled at the exchange.
“So you’re the man that stole my child’s heart?” she replied as she took his hand.
“I’m glad to see things went well.” Richard observed with the hint of a smile. “I was trying to barter with a man to borrow his white horse but I remembered I can’t ride.”
Evelyn shook her head. “That will need to change if you want to marry my daughter.”
“Mom!” Olivia exclaimed, turning red. Perhaps there were sides to being a daughter that she was going to regret.
The group talked for an hour over drinks as they got to know each other better. Evelyn was growing to like Richard. He was sincere and honest and wielded a sharp wit. His care for her child was extremely evident. As she bade her farewells, Evelin suggested a proposal for the following day.
“I’ll speak to your father, brother, and sister tonight” she announced. I’ll do the groundwork, but you’re coming home tomorrow to see them yourself.”
“At once?” Olivia grimaced. “Isn’t that going to be a little much?”
Evelyn shook her head. “It will be fine, and it’s better to get it over with in one blow, dear. You’ve got me on your side, remember.”
“You can do it,” Richard affirmed. “I’ll be there in spirit.”
Evelyn nodded her approval. “You’re most welcome Mr. Knight, but you’re right, this first time needs to be just family.”
Evelyn left to return to the ranch promising to return the next day. Olivia followed Richard back up to their room. She hadn’t realized just how exhausted she was. They had left Los Angeles early that morning and the emotional strain of the day had taken its toll on her, body and spirit.
Olivia kicked off her boots and shimmied out of her jeans as she headed for the bathroom to remove her makeup. Once done, she returned to the bedroom in just her panties and tank top before falling face-first onto the bed in a heap.
“Attractive.” Richard chuckled as he carefully undressed by the side table. The only response he got was a neatly manicured middle finger.
“After the day I’ve had, I don’t give a fuck anymore,” Olivia muttered into the pillow.
“You did great, I’m so proud of you.”
“It’s far from over yet.” Olivia countered.
“But the first hurdle is always the hardest, you have one ally here, remember that.”
Olivia raised her head off the pillow and stuck her tongue out at Richard before faceplanting again.
“You’re such a child.” he chuckled.
The next morning Olivia waited outside the foyer of the Hilton. She was more nervous than she had felt in her entire life. Her mother’s acceptance was a significant weight off her shoulders, but it had placed hope in her heart; hope she now feared would be dashed by the confrontation ahead.
She had dressed more femininely this morning as if she needed to prove a point to her family, especially the men. Dressing more like the average Montana ranch girl the day before had worked with her mother, but she hoped the groundwork had at least taken the sting out of the reception she would face. This morning was already warm and promised to only get hotter as August ravaged the land. She had dressed in a denim skirt, a white tank top, and a loose, open shirt along with her favorite boots. She felt comfortable, but she hoped it was more than girly enough to prove her womanhood to her family.
Her reverie was broken when her mother pulled into the driveway in her truck. Olivia felt happy seeing her, it reminded her she had at least one friend here at home now. The tricky part would be convincing three more. That made the task ahead harder yet. Winning her mother over had made this feel like home again, a feeling she now feared she might lose.
Olivia felt the apprehension grow as they drove along the highway toward her childhood home. Riding in her mom’s truck was bringing back memories of her teenage years. As she looked down at her bare legs and the skirt she was wearing. She felt as though she was time traveling in an alternate dimension where she had grown up a girl to begin with.
She was terrified of what she would face when they got to the Dalton Ranch. Part of her hoped and begged for acceptance, but realized more realistically the most she might hope for was a grudging tolerance. Would they shout? Scream? Would they hate her? She wasn’t sure what she would face, but she knew it would be a trial.
Evelyn looked across the cab at her child as they drove home. She recognized the look on her face. She thought of so many things she might say to comfort the girl but wasn’t sure what the right words might be. She was as out of her depth as the others and it was going to be a tough sell.
An hour outside of Bozeman they reached the ranch. It was just south of Livingstone at the head of Paradise Valley. Olivia felt a surge of emotion as they drove under the wooden archway that led down the drive toward the ranch house. Evelyn parked the truck and turned off the ignition.
“It’s now or never honey.” she prompted quietly. “Everyone should be inside.”
Olivia nodded wordlessly and fingered the strap of her bag nervously. She glanced around the familiar setting as though trying to drink in the sights for a final time before slipping down from the truck and waiting for her mother.
The two approached the front porch and made their way up to the door. Everything seemed like a dream to Olivia. Every sight and sound screamed of familiarity and memories but she knew it was far from the truth.
The door was opened as they approached and Olivia caught sight of her father for the first time in six years. The man looked older but he still had that familiar weatherworn look she always remembered. His dark hair was graying at the temples and he had the same neat mustache on his top lip. It twitched.
“Evelyn, Harry.” he greeted flatly, eying his child with uneasy skepticism.
Olivia hung her head and followed her parents into the family room where her siblings were milling around waiting for the difficult reunion to begin.
Everyone was looking at Olivia. She could feel their gazes burning into her as she stood there awkwardly beside her mother, the only bastion of safety she felt. Her older sister, Sarah, smiled weakly but remained distant, her brother, Mark, wouldn’t make eye contact.
“Let’s sit, shall we?” Evelyn stated in a tone that was far more obviously an order than a request.
Evelyn guided her to a sofa and sat beside her while the rest of her family maintained their distance.
“Why?” Her father asked bluntly. He wasn’t a man of many words at the best of times, she remembered, but he seemed especially curt today as though he was trying to resist the urge to say something different.
Olivia looked at her family and regretted it; directing her gaze to the floor, she began her explanation.
“Growing up was difficult for me, I never fitted in with anyone and I always felt like I was missing something important. I thought I was gay; that it was the great answer to my unhappiness and when I left for college I explored that part of myself… It was okay, I mean, It felt right, I was attracted to boys but there was more to it. I had no reference for how I felt…” she added glancing at each of them in turn.
“I knew how I felt, but I didn’t dare tell anyone here. If I had said a word, I’d have been hurt worse… I already got picked on and bullied like crazy for what they saw of me, they assumed I was gay, a fag, and a sissy. I didn’t know anyone like me, so I assumed that was what it was.”
Evelyn put her hand on Olivia’s back and rubbed gently.
“When I got to college, I was able to explore myself more and talk to other people like me. I got involved in a group at school and then later outside that. That’s, I guess, where I discovered drag and it felt different to me. Other guys wanted to be these silly parodies of women, to prance around and be a big joke but I felt more strongly that I wanted to be more feminine, more like them.” she admitted.
“So this is just some fucking faggot drag shit for you to prance around?” Mark snapped from his place behind the sofa his father and sister occupied. His face was dark.
“Mark.” their mother hissed.
Olivia shook her head. “No, it’s ok, I get how it looks,” she admitted. “No, It’s far more than that. Sure I dated some guys but it never felt right, not really.”
Olivia shook her head and sighed. “I started toning down the stage look for when I was leaving clubs and bars to a more normal girl so that nobody I knew from work would know it was me, that version became a safety net and she felt harder and harder to put away.”
“So you’re just embarrassed to be gay? Is that it?” Sarah asked, only slightly more gently than Mark.
Olivia frowned. “No, I was never embarrassed, but I guess it was what I told myself. I guess I just didn’t want it to end. Then…” she sighed. “I met a guy that was different. He saw me differently and treated me so differently from the others. I wasn’t expected to fill this role for him that I went along with for others and he wanted to see Mia… I mean my character, one day.”
“So a man wants my son to dress up as a woman for him? You’re doing all this because some man wants to hide his gayness?” Her father growled.
Olivia stood and faced her father. “No.” she barked with more force than she had intended. “He made me realize it’s ok to be who I am. That it was ok for me to feel this way, to be a girl. I wanted to be like this because it is me. I am a gir… woman.”
She paced the living room, her fists balled tightly as she attempted to swallow her temper. She looked at her family and saw the judgment they were casting her way. Her heart was breaking, not that she hadn’t expected it. She felt tears beginning to well in her eyes.
“This is who I am, who I always was. I didn’t see it for many years, not that any of you would let me.” she stated flatly. “I never came back here, never called, never told you about the shooting because I hated it here, I didn’t feel loved, or wanted, or safe. You all let me get the shit beaten out of me, you iced me out and claimed it was because you wanted to toughen me up, make a man out of me or find myself.” she snapped with air quotes.
“Guess what, I found myself, and I’m not ashamed of who I am.”
“Nor am I.” her mother offered, standing beside her child.
Olivia took her mother’s hand for strength as she stared at the others. “That scrawny sissy kid you all fucking hated became a cop. That cop spent the last few years helping people and trying to make a difference. I’ve fought more guys than you ever did back in school, Mark.” she added glaring at her older brother. “I got shot six fucking times stopping some asshole from killing a storekeeper and my colleagues. I’ll carry one of those bullets for the rest of my life.” she snapped, lifting her skirt slightly to show two of the angry scars on her right thigh to them. “Is that tough enough for you?”
Her brother rolled his eyes. “Kinda wish he’d killed you.”
Evelyn stormed over to her son and slapped him in the face so hard the big man staggered backward, a look of shock on his face.
“You will never say such things again about your sister you ungrateful, fucking asshole.” she growled coldly.
The family was shocked, Evelyn Dalton didn’t curse. She never cursed. She was a god-fearing rancher’s wife that never hurt a fly. The words cut through the room like a chainsaw.
Sarah approached Olivia cautiously, casting a death stare at her brother as she passed. Sarah Dalton was a tall girl, dwarfing Olivia by a couple of inches. She’d always been so beautiful, Olivia thought, so graceful and perfect. She remembered playing with her sister when she was little; the games and the tea parties. She’d always loved spending time with Sarah and hadn’t put two and two together until that moment as to why.
The older Dalton girl regarded the younger for a moment in silence. She remembered the time spent when they were both younger fondly, but she also remembered how Harry hadn’t really changed. He hadn’t matured as Mark had, or grown to like sports or girls and more manly pursuits. She had gone along with her parents and brother in their ‘hard reality’ approach to toughening him up; she had thought she was helping her little brother become strong. She felt a tear slide down her cheek as she looked at the young woman in front of her. The girl looked both angry and terrified at the same time and her heart melted. She remembered the games, the barrel race tournaments they had acted out with her toy horses, and their make-believe adventures. Harry had always been just another girl in those games, it had seemed so normal.
Sarah was a veterinarian. She worked around horses all day and she recognized that look of fight or flight in her sibling’s eyes, that mixture of anger and panic that was building to a crescendo.
Sarah took the girl into her arms and hugged her fiercely. She felt Olivia stiffen at first before her arms wrapped around her with a grip that never wanted to let go. She cried as she felt regret at her part in what she’d done to her sister.
“This is fucking stupid.” Mark groaned. “Now you’re just going to accept his fucking bullshit and welcome him back?”
Sarah glared at her brother, not taking her arms from around the sobbing girl. “I followed you all, and that was wrong of me. I didn’t think about her feelings and I won’t do it now.” she fired back.
“As Mom said, she nearly died, we nearly lost our sister and I won’t turn her away. If you can’t be a fucking grown-up get out of here.” she snarled.
Mark threw his hands up and stormed out without another word. Their mother called after him but he didn’t turn around. A short while later, they heard a truck engine roar and peel out of the yard.
James Dalton watched the scene before him unfold with a strange sense of detachment. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be a more active part of this conversation, he simply didn’t know how. James was a rancher’s son, and a rancher himself; he knew cattle and he knew horses. Family was always something he’d tried to keep up with but thanked God for his Evelyn. She’d kept them together and made them function as a unit.
He looked at his youngest child, stood there looking so very feminine in his home. They were wrapped in their sister’s arms crying. To all the world, he looked like a girl he admitted to himself. He’d acted like one for sure when he was growing up. James had insisted they let Harry stand on his own feet when the bullying started in middle school. He knew how rough life could be for even the toughest men and he wouldn’t let his name or his children fall victim to it. Mark and Sarah had been strong, they’d known their direction in life and they’d been confident, smart kids. Harry however had never been like them. He was quiet, withdrawn, gentle, and small; James had been disappointed, he realized.
He saw the fire in his child’s eyes when they’d stood up for themselves against their brother and him. He’d seen that passion before, he realized. That determination, that force of will had never been present in the scrawny kid that had disappointed him so. James Dalton didn’t do emotion; he was a man’s man. He didn’t see that passion until he’d met his Evelyn so many years ago.
Looking now at the scene before him, he recognized that fire in his wife and daughter, and he saw it now in his youngest child too, he realized.
The Dalton girls had always been passionate creatures. They were strong in ways he could never be, and they were full of life and love. They were the glue that held this family together and they made him a better man for it.
Olivia pulled away from her sister, smiling weakly through her tears as she wiped her eyes, her makeup a mess. Her mind was in turmoil as she processed what had happened. She glanced over at her father, still sitting in the armchair, his expression an unreadable mask. She separated herself from Sarah and approached him slowly, her mind racing as she tried to read the stoic patriarch. She knelt beside the chair and placed her hand on his arm.
“Dad.”
James Dalton looked away and set his jaw. He couldn’t look at that expression. It was too familiar. That look of desperate hope would break him, he knew.
Olivia sat patiently, watching her father. She wished she knew what was going through his head but he was impossible to read.
“Dad, you wanted me to toughen up and be strong, you wanted me to be confident and independent. I know this isn’t how you expected it to turn out, but I finally found those things in myself. I’m not ashamed, but I am sorry.”
James Dalton looked at his youngest child. Her face was a mess of streaked makeup from her tears but her expression was one of quiet resolve. He didn’t see that runt of a kid inside the woman sitting there, pleading for his approval. He saw his Evie when she was younger. He saw Sarah. He now saw Olivia.
“Never apologize for who you are.” he said quietly, his stoic tone cracking slightly. He grimaced, fighting an unfamiliar and unwanted feeling that was creeping in. “I never raised you to be sorry for who you are, I raised you as a Dalton… I… My god, you’re so much like your mother.”
“Dad.” Olivia begged, her tears flowing again. “I’m not sorry for who I am, I’m sorry I wasn’t the son you wanted.”
That broke James Dalton. The iron man felt wetness in his eyes for the first time since the birth of his children. He stood without a word and took his daughter into his arms and hugged her tightly to his chest.
“God, you Dalton girls will be the death of me.” he sighed as his wife and eldest joined the embrace.
Olivia sat out on the porch of the ranch house watching the world pass by. The last two hours had been some of the most exhausting in her life. She had never hoped for acceptance, even after her mother had come to her side. Dreamed, perhaps, but she had never hoped. That only her brother Mark had rejected her was an incredible outcome. Mark… They had never seen eye to eye she knew, but she had hoped there might be a chance.
She heard a board creak behind her and her sister came into view. Sarah sat down beside her on the step and handed her a steaming cup of tea.
“Rough afternoon,” she observed without really looking over at her.
“Yeah, you could say that,” Olivia admitted, accepting the cup.
“You look good.”
Olivia smiled. “Thanks, shoulda seen me hobbling around the first month on crutches, it was bad.”
Sarah glanced at her sister and winced. “How bad? Like, no bullshit, tell me the truth.”
Olivia was quiet for a moment as she sipped the herbal tea. “I died twice.”
Sarah stopped and stared. “You died?”
“On the operating table, they obviously got me back.” Olivia chuckled darkly.
“What all happened? Medically, I mean?”
“Shattered femur from one bullet, one embedded in the right, two through and through flesh wounds, one ruptured my femoral artery, and the last one fragmented and shredded my testicles.”
“Jesus fucking Christ.” Sarah whistled. “I’m surprised you’re here.”
“Me too, it’s been rough.”
“That you thought you couldn’t talk to us,” Sarah said softly. “I’m so sorry.”
“The one that ruined my genitals is why I ended up making the decision in the end,” Olivia admitted. “They were preparing to give me testosterone shots for the rest of my life and I couldn’t do it.”
“I can’t begin to imagine how you handled all of this,” Sarah admitted. “All your life, all of this, and having to face us too.”
Olivia stared out at the vast expanse of Montana in front of the house. “Richard,” she said simply.
“Richard?” her sister asked with a curious expression before realization hit her. “That’s the man you met, isn’t it? Tell me about him?”
“He’s sweet and caring and so utterly gorgeous, he makes me feel so damn special whenever I’m with him.”
“He sounds wonderful.”
“I love him,” Olivia admitted, facing her sister. “With all my heart.”
“Where is he now?”
“Still up in Bozeman.”
“Shit… he came home with you to face all this? That’s a man.” Sarah chuckled.
“I asked him to stay there today while I came here, I didn’t want to overload you guys or let him see or hear any of the horrible things I expected.”
Sarah put her arm around Olivia and hugged her to her side. “I’d love to meet the guy that stole my baby sister’s heart,” she said softly. “How long are you guys here?”
“End of the week,” Olivia said, resting her head on her sister’s shoulder. “I can’t tell you how nice this is.”
“Let’s go give Mom and Dad some space,” Sarah announced standing. “I’ll drive us into Bozeman and we can get dinner then I can meet this handsome guy.”
Saying their goodbyes to their parents, the two women climbed into Sarah’s SUV and headed for the city. The drive from the ranch was a lot more comfortable for Olivia. The worst of her fears now behind her, she was able to relax.
Sarah had gone into practice as a veterinarian with an old school friend and their business was doing well. She’d married her high school sweetheart who was now in the auction business. Overall, her life was going well. Olivia was happy for her sister. She knew they weren’t likely to be braiding each other’s hair any time soon, but she could feel their once-strong bond beginning to repair. It would take time, she realized, but there was hope for it yet.
Sarah parked in the lot at the Copper | Whiskey Bar & Grill, just off Main Street in Bozeman and the pair headed inside. According to Sarah, the Copper was one of the best places to get barbeque in the entire city and Olivia ought to re-immerse herself in the country lifestyle after her time away from home. Inside, soft country music was playing on the sound system and it was bustling with the late lunch crowd.
Olivia hadn’t been able to spend time in bars in Montana before she left. Not only had she been too young, but she had no friends that would even attempt the teen tradition of sneaking in. The atmosphere was casual and light-hearted and the bar’s wood panel interior gave it an old-time aesthetic that really felt timeless.
“They have nothing like this back in LA. They have attempted copies of country style, but not like this.” Olivia nodded appreciatively. “It really does feel good to be back, you know.”
Sarah grinned and waved to the barman so that they could order. “You can’t take Montana out of someone, no matter where they go.”
The two women were able to order drinks and grabbed a menu before heading to find a table somewhere out of the flow of customers.
“Sarah Dalton? As I live and breathe.” A voice called from behind Olivia. “Girl, you don’t hang out no more.”
A group of four men had made their way over from one of the pool tables. All four were dressed in various plaids and jeans, they looked like ranch hands.
“They work at the J,” Sarah explained, referencing one of the neighboring ranches.
The men seemed to be tipping the scale between tipsy and drunk. One of them, that looked slightly drunker than the others, leered disgustingly at Olivia.
“What’s your name, honey.” he slurred. “I ain’t seen you around before.”
“You seem a bit drunk, buddy,” Olivia replied flatly. “Probably time to head home.”
“Aw, sweetie I’m good, just gettin’ warmed up.” The man chuckled.
Sarah’s expression seemed a little pained as she glanced between the guys. Olivia sensed she’d read their intoxication the same way she had.
“You boys should head back to the ranch before you end up getting busted and Mr. Cane has to come to bail your sorry asses out.” she pointed out sternly.
The big drunk ran his fingers over Olivia’s cheek and she flinched and batted away his arm.
“Get off me.”
Mr. Sloshed put his hand on Olivia’s butt and squeezed. “Come on darlin’, come play a round with us, we’ll teach ya.”
Olivia gripped the man’s hand and twisted as she stood putting it behind his back. “No touching buddy.”
The man yelped and tried to resist, only making the pain of the hold worse and yelped louder.
The other three stepped forward as though they were about to get involved until Sarah stood up and glared at them. “Hands off her, She’s a Dalton, boys. No means no.”
“You don’t got a sister.” one of the men countered. “Just two brothers.”
The other stared at Olivia for a moment, his alcohol-addled brain processing images. “She looks a lot like her faggot brother from a ways back.”
The last man appeared to be the least drunk and he made the connection fastest of all of the group. “That’s Harry Dalton guys! Holy shit he gone had his dick cut off after all.”
Olivia’s mind raced, this was going downhill extremely quickly and she was out of her depth. She’d reacted like she was back home working and had no backup and her sister in proximity. These guys were big and far stronger than she was, she needed help fast.
Her moment of distraction was enough for the man she had in an arm lock to twist his hand free and lash backward with his elbow. The impact connected with Olivia’s cheek and sent her reeling, releasing his hand entirely.
Scrambling away over the floor she stood as quickly as possible and hunched forward in a fighting stance, her hand went for a baton that didn’t exist. She cursed herself as the man approached and threw a wild, well-telegraphed punch that missed entirely as she ducked underneath it. She countered with an uppercut and stepped through his haymaker.
Olivia’s heart hammered as she tried to maintain her space while the man attempted to strike her. She kept moving as quickly as possible and tried to use the man’s momentum against him. She couldn’t beat him in power so she had to use what she had; speed. Her injuries were almost healed, but she was far from peak condition and she was beginning to feel it. This couldn’t be a prolonged fight or she’d be dead. Making her mind up, she sidestepped a charge and kicked sharply at the side of the man’s knee as he blundered past using a dirty street trick.
She heard a loud crack and the man wailed and collapsed to the ground, his busted knee unable to support his weight.
She turned to face the others and felt a pang of fear as she saw two of them holding Sarah in their grasp as she struggled to get free. Sarah’s lip was bleeding and she was cursing up a storm.
Olivia didn’t hesitate, she reached behind her shirt and pulled her pistol from the holster inside her waistband, and pointed it at the forehead of the ringleader. “Let her go.” she growled.
The man’s eyes went wide and he dropped Sarah’s arm and threw his hands up. Sarah wasted no time in elbowing the moron in the groin. Before long, she was separated and rushed over to stand beside Olivia.
“Not one of you fucking move, you understand me?” Olivia ordered moving the barrel of the pistol between the men.
“Sarah, go tell the barman to call the cops.”
The older woman wiped the blood from her lip and stalked over to the bar. The barman already appeared to be dialing before she reached him.
Olivia reached down to her bag without taking her gun off the men and reached in for her badge.
She waved it around at the already assembled crowd of onlookers. “Deputy Sheriff.”
“You what?” the ringleader balked. “You ain’t.”
“Test me please.” she snarled, her temper blazing. “You aren’t faster than a bullet and with the three of you lugs it will be an easy case of self-defense.”
The men didn’t test her.
A few tense moments later, she heard sirens wailing outside the bar and several local officers came streaming into the bar. Waving her badge in their direction she pointed at the three standing and their writhing compatriot.
“These idiots assaulted my sister and I.”
“We got it from here ma’am.” the first to reach her nodded. “Turn around fellers.”
Olivia was dimly aware of a few of the crowd of patrons clapping as she finally relaxed. The four amigos were detained by the local cops and the girls were led outside to the street. An ambulance had to be called for Mr. Sloshed who had yet to stop yelling about his shattered knee.
The girls were kept to one side while the officers handled cleaning up the mess inside the bar.
An officer stood with them until their supervisor arrived a few moments later. The older man wore sergeant’s stripes and looked to be in his late forties. The man looked like any sergeant she knew; mildly annoyed to be there and already done with all of it.
The man relieved the officer stood with them and pulled out his notepad.
“Who you with?” he asked, gesturing at the badge she’d clipped to her shirt.
“Deputy Dalton Sir, Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department, I’m home visiting family,” Olivia explained.
“Those were some big dudes, you messed that big one up on your own?” he asked uncertainly.
“She did.” Sarah grinned past the gauze she was holding to her lip. “My sister is a badass.”
“Used his weight against him, sir. He wasn’t difficult to handle. I can’t use power to stop guys so I have to be quicker.” Olivia explained.
“Mighty impressive.” the sergeant agreed. “Pity you don’t work with us. Real firecracker if you don’t mind me saying.”
The man paused for a moment and cocked his head to one side. “Dalton?”
Olivia groaned internally. It was going to be one of those days.
“Yes sir.”
“Nothing.” the Sergeant shrugged. “I think I got my memory mixed up. You are sure you’re ok, aren’t you?” he added as he noticed Olivia massaging her thigh.
“She got shot in the line of duty a few months ago,” Sarah interjected. “Six times saving a man’s life.”
The Sergeant turned to Olivia with a look of shock. “Ma’am, is that true?”
Olivia nodded slightly. “Yeah, I can feel that’s going to be a story she keeps telling.”
“Oh, and this one too now,” Sarah added with a chuckle. “My kid sister just took down four of the J’s hands on her own.”
The Sergeant stuck his hand out to shake Olivia’s. “If you ever move home, give me a ring and I’ll put a word in for you with our Chief, Ma’am.”
“Thank you, Sergeant. No promises though.”
One of the idiots was yelling as they stuffed him into a cruiser. “That tranny bitch should be locked up. He came on to me!” The two officers handling him stuffed him into the car regardless.
The Sergeant glanced in the direction of the car then back at Olivia and raised his eyebrows. “Maybe I was thinking about the right Dalton earlier after all”
Olivia sighed. “Yes sir.”
The man grinned and patted Olivia’s shoulder. “My eldest girl’s gay, I don’t give a good goddamn. You be you, honey.”
Olivia smiled at the man and held her sister’s hand. “Thanks, I didn’t want a scene.”
“Y’all caused one,” the older sergeant chuckled. “Man I’m totally telling Heather about this, she’ll think it’s a hoot.”
The Sergeant thanked them both and left to coordinate his officers.
After statements and identities were confirmed, Olivia and Sarah were released by the Bozeman PD and decided that lunch really hadn’t been that important after all. Sarah had left to return back to the ranch to tell their parents, much to Olivia’s protests, and made her promise to come back home for dinner the next evening.
Olivia made the short walk back to the hotel to join Richard. Her day had been far more eventful than she had planned but strangely, she wouldn’t have had it any other way.
“You did what?” Richard had gawked.
Richard had nearly lost it when he’d seen her bruised cheek. She’d called him from the ranch earlier in the day so he knew it hadn’t been her family that left the mark, but seeing her limping slightly and looking worse for wear had worried him greatly.
“Yeah,” Olivia stretched out her aching thighs against the bed. “My sister and I won a bar fight.”
“How?”
“Four drunk idiots are all muscle and no brain.” Olivia chuckled before going on to explain the events at the bar that afternoon.
Richard laughed and shook his head. “This place is the wild damn west.”
“Sure is sugar.” Olivia purred, climbing onto his lap with a look in her eye. “Come tell momma how awesome she is.”
Richard pulled her to him and kissed her deeply. He could feel her body melting into him as they sat there entwined on the edge of the bed. Olivia moaned softly into their kiss and pushed him back onto the bed. She pulled her top over her head and leaned down to kiss him again. Richard grabbed her bottom as they kissed and felt her grind against him. He reached up and unsnapped her bra before allowing her to shrug out of it and toss it aside.
Olivia gasped when he found her breasts and began to knead them gently. “I love you.” she whispered into his ear as she tugged at his waistband.
A short while later, Olivia rolled off Richard and lay panting in the bed.
“What the hell was that?” Richard asked, looking over at her. “That was new, not that I’m complaining.”
Olivia shrugged and giggled. “I don’t know. I just felt like being in charge for once.”
“You can do that anytime you want.”
“I guess I’ve had such a stressful day reacting to everyone’s crap and then the fight, I had so much pent-up energy.”
Olivia realized she had very much taken charge of their lovemaking. It wasn’t something she’d ever done before and it felt exhilarating. Richard made her feel wonderful and she’d felt such a strong desire for him at that moment she had gone with her emotions.
“I think you need to get in fights more often.” he grinned.
Olivia rolled over and looked at the man seriously. “Today has been more than I hoped and worse than I expected, but I think it might work out in the end and that scares me.”
“I get it.” Richard agreed, running his hand along her naked leg. “Your Mom accepted you and now you have most of them over to your side, it’s like you have something to lose now.”
“Yeah,” she admitted, snuggling into his hand. “Sarah thinks I’m kinda awesome now.”
“You are.” Richard smiled and kissed her deeply.
The couple spent the evening in bed together with only a break to order room service. She had giggled at the knowing look the bellhop had given them when he arrived with their food. Olivia felt more liberated than she had in her entire life. Here she was in her homeland with the love of her life and she had so little still standing in her way now. The future finally seemed bright and full of potential. She knew the road would be rocky, but she was no longer alone in traveling along it.
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Life and Love are far more complicated than we can possibly understand. For one young cop, a journey of self-discovery will teach them that true strength was inside them all along.
The next day, the couple spent the day in Bozeman as Olivia showed Richard the sights of her home. The city was where she’d gone to school and spent most of her time growing up when not on the ranch. He could tell a lot of the place held bad memories for her but was thankful that she was willing to share this part of her life with him. The weight of the past was beginning to lift, he could see. She was smiling now, which was an improvement. The culture here was so dramatically at odds with the California pace he was so used to but he could grow to like the laid-back lifestyle.
With plans to travel to Olivia’s parent's home for dinner that evening, the couple returned to the hotel to change before making the hour-long drive over to the ranch. Richard was nervous for one of the first times in his life. Very few things rattled the man. He was able to take to the floor of the courtroom and do battle with some of the sharpest legal minds and he’d even faced down mobsters. Somehow, the prospect of meeting his girlfriend’s family scared him. He wasn’t sure if it was the fragile nature of their relationship or the thought that her father might bury him in the mountains if he disapproved.
Olivia pulled her truck into the ranch yard a little before six that evening and parked in front of the house.
“Ready?” she asked, turning to Richard.
“You?” he countered, climbing down from the truck.
“You’re the one meeting my family and you’re the city boy.”
Taking his hand, Olivia made her way up to the front door and hesitated for a moment before opening the door. She was apprehensive to return, but she was confident that she could handle things with him beside her. Sarah and her mother were firmly on her side she knew and the rest would come in time. Her biggest concern was how her father would take to Richard’s part in all of this. After all, wasn’t a father meant to disapprove of his daughter’s boyfriends? She wasn’t sure how that applied in her case, however.
Opening the door, she stepped out of the sunlight into the darker interior of the house.
“Hello?” she called.
“This is stunning,” Richard observed, glancing around the wood and stone interior of the home.
Nobody was visible so she led him further into the house and entered the family room. Her father was standing in front of the desk reviewing a sheaf of papers. He turned as she entered.
“Your mother and sister are in the kitchen,” he stated with a tone that suggested she leave him with Richard.
“Dad?” Olivia asked hesitantly.
Her father shook his head and pointed to the hallway with a crystal tumbler of amber liquid in his hand. “Off you go.”
Olivia looked up at Richard and squeezed his hand. He shrugged imperceptibly and nodded. Making her way back out towards the corridor, Olivia glanced back at the scene of two bulls facing off against one another and grimaced. This was either going to go well or be a massacre, but she knew better than to argue.
The scent of food led her through to the kitchen, a place she had spent so many hours as a kid. Her mother and sister were chatting with the housekeeper as they worked.
“Hi,” she called, hesitating at the doorway.
Sarah smiled as she saw her and welcomed her in. “Dad working over Richard?”
Olivia nodded before glancing nervously at Mrs. Swiftwater, the housekeeper, uncertain of what she knew.
Hellen Swiftwater had always been their housekeeper for as long as Olivia could remember. Her father had worked for her grandfather and both her sons were hands on the ranch. The native woman and her boys were essentially part of the family at this point.
The lady approached her and held out her arms to Olivia’s sides and appraised her carefully.
She nodded her approval and hugged the girl. “Welcome home Miss Dalton.”
“Olivia,” she corrected.
Mrs. Swiftwater shook her head and continued, she’d never called any of the family by their first names on principle except when they were little. “It’s good to see you and I’m very happy to see you finally.”
Olivia inclined her head, “Finally?”
“I was explaining to your mother and sister how my people see the two-spirited in my culture, and that when you were small I could see you were different from the other boys. There are many terms for it but I think the closest is iskwéw ka-napéwayat, meaning "woman who dressed as a man.”
Olivia raised her eyebrows and said nothing.
“Things vary of course, but we are not as narrow-minded as you white people.”
“So you’re ok with this?” Olivia asked cautiously, uncertain as to where she stood.
Mrs. Swiftwater nodded and smiled. “Of course dear, I am happy to finally see you.”
“What was this I heard about my daughters getting into a bar fight?” Evelyn asked casually, changing the subject while she prepared a dish.
“We weren’t looking for trouble, but a guy wouldn’t stop touching me.” Olivia explained.
“And you kicked their asses,” Sarah added happily. “Mom, you should have been there.”
Evelyn rolled her eyes, “I think I can imagine more than enough thank you dear.”
“It was so awesome! We’re duking it out and she broke this guy’s knee and pulled her badge and gun, it was like a movie scene,” Sarah gushed. “I’m so proud of you.”
“It was that or get my ass groped,” Olivia complained, “He wouldn’t get off me so I put him in a hold then it all went downhill,” she explained, hoping her mother wouldn’t think she had started it.
Evelyn smiled, “And you never should darling. No man has the right to touch you if you don’t want him to. I just worry about both of you girls but especially you darling,” she added looking specifically at Olivia.
“I’m a cop, Mom, It’s not my first fight.”
“I’m your mother, I’m allowed to worry.”
Mrs. Swiftwater bustled past with a tray of roast potatoes, “There was a princess of the Ojibwe people named Ashwiyaa, ‘She who Arms Herself’, she was a full warrior within her clan, I think she and you have much in common.”
Olivia smiled, Mrs. Swiftwater had always had stories and analogies from her culture she would rattle off at a moment’s notice. She had always seen it as her duty to ensure the Dalton children understood the native peoples of the area and the significance of their world.
Olivia knew what her people had done to the Native Americans and had always felt a deep regret. She loved Mrs. Swiftwater’s stories.
“Think Dad’s killed Richard yet?” Sarah quipped.
Olivia shot her a look as she began helping with the food.
“Don’t be silly,” their mother chided. “He’s a lovely man, Olivia, he’ll be fine.”
Olivia was still worried. She knew what her father could be like and she’d seen him with Sarah’s high school boyfriends. She was also painfully aware that her daughter's status was still extremely new in her father’s mind.
Once they had finished preparations, Olivia and Sarah were sent through to get the men for dinner. Olivia hoped she’d still have a boyfriend once they got there. Entering the family room, she was greeted by a sight she didn’t expect.
Her father and Richard were sitting opposite of one another laughing at something, glasses of whiskey in their hands.
“He gets whiskey?” Sarah balked, “Really?”
James Dalton rolled his eyes. “It’s my whiskey, I can give it to whoever I want in my own damn house.”
“You practically lynched my boyfriends! What gives?”
“See what I have to deal with?” he directed at Richard.
“So this looks cozy,” Olivia observed, crossing her arms. “No blood?”
“No honey,” Richard reassured her. “Your father was telling me about some legal silliness he had with the Forestry Service.”
James Dalton nodded and gestured to Richard, “Keep this one.”
Olivia sighed. “Oh, thanks, Dad. I’ll maintain my relationship so you can have free legal advice.”
Her father threw his hands up and feigned surrender. “Yeah, you really are my damn daughter.” he chuckled.
Dinner was a pleasant but slightly awkward affair as her mother and sister grilled Richard relentlessly. Olivia felt a great peace eating at the table with her family. At first, things were a little stilted as they all adjusted to her on a more personal level, but she was beginning to feel them warm toward her. This was the family she had longed for her entire life. The past couldn’t be forgotten, but she did understand. It was going to be a long road, but she could feel a greater warmth already. The only black stain was Mark’s empty chair across from her.
Her brother… Olivia had never been particularly close to Mark, but she had looked up to him when she was younger. He was what she was supposed to be and she had tried, or at least felt as though she had to. They had never spent a lot of time together and it had been difficult. He never took part in the bullying, but he had also never attempted to stop it. She hoped she could at least speak to him before she left, but she got the impression he was keeping his distance now he was outnumbered.
She was glad to see Richard accepted by her family. Her father had concerned her the most, but it seemed as though the old man could see at least a little of what she saw in her man. They were from different worlds, but she recognized the same sense of honor and correctness that drove Richard to be close to her father’s heart.
“When are you back at work?” her mother asked as they were eating dessert.
Olivia wasn’t sure, “A few weeks maybe, as long as I pass my medical.”
“I don’t know how I feel about you being a police officer in such a dangerous place.” her father frowned. “You’re so far away from here and now I have to worry about a daughter.”
“Dad, I’m fine, I’m good at my job.”
“So I heard last night,” he observed with a pointed look. “You know I had Mr. Cane on the phone this morning with a skunk up his ass about four of his boys in jail.”
“That wasn’t my fault, we didn’t start it.” Olivia protested.
“She sure as hell finished it.” Sarah grinned.
James Dalton shook his head and his lip quirked upward. “Why’d you have to go and be more of a handful than Sarah?”
“Nobody lays a finger on my daughters.” her mother stated firmly. “I’m sure nobody is going to go near them now.”
“Well that’s just boring,” Sarah grinned.
“You’re married,” her father added, frowning.
“So what? They can look,” she shrugged.
Olivia and Richard were forbidden from returning to Bozeman that evening and put up in one of the guest bedrooms at the house. Her mother had given Richard strict instructions to return the next day and gather their luggage so that they might stay at the ranch for the remainder of their visit.
Olivia had considered using her old room but rejected the idea of returning to a place that still held great pain for her. She had cried herself to sleep too many nights in that room to ever want to sleep in it again. That, and the bed was far too small for two people.
Sarah had lent her a nightgown and she climbed into the bed beside Richard and snuggled up against him under the covers. Olivia closed her eyes and sighed. She had never imagined this moment in her entire life. Here she was, in her family home in bed with the man she loved. Her family knew her and loved her, and more importantly, they seemed to like him too. She could feel the stress of years leaving her soul and it felt serene.
Richard slid his hand up her thigh and under the edge of her nightgown. Olivia slapped his hand away and wagged a finger.
“Not tonight,” she chided. “My father will literally bury you in the woods.”
“Daddy’s little girl.” Richard chuckled and hugged her close as they drifted off to sleep.
Olivia woke abruptly the next morning and it took her a moment to remember where she was. Above her, the timbers of the roof were a familiar sight she had seen her entire childhood. Light streamed past the curtains bringing with it the sounds of the morning on the ranch. As she lay there on the bed, she felt her heart rate begin to settle back to normal as she glanced around the room.
She wasn’t sure if it was a nightmare or a near-waking moment where she had still been Harry and six years had not passed. She knew it wasn’t real but the feeling had been horrible.
She could feel the heat of Richard’s body next to hers and she smiled softly as she ran her fingers down the curve of his spine under the covers. No, she wasn’t Harry anymore.
Slipping from under the covers, she wrapped a dressing gown around her body and quietly left the room. Reaching the landing, she could hear voices downstairs. The voices sounded like her parents.
Settling down next to the mezzanine banister, Olivia strained to hear the conversation, unsure whether she should interrupt.
“I just don’t know Evie, it’s a lot to digest.” she heard her father say.
“James, It’s her, him… her, I can’t not love my child.”
“Did we do this? Was it our fault?”
“I don’t think so, I think we pushed her away. I never saw this coming.”
“It’s all so damn much Evie, h… she’s so much like you it hurts to see it. I feel like my son’s dead.”
Olivia couldn’t stand by any longer as she listened. She stood and began to descend the stairs. She heard the conversation stop as the boards creaked beneath her feet. Looking across at her parents on one of the sofas she smiled weakly. “Good morning.”
“Morning dear,” her mother smiled guiltily.
“I heard you guys, no need to pretend,” Olivia explained. “I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment.”
Olivia slumped into one of the armchairs and folded her legs underneath herself. “I just want to be happy. I didn’t choose this road, it’s not easy and it’s something I wish I didn’t have to do. The truth is, it’s this or…” Olivia swallowed. “I don’t know.”
“Honey, It’s not going to be easy.” her father began with a sigh. “It’s a lot of adjustment for me and it won’t be easy but I will try. I just feel responsible somehow.”
Olivia moved over to sit beside her father. She felt him tense up first before relaxing and putting his arm carefully on her shoulder. It wasn’t a hug, but it was close enough.
“Dad, this wasn’t your fault,” she pleaded, looking up at the man beside her. “This is always who I was. It took me some time to see it, and I won’t lie, things were really bad in high school, but I’m just glad we have this chance now to do things right.”
Her father pulled her to his side and rested his chin on her head. “I know, me too,” he admitted sadly. “Just do me a favor, ok?”
“What?”
“Don’t go pulling that daddy shit Sarah still uses on me when she wants something, ok?”
“No promises,” Olivia giggled.
“Go take her up to the lake.” her mother suggested getting up and heading for the kitchen. “You two need to get to know each other again.”
“I have work to do,” James protested. “And I’m sure… She’d rather spend time with her gentleman.”
“Bullcrap, the hands have it under control for a few hours, the ranch won’t burn down.”
“No Dad, it’s a good idea.” Olivia agreed, “I can see Richard any time I want, but I want to spend some time with you if you’ll let me?”
“I guess it’s decided for me then.” her father huffed. “Go get changed, I’ll go saddle the horses.”
Olivia made her way back upstairs and knocked lightly on her sister’s door. “Sarah? You awake?”
There was no answer so she knocked again. “Sarah?”
There was a mutter inside. “Mmmfh… come in.”
Olivia opened the door cautiously and slid inside, Sarah was face down in the bed, a halo of her blonde hair fanned out in physically impossible directions.
“What.”
“I need to borrow some clothes.”
“I swear I never thought I’d hear the words in my fucking life.” she muttered rolling over and blinking. “Why?”
“I’m going up to the lake with Dad, I don’t think a skirt and a top will cut it.”
“Go for it, but I’m not helping you with your makeup.”
Olivia made her way to the wardrobe and began to rifle through the sections, “Nah I’m good, I’m better than you anyway.”
“Cheeky bitch.” Sarah scoffed, lobbing a pillow at her sister.
Olivia made her way down to the stables as memories of home flooded back. She wore a pair of her sister's jeans with the cuffs rolled up and one of her flannel shirts and a quilted vest. Her boots were still good and she’d borrowed a hat. She felt suitably attired for the day.
Richard had just risen when she left, but she’d left him in her mother’s capable hands, which might be unfortunate for him, she considered. Her father was just finishing tacking up two horses when she reached the long stable building down by the barns.
“Hey.”
Her father looked round, “Ev… Oh.” he shook his head. “You really are the spitting image of your mother when she was your age.”
“Sorry,” Olivia offered meekly, taking the reins of a piebald mare her father offered her. “I know it can’t be easy.”
James Dalton shook his head and sighed, “I want to have more problems with it,” he admitted, but I can’t be mad looking at that face.”
Olivia watched several hands working one of the corals. Her expression must have betrayed the question on her mind because her father chuckled as he mounted his horse. “Oh, they already know. You think a story about four of the J’s guys getting their asses kicked by a Dalton girl doesn’t make the rounds like a brushfire?”
Olivia shrugged. “I figured it wouldn’t take long.”
“They can keep their mouths shut if they have anything bad to say or they don’t work here.” Her father replied tersely. “I might not fully understand it but you’re still my kid.”
The pair rode out over the east pasture and upwards into the foothills of the Absaroka Range. Olivia had missed the feeling of being so extremely cut off from the modern world. Up here, it was just you, your horse, and the wilderness. She rode with her father for an hour mostly in silence. It wasn’t that they didn’t have things to talk about, but rather that silence was a luxury they both enjoyed.
As they entered the tree line and the gradient began to steepen they slowed to a walk and he pulled up alongside her horse.
“Explain this to me in words I can understand.”
“Long or short?”
“Long, we have time.”
Olivia began at her earliest memories and started her explanation. She didn’t spare a detail and took her father through how her life had felt to her.
“End of the day, I don’t want to be a girl, this isn’t some fantasy I’m trying to reenact. Up here,” she tapped her hat. “Up here, I am. The rest just needed to catch up.”
She ducked to avoid a low branch and continued. “How do you know you like Mom?”
Her father was silent for a moment. “I just do. The first time I saw her, she took my breath away. I knew that I’d marry that girl one day and spend the rest of my days with her.”
“How do you know you hate Brussels Sprouts? You’ve never eaten one, right?”
Her father screwed his face up, making her laugh. “The smell, texture, they look wrong. It’s irrational.”
“That’s how I feel. Up in my head, I knew one thing with total certainty, and my body was the sprout.”
Her father chuckled. “Ok, I can understand that I think.”
“I’m sorry,” he said after a pause. “I’m sorry I was such a hardass to you growing up. It’s how my father was with me, and it worked on Mark, I thought you just needed more of it. I convinced myself it would take time. By the point your mother and I realized it wasn’t, you were barely speaking to us anymore.”
“I felt like I was alone with everyone against me. Even the people that were meant to love me,” Olivia admitted. “It took me years to realize you and Mom are just people. People make mistakes. None of us have all the answers.”
Her father looked at her sideways. “When did you become so wise?”
Olivia laughed. “I’m a cop dad, you get the real 411 on life on a weekend night shift.”
Her father smiled. “We’re here,” he announced as they crested a ridge into a forest clearing three or four hundred feet across. The clearing held a lake of cerulean blue water, surrounded on all sides by a rocky bank. There was a creek flowing into one end causing the only disturbance to its flawless surface.
“Wow,” Olivia breathed as she crested the rise herself.
“This is where I proposed to your mother.” Her father explained. “I took her up here for a picnic and I popped the question.”
“I can see why,” Olivia agreed. “It’s beautiful.”
Her father dismounted and tied off his horse to a nearby branch and walked over the lake’s edge before crouching down to pick up a flat rock from the shingle by the water’s edge. She watched as he flicked the rock out over the water, watching it skip several times before sinking thirty feet away.
It was such a childlike thing to do, and it seemed quite unlike her father to simply do something for the sake of doing it. He was a practical man and always had been. James Dalton didn’t do something unless it was worth doing. To see him simply skip a rock on a lake because he wanted to seemed incongruous.
“When your sister turned eighteen, I brought her up here to share this place that was so special to your Mom and I. I spoke to her about her hopes and dreams and who she wanted to be in this world. I wanted to understand the young woman that was going to leave my nest and head out into the world and make my peace with her no longer being my little girl.”
“That’s not a side of you I’d have expected,” Olivia observed, joining him on the shoreline.
Her father grinned, his eyes still tracing the far shoreline of the lake. “It was your mother’s idea of course.”
Olivia nodded. She could see it being her Mom’s idea, but she was silently honored that he’d brought her here. Their parents never spoke in much depth about their courtship or how they’d lived before Mark was born.
Her father gave her a look. It wasn’t judgemental or disappointed, but instead analytical. His eyes seemed to flicker across her face and body as if taking her in for the first time. “I know what you are or at least I think I do, but I don’t know who you are.”
“I’m your child,” Olivia answered uncertainly.
Her father shook his head, “You’re my daughter.” he stated flatly. “Who are you?”
Olivia settled down onto the rocky shore. Her legs were stiff from the time in the saddle. She pondered the question, unsure as to who she actually was. It’s a question everyone considers, but never truly answers about themselves. Life and ego have a way of making people think the best of themselves; the potential and the possibility. They go through their existence thinking about who they want to be, and what they want to do, rarely stopping to ask, who they are in the moment.
“I’m a cop.” she said quietly. “I became a cop because I wanted to protect people from the assholes of the world. When I was younger, and the cops got involved after some of the ass-kickings I took, they never cared much. I wanted to be able to be there for just one kid like me or one person in the worst place in their life. I want to be the justice I would have wanted.”
Her father’s expression was hard to read as he looked out over the water. Olivia thought for a moment. That wasn’t the question entirely. She wondered for a moment exactly who Olivia Dalton was, what parts of Harry remained, and what parts of Mia she had adopted and made her own.
“I want to tell you a story,” she started more surely, flicking her own rock across the lake’s glassy surface. “A while back, I was involved in a domestic kidnapping. This gay couple had a major argument. The boyfriend wanted to go back to his wife and when the cops showed up, one of them panicked and pulled a gun on his boyfriend. It went how you’d expect, they fled the scene eventually crashing the car. We ended up in this standoff up on this mountain bridge just north of the city. The guy was surrounded, his partner was terrified and we called up a negotiator. The guy was good, sure, but he followed the usual template we have for that stuff. I was working with this training officer at the time, a guy called Parker, we’d been sent around this gulch and up to a spot beside them to cover in case anything went wrong. The guy started to tell the negotiator he didn’t understand him, or his situation. How could he? He was straight? It didn’t matter that love is love, he just got so wrapped up in that technicality that he was stuck there.”
She paused to see if her father was following her and realized the man was paying her rapt attention.
“They called over the radio to see if anyone on the scene could identify with the guy. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t stop myself from volunteering. I went up there and I poured my heart out to this guy. I told him about my childhood, my pain, and my sense of loss. I told him I understood him, that I saw him, and that he wasn’t alone. I stood there in front of all of my colleagues and I opened my soul to this guy. He wasn’t a bad person, just in a shitty situation.” she admitted.
“What happened?” her father asked quietly.
“He gave up. He gave us the gun, let the guy go, and came quietly. It was the first time my colleagues looked at me with respect rather than distrust.” she admitted. “I think it was the first time I was truly honest with myself about how I’d felt, and I was no longer that skinny little gay guy they worked with, someone to mistrust or feel strange around. They saw the honesty and my desire to help.”
Her father smiled. “That sounds like something your Mom would do, put herself out there for other people, regardless of what it would cost her.”
Olivia nodded. “Who am I? I don’t know Dad. I’m figuring that out. Part of me is the kid you knew growing up, but no kid stays that way forever. They become an adult and they learn more about themselves. They understand who they are and what they want to do with their life. Part of me is always going to be that miserable kid, part of me is the cop that wants to help. Part of me is even the brash confident comedian that goes out on stage and makes people laugh. Who am I?” Olivia gave a sardonic laugh. “I’m just a girl trying to keep up with the world.”
Her father looked at her for a moment, there were no words exchanged between the two of them but she could see understanding in his eyes finally.
“I guess it took you being honest with yourself to finally find that strength I always prayed you’d find,” he admitted. “When I heard about that business up at the Copper the other night, I was angry and afraid for you, but now I see Harry wouldn’t have ever stood up to that. But Olivia would.”
“So I’m two people?”
He shook his head, “No, just one now.” as he kissed her forehead.
Forgiveness was a strange word and an even stranger feeling. Olivia couldn’t forget what she had experienced growing up as it had, in a way, made her who she was today. Without her suffering at the hands of others; she wouldn’t be a cop and she wouldn’t have experienced any of the things she had to date. Would she have left Montana or met Richard? Would she have found herself or been so badly hurt?
She couldn’t predict alternate paths in her life, but she could forgive her parents. Her own struggle helped her to realize they were only human. People were fallible and weak to their own prejudice without even knowing it. Forgiveness was acceptance of what had happened and an understanding of why.
They had returned from their ride as father and daughter, the change was palpable. Her dad was more comfortable with her and treated her imperceptibly more like her older sister.
When they returned to the ranch house, her mother had been waiting on the steps. She saw them walking up hand in hand and simply smiled as she informed them dinner was waiting.
Richard had returned from Bozeman with their belongings a little before they arrived. He’d been waiting in the family room when she got back and Olivia had kissed him openly in front of her father.
Richard had been a little hesitant to draw her father’s ire but noticed the slight smile on the man’s face and realized his love had succeeded in her quest.
Their meal was comfortable. It felt like family to Olivia for the first time in her life. Richard was by her side and her family loved her. She still felt pain when she noticed Mark’s empty chair. Maybe he would come to terms with her, but she wasn’t sure. She knew now that she could handle his hatred as long as she had people that loved her. It was his fault, not hers.
Olivia ate and laughed and told stories over dinner. She enjoyed the moment in time to simply be.
After dinner, the sun was setting as she sat on the porch with Richard by her side. The couple kissed tenderly, enjoying the warmth of each other’s bodies as they shared an expression of their love. Olivia felt a warm tingle flowing through her entire being.
Her tranquility was broken when the bitter voice of her brother spoke in the dying light. “You faggots are fucking disgusting.”
Olivia separated herself from Richard and looked in the direction of the voice. Mark looked disheveled and drunk. He hadn't appeared to have shaved in several days and his expression was a mask of disgust.
“What bothers you so much about me?” Olivia fired back defensively.
Mark looked like he’d tasted something bitter. “Everything about you Harry… what the fuck have you become? This fucking parody of a girl so you can fuck guys and not feel ashamed about being a faggot.”
Richard stood and squared his shoulders pushing Olivia to one side of him.
“You won’t speak to her like that,” he growled. “Not in front of me.”
Mark laughed loudly, “Her? You fucking believe that shit, don’t you? You’re so fucking closeted you need to think of my baby brother as a fucking girl so you can sodomize him to your heart's content?”
“Mark!” Olivia screamed louder than she’d hoped, her temper flaring. “Get out of here before you say something more you regret. Leave us alone! If you don’t get it, or can’t accept this then that’s ok, but just don’t be so fucking horrible about it!”
Mark stepped forward and raised his hand to strike her but was blindsided by a jab from Richard. Mark landed heavily in the dust and wiped his bloody lip. His eyes lit up with fire and he lunged at Richard, swinging wildly.
Richard held his own admirably against the bigger man. Both of them exchanged blows and ended up in the dirt in front of the porch. Mark ended up on top of Richard and was landing blows on him with hatred in his eyes. Olivia rushed forward and attempted to drag her brother off her boyfriend.
Mark wheeled back and swung upwards connecting with Olivia’s forehead as she bent to grab him. Olivia hit the ground and the world went black.
She came to with throbbing pain burning behind her eyes.
“It’s ok baby, you’re ok.” her mother’s voice soothed as she felt a hand stroking her hair.
Olivia was barely aware of what was going on around her. There was yelling and she saw fast-moving shapes. As her vision cleared, she saw her father holding her brother by the back of his collar, he was swinging wildly still as her father threw him to the ground and yelled at the man.
“What’s going on?” she murmured trying to focus on her mother. She was laying on the ground with her head in the woman’s lap.
“Your brother, we heard the argument and…” she trailed off. “He’s lost the plot.”
“Richard,” Olivia mumbled thickly.
“He’s fine darling, he’s helping your father subdue him.”
Olivia was helped to sit by her mother. Her head hurt, but she felt otherwise fine after a quick check. Off to one side, her father was dragging Mark away by his scruff down towards the barn.
Richard appeared beside her, he had a bleeding nose and a black eye but he smiled at her regardless. “Are you ok?” he asked carefully, wiping the blood from his lips.
She nodded. “Better than you, what happened?”
“You pulled him back and he swung, must have made a lucky connection because you went down hard… right as your dad came racing out and decked him without a pause.”
Olivia let her shoulders droop. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “This is all my fault.”
“No dear,” her mother chided, “It’s his problem and your father is about to educate him.”
Olivia winced as she touched her temple, a tear running down her face. “I didn’t want any of this to happen.”
“Your brother is a product of your father without the perspective of wisdom or love.” Her mother opined.
Olivia’s father returned an hour later. It was clear his temper was still flaring as he returned to the house and made for the drinks cabinet before speaking to anyone. James Dalton drew himself a measure of whiskey which he downed in a single gulp before refilling his glass and slumping down into the armchair.
The mood in the room was tense. Olivia was angry and hurt by what had happened. She knew her brother didn’t understand or seem to want to, but she never expected him to get violent.
Richard was being overly protective and her mother had suggested she go to the hospital to check her over but Olivia had refused. She didn’t want or need the fuss. The day had gone so well until that point. She’d finally connected with her father, a task she had expected to be insurmountable only for it to be ruined at the last minute by her own brother.
“What are we going to do with him?” Evelyn asked her husband. “He hit her so hard she blacked out… that’s inexcusable.”
“I’m aware.” Her father muttered tersely, sipping his drink.
“Just leave it,” Olivia interjected flatly. “I don’t want to make this a big deal. Maybe he’ll come around in time, or maybe he won’t, but I won’t lose sleep over it. I have you guys and I have Sarah, that’s more than I ever hoped for. It would be unrealistic to expect it to be perfect.”
“Honey, what he did was wrong. He hit you and he attacked Richard and me. He’s gone beyond what’s acceptable behavior even if he disagrees with you. This is a family, not a damn bar.” her father countered. “I had a conversation with him, he’s under no illusions that if he can’t be civil, he is not to come around here.”
Olivia was under no illusion of what kind of conversation had taken place. It was James Dalton’s way or the highway. Nobody crossed her father and expected to leave with their teeth intact. She felt sorry for Mark in a way. His own prejudice was going to land him in hot water and he was the type to not notice he was boiling.
“I just feel like I caused all of this… if it hadn’t been for me, he’d be fine.”
Her mother stroked her hair and hugged her. “Never blame yourself, sweetie. This isn’t ever your fault. We love you and you’re always welcome in this home, it’s yours too”
Olivia hugged her mother and felt her eyes wet. “I know Mom. You don’t know how good it feels to be your daughter at least.”
“He’s not going to give her any more trouble is he, sir?” Richard directed his question to Olivia’s father.
James Dalton shook his head. “Not if he likes breathing.”
“Let's give the boys some time shall we?” Olivia’s mother announced standing. “Come on.”
Olivia looked a little uncertain but followed her mother as she led her up to the second floor of the house.
“Where are we going?”
“To our bedroom.” Her mother replied not looking back.
“Why…?” Olivia asked, growing paranoid.
“We’re going to have a long overdue chat.”
Oh, great, birds and bees… Olivia thought. Exactly what she, a sexually active twenty-four-year-old, needed to hear from her mother. Evelyn led her daughter into the master bedroom she shared with her father and sat down on the bed before patting a spot beside her for Olivia to sit.
“Honey,” Evelyn began, a twinkle in her eye. “I realize you’re currently equipped a little differently to other girls, but at the same time we do need a little chat, especially about boys.”
Olivia cringed, “Mooooom. I’ve had sex, I’m not exactly a kid.”
“I’m… well aware.” her mother continued attempting to keep a straight face. “But as a girl, there is still so much to teach you. You’re my child and it’s my duty to ensure you’re prepared for the world, however much you might think you don’t need it.”
The next hour of Olivia’s life was one of the most embarrassing experiences of her life as her mother enlightened her about many things she had not been aware of growing up as she had. Whether she wanted to or not, Olivia’s feminine knowledge base had dramatically expanded. Her red face aside, she was thankful to her mother for her education.
Evelyn got up and made her way to the dresser before opening her jewelry box. “One of the reasons I wanted to talk to you in private was to give you this.” She turned around holding a thin silver necklace with an engraved locket on the end.
“This,” Evelyn explained, “was your grandmother's. I gave Sarah her ring on her sixteenth birthday, I was going to give this to whichever of you kids had a daughter first but now, it is yours.”
She placed the locket in Olivia’s palm. The locket was intricately engraved with a floral pattern and the silver, while lightly tarnished with age, had been well taken care of. Opening the tiny clasp, Olivia found a photograph of her mother and father; they appeared to be in their twenties.
“This is beautiful Mom, are you sure?”
Her mother nodded as she took the locket from her hands and fastened it around her neck. “This is to be passed down to you from me, and when you have a daughter, you’ll pass it down to her.”
Olivia fought back an urge to cry. “I’ll never have children.”
Evelyn embraced her daughter and stroked her hair. “You will one day darling. They might not be your blood, but they’ll be your children. It will make no difference in your heart.”
“It does to me Mom, I just wish I was normal.”
Evelyn turned Olivia’s head to look into her eyes. “Darling, you’re perfect the way you are.”
The week had seemed like an incredibly long time when she arrived but it ended far sooner than Olivia wished. She found herself back at Bozeman International with Richard that Friday afternoon with her parents and sister in the departure hall. The mood was melancholic, it made a change from her arrival just seven days earlier.
“I’m going to miss you guys.” Olivia hugged her mother and father.
“You are going to call us all the time now you don’t hate us all, right?” Sarah chided with a grin.
Olivia nodded and smiled. “I’ve got a lot to face when I get back to the city, but I will. I’ll be home as soon as I can get time, and I will call,” she promised.
Olivia’s father shook Richard’s hand warmly. He’d grown to like and respect the man that had captured his newfound daughter’s heart. Richard was a confident, kind, and intelligent man with principles; James respected that.
“Take care of my girl.” He stated firmly, locking eyes with the attorney.
“You have my word, Mister Dalton,” Richard replied, taking his hand. “She’s very special.”
“Oh I know,” James agreed. “I’m beginning to regret that.”
After their final farewells, the couple boarded their flight back to Los Angeles. The mood on their return was far more somber than Olivia would have liked. For the first time in her life, she felt as though she was leaving something behind that she would miss. No longer was Montana just the place she was from, it was her home once again. Her heart would yearn for its mountains and its valleys in a way she hadn’t before. The people, her family, and everything about that wild place. She snuggled into Richard’s shoulder in the seat next to her and sighed. Life had a funny way of proving her wrong at every step of the way.
She felt a paradigm shift in herself as they cruised south over the Rockies. No longer was she living a dual life, split between who she was and who she wanted to be. The weight that her past had placed on her mind had changed and become a buoyant raft lifting her out of troubled waters. Olivia Evelyn Dalton felt like a whole person for the first time in her life. She knew now that no matter what the future threw at her, she would take it on with her head held high and the people that mattered most in the world by her side.
Her brother still brought sadness to her heart. She knew expecting perfection and acceptance was more than she could have asked for, but she wished he could have had more time to try. Mark had always been headstrong and independent. Her mother had been right, he was a lot like her father. It still amazed her that the gruff and macho rancher had been able to truly see her.
Their flight landed back in LA after eight that evening and they caught a cab back to their apartment. Olivia wasn’t sure when she’d begun to consider the place her home. She mentioned this fact to Richard who simply shrugged and told her that there was little point keeping her place anymore, he had no plans of kicking her out. This earned him a playful slap on the behind.
Neither of them had the energy to cook or go out for dinner, so they ordered takeout. While they waited for it to arrive, Olivia excused herself to change into something more comfortable. Stripping out of her jeans and shirt, Olivia examined herself in the bathroom mirror. The last few months had changed her body significantly. Standing in the bathroom in her underwear, she felt finally comfortable in herself. Her hair had descended to her neck in the time she had been recovering, now pushed back behind her ears. Her breasts had grown to a large A cup and she felt comfortable without the forms she had worn before her trip. Her waist had narrowed and her hips and thighs had begun to fill out nicely. She was so far removed from that gawky boy.
Who was the girl in the mirror? She was a cop, a rancher’s daughter, a sister, a girlfriend, and most of all, she was happy. Olivia thought about all of those descriptions for a moment. They described what she was, but not who. Who was she? She wasn’t entirely sure yet, but she knew that she would finally be able to find out. Olivia waved to her reflection and grinned as she saw Richard slide up behind her in the mirror.
“Hey,” she purred.
Richard wrapped his arms around her midriff and kissed her neck. “Are we gaining a sense of vanity?”
Olivia shrugged at his reflection and smiled. “Maybe a little.”
“Well not that I mind, but you might want to consider putting some clothes on, dinner’s here.”
Olivia turned in his arms and gave him a wicked grin before grabbing his butt and running off cackling to find herself some clothes.
“How was your trip?” Doctor Barton asked when Olivia arrived for her first session since her return from Montana.
“It was far better than I could have hoped,” she admitted, smiling. “The idea of facing them felt so insurmountable but with the exception of my brother, It went really well. My dad took some convincing, but he came around in the end. I think they saw how happy I was and how well this suited me. A lot of it was regret for how they handled things when I was growing up.”
Barton raised her eyebrow. “How so?”
“It was my mom first that really said it,” Olivia explained. “They had good intentions I guess. By the time they realized it wasn’t working and it was hurting me, I’d shut them out and didn’t want to engage anymore… I locked down and defended myself till I could get out.”
“You’re defending their actions because they accepted you?” The doctor countered deftly.
Olivia thought for a moment and shook her head. “No, no I’m not. They have a lot to make up for but I think my own experiences made me realize that before they are my parents, they are a man and woman. Nobody is perfect or holds all the answers to life. It would be naive of me to blame them with intent when none is expressed. Both have told me they are sorry for what they saw as a mistake and what their intent had been. My parents are a little old school, what worked for my brother just didn’t work for me. But that was because I wasn’t the son they or I thought. So no, my forgiveness isn’t contingent on their acceptance of me. I will never forget it… but I can forgive.”
Doctor Barton smiled and nodded. “A measured and reasonable interpretation. I think that shows maturity beyond your age and situation. I was hoping you weren’t going to blindly forgive in exchange for acceptance.”
Olivia looked distant for a moment and she glanced out the large picture window towards the ocean. “When I first got there, I wasn’t sure what I was going to do or say. Over time, and after speaking with them, I began to realize that they were trying in their own way to help. It was extremely poorly honestly, that much is true. Given my own later realizations.” she laughed plucking at her knee-length floral skirt. “I think that played a large part in how I received it. It was like giving a cellist the sheet music for the percussion section.”
Olivia screwed up her face and looked horrified. “I think Richard’s musical taste is rubbing off on me.”
Doctor Barton chuckled. “Not an awful thing at least and an excellent metaphor. How are things with you two?”
Olivia described her relationship with Richard to the psychiatrist. She told her how much she loved the man and how she felt when she was around him, how he had stood by her throughout her recovery and her homecoming. It made her realize just how serious things had gotten between them.
“This may be a little personal,” the doctor began hesitantly, but I’d like to speak about your sexual interactions with this gentleman. If you’re willing of course?”
Olivia frowned, “How so?”
“How for example did he feel when your sexual relationship changed from that of two men to a man and a woman?”
Olivia felt a little sheepish. “Other than a little kissing, It didn’t. I was always a woman with Richard from almost our second date onward. In the more intimate regard, ours has always been that of a man and a woman.”
Marie Barton raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
Olivia nodded shyly. “We didn’t plan to do anything that first night he came back to my place, and he wanted to see who I performed as; Mia. We got caught up in the moment and one thing led to another.”
“You were sexually active as a male before this?”
Olivia nodded slightly, her face flushing.
“That embarrasses you? Why?”
She frowned, “I guess in hindsight it feels wrong. It was like it was someone else.” She sighed and brushed her hair out of her eyes. “With Richard, it feels so right. I know I’m still equipped the same way as I was before and I do want to correct that when I’m able to. It feels natural now; as though this is how it was meant to be. It’s not that being gay was wrong, god no. It was a role I never felt comfortable in I suppose. Perhaps I assumed it would get easier, more normal, I was inexperienced and questioning myself. I’m not embarrassed, I’m just… I feel there’s a difference in how I respond to him than I do to anyone else. Being a woman with a man feels normal for me, being a boy didn’t. I can be myself in my most intimate moment.”
Doctor Barton made some notes on her pad and took off her glasses.
“Olivia, you’ve no need to be embarrassed. There is a difference and those roles can change, and we can all feel comfortable playing different parts. We all relate differently and I suspect in part your discomfort is the dysphoria you feel about the male role, even a submissive one.”
Olivia shrugged but paused for a moment before speaking. “How does that explain… ah, When we were in Bozeman at our hotel, we slept together and I initiated sex and I was the dominant one. I took charge of our lovemaking, I was on top.” she flushed scarlet at her admission. “What does that make me?”
Doctor Barton laughed. “Well firstly, you said it yourself; You were on top, not the top. A position doesn’t change anything. That makes you a woman that knows what she wants.” she smiled sympathetically. “I know it’s all new to you, but your sex and how you enjoy sex aren’t connected and don’t need to be. We all have our moments where we want to be taken and when we want to take charge. If anything, this means you’re more comfortable in who you are, that you’re more able to be expressive in an intimate moment.”
Olivia considered this. “I do feel more expressive. I feel more at home in my skin. Every time I look in the mirror I like what I see more and more.”
Barton smiled warmly. “I’m glad, that’s very normal and I’m pleased to say you seem to be responding well; you’ve stopped using the forms I see?”
“I have, I guess I don’t feel like I need them to validate me anymore.” Olivia shrugged. “It’s not much, but it’s all me.”
“It’s a big step, you’ve come a long way in a short time.”
“I’ve had help.” Olivia replied happily.
“One final topic I’d like to cover today is your incident if you’re willing?” Doctor Barton shifted her tone seamlessly.
Olivia nodded. She’d known that she would want to talk eventually. They’d brought it up in a previous meeting but she hadn’t delved too deeply. Olivia nodded. She felt ready to confront what had happened.
“Tell me how you felt when it happened.” Doctor Barton began gently.
Olivia began to explain the incident at the liquor store to the psychiatrist as best she could. Every detail was scored into her mind. Even after several months, she saw it as clear as day. She remembered the gun, the look on the clerk’s face, and the decision to tackle the man to the ground that landed her in the position she was in today. She remembered how time seemed to stretch as she fought the man for the weapon and the searing pain and shock she felt as the bullets hit her. By the time she had finished describing what she remembered as she looked up into Anderson’s face as she lay bleeding, she realized she had been crying.
“Sorry.” She mumbled, wiping her eyes with a tissue. “It brought back a lot.”
Doctor Barton allowed her to collect herself before continuing. “Have there been any nightmares?”
Olivia shifted uncomfortably in her chair as she thought back. “Only a really bad one while I was in the hospital right after it happened. I’ve had a few bad nights but nothing that I really remember.”
“Any strange reactions to anything or outbursts of temper?”
Olivia shook her head. “No, not yet”
Doctor Barton made some notes. “I would ask how you’re coping with the matter of losing your manhood, but I would suspect that’s not really a problem here… check.”
Olivia smiled sardonically, “Yeah I think that was a positive column not a negative. I can quite safely say that on reflection it is no loss. I briefly felt concerned over not being able to pass on my genetics but realized I had no desire to do so… not like that at least. I’d never be able to be a mother genetically anyway.”
“Your mobility has returned,” Barton noted, “Rehab has been successful for you?”
She nodded. “Yes, I’m seeing a doctor about my physical signoff next week with a view to returning to work pending your assessment.”
“I think I can sign you off as a well-adjusted young woman with a reasonable response to her situation given the additional context. You are going to continue seeing me anyway, so we can touch on anything that crops up if we need to.”
Olivia pulled her stetson down over her eyes. The sun was blazing down as she relaxed on her towel allowing the heat to warm her body. The surf had been good that morning and they’d ridden the waves for a couple of lazy hours. She was becoming more used to surfing as her body changed. Without the weight of her forms, her center of gravity was still off, but it was within a more manageable range and she found she was able to adapt far quicker to the new changes to her physique. Surfing had long been a solitary escape from city life, but now it was something she shared with Richard and it made her love it even more.
Richard rolled his eyes as he walked up to their little camp above the tide line. “I can’t believe you’re still wearing that thing, it really doesn’t fit the vibe.”
“I’m proud of my heritage.” Olivia protested. “And It’s a good sun hat.”
Richard dug his board into the soft sand and grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler they’d left by their towels. “Yeah, but it’s not exactly surfer attire.”
“It would be if we had beaches in Montana.”
Olivia screamed as half of the water bottle hit her naked stomach.
“Asshole.” she growled toweling herself off. “I was really relaxed.”
“You were in the ocean ten minutes ago.” Richard chuckled as he sat down beside her on the sand.
Olivia glared at Richard for a moment before giggling, unable to maintain her serious expression. Richard smiled and drank the rest of his water.
“I love you,” she murmured softly as she reached up to stroke his cheek.
“I love you too.”
Richard leaned down and removed her hat and tossed it away before kissing her deeply. Olivia felt her heart swell as their lips touched. She moaned and opened her mouth to accept his tongue. She felt his hand grasp her side softly, his thumb tracing little circles on her skin. Every sensation felt like liquid fire as she responded passionately to his advances. She felt his hand slide upward along her ribcage and cup her left breast through her bikini top before squeezing gently.
It took an almost superhuman effort to slap his hand away and push him off. She lay breathing heavily for a moment as she collected herself.
“We’re in public,” she groaned, feeling great disappointment. “Why couldn’t you get this horny later?”
Richard smirked. “I wouldn’t mind.”
“Last thing I need is to get arrested for public indecency before I get back to work.” she protested.
Richard looked like he remembered something suddenly. “Oh, you’re free Friday right?”
“I’m washing my hair,” Olivia shrugged nonchalantly, running her hand through her damp locks.
Richard rolled his eyes and ignored her play. “No, I have a little thing at city hall, black tie.”
Olivia frowned, “And you’re only giving me a week’s notice?”
“Sure, that’s plenty of time.” Richard shrugged, failing to see the problem.
“There is so little you know about women.” Olivia shook her head. “Fine, but you’re buying me a dress.”
Richard looked pained as he realized what he had set himself up for. “This is going to cost me big isn’t it?”
Olivia smiled slyly. Richard recognized that look. He’d seen it on sharks at the Aquarium.
Richard was indeed correct, it cost him a great deal. The next day, Olivia dragged him shopping and she didn’t hold back. After several hours of shopping in the Rodeo boutiques, she finally settled on a stunning A-line evening gown with a ruched bodice, half sleeves, and a silk skirt in a royal blue that offset her coloring. The dress was off the shoulder and nipped at the waist to emphasize her slim figure. She insisted on a pair of Milano pumps in a matching blue and a satin clutch to complete her outfit. Richard’s protests over the cost for the purposes of a single event were promptly shot down as Olivia made her case like a seasoned attorney.
She countered that the event would be not only their first major social engagement as a couple, but that it was he, in fact, who would benefit from her making a good impression. Given that the event would be attended by politicians and legal professionals from across the state, they needed to appear as though they belonged in such a world.
Richard gave up when she pointed out that he was simply going to pull his tux out of the wardrobe and possibly shave, she was going to go through far more to look perfect for him and it was entirely his fault she had to rush.
Olivia had booked a salon appointment for earlier on the Friday afternoon of the event to ensure she was absolutely ready. Her hair now reached the nape of her neck and was in dire need of a style now that it was longer.
This was, she realized her first time getting dolled up to the nines since she last performed as Mia. That felt like a lifetime ago in a different universe to her mind. She knew what to do and she could have done a reasonable effort herself but she reasoned that she deserved a little pampering now. It was also evident to her that most of her more dramatic looks were designed for the stage, feminine or not. A swanky party deserved a swanky Olivia.
As much as she played the role of the Prima Donna, she made sure Richard knew she wasn’t deliberately milking him. She cared far too much about the man to spend his money recklessly. Once she had won the argument she had explained more sensitively that it was in no small part her own nerves that made her feel as though she had to be the perfect girl for him. She wanted to make sure she didn’t embarrass him or show him up in front of his friends. This was a new world for her and she felt a pang of self-consciousness at the idea of moving in these social circles.
Richard had understood, he always understood she realized. She needed to feel beautiful and she deserved the best. He made certain she knew he didn’t care if she wore a designer gown or a potato sack, to him she was the most beautiful woman in the world.
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Life and Love are far more complicated than we can possibly understand. For one young cop, a journey of self-discovery will teach them that true strength was inside them all along.
It was the day before the gala at city hall, and Olivia found herself back at the hospital waiting to see Doctor Miller for her physical evaluation. She was nervous and she wasn’t without reason. The assessment would determine if she was ready to return to work, or even if she would ever be able to. Physically she felt no repercussions of the incident that had brought her to this moment in her life. Her body was healed and her strength had grown greater than she’d ever known it to be. As far as her mind would rationalize the fear, she knew it was the potential it held than any real power over her.
Doctor Miller greeted her with a smile and welcomed her into the exam room. It wasn’t her usual office that Olivia had visited before, but one a few floors lower near where she had attended physical therapy. The room contained the usual hospital furniture, along with a collection of gym equipment and computers.
“How are you feeling?” Miller asked as she indicated for Olivia to sit in the chair beside her desk. “Free movement I see, any pain or discomfort?”
Olivia shook her head. “None,” she smiled nervously, “I feel good, nothing for some time.”
Miller nodded and made some notes. “We’re going to run you through some exercises today and check your performance and once that is over, I’d like to give you a full physical exam and we can hopefully have this over before lunch.”
Doctor Mille ran Olivia through a battery of tests of both her strength and endurance on the various equipment in the room. She even ran several miles on the treadmill with a mask measuring her aerobic respiration.
By the time she was done, Olivia was drenched in sweat. She’d ditched her tank top and was just wearing her shorts and sports bra as she toweled off, her body exhausted.
Miller sat at her desk writing up her findings while Olivia collected herself.
Miller looked over, “I have to say, you’re a lot different from the person I first treated.”
Olivia glanced down self-consciously and grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, I’ve changed my hair.”
Doctor Miller laughed, “That sense of humor is special, please never lose it.”
Olivia smiled. “I am… well, I was a comedian when all this began. When I first found the world of drag, I didn’t want to sing or dance. I found that when I created that persona, Mia, she was so much more confident than I was. She had a real fire and a sharp wit and I ended up taking to stand up comedy as my act. I think I rolled a lot of her into myself.”
Miller nodded and stood as she gathered her stethoscope. “Let’s hope you find the rest of this just as funny, time to strip.” she gestured behind the partition to where an exam table was partially shielded by a blue curtain. “Grab the robe in there and I’ll be with you in a moment.”
Olivia complied and removed her clothing behind the partition before shrugging into the paper gown. Once she was ready, Doctor Miller joined her and politely asked her to lie down on the table.
Over the next fifteen minutes, Olivia was poked and prodded and examined. Her wounds were checked and her scars were noted. She felt shame when the doctor examined her genitals, as relevant as it was to her case.
Miller smiled apologetically as she covered Olivia back up and sat back on the low stool she had placed beside the table.
“Thank you, I know that was hard.” she comforted the girl. “Just one final check if I may?”
Olivia nodded.
“Sit up, and lower your gown for me please, I want to check your breast development.”
Sheepishly, Olivia dropped the gown to her waist and had to fight the urge to cover herself. It was a strange feeling for her, sitting there topless. She had always had difficulty with nakedness or even showing a lot of skin. Before she had begun this journey, she’d spent much of her life covering herself, bulking herself with clothing, and trying to hide her body. Now much more confident in herself she no longer hid, but this felt different.
Miller carefully palpated her skin and measured her chest before allowing Olivia to dress while she made her final notes.
Rejoining the doctor by her desk, Olivia sat and waited for the final verdict.
Finishing her writing Miller turned and smiled. “Without much fanfare, I can tell you that you’ve passed your physical and are fit to return to work.”
Olivia smiled happily, a warm rush filling her being. Her greatest hurdle was behind her.
“Your strength and endurance are exactly where I’d expect them to be for a woman your age and profession and from what I can see you’ve had no lasting effects from your injuries beyond the obvious,” she added with a small quirk of her lip. “The wounds are healed nicely and your scarring is minimal. As far as your gender is concerned, I’m extremely pleased with your development. From what I can see, body fat has redistributed and your breast growth is excellent. With your younger age, there has it seems been some small growth of your pelvis although that’s likely as much as will occur. Your reports from Doctor Barton show you to be a well-adjusted young woman.”
Olivia took it all in. “I’m normal?”
Doctor Miller nodded. “For your situation yes. Your physical condition is good, I see no problems continuing your path. As far as your job goes, I can sign you off for duty.”
Olivia wasn’t sure what to think. Six months had seemed so long when she was sitting in the hospital bed after her shooting, almost a lifetime. Addressing her feelings and her situation had seemed like an easy choice with so much time on her hands. Now it was over and she was able to return to the job she loved. Would it still love her?
Doctor Miller noticed the look of concern on the girl’s face. “You’re realizing you have to confront that aspect of your life aren’t you?”
Olivia nodded and swallowed. “I’m not worried about anyone I have to deal with knowing but I’m worried about my colleagues.”
Miller nodded. “You’re a strong woman, you’ve made it through all of this mess with grace and a clear head, I have no doubt you’ll handle whatever comes your way.”
It was just after lunch on Friday when Olivia took a cab from the apartment to the Salon she had booked for her battle preparations. The place was an upscale affair just far enough off Rodeo to not be insanely overpriced. She stood on the sidewalk for a moment frozen by a jolt of fear at what she was about to do. She wasn’t sure why she felt concerned, she’d stood on stages in front of crowds and had the confidence to tell jokes. She had spent countless hours in public with other people interacting as a female and nobody had noticed a thing, why was she worried now?
Olivia reasoned that this was the first time she was going to be examined at close range, her face, her hair, and her body would all be on display that afternoon. She tugged at the waistband of her shorts. She’d dressed down in flats, a teeshirt, and shorts for her appointment not wanting to appear overdressed, but now she felt as though she should have put more effort in. Squashing the feeling she made her way inside and walked over to the reception desk with more confidence than she felt.
A rather wild-haired woman with a lot of makeup greeted her with a wide smile when she approached.
“Welcome to DeMarco’s! You have an appointment?”
Olivia nodded. “Olivia Dalton, One PM?”
The woman checked the computer behind her desk and nodded. “Got you here for the works, take a seat and we’ll grab you as soon as we can, you want a glass of wine while you wait?”
Olivia shook her head then changed her mind and agreed. Perhaps it would take the edge off her nerves?
The woman, whose name she learned was Angela brought her a tall slim glass of Chardonnay while she waited. Olivia regarded the surroundings she now found herself in. This was her first visit to a salon and it was a fascinating place. In her life, before she hadn’t taken much care of her hair, and she’d certainly never had her makeup and nails done professionally. As long as she didn’t count the queens that taught her. She still felt a bout of nervous energy about being discovered but reasoned that it was unlikely anyone that worked here would actually care.
Eventually, an effeminate man called Paul introduced himself and whisked her off to a wash station. She felt a little strange at first when she had her neck craned back to reach into the basin but found she rather enjoyed someone else washing her hair. Once Paul had finished, he led her across the room to one of the styling stations and sat her down.
“So my darling, it’s obvious you need to be rescued from whatever that mess on your head is, what are you thinking?”
Olivia grimaced, she hadn’t thought it was that bad. Thankfully she’d prepared. “I had to get my hair cut short a few months ago… I had an accident.”
Paul looked sympathetic, “Dear me, well let's fix that, you’ve enough to work with now, so I’ll take care of you.”
“I was thinking something like a bob or something neat and low maintenance but stylish.”
Paul frowned, “Low maintenance darling? Really?”
“Don’t be offended, I’m a cop I need something that can look good but be manageable for day-to-day.” Olivia smiled at him in the mirror.
“So getting dolled up to be armed and fabulous?” Paul smirked.
“Gala at city hall tonight. I’m not working.”
Paul nodded, “I’ve had a couple in this morning for that shindig. Okay… Let’s take a swing at this. You’ve got enough for something nice without going down the extension road.”
Olivia nodded her agreement and left her fate in Paul’s expert hands. They chatted comfortably as he worked his magic on her hair, his hands flying with comb and scissors as he neatened up the shape she had.
“You’re not from round here are you darling?”
“No, Montana originally,” Olivia responded fighting the urge to shake her head.
“Oh exotic, I’ve always wanted to bed a cowboy.” Paul giggled to himself.
Olivia screwed up her face and laughed. “Nope, not for me, none of them last longer than eight seconds.”
Paul froze what he was doing and squinted at her suspiciously through the mirror. “That’s a rather specific joke.”
Olivia realized there was no hiding her deer-in-the-headlights expression. “Is it?” she asked carefully trying to sound offhand. “I heard it somewhere.”
“Really?” Paul asked putting his hands on his hips. “You know I think I heard it the same place, but you don’t look like the sort to patronize the same establishments I do.”
He tilted his head and stared at her for a moment before using his hands to mask off her hair leaving only her face. His eyes went wide.
“You!” he gasped theatrically. “You’re her!”
Olivia swatted his pointing finger away and cringed. “Please,” she begged. “Not here.”
Paul kneeled down beside her and stared into her face. “You’re her!” he repeated in a stage whisper, “Mia Calafia!”
Olivia’s shoulders sagged. “Yes,” she admitted, “I’m not here for that.”
Paul waved his hand dismissively. “Obviously not darling, gosh, I always thought you were a regular queen.” he sounded almost disappointed.
Olivia felt a small sparkle of happiness at Paul’s assertion. She briefly considered going along with the idea but realized she might need a confidant. “I was once.” she winked conspiratorially.
Paul feigned shock. “No, rea…” he rolled his eyes. “The hair, darling, am I right?”
Olivia blushed and nodded.
“Sweetie I’d never have known if you hadn’t told me, gosh, I love your show… now I know why I’ve not seen you in so long you little scamp!”
Paul returned to cutting Olivia’s hair and chattered excitedly. He continued to make sly assertions and little knowing looks as he worked, he seemed rather enthused to be working on someone he considered a celebrity.
While he worked, a woman arrived and began working on her nails. Olivia was overwhelmed by the attention she was receiving, finding it to be an incredibly relaxing experience. Eventually, the pair were done and she was shown the results in the large mirror in front of the station.
Olivia’s eyes went wide and she fought the urge to cry. She clasped her hands to her mouth and caught sight of her new longer perfectly manicured nails. It was all too much for her and tears fell from her eyes.
“Don’t cry sweetheart,” Paul whispered kneeling beside her. “I know it’s a lot, but you were easy to make beautiful. This suits you.”
Paul had styled her hair into a sleek bob style with a side parting that curved gracefully around her slim face, the tone was somehow richer and more vibrant than her hair had ever been with darker highlights running through the lengths. Olivia could barely take her eyes off her reflection, it was as though she was finally seeing herself for the first time as others did.
“It’s amazing,” she whispered quietly, her fingertips stroking the end of her hair. “I love it.”
“Just wait till we get you all dolled up and ready for war darling, you’ll put that old you to shame.”
Paul was right. Amanda had led her away to one of the other stations where she proceeded to work her magic on Olivia’s face. Olivia had worn more makeup before and even had others do it for her when she was starting out on stage, but she’d never had anyone do what Amanda was doing. The woman used her face as a blank canvas to craft and create a version of her she never imagined possible. She’d talked Olivia through what she was doing and why, and while she understood the techniques and craft, she was certain she would never have the talent of this woman.
When she was done, Olivia could barely believe the image in the mirror was her. From the neck down, she still wore her teeshirt and shorts, but from the neck up, her face and hair were perfectly sculpted to a vision of beauty she hadn’t ever imagined in her wildest dreams. Paul came over and stood behind her shoulder smiling knowingly.
“Not bad blondie,” he noted approvingly. “This suits you.”
Aware they were alone, Olivia agreed. “I think it does. It took me some time to realize that.”
“Will you ever perform again? I always loved you, you were a breath of fresh air amongst those tired old queens.”
Olivia shrugged. “Maybe, but I feel like Mia Calafia’s time is over… Part of her is dead and part became who I am today. Seeing myself like this, I can feel her fire inside me.”
Paul looked pensive for a moment and he fluffed her hair gently. “You’re going to be a force to reckon with my little mockingbird.”
“You’ll keep my secret, won’t you Paul?”
The man nodded and gave her a gentle squeeze. “Of course dear, on the condition that you keep coming back to me.”
Olivia found she could agree to that condition readily. She thanked the staff and paid her bill before hailing a cab back to the apartment. She felt entirely incongruous dressed so casually whilst made up so finely but the driver didn’t seem to care. Well, she knew he cared from the glances in the mirror, but she didn’t think her clothes were noticed.
Once she returned, she made an effort to avoid Richard and retired to dress for the evening. She sat on the bed for a moment taking everything in. Her dress was hanging on the open closet door to her side, and she just stared at it for a moment, lost in her thoughts.
How had she gotten here? She was about to accompany her man to a high-profile event full of politicians and officials. She’d gotten her clearance to return back to work and she would be doing that as a version of herself she never expected others to meet. Her life was so very different from where she had been only a year ago and it was an extremely daunting feeling.
Olivia stood and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window that filled an entire wall of the bedroom. The blinds were drawn and she gazed out over the city below them. She was frightened for the future, and she was frightened for this evening, but she was determined not to let it affect her. Life was finally in her control, and she wasn’t going to let anyone take the wheel from her.
Yes, Mia Calafia’s time was over, the character that had given her the chance to be popular, attractive, outgoing, and strong was gone. She had given her existence to allow a new being to occupy her body and that girl was strong, she was capable, and she was powerful. Olivia Evelyn Dalton was as soft and caring as Harry ever was and as outgoing and alive as Mia demanded of her. Olivia wasn’t just defined by what she did, or who she was to others. She might be a girlfriend, a daughter, a sister, a performer, a cop, and a woman, but she was more than all of that. She was here.
Olivia stripped and changed into the lingerie she had set aside for the evening. She’d selected a black satin bustier and panty set that made her feel deliciously naughty. She paired it with a pair of silk stockings that she clipped carefully to the garter straps attached to the bottom, careful not to run the expensive garments with her slightly unwieldy talons. Once done, she posed playfully in the mirror and gave herself a wink. Mia would remain in some fashion, lending her armor to the cause.
Stepping over to the dress, she removed it from its hangar almost reverently, running her hand along the smooth silk of its skirt. She stepped carefully into it and pulled it up her body. With some difficulty and a distinct lack of grace, she was able to zip the dress closed. Smoothing it with her hands she slipped her feet into the matching pumps and turned to regard herself in the mirror.
Olivia wasn’t prepared for what looked back at her. The woman in the mirror was elegant and sophisticated but radiated an innocence and beauty she had never felt before. Her skinny figure was enhanced by the silk skirt of the dress that swayed with each movement of her body. Olivia felt like a princess.
She checked her makeup one final time and moved a strand of hair from her eyes before deciding she was ready. She paused momentarily at the door to the bedroom, a small moment of nerves gripped her as she wondered if Richard would think she was beautiful. She pushed the feeling aside and stepped out into the living area of the apartment and approached the sofa where the man sat, still in his office attire.
She coughed lightly and he turned to look at her. His expression told her everything she needed to know. Richard stood and walked over to her wordlessly and reached out to take her hands in his. He grinned like a teenager. “God, you’re gorgeous.”
Olivia averted her eyes shyly and blushed. She felt like a teenager, or she reasoned, what she thought she might if she had been. “Thank you.”
Richard lifted her chin until their eyes met. “I almost don’t want to go tonight, I don’t want to share you with anyone else.”
“Looks like you’re not coming along,” she observed dryly, regarding his suit with a raised eyebrow.
Richard grinned sheepishly and shrugged. “I won’t take long, not like I can compare to you anyway.”
He paused and remembered something, “I’ll be back,” he explained rushing off to the bedroom.
Moments later he returned holding a long velvet box that he placed into Olivia’s hands. “I got these for you, for tonight.”
Olivia opened the lid and gasped. Inside were a matching set of diamond drop earrings and a matching choker.
“This is too much.” she protested lightly fingering one of the earrings, her smile betraying her modesty.
Richard shook his head, “Not even close to being enough you mean, I think these deserve you.”
Olivia smiled at his little joke and removed her existing earrings and replaced them with the diamonds, they felt positively scandalous to wear. Richard helped her fasten the choker and led her to one of the room’s mirrors. She could see the light glint off the stones as she moved.
“These must have cost a fortune.” she protested, feeling guilt creep into her good mood. “Tell me they weren’t that expensive.”
Richard shrugged. “Not bad, and I did a favor for a dealer a while back and represented him, he owed me more than one.”
Olivia felt slightly better, but not much. “Go get changed.” she chastised. “I swear to god, I’ve been at this for hours and you’re going to be ready in ten minutes, it’s not fair.”
“You can wear the tux if you want.” he chuckled heading for the bedroom. “Somehow I think you’d still look stunning.”
Olivia smiled. Looking like she did, it would probably be quite amusing.
Her estimation was almost correct. Fifteen minutes later, Richard returned as she stood gazing out over the city, afraid to sit and ruin her dress. He’d scrubbed up well, his hair was neat and his facial hair still stylishly scruffy. His tuxedo fit him like a glove and she felt mildly annoyed at how quickly he’d managed it all.
Taking her arm, Richard led Olivia out of the apartment and down to the lobby where a black town car was waiting for them. Ever the gentleman, he held her door for her and assisted her into the vehicle before joining her on the opposite side. The car drove them through the early evening traffic towards the center of the city.
“I can’t get over how beautiful you are.”
Olivia looked over at Richard beside her and smiled. It wasn’t the first time he’d said that to her, but it felt distinctly special this time.
“I’m a little surprised myself,” she admitted, nervously fingering an earring. “I was hoping I’d be okay, I just wanted to make an effort for your sake.”
Richard shook his head and grinned. “There is nothing okay about you Olivia. You’re beautiful every day but somehow you’ve managed to just blow that out of the water, I’m going to be the luckiest man there tonight.”
“Oh, so I’ve ruined my every day for you now?” Olivia asked sadly, mocking a disappointed frown.
Richard smirked. “That is not going to work on me, young lady.”
“Well I’m glad I meet the dirty old man’s approval.” she parried, a twinkle in her eye.
“I’m only eight years older than you.”
“You’ll always be a cradle robber to me.” Olivia giggled.
Richard smiled and shook his head. “I swear this is a new version of you.”
Olivia looked thoughtful for a moment before answering. “It is. I’ve been a little uncertain of myself for some time, battling guilt and fear and other people’s expectations. Today, I felt like I belonged and I decided that all those versions of myself, those characters were all me in equal parts.”
“Be nice to people tonight. I’m almost worried”
“You’ve got nothing to fear from me, I’ll be a good girl.” Olivia grinned.
The town car pulled up outside City Hall. The building was set on its own block in the civic center district. It had always appeared a little out of place with its sandstone gothic architecture but tonight it was for that reason it seemed so fitting for a formal affair. Lights were playing over the exterior as groups of people moved up the pathway towards the entrance, chatting and exchanging pleasantries.
A valet opened Olivia’s door for her and offered her a hand. She accepted the man’s assistance and carefully extracted herself from the car with as much grace as she could muster.
Richard joined her and she took his arm as they walked towards the doors. She was certainly not underdressed she observed. It appeared as if the city’s bigwigs had pulled out their finest rags for this Hoedown.
An attendant at the door checked for Richard’s name and admitted them into the cavernous atrium of the building. Olivia had only been here once when she had first arrived in the city and the place had been transformed for the event. Music was playing from a jazz band on a small stage to the side while waiters with trays of drinks and food moved amongst the crowd filling the space.
“This is really something.” she mused aloud as they accepted champagne flutes offered by a waiter that had appeared beside them. “I feel rather out of place.”
Richard shook his head, “nonsense, you’re absolutely perfect.”
Olivia was going to comment when she shut her mouth and stared. The Attorney General was walking up, arm in arm with a woman she assumed to be his wife smiling warmly at Richard.
“Richie you old dog, private practice treating you well?”
Richard shook the man’s hand firmly and nodded. “It certainly pays far better than when I worked for you.”
The man turned and regarded Olivia for a moment smiling. “And how is your lovely guest?”
“John, this beautiful woman is my girlfriend Olivia Dalton. Olivia, this political beast is John Michaels, The AG.”
The older man extended his hand to Olivia shaking it firmly. “A pleasure my dear, you’ve managed to tie this wandering heart down I see?”
“Thank you, and you sir.”
“Margret, his long-suffering wife.” the woman beside him explained, taking Olivia’s proffered hand. “Are you in the profession too?”
Olivia shook her head. “No ma’am, I’m a Sheriff’s Deputy.”
“Bloody hell, they improved the uniforms.” Michaels chuckled.
Olivia blushed, she felt entirely out of her depth in this world.
“I worked for John back when he was District Attorney,” Richard explained. “How is the political realm treating you?”
“Exhausting, but I have my eyes on other avenues.”
“You always did.” Richard grinned. “Good to see you again, John.”
They spoke for a few minutes before the Attorney General and his wife made their excuses and moved on to mingle with other guests. Richard led Olivia onwards and introduced her to a number of notable parties in attendance.
Olivia was beginning to feel a little starstruck as official after official seemed to know Richard well.
“I never realized you were this connected,” she mentioned when they finally were able to find a table to rest.
Richard shrugged. “Hazard of the job when you worked for the city, and now work for a lot of these folks in their private matters, all of them want to be on your good side.”
Olivia sipped her champagne. “I promise not to tell them I’m a country yokel.”
“I don’t think a cattle rancher’s daughter qualifies as a yokel by any stretch.” Richard pointed out. “Your dad has a helicopter.”
Olivia shrugged, a gesture she felt slightly incongruous in her gown. “I don’t think these people differentiate beyond the cow shit.”
“Who’s being prejudiced now?” Richard chided playfully.
The room’s attention was drawn to the podium located by the stage when a functionary announced the arrival of Governor Macdill.
The crowd clapped politely and camera bulbs flashed as the man ascended the steps and took his place behind the seal-emblazoned podium.
Governor Macdill was a handsome man in his mid-fifties. He was the very image of a Californian politician with his head of sandy blonde hair and tan skin. The man had been elected three years prior and was beginning his reelection campaign.
As the applause died down, he began to speak.
“Thank you everyone for coming to this little event tonight. I’m honored to see so many of you fine folks in attendance. I promise not to keep you here all night so I’ll make this brief I promise, I know you’d all rather be elsewhere!”
The governor chuckled at his joke before continuing. “As you’re all aware, tonight marks the start of my reelection campaign. I feel we’ve had a strong start at our promises to make this fine state the best it possibly can be, and I implore you to share my dream and help me take us forward into our rightful place at the forefront of the entire nation.”
The crowd clapped loudly and the governor waved and smiled. He was about to continue when a burst of gunfire ripped through the room. The room descended into pandemonium.
Olivia grabbed Richard’s shoulder and dragged him back into a corner as people began to panic. The room was filled with gunfire and screams.
Olivia watched several uniformed and plainclothes officers rush from the wings to extract the Governor, only to be gunned down by men in tuxedos. The band, she realized to her horror. The band was firing into the air, corralling the crowd of startled guests and rapidly neutralizing any threats to their apparent objective; the Governor.
Macdill cowered behind his podium, gripping it as though a life preserver. One of the men approached and jabbed the butt of his rifle sharply into the back of the man’s head, crumpling him to the ground. He stepped over the Governor’s unconscious form and snatched the microphone from the podium.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, may I have your attention,” he shouted theatrically, his voice booming around the entire space.
The shooting had stopped and more tuxedoed men were now herding frightened guests toward the center of the room. Olivia pulled Richard with her and merged with the herd of bodies.
“This is our official protest against Governor Steven Macdill’s systematic ruination of the state of California. Long enough this man has torn down the moral fabric of the state and thrown our values to the wolves. We are here to end that tonight, an example must be set. Civil war is upon us and it’s time to take arms against the systematic erasure of everything we hold true as Americans.”
It was political Olivia realized, the media hadn’t helped in the slightest. Different networks lean to different extremes of the spectrum whipping up radical beliefs and hatred of the other. It was only a matter of time before it exploded into violence. She just hadn’t expected to be there when it did.
The man on the podium raised his rifle over his head and fired a burst into the ceiling.
“This is our Alamo. We are willing to die to protect our America and you will too unless you do exactly as we say. As we speak, my men are securing and boobytrapping any potential exits. Our goal here is to raise awareness for our fight and make an example of this traitor.” he added kicking Macdill. “Do as we say, and you may live through tonight. Cross us, and your blood will feed the flower of freedom.”
The building’s age and architecture were going to work to their advantage in this instance Olivia realized. Its heavy sandstone construction and elevated windows were going to place the police at a distinct disadvantage.
“We’re going to start separating you into groups and moving you to other areas of the building.” the man announced waving to his comrades. “Comply with their orders or there will be permanent repercussions.”
The men worked efficiently. Olivia noticed that a good number of the waitstaff were alongside the men. If they survived tonight, she was pretty sure some heads were going to roll amongst the state’s Law Enforcement Agencies.
Richard and Olivia were taken to a room on the eighth floor by a pair of terrorists along with eighteen other guests. She saw the logic in their tactic. If they had all hostages in a single location, it would be far simpler for the police to mount a simultaneous rescue attempt. By separating the guests, they created confusion and bought the terrorists time to enact revenge for any attempts to restore order.
The room was a long functional conference room with a row of slim windows along the upper edge of the exterior wall that likely held routine civil meetings in more ordinary times. For now, it was their entire world. The hostages were quieter now that the initial shock and awe of the takeover was beginning to fade. Their guards were not brutal in their treatment but were firm in their instructions as they ordered everyone to sit on the floor against the walls.
“Are you ok?” Richard whispered beside her. Olivia nodded wordlessly. She was too busy watching the guards.
Both men had bandoliers of pouches filled with magazines and equipment along with their assault rifles. Their equipment was compact, likely secreted in instrument cases and other innocuous items they could bring in before the event.
Richard saw the look in her eye. “You’re not going to do anything.” he hissed. “I know it’s your job, but you’re only one woman, I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Olivia shook her head gently. “I’m just mapping things out,” she muttered. “I’m not planning to do anything silly.”
Richard grasped her hand tightly between them. “You’re not John McClane.”
“I think I have better hair,” Olivia muttered with a slight smile.
Olivia’s eyes were drawn to the windows as she heard the dull beat of helicopter rotors passing low overhead. The cavalry had finally arrived.
Outside the building, the scene was one of organized chaos. Police vehicles were surrounding City Hall and incident command vehicles were beginning to arrive on location. Officers were moving around setting up barriers and tape in a fight to keep back the growing crowd and media circus that was developing once the news had spread.
A tall blonde figure strode purposefully through the officers moving around the scene. Sheriff Reilly marched into the command truck that had arrived moments earlier and regarded the chaotic scene before her. “Update, now.”
While a highly political post, the Sheriff loathed such theater. She was glad this once she had found an excuse not to attend the event being held within their cordon that evening. Otherwise, she’d be hoping someone competent was in charge.
“Ma’am, we’ve not gotten communication inside yet, but we’re informed we have between ten and fifteen armed individuals with high-power rifles holding roughly one hundred and fifty hostages.”
Reilly sighed and sat heavily in one of the chairs and massaged her forehead. This was going to be a very long night.
“SWAT?”
“Enroute ma’am, ten minutes.”
“Have their commander find me the second his boots hit the ground, I want options yesterday.”
She glanced at the monitors on the wall displaying a live feed of the front doors of the building across the block. This was going to be the longest night.
The hostages in the conference room had settled into an uncomfortable silence. There was the occasional comment or muted conversation but most people simply sniffled quietly to themselves.
Olivia glanced around the room cautiously. The group with them was a mix of ages and sexes, no particular effort had been made to separate the young from old, or men from women. She did recognize the Attorney General and his wife on the far side of the room huddled together in fear.
If such a high-value target was here with them, he must of secondary importance. The two men guarding them didn not appear to be particularly concerned about the low level of conversation in the room; they were in charge and they knew it. She noticed them talking into radios occasionally suggesting they had a good level of coordination with their compatriots across the building.
Olivia hugged herself tightly and leaned against Richard’s shoulder. She was frightened but she was still thinking clearly, which was a good sign. She knew what she’d said to Richard, but she wasn’t going to just let people get hurt if she could help it. She would do nothing that might endanger his life, but she was taking in as much as she could all the same. She’d only been on the job a handful of years and she was green, she knew. That wasn’t even counting how extremely rusty she was from her time off. A fire within her belly told her that she wanted to live very badly; she wasn’t going to leave it entirely in other people’s hands. They were never going to see her coming. For the first time in her life, Olivia was going to take her destiny by the horns.
Mike Sanderson was pacing the rotunda, his rifle slung across his shoulder. Five men and two women were on their knees in front of him, Governor Macdill was amongst them.
Sanderson was fifty-three, his body carrying more than a few extra pounds than he had during his army days. He’d witnessed firsthand as his precious US Army had been systematically ruined by politicians and woke initiatives that turned it into a global laughing stock. That hatred finally culminated when his own son, his pride and joy turned out to be a damn fairy. He’d argued with his wife to the point where the woman wanted nothing more to do with him.
They had understood his plight and his passion though, his brothers in the Sonoran Militia had understood everything he told them. They came from all walks of life, men united by a common purpose to defend their rights, fight government overreach, and restore their great nation to its former glory. Many of them were former military like he was. Veterans that gave everything for a nation that didn’t want them once their usefulness was over. Their country took their youth and their blood and gave it over to deviants and liberals intent on forcing their agenda on the world.
“Whatever you want, we can get you but please, let these people go.” Governor Macdill begged, breaking him from his inner monologue.
Sanderson turned toward the man and stroked his mustache. The asshole had the gall to look assertive he thought. This bastard had the cheek to say he valued veterans and patriots yet took their jobs and gave them to immigrants instead.
“I’ll decide when we let anyone go, traitor,” he barked. “Your time has been and gone, now it’s time for patriots to steer this ship once again. When the media gets here you’re going to give a statement and issue a bunch of executive orders to set the path straight before you pay for your crimes.”
Macdill wilted visibly. “I… I can’t issue orders under duress, there’s a chain of command in place. As long as I’m in captivity I have no power.”
“They’ll do it, or you’ll die,” Sanderson answered sharply. “I’m not afraid to die, and I’ll take as many of you with me as it takes. I will go to God with conviction in my heart!”
Olivia shifted uncomfortably. The floor of the conference room was not particularly suitable for spending a long period of time and she was beginning to get restless. They’d been in the conference room for almost an hour now, and the temperament of the hostages had degraded somewhat. Once the fear and shock of the initial takeover had faded, and normality had begun to settle in, more and more people began to speak.
A woman seated on the far side of the room raised her hand as though she were a schoolchild and waved toward one of the guards.
“What?”
The woman appeared suddenly bashful, “I… some of us will need to use the bathroom soon, or this is going to become an unpleasant place to spend any time.”
The guard didn’t reply, but instead muttered into his radio. He listened for a response for a moment before turning back to the woman and nodding.
“Ok, we’ll take everyone in two groups, women, then men.”
The woman seemed satisfied by his response.
After a few moments, a third guard arrived at the door of the conference room and gestured to his compatriots. The decision-maker ordered all the women in the group to stand and head for the door. There were nine, including herself Olivia noted. They were marched in single file out of the room and back along the corridor they had followed to reach the room. Several hallways later, they arrived outside a set of bathrooms on the far end of a corridor amongst what Olivia assumed were municipal offices.
The women were ushered inside and the guard followed them. A few thought to protest the invasion of the bathroom, but changed their minds when the man waved his assault rifle in their general direction.
Taking her turn in one of the three stalls, Olivia sat and did her business. The brief moment of isolation was almost refreshing after being around others for so long. It was only a thin wooden door, but she felt rather irrationally safe. They’d only sent one guard to escort the women, seeing them as a far lower threat to their successful control. This might be the one opportunity she would be afforded to slip away.
Smoothing her dress, Olivia exited the safety of the stall and checked her makeup in the mirror. It seemed entirely normal for a woman to do this, however, it gave her an opportunity to blend in and disappear in the hostage taker’s eyes.
She regarded the man for a moment. He had a shaved head and was neatly dressed, his band uniform consisted of a tuxedo that fitted him well. These weren’t last-minute costumes or a thin charade, these men were organized and appeared to take a pride in what they were doing. His eyes flicked back and forth over the group for any signs of trouble.
Olivia took her place in line and waited whilst the remainder of the group used the bathroom and the guard made to lead them out towards the hallway. She moved in beside Margret Michaels, the Attorney General’s wife, and leaned in close so as to not be heard. “Make a scene when we get outside.” The older woman looked at her sharply, as if questioning the request. She saw the look in her eye, a mixture of fear and uncertainty. Olivia nodded reassuringly and touched her arm, “please.” Margret nodded and returned her gaze to the front.
The guard led them back out into the corridor and started to herd the group back the way they had come. Olivia deliberately remained toward the rear of the group. As she had hoped, Margret threw herself into her role and burst out crying, and collapsed to the floor in hysterics.
The guard’s distraction was momentary, his attention focused on Mrs. Michaels and her wails. Olivia moved quickly and slipped through a doorway into the darkened interior of an office and pushed herself under a nearby desk.
Outside she could hear the muted wails through the door and the gruff orders of the guard. It was clear he’d lost his control over the group and was trying to reassert order.
Olivia briefly considered interceding with the distracted guard but changed her mind almost immediately. That terrorist would be missed sooner than later and she would have eight hostages on her hands to protect, not an ideal situation.
She lay silently in the dark until the voices quietened down and she heard the group moving away toward the conference room. She breathed a sigh of relief; she hadn’t been missed. She felt a brief pang of sadness as she thought of Richard. She hadn’t said a word to the man about her intentions, hell she’d almost promised not to get involved. She shook her head. This was her job, she had no choice, he would understand.
Once the sounds of footsteps had vanished, she crawled out from under the desk and slipped off her shoes and jewelry to reduce the chances that anything that might sparkle or make noise.
Her priorities were clear; make contact with the outside and gather information. These were highly organized armed men that had run through the Governor’s security like they were mall cops. There was no way she was going to take them on directly, it would be suicide.
Olivia tried one of the desk phones in the office and received the expected silence that confirmed her suspicion; the phone lines were down; it was what she would have done herself in their situation. She glanced around the office, hoping for inspiration to strike. The place appeared to be a planning office of some sort with rolls of charts and map tables dominating the space. She started searching the desks and drawers for anything that might be of use. Most of the desks she searched were useless, containing only office supplies or personal effects but the final one had been abandoned by someone in a hurry, possibly someone working late and it had a backpack and jacket tucked neatly beside it.
Olivia rifled through the items and struck gold. Inside the jacket, she found a cell phone and recovered a small penknife and flashlight from the bag.
Clutching her treasure, she tucked herself in behind the desk and tried the phone. It was locked.
She cursed and mashed the buttons in disappointment. There was no way she could unlock it before it became a useless paperweight in her hands. There was a pack of cigarettes in the jacket along with a lighter. She hadn’t smoked in a couple of years. It had been something she picked up when she first started performing and had ditched shortly after, it had helped her with the long nights and lack of sleep.
Feeling deflated she tapped one out of the packet and lit the cigarette before inhaling deeply. She felt the wave of nicotine flood her system as she sat there in the darkness staring at the one brief flash of hope she’d had. She tossed the phone onto the floor and watched it bounce across the thin carpet. The movement must have hit one of the external buttons because the phone’s power-off screen lit up and Olivia recognized one of the buttons on the screen: EMERGENCY SOS.
How could she have been so stupid? All cell phones had an emergency mode that bypassed the lock system that could dial 911. She slid the button across the touchscreen and held the phone to her ear; it was ringing.
“911, Police or Fire?”
“Police, please.”
There was a momentary click as the call redirected. Olivia tapped out the cigarette on the floor with a grimace. She really didn’t miss those things.
“911, can you tell me what’s happening?”
“My name is Olivia Dalton, Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department badge 2628, I’m in city hall, and I need to be connected to whoever is in charge over there.”
“Ma’am, standby.” The voice of the dispatcher was calm and showed no surprise at her request and efficiently processed her call. “Ma’am, we’re transferring you to the command post, please hold.”
Olivia waited, the phone rang for what seemed like an eternity before it was finally picked up.
“Who is this?” a male voice asked sharply.
“Deputy Dalton, 2628. I’m off duty and I’m inside the building.”
“You are? Where are you? Are you safe?” the voice asked.
Olivia began to repeat what she’d seen and what had happened, explaining her slipping away from the hostages, the gunmen, their number, and disposition. The man seemed to take notes before he explained that he was handing the phone over to someone else.
“Dalton, you’re not even back to work yet and you’re already neck deep in the crap,” a familiar female voice remarked. Sheriff Reilly, Olivia realized, she must be in command out there.
“I was here as a guest ma’am,” Olivia explained weakly feeling as though she were being chastised by a teacher.
“Whatever the reason, I don’t need you going all Buck Rodgers on me Dalton, this is serious shit. I want you to keep your head down and pass on whatever you’re able to when you can, do I make myself clear?”
“Roy Rodgers Ma’am.”
“What?”
Olivia smiled in the darkness. “John McClane referenced Roy Rodgers in the first DieHard movie Ma’am, Buck Rodgers was a Science Fiction character.”
She heard a huff on the other end of the phone. “Whatever, just keep your head down.”
Olivia agreed and ended the call. If she needed them, she would go through the emergency 911 system again and be forwarded on. It wasn’t perfect but at least it was communication. She looked down at her stocking feet and wiggled her toes. She had far better legs than Bruce Willis, that was for sure.
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Life and Love are far more complicated than we can possibly understand. For one young cop, a journey of self-discovery will teach them that true strength was inside them all along.
Richard was worried. He’d seen the women return to the conference room and didn’t see Olivia with them. He wanted to ask what they’d done to her but thought better of it. He had a pretty good idea of what had happened and he was sick with worry. As the men had been led from the room for their chance to use the bathroom, Margret Michaels had put her hand on his arm and nodded briefly as he’d passed. Olivia was fine, that's what she had meant. It was a relief to know for sure, but it didn’t alleviate his fear in the slightest.
The two guards had led them to the bathroom and back. Richard hadn’t needed to go but went through the motions regardless. Once they were returned to the conference room, the third man who had remained to watch the other hostages left them and set off to patrol the corridors.
Olivia slipped her new prizes into the top of her dress. One thing could be said for women's formalwear, it certainly could carry far more than people realized.
She eased open the office door and listened for a moment. The corridor was silent and dark, many of the lights having been extinguished throughout the building. Slipping into the corridor, she retraced her steps toward the center of the building, hoping to find out more about what was going on. She’d mentioned the threat of boobytraps to the Sheriff and needed to get a look at one of the devices to try to help them if she could.
The building was massive. There was no way the terrorists could guard every exit, which meant the traps were likely a well-publicized threat to not only the hostages but the police outside. If she could get them valuable information, she might be able to help them end this sooner.
Finding a stairwell, Olivia listened for a moment, her ears straining for the slightest sound of movement. Believing the coast to be clear, she started to descend toward the ground floor. She’d managed to reach the second-floor landing when she heard the sound of a door open below her. Rapidly she began to retrace her steps until she was able to find a door to slip through on the landing above.
The corridor was black and there were few doorways nearby so she flattened herself against the wall and waited in silence, her heart beating so loudly she feared it would give her away. The footsteps grew louder as they ascended the stairs outside the door before stopping right outside her door. She held her breath, not even daring to breathe lest she give her hiding place away. The door opened slightly, and an unseen hand held it for a moment before pulling it closed. She could hear the sound of a zip tie being fastened before the footsteps resumed and she was swallowed by silence once again.
Letting out her breath, she tried the door. Whatever the unseen person had done, it was now secured and she had little hope of returning the way she’d come. It was impossible to see in the darkened corridor, so she extracted the small flashlight from the top of her dress and switched it on.
The corridor ahead appeared to be deserted and was flanked by a sparse number of closed doors. Each door she passed, she tried but found them to all be locked. They appeared to be records storage as far as she could tell. Pressing onward, she rounded a corner and found herself in a wider section of corridor flanked by offices. Like before, she found most to be locked but the final doorway had light emanating from beneath it.
Glancing through the small window carefully, she saw that it looked out over a balcony surrounding a large circular ornate space, the rotunda at the center of the building she realized. The door was unlocked, so Olivia opened it carefully and listened.
Down below, she could hear an angry voice echoing slightly within the chamber. The conversation appeared one-sided, so she assumed it was a phone call. Crouching down low, she slipped out onto the dimly lit balcony and looked through the stone railing down to the space below.
A large man in a tuxedo with a rifle on his shoulder was pacing back and forth, with a cell phone to his ear. He was jabbing angrily at a line of hostages as he spoke, his temper flaring.
“I want someone that can make decisions in his place then. I want my demands met or I’m going to start executing hostages, starting with this traitor’s most valuable guests.”
“Yes now… No, You have an hour.”
Olivia could see two other men with him, assault rifles held easily in their hands as they flanked the kneeling hostages. She recognized the Governor and two of his colleagues, the Mayor and the women she assumed to be their wives.
The man’s tone grew darker. “If you haven’t met my first demand within twenty minutes, I will kill three hostages, do not test me.”
Mike Sanderson ran his hand over his bald head and cursed. The negotiators were messing him around and playing for time, he knew their games. He had demanded a feed for a live press conference but they were claiming that it was impossible under the current circumstances unless they were able to secure the release of some of the hostages. He knew it was bullshit but he was in a corner.
He’d given them a deadline, they’d have to pick.
“Mister Sanderson, what do we do if they don’t give us the feed?” one of the men next to the leader asked.
“They will, or we’ll start killing hostages as we promised. We’re in this for the ride, we follow through.”
His radio crackled.
“Sir, we’ve got a small issue.”
“What?” snapped Sanderson.
“We’re missing one of the hostages from the upstairs group probably got lost. Some chick wandered off. They only noticed when we did a count. I’m searching offices now.”
Sanderson kicked at a discarded champagne glass, feeling satisfaction when it shattered against a pillar.
“Don’t fucking come back without the bitch,” he growled, “no loose ends.”
Olivia’s heart skipped a beat when she realized they were talking about her. She slid back from the edge of the banister and made her way around the balcony in a low crouch attempting to keep herself in the shadows. There was a door on the far side, which mercifully, was also unlocked. Olivia slipped inside and slowly shut it behind her to prevent any sound from giving her away.
The game was taking a darker turn. Hostages' lives were being threatened and the man down below sounded unstable and motivated. Those were never a good combination in a crisis. When she’d been at the academy, they’d given the cadets a course in basic negotiation and de-escalation skills. It wasn’t anything compared to what was likely happening outside with the specialist teams that she knew must be on scene, but it was enough to give her a brief insight into the man’s state of mind.
The man downstairs, Sanderson, was in charge. He was politically motivated and he wanted a platform. The negotiators were following the standard protocol of give and receive; for every demand, there would be a request or concession politely demanded in exchange. She’d seen them kill when they first took over the building, she had no doubt the man’s threats to kill hostages were very real.
Slipping into a darkened office, she hit the emergency button on the cell phone and was put through to the Sheriff outside.
“Dalton, update me.”
“Ma’am, I was able to get a look at the Governor; he’s alive as is the Mayor and a few other VIPs. As far as I can tell none of the guests have been harmed yet. We have a number of fatalities amongst the Governor’s security detail, these guys are not afraid to kill. Tell the Negotiators if they’re threatening lives, they mean it.”
“Slow down Dalton.” the sheriff reassured her. “Slow down, and take a breath. Are you secure where you are?”
“For now.”
Olivia leaned her head back against the cool wall behind her and glanced toward the window outside. Emergency lights were lighting up the ceiling in a kaleidoscope of red and blue.
“Ma’am, I need to do something, these guys are really serious.”
The Sheriff spoke to someone off the line before returning. “Dalton, stay out of the way, we’re going to comply with their demands for now and try and get people released in the meanwhile. Stay useful and stay away from them. We’re having the phone company remotely unlock the handset you’re on, get us pictures of their devices on the doors if you can. We’re sending this number to you.”
Olivia hung up and watched as the phone shut down and began to reboot. Once it came back, it was fully unlocked and appeared to be back to its factory defaults. A text message blinked onto the screen with a number.
Suddenly she didn’t feel quite as alone. She looked down at her dress. The silk material of the skirt was dirty and creased. She felt a little disappointed that she didn’t get to spend her perfect evening with Richard, even if it was going to be mostly schmoozing with politicians.
Thinking about Richard made it worse for her. She now had someone to lose if this went wrong. it wasn’t impersonal and professional and she would struggle to act with a clear head knowing he was at risk. She knew she had to put that to the back of her mind, but life wasn’t that simple. With a sigh, she took out the penknife from her dress and slit the side of her perfect skirt up to mid-thigh. She could get another dress if she survived.
She made her way back to the door and listened carefully before slipping back into the corridor and making her way back into the darkness.
Sheriff Reilly was speaking with the negotiators when the commander of the SWAT team finally arrived at her base of operations.
She glanced at her watch and frowned. “About damn time you folks got here. I assume you’re up to speed already?”
The commander shook the Sheriff’s hand and grimaced, expressing his feelings at the scale of the situation they found themselves in. “Ready for whatever is necessary, Bomb Squad on the way?”
The Sheriff nodded before letting her guard down for a moment and speaking less formally. “Alex this is rough, they’ve got us by the throat here. They’re heavily armed, political and we believe, military trained.”
“Did I hear you have someone inside? a Deputy?” The commander asked with interest.
The Sheriff nodded and sipped her coffee. “Yeah, off duty, she was here as a guest. The poor thing’s been off the last six months recovering from a line of duty-shooting.”
The SWAT Commander smiled darkly at the irony of the situation, “Some people’s luck just sucks.”
Reilly nodded and accepted a report from one of the staff in the command center. “They’ve not had the best time of things, that’s for sure.”
The woman appeared older than her years in the harsh light of the command center. The Sheriff looked worried.
Olivia crept along the hallway sticking to the shadows. She’d managed to get to the ground floor and was working her way through the rear corridors of the building, far from the activity in the central rotunda. These areas of City Hall weren’t part of the public-facing areas of the building but instead, the beating heart that made the city operate.
From the map she’d found on a stairwell a few minutes ago, she should be approaching an exit to the exterior that would have what she needed to send to the people depending on her. Thirty meters further down the corridor, she found the fire escape she’d been looking for. It was one of the heavy metal doors with a central push bar found all around the world to expedite exits in the event of an emergency. This one however would spell doom if it was used for it’s intended purpose.
Olivia checked the corridor was clear before turning on her flashlight and examining the device attached to the door. It was a compact and simple affair consisting of a lump of plastic explosive and a blasting cap attached to a length of fishing wire that was hooked around the bar and crossed the edge of the frame. The device was brutal in its simplicity; if the door moved, whoever was nearby wouldn’t exist anymore.
She took out her phone and began to take photographs to send back to the others. There was a reasonable chance the devices were all similarly crafted. If the line was pulled, the cap detonated sending a spark through to the main charge. She wasn’t an explosives expert, but she’d seen enough movies to understand the basic concept.
Switching off the light, she stashed it before focusing her attention on the phone. She began attaching the images to a message and was in the process of sending it to the number she’d been given when she heard the footsteps echoing down the corridor.
Her heart racing, Olivia moved quickly to find refuge in one of the offices off the main hall but was met by only locked doors at every turn. She began to feel her panic turn to a cold dread as she saw a flashlight play around the corner ahead of her. Like a deer in headlights, she stood frozen in the light beam.
“There you are.” the voice growled, its owner marching towards her in the shadow created by the flashlight.
A hand attached to the gruff voice reached out and grabbed her arm, “was wondering where you got off to.”
The man noticed the cell phone in her hands. “What are you up to? Trying to call for help? Give me that.” he barked reaching out to snatch the device.
Olivia reacted on instinct as the man stooped to grab at her lowered hand. She twisted in his grasp and brought her knee up into his sternum with everything she possessed.
The man gasped and doubled over, releasing her from his grip. She dropped the phone to the floor and took hold of the arm that had been holding her moments earlier and hooked her leg behind his knee. The man fell hard, his own body weight acting as a pivot as he tumbled backward onto the floor.
Olivia didn’t waste a moment and lept onto the man swinging punches at his face trying anything to stun the man. The gun he had with him was still hooked to a sling across his chest, she had to keep close or he’d be able to use it against her.
As she sat astride the man swinging wildly she flashed back to that fateful afternoon six months ago and saw the face of the man she’d fought for control of a different gun. She lost her focus and stopped hitting the man, her body locked in fear. The main bucked his hips and threw her to the side. Olivia crashed into the floor and felt the breath leave her body.
The man scrambled to his feet swearing and spitting. “I’m going to fucking kill you cunt.” he snarled grasping at his rifle. The man raised the weapon like a club as he reared over her. Olivia stared blankly up at the man, her face a mask of fear. She attempted to crawl away from the man on her back, unable to look away from the looming figure. She felt a metallic object move inside the bodice of her dress and suddenly remembered the knife. In the poor light of the corridor, the man never saw her pull the blade out and flick it open.
As the man reached down and moved to grab at Olivia’s hair he finally saw the flash of the knife coming up toward him. Olivia swung the blade with every molecule of her strength. She knew it was her last chance to survive.
The knife buried itself to the hilt in the side of the man’s neck. Olivia twisted and yanked at the blade ripping it out of the stunned terrorist’s flesh. There was a spray of blood and the man dropped to his knees grasping at the ragged wound with his hands in a feeble attempt to stem the flow. He stared at her blankly for a moment before collapsing sideways onto the floor.
Olivia sat with her back against the far wall staring at the dead man for several minutes until her heart rate could return back to normal. She had just killed a man. It had been her life or his she knew, but that couldn’t begin to quieten the feeling that what she had done was very wrong.
She swallowed hard and stared at her hands. They weren’t shaking, they looked steady and even, they looked wet and dark with the man’s blood. She should feel worse she knew, but as her pulse returned to normal she felt the fear start to become anger. Anger at what they were doing and anger at herself for her misstep.
Olivia pulled herself up and mentally chastised herself. There was time for tears later and this was not the place. Stepping over the body, she removed the man’s rifle and checked the magazine; it was fully loaded. The rifle was a short-barreled carbine, it was exactly like the one’s she’d trained on and carried every day in her car.
With some difficulty, she removed his belt of magazine pouches and equipment. A quick inventory of her new gear showed she had plenty of ammunition, a radio, and two flash grenades.
Olivia slung the belt over her shoulder like a bandolier and took the rifle in her hands. She glanced at the body on the tiled floor and said a silent prayer for her soul. She had a bad feeling that he wouldn’t be the only one tonight.
Stooping, she picked up the discarded cellphone and typed a quick message before sending the attached photographs.
One less, me or him, armed. Suspect One SANDERSON. Dalton.
Stowing the cell phone in one of the pouches, she caught sight of herself in one of the darkened office windows. Backlit by pale moonlight from the slim exterior windows behind her, her reflection looked almost supernatural. Her hair was a mess and her dress was bloody but somehow the pale glow made her look like a vengeful angel. A Valkyrie sent to bring death to the unworthy. She thrust out her chin and smiled, she was done being afraid.
The police held up their end of the bargain and Internet connectivity was returned to the building shortly after Ten that evening. Sanderson and his men began to put their plans into effect.
The Governor was given a script and shoved up onto the stage behind his podium. This wasn’t the joyful campaign speech that he’d planned to give filled with hope and promises for the future of the state. It was not anything he would say in his public or private life but the armed men gave him little chance to refuse. An armed cameraman gave him a signal and the Governor held the edges of the podium to stop himself from shaking as he began to read.
“My Fellow Californians, my name is Governor Macdill. I’m here tonight to read a statement prepared for me by American patriots who want you to know the truth. For many years, we have systematically broken down the moral fabric of these United States. Nowhere more so than here in California. Our policies and laws have been targeted to cripple and limit the freedom of our citizens and promote the liberal agenda at each step. I implore the State Senate to impeach me, and elect a true American Patrot that will restore glory to these lands and free our people from the immigrants, homosexuals, and freedom-hating people that have their boot to the neck of you all.”
Governor Macdill swallowed hard. “If these demands are not met, I will be executed in three hours along with the Mayor. Good night.”
The camera stopped broadcasting and Sanderson stepped out from behind the operator.
“Excellent work Governor. Let’s hope your lackeys are brave enough to follow your words and make a stand for America.”
The Governor felt old, his body frail. He stared at the hateful man before him and shook his head. “They’ll never do it,” he muttered feebly. “They won’t give in to your demands.”
Sanderson smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant expression, but more akin to the look a predator gives its prey before it strikes. “Then you’ll die tonight, Governor Macdill.”
Olivia crept along the corridor. She’d somehow managed to make her way back to the eighth floor without being noticed and no alarm had been raised yet over the missing terrorist. She had one of their radios now and she could hear their chatter. The men were organized and efficient, nothing extraneous was said over the frequency, and the airwaves were kept relatively quiet. There had been mention of the police restoring the internet and the Governor’s broadcast to the public; that meant her time would be limited.
Her first priority was Richard. She knew it was selfish and irrational but she had to make sure he was ok. She’d overheard the broadcast the Governor had made and she knew they’d never follow the demands. Her time was limited and she had to make sure that he was safe before she acted. She didn’t have a plan, but she was certain that she could find something by the time she reached the room where they had been held. If even a handful of hostages and Richard were safe, she could act with a clearer conscience.
She passed the bathroom where she’d slipped away from the group and retraced her steps toward the conference room, the rifle in her hands. The dark corridors felt like a mausoleum to her. The oppressive silence inside the thick walls of the building made her every sound feel like a cacophony of noise.
Reaching the room, she pressed herself against the wall outside and listened. She couldn’t make out much, but there was a low level of conversation inside. There had been two terrorists guarding the group earlier, but had the third left? She wasn’t sure. The door had a frosted glass window that made seeing inside impossible. She considered using the flash grenades she’d taken from the dead terrorist but decided against such a loud option. She wasn’t sure if there was backup nearby or what it would do to the other hostages. She had to find a way to neutralise them quietly or she could get them all killed.
Opening a nearby door she slipped inside the darkened office and searched for something she could use to make a noise. If there was something strange, they’d have to investigate, but they wouldn’t leave the hostages alone; if she could separate the terrorists, she had a chance to stop them quietly. Her eyes settled on a computer monitor on the edge of one of the desks and shrugged before shoving it off onto the floor.
The device clattered to the floor causing an almighty racket in the silent space. She tucked herself into the gap behind the door and held her breath. She didn’t have to wait long. After a few moments, she heard footsteps approaching and saw the partially open door creak open toward her. A flashlight played around the interior of the room, glinting off the window on the far side. She saw a dark shape through the frosted glass of the window and held her breath.
The man stepped into the room and played the flashlight over the desks until he saw the shattered monitor on the tile floor. His moment of focus was his undoing. Olivia lept from behind the door and swung the rifle like a bat catching the man in the back of his head. He hit the floor with a dull thud and didn’t move again. Realizing he’d be missed soon, she acted quickly. The men had been prepared for hostages and their gear contained plastic zip ties which she now used to secure the unconscious terrorist on the floor. She leaned his rifle against the wall by the door and stepped back out into the corridor.
Returning to the conference room, she saw the door was partially ajar now. Light was bleeding out into the corridor ahead of her casting a beam across the far wall. A quick glance showed her the other man was watching the hostages, his focus on them, not his comrade’s whereabouts yet. Olivia steeled herself and flipped the safety off the rifle in her hands and took a deep breath. Her hands felt clammy against the weapon, this was everything, all or nothing. Shoving the door, she rounded the corner and raised the rifle towards the remaining terrorist.
“Drop the fucking weapon or you’re dead.” she snarled.
The man had turned at the sound of the door, he had clearly been expecting his friend’s return. There was a look of shock in his eyes when he registered the angry blonde in a bloody gown pointing a rifle at his face. He dropped the weapon and threw his hands up, his face a mask of shock. Some of the hostages gasped and screamed but quickly recovered when they saw she wasn’t one of the terrorists.
“Turn around get on your knees, now.” she barked not giving him time to think. The man quickly complied and clasped his hands behind his head. Olivia stepped forward and kicked him squarely in the back, knocking him forward onto his stomach. “Hands behind your back,” she ordered as she tossed a pair of zip ties to one of the men closest to her. “Tie him up.” she gestured with her free hand. The man hesitated before following her instructions and securing the man’s hands.
Olivia pulled the rifle away from the now prostrate terrorist and lowered her own, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
“What the hell going on?” Attorney General Michaels was the first to speak, the older man unsure how to process what he was witnessing.
“This…” Olivia gestured theatrically, “is a rescue. Sorry I’m late.”
Richard was by her before she could respond and pulled her into a tight hug.
“My god, you’re ok. I was so worried,” Richard gasped kissing her forehead. He pulled back and glanced at her bloody dress and looked concerned, “are you hurt?”
Olivia stroked his cheek and kissed him before shaking her head. “I’m fine, it’s not my blood. I’m just glad you’re ok. I know I said I wouldn’t do anything but I saw an opportunity and I couldn’t sit here.” she admitted sheepishly.
“You’re brave and stupid and beautiful,” Richard whispered in her ear letting her go. “Just stay alive for me ok?” Olivia nodded and released his hand.
“What about the other one?” Michaels asked getting to his feet, interrupting their moment.
“Asleep next door,” Olivia explained. “These two and one more downstairs.”
“You’ve taken down three of them?” Another man she didn’t know asked incredulously looking at her aghast. “How on earth?”
Olivia smiled reassuringly. “I’m a cop, it’s my job.”
“What do we do now?” Michaels asked, his confidence returning. “There are more of them I assume?”
Shaking her head, Olivia removed the detained man’s equipment. “Nothing at all. I want you all to stay here where you’re safe. I’ll need a few of you to drag sleeping beauty from next door back in here. There are two weapons here now, so I need two volunteers who have used a gun before.”
Several of the men retrieved the unconscious terrorist from the office and dragged him through into the conference room. Olivia gave them a brief rundown on the rifles the men had carried and showed them what she wanted them to do with them. Her plan was to leave the group here, a safe place where they could defend themselves if necessary. A known location where the police could find them when it was time. Richard had protested that he wanted to go with her but Olivia turned him down explaining that she was able to move more freely by herself. His pride had been a little tarnished but he understood; this was her world, not his.
Her world; that was a funny thought. She wasn’t a veteran cop or former military with a special background. In reality, she was barely anyone in the grand scheme of things. All she knew was that this was something she had to do whether it got her hurt or worse. She had no choice but to step in and do what she could because that was the job she had signed up to do. It wasn’t a new feeling for her, she felt that every day. It had, however, never burned this strongly within her. Part of her wanted to run and hide, play it safe, but her own experiences over the last few months told her it was wrong to run. She had to stand and fight for what mattered now.
She kissed Richard one last time and looked pleadingly into his eyes as their bodies separated. She hoped that there was something in there that understood why she had to go.
“I get it,” he whispered stoically. “I love you, come back to me.”
Olivia nodded and glanced around the room at the other hostages. “Stay quiet, and keep your heads down.”
With that, she slipped back out into the corridor and vanished.
Sanderson was annoyed. The Police had given them the network connection for the Governor’s broadcast and they’d released twenty unimportant hostages, but now they were stalling again. He was going to have to prove his resolve and make them listen.
Maybe he’d use that runaway hostage as an example. He lifted his radio to his mouth and pressed the button.
“Twelve, One, You round up our missing guest?”
There was nothing but static on the other end of the radio.
“Twelve come in.”
There was still no response. Sanderson cursed.
“He was out looking for the straggler boss, he’s not checked in, was up on eight before with the group there.” One of Sanderson’s men offered.
Mike Sanderson wasn’t keen on lacking discipline. He’d deal with him later. “Fourteen, Thirteen, You boys seen Twelve recently?”
The radio was silent. Now he was getting concerned.
“Fourteen, Thirteen.”
Sanderson checked a few of his other men and got responses. “I don’t like this.” he muttered before keying the radio again. “Nine, Ten, go check on Thirteen and Fourteen.”
The men confirmed their orders curtly and signed off. Sanderson kicked the Mayor out of frustration as he passed. The man’s yelp made him feel better but it wouldn’t quieten the feeling that his well-laid plans were beginning to show cracks.
He checked his watch. Two hours and he would execute the traitor.
Olivia slipped inside an office near the stairwell and pulled out the cell phone. She dialed the number and waited while it rang twice before it was picked up. “Dalton.” She heard the Sheriff’s voice over the line.
“Here Ma’am. Did the pictures help?”
“Absolutely, our EOD guys have got a plan worked out to handle them, you’ve helped a great deal.”
Olivia noticed a pair of sneakers under one of the desks she was pacing past and pumped her fist happily.
Reilly continued, her voice more serious. “What was that text message? What did you mean?”
“I got caught by one of them, we fought, and he lost, I have his weapon and radio. It wasn’t planned but I did what I had to.”
“You ok?” a note of concern crept into the voice on the phone.
Olivia didn’t answer for a moment while she tried on the sneakers. They were a little large, but they would do. “I’ll cry later. I have good news though. I was able to get back to where I’d been held and I have two of them detained up there. Twenty hostages are secure including the AG on the eighth floor, conference room, east wing.”
The line was silent for a moment, Olivia checked she still had a connection. “Ma’am?”
“I said no Buck Rodgers,” the Sheriff replied tersely.
“Roy Rodgers.”
“Whatever,” she sighed. “Thank you… I guess. Please for the love of god, no more. I don’t want you to end up dead in there.”
“What would you do Ma’am?”
“That’s irrelevant. You’re not even back to work yet and you’re going to get yourself killed. I appreciate what you’ve done, but you should do what I say, not what I do.”
She noticed flashlights outside in the corridor coming up the stairs. Olivia smiled in the darkness. “yippee ki-yay Ma’am.”
“I swear to god Dalt…”
Olivia ended the call and tucked herself in against the door. She heard footsteps moving up to the landing and turning down the corridor away from her. She’d heard the radio transmission earlier and she knew they were likely going to check on the ones the ring leader had called Thirteen and Fourteen. She figured Twelve was the man she’d killed on the ground floor. She had their numbers scrawled on the back of her hand. This had to be Nine and Ten.
There was no way she could take two of them in the corridor without shooting, she had to separate them and somehow keep them away from the conference room. An idea began to form in her mind. It bordered on insane, but it might just work.
She ripped the door open and sprinted across the corridor for the stairs. She was making a racket, but she was counting on it. She made sure to drag the rifle barrel against the banister as she descended, the clattering sound drew the attention of the men along the corridor as she’d hoped. The radio chirped. “Got eyes on the runaway hostage, we’re after them.” a voice barked.
Olivia ran down the stairs two at a time. She needed to find a place with enough hiding places that the men would need to split up to find her. She had seen a cafeteria on the third floor she hoped would be her salvation. Reaching the correct landing she slipped through the doorway and sprinted down the corridor into the expansive dining area. Her eyes scanned the interior she’d only briefly noticed earlier.The darkened room could seat perhaps a hundred people at capacity and was filled with chairs and tables. She made for the serving window and threw herself over the counter as the footsteps thundered into the room behind her.
Olivia flattened herself against the metal cabinets as the two men came to a stop in the center of the room.
“Go check the kitchen, I’ll carry on and see if they continued.” one man said to the other. “I’ll radio if I find her.”
“You got it.”
She heard one set of footsteps fade followed by the sound of a door opening and closing. Olivia got low and crawled deeper into the kitchen to find a better ambush location.
The kitchen door swung open and a flashlight played across the polished steel surfaces. Footsteps slapped loudly against the ceramic tile floor as their owner entered the room. Olivia tucked herself into a gap between a cabinet and a massive industrial refrigerator and held her breath. The man walked across the kitchen shining the flashlight back and forth just behind the counter. He was checking under the worksurfaces and any gap he could reasonably imagine a person hiding.
Olivia spotted a rack of utensils to her side and grabbed a spatula. She tossed the object across the room hearing the clang of metal on metal as it struck something in the darkness. The flashlight snapped in the direction of the sound and she pounced. The man was three meters from her when she got a good look at him. He was tall, over six feet. She raised the rifle and jabbed it toward his head. The man’s reactions were fast and he was turning towards her when the rifle came flying at him. It clipped his head along the side a glancing blow that dissipated some of its force. It wasn’t enough to knock him out but it stunned him for a few seconds.
He swung wildly at Olivia, his hand knocking the rifle to the ground with a clatter. Olivia remembered Anderson’s words “use their strength against them.” She ducked low under a wild arm and brought her elbow up into the man’s chin. He staggered back dazed, a look of rage in his face. The man bellowed and charged, she tried to sidestep and aim a kick for his knee but her timing was off and the man knocked her flying.
Olivia smashed head-first into a counter and fell to the floor, pain exploding through her body. The man lept on her before she had a chance to recover and tried to pin her to the ground. Olivia bucked her hips and unsettled the man’s balance. She kicked upwards and connected with his groin. The man groaned and grasped his genitals. Olivia wasted no time and scrambled clear. She made it to her feet in time for the man to recover and squared off facing him.
“You’ve got fucking spirit I’ll give you that,” the terrorist growled. “I’m going to fuck you before I kill you cunt.”
Olivia shook her head and grinned, blood from her lip giving her a manic look. “You’re not my type honey.”
The man started toward her and wound up a well-telegraphed punch. Olivia sidestepped him and twisted her body around grabbing at a plate on the counter. The man turned, just in time to see a ceramic dinner plate flying at his head. The plate connected and the man crumpled to the ground in a heap.
Olivia stood panting for a moment, trying to catch her breath. She wiped at the blood dripping from her chin with the back of her hand. “I really want to make a witty one-liner but I’m too fucking sore,” she muttered under her breath. Pausing, she smirked in the darkness. “Fuck it; Dinner is served asshole.”
Nursing sore ribs and what she expected was going to be a monumental collection of bruises, she zip-tied and gagged the unconscious terrorist.
The radio chirped, “Ten, you got anything? I’m coming back.”
Olivia stared at the radio uncertain of what to do. If the man didn’t receive an answer he would be suspicious and that destroyed her edge. A thought popped into her head and she smiled to herself. Dropping her voice as low as she could, she held the radio behind a row of metal utensils to try and create static and spoke.
“Got her Nine, we’re good here.”
“Got it, coming back.”
He bought it. Olivia grimaced at the voice she’d used and tossed the radio.
When the other terrorist returned to the dining room the way he’d come, he never saw the rifle that hit him in the back of the head.
One of the men came jogging up to Sanderson. “Sir we have a problem.”
“What now?” he snapped.
“I found Twelve, he’s fucking dead sir. Some asshole stabbed him.”
Sanderson cursed. “Who the fuck did that? And why aren’t those idiots answering?
“Sir it’s worse, his weapon and gear are gone.”
Someone had killed one of his men, and now had access to their radios. Had they been listening to them this whole time?
“Where are Nine and Ten?”
The man shook his head and seemed uncertain.
Sanderson held up his radio and pressed the talk button.
“Who out there is running around with one of my radios?”
There was silence on the other end as static hung in the air.
“Answer me god damn it or I’m going to start shooting people.”
There was more static, and then a sultry feminine voice came over the radio’s speaker. Several of the hostages suddenly paid rapt attention to the surprising development.
“Now that’s not a very polite way to get a lady’s attention.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Sanderson seethed.
“Now that would be telling.” said the voice. “I’m sorry we’re not on first-name terms yet. Why don’t you call me… Valkyrie.”
“I’m not playing fucking games with you, give yourself up or I’m going to start executing people.”
The voice sounded playful. “Why would you burn your only resource, Mister Sanderson?” Can’t handle one little girl? I’d think you boys would be more than enough to handle a little kink in your plans. The way I count it, you’re down fourty hostages and five men. I don’t think you can spare any more to come looking for little old me.”
Mike Sanderson felt the blood drain from his face. Five of his men were gone? How? The hostages? How did they know his name? There were too many questions and no way the teasing voice was going to tell him. He glanced around, paranoia growing.
“Look, Mister Sanderson. I’d love to stop and chat but I’ve got an appointment I need to keep, I’m sure you understand.”
“Fuck you cunt, I don’t know who the fuck you are but I’m going to fucking kill you.” he screamed.
The voice was gone, only static remained. Sanderson was livid.
“Did you hear that?” The communications officer asked turning around in his chair. It hadn’t taken the technicians long to scan frequencies within the vicinity and pick up the comms channel the men were using. They’d been vague and indirect until that point, nothing had been given away as though they were aware they could have listened in on.
The SWAT commander took his headset off and smirked.
“Don’t even start Alex.” The Sheriff muttered removing her own.
“That’s quite the little pest you have running around in there.”
“Don’t I know it,” Reilly snapped. “It’s beginning to complicate matters. We’re getting good intel but she can’t seem to keep out of trouble.”
“If five of them are out of action that simplifies matters a lot for my guys. Think we can help them?”
The Sheriff shrugged. “I have absolutely no idea.”
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Life and Love are far more complicated than we can possibly understand. For one young cop, a journey of self-discovery will teach them that true strength was inside them all along.
Olivia smiled and clipped the radio back to the bandolier across her chest. She’d managed to get firmly under Sanderson’s skin. She wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but she’d felt so out of control that she needed to claw something back to give her the confidence to continue. She needed to unsettle him if she was going to stand any chance alone against this army. Men that were off balance made irrational decisions, clear-headed men made smart ones. She didn’t need him to be smart.
What was more important was what he didn’t say. When she suggested he didn’t have men to spare to come after her he hadn’t corrected her. He was stretched thin now and on the back foot. His threat to kill hostages was relatively empty. Now she had to make it entirely flaccid.
She dialed the command center.
“What are you playing at?” The Sheriff barked into the phone.
“Oh, you heard that?” Olivia asked innocently.
“Yes, I damn well heard that, you’re putting people in danger Dalton.”
“They’re already in danger Ma’am, at least now we know enough to do something about it.”
Olivia could hear cogs turning on the other end of the phone. “We’ve identified four rooms we know are holding groups of hostages. I spoke to our EOD guys a few minutes ago. The traps can be disarmed by simply cutting the wire without moving the firing pin. If you can get our guys inside, we can hopefully snatch most of them before they realize what’s going on. If you’re up to it that is?”
Olivia touched her bleeding lip carefully and winced. “Yeah, I can do that.”
After hanging up the phone, Olivia sat silently for a moment. How the hell in her life had she ended up here? How had that shy skinny boy from a year ago found themselves where she was today? She glanced down at her ruined dress and felt a pang of sadness. Tonight was meant to be magical. A chance for her to spend time with Richard and get to know the circles he moved in. Now she was here all by herself. She was in pain and she was tired. Would it all be over soon?
She pulled herself to her feet and lent against the desk for a moment to steady herself. She had a job to do now and she could bring this hell to an end.
Olivia hurried down the stairwell as quietly as she could manage. She was relatively sure the corridors would be clear but it never paid to be reckless. She held the rifle low, ready to use it if she had to, she had a clear objective now and it was time to do her part to make it happen. She wasn’t foolish enough to think she could do this by herself. She might have joked about John McClane but she wasn’t any kind of hero.
Exiting the stairwell on the ground floor she swept the corner with her weapon before entering the long back hallway. They’d identified a service door on the rear of the building and would be waiting for her outside.
Olivia reached the door and checked to see if the coast was clear. Satisfied she was alone, she set her rifle on the ground and crouched by the device attached to the back of the door. She took out her knife and did her best to stabilize the pin on the blasting cap with her fingers. With a deep breath she brought the blade up to the thin line as it glinted in the moonlight. The knife was sharp, but it wasn’t sharp enough. As she applied pressure the wire began to bend against the edge. Olivia grimaced and withdrew the blade.
Steeling herself, she moved her fingers to more firmly grasp the pin and hold it in place. There was a slight tremble in her hand as she brought the knife back up to the wire and began to slide it slowly against the wire. The pin wobbled slightly in her fingers as the tension changed. She felt the first warm prickles of sweat along her hairline as the world seemed to close in around her to this one single task.
“Steady girl,” she whispered to herself, “steady.”
The wire twisted against the blade and began to fray. Her fingers holding the pin were now slick with sweat and she could feel it twisting against her grasp. Withdrawing the blade, she wiped her hands on her dress and started again. She drew the blade against the wire as gently and softly as she could manage and after three more passes, the wire snapped and fell clear.
Olivia released the breath she’d been holding and withdrew her hands slowly as if waiting for the explosion to come. The pin was intact and the wire was cut. She slowly turned the door handle and pushed. The door swung outward slowly and she came face to face with a rifle flashlight.
The weapon swung away and her eyes adjusted enough for her to see again. There were two Swat operators in front of her.
“About time,” she muttered wiping her hands on her dress. “I think I have more respect for the bomb guys now.”
The men moved past her and into the corridor, silently taking up positions facing in both directions. One of the EOD techs moved up and secured the device on the door with tape before withdrawing back outside. She really envied him now.
“Are you ok?” The team leader asked, pulling down his face covering.
Olivia nodded and tugged at her dress sheepishly. She felt suddenly quite silly dressed as she was amongst her colleagues dressed in combat gear.
“Dalton?” the man asked uncertainly.
Olivia flushed and looked away. “Yeah,” she admitted quietly.
The man shrugged and reached into his pack and pulled out a ballistic vest. “Put this on.”
Olivia took off the bandolier she’d been wearing and slipped the vest over her head before fastening it around her torso. She quickly transferred the magazines and radio to the pouches and joined the others in the corridor.
“Third floor, West wing, room eighteen, which way?” the man asked in a whisper.
Olivia pointed down the corridor to her right and fell in behind the team. She felt suddenly far safer with these guys, although she realized she would soon be answering questions earlier than she’d expected. She pushed it to the back of her mind. Now was not the time to concern herself with that nonsense. Until this was over, she didn’t matter.
She guided the team up to the third floor and watched them take position outside the door to the first room that they’d identified. With quick quiet communication, the men kicked the door open and rushed into the room. She heard a flurry of suppressed gunshots from their submachine guns followed by two heavy thumps. There was a ripple of voices and screams that were quickly quietened as hushed orders were given to the hostages inside. A few moments later the team members began to filter back out into the hallway to join her.
“Room one secure.” the leader announced impassionately over his radio. He gave Olivia a curt nod and gestured onward.
Olivia quietly let the men through the silent corridors towards the second and third locations where any resistance was similarly put down by the team’s brutal efficiency. Olivia was in awe of the swat team. These men worked so smoothly and ruthlessly that she felt utterly unworthy standing beside them. Her ruined dress and generally disheveled appearance also made her feel quite vulnerable and self-conscious now she was around other people again. She hadn’t even worried about it earlier. Now she felt like a silly little girl trying to act like an adult.
They arrived on the fifth floor as Olivia guided the team towards the final group of hostages. With the group she had already freed upstairs, this would leave only the seven that were held in the rotunda with Sanderson and his cronies.
One of the operators turned toward Olivia and grinned in the darkness. “The new look suits you, Dalton.”
Olivia squinted at him in the darkness before her eyes went wide. Rory Parker had been one of the department’s training officers when she had first joined and she knew he’d transferred to the swat team the year before. She also knew he was extremely gay. “It’s Olivia now, and no you can’t have the dress.” she fired back quietly. Parker smirked and nodded. The little exchange relieved some of the tension she felt.
The team lined up beside the final door while one of the men fed a fiber optic camera under the bottom next to the carpet. The man indicated positions with his hand. The point man nodded and booted the door. His colleagues flowed past him into the room and shouted orders and screams followed. No gunshots rang out. Olivia moved inside and moved over to kneel down in front of one of the now cuffed and prone terrorists.
She grabbed his jaw and turned his head to face her. “How many of you are there in total?” she growled.
The man spat and cursed at her. “Fuck you bitch.”
Olivia’s face was thunder. She must have made quite a frightful visage after the evening’s festivities but she didn’t care. “Your friends are all dead or under arrest. It’s over now. You can go down with them or you can tell me the fucking truth. Your bullshit ideology doesn’t matter anymore, you failed”
The man glared at her for a moment before seeming to slump in his bonds. “Fifteen,” he admitted sadly.
“I knew you were fucking cowards.” she spat letting the man’s head fall to the floor.
Olivia counted. She’d dealt with five, and this made thirteen. That left only two remaining, Sanderson and one of his men in the rotunda.
“Who are you?”
Olivia snapped around as she heard the scared voice call out to her. A young woman in a pretty dress with wide terrified eyes was staring at her.
Olivia shrugged and sighed. “Nobody important.” she offered quietly. “Nobody at all.”
Parker stepped up beside her and gave her a playful nudge with his elbow. He turned to the hostages and spoke. “This woman has been in here all night alone working to get you all home safe. We’ve had a pool going on her.”
Olivia looked at him with surprise. “A pool?”
“Sure, on how many you’d get.”
“You were at the party?” a man in the back asked uncertainly, regarding her disheveled dress and police armor.
The team leader grinned. “Yeah, she got five of them before we even got here and disarmed a bomb too.”
He turned to his men and gestured for them to prepare to move out. “Folks, stay here and wait for uniformed officers. Please keep your heads down and stay quiet, this will be over shortly.”
Olivia turned to the team leader and touched his arm. “Last two are in the Rotunda with the HVTs.”
The man nodded and cursed in Spanish. “That’s a big open space, no good sightlines.”
Olivia pondered the situation for a moment and had a thought. “I’ve got an idea for the last group, it’s a little unconventional though.”
The radio crackled with a familiar voice. “Are you there Mister Sanderson?”
Mike was pacing in frustration in front of his hostages as time ticked towards zero hour.
“What do you want?”
“I want to give myself up, I’m not willing to risk anyone’s lives.” Olivia admitted more demurely than her earlier teasing tone, trying to inject a little fear into her words.
Sanderson smiled like a crocodile. “Good decision little girl, I was about to put a bullet in some of these assholes if you hadn’t.”
“Where should I go?”
“Come down to the rotunda, first floor. You can’t miss it,” Sanderson ordered. “I don’t want to see any weapons.”
Olivia agreed and ended the transmission. He didn’t need to know she was already on the ground floor only a few dozen meters away. Putting away the radio, she stepped into a nearby bathroom and took off her vest and rifle, leaving them leaning carefully against the wall.
She took in her appearance in the darkened mirror. Her makeup was ruined and her dress was a bloody ripped mess. She was still had her modesty at least, but it was certainly beyond dry cleaning.
Running some water she washed her face and tried to tidy her appearance. It felt extremely vain she realized, but if she was going to die, she wanted to do so with some dignity. A few moments later she appraised her appearance. She looked a lot plainer than her once beautiful makeup had made her look but she felt reasonably human.
Rationalizing she’d stalled long enough, Olivia steeled her nerves and left the bathroom. She walked purposefully along the quiet corridors, now confident she was alone. This night was nearly over and she would either walk out alive or die here, but it would be over.
She allowed the door to close loudly behind her to make sure Sanderson knew she was there before she stepped out into the wide hallway. The broad columned passage led toward the rotunda at the center of the grand building. Olivia stepped out into the open and walked slowly forward with her hands raised. She felt like she was a prisoner walking to her execution chamber.
“I’m here,” she called with more certainty than she felt, her voice echoing off the marble surfaces.
A man was standing over a group of kneeling hostages, his rifle trained casually in their direction.
“Come forward slowly.” another voice called sharply.
Sanderson stepped out from behind a column with the governor in the crook of his arm, a pistol leveled at his head. “No funny business or I blow his brains out.”
Olivia waved her empty hands. “I’m not armed,” she called in a level tone. “I just want to talk.”
“You’re in no position to talk to me bitch. You’ve got nothing I want.”
“It’s not too late to end this peacefully,” she called stepping into the well-lit interior of the rotunda.
Sanderson laughed and pointed the pistol at her. “There will be no peace as long as traitors like this work to destroy our nation. I’m a soldier in a war nobody wants to acknowledge.”
“The gays and immigrants are destroying the state right?” Olivia asked, keen to keep him talking. “Isn’t that a little trite? It’s pretty hard to run a conspiracy while you’re working three jobs and getting your ass kicked.”
Sanderson shook his head. “The liberal elite and trying to destroy American values and replace us with people they think are better than us… people they can control.”
“And you think killing is the answer?” she challenged.
Sanderson seemed satisfied she was unarmed and shoved the Governor away. The man stumbled and fell. He glared at her with undisguised hatred and waved the pistol at her.
“I got thrown out of the Army because I was too patriotic, I wasn’t going to bow to their bullshit sensitivity crap. These fucking assholes brainwashed my kid and made him a fucking faggot. They’re taking everything of our lives and turning it into their idea of a liberal paradise. It’s a damn invasion.” he yelled, his face turning red.
“Your son is gay?”
Sanderson spat. “They brainwashed my baby boy, they ruined a true American man and convinced him he was some sissy faggot. They’re doing it to all our kids, it’s population control.”
Olivia smiled and shook her head. “You’re really that narrow-minded aren’t you?”
Sanderson looked at her with hatred in his eyes.
Olivia stepped forward until she was only meters from him. “I feel sorry for your son. He can’t help who he is. He certainly can’t help who his family is, he doesn’t deserve a father like you. I was afraid I’d get a similar response, but I was far luckier in the end.”
A look of confusion and hatred flashed across Sanderson’s features. “You’re a dyke?”
Olivia shook her head. “No, but I have a lot in common with your boy. I had to come out to my family recently. It was a little different but they accepted me for who I was eventually. It wasn’t perfect but they’re trying their best and it means the world to me. I feel blessed that they were open-minded enough to think about their child first and worry about my hopes and dreams. All my childhood they tried to toughen me up and make me become someone that I wasn’t meant to be. They made a mistake; It took me a long time to realize they were only human and I forgave them.”
“I don’t care what some dyke cunt thinks.” Sanderson spat.
Olivia shook her head and smiled ruefully. “No, I like men actually.”
Sanderson looked confused. “What the fuck are you on about?”
Olivia looked around the room and shrugged lowering her hands. “I was born a…” Olivia had been about to try to reason with the man. Nothing in his eyes conveyed even a moment of doubt over his convictions.
“Oh whatever, doesn’t matter, Surrender now, you’re done.”
Sanderson looked at her as though she was an alien. She could see him trying to process her words. Olivia raised her hands and pointed her hands at both men and formed her fingers into guns.
“Put the guns down and you can live. It’s more than you deserve.”
Sanderson laughed out loud. “What? You going to shoot me?”
Olivia nodded and glanced at the other man who was now paying her rapt attention. “Yes actually.”
Mike Sanderson stared at the creature in front of him and spat on the floor. “You’re a freak and you’ll burn in hell,” he yelled and raised the pistol.
Olivia shrugged and fired her finger guns.
Both men crumpled to the ground as bullets struck their bodies.
Olivia raised both barrels to her lips and blew away imaginary smoke.
The hostages stared at her in confusion. Nothing that had happened made sense.
Ropes dropped around the perimeter of the rotunda and black-clad men slid deftly down from the balcony above. Both terrorists were secured and the hostages were cut free.
Olivia turned to the team leader and extended a hand. “Your timing was impeccable.”
The man shook her hand and grinned. “That was quite some performance.”
Olivia shrugged and inclined her head, “I suppose I’m quite used to the stage.”
The man’s darker features took a more serious expression. “Look, I don’t know everything that’s going on with you, but for what it’s worth, we got you ok?”
Olivia smiled at the man and touched his arm.
The Governor came over to her as he rubbed his recently freed wrists. “Who exactly are you?” he asked cautiously. “Were you the one they kept talking about?”
Olivia nodded. “I’m just a girl that was in the right place at the wrong time.”
The team leader shook his head and put his arm around Olivia’s shoulders. “Sir, this is Deputy Dalton, she saved all your lives.”
Officers started to fill the building as bomb technicians defused the door traps. People flooded around them in a surreal bustle of activity. The Governor extended his hand to Olivia.
“If you did half as much as I think, you have my most sincere gratitude. You’re an incredible woman.”
Olivia shook her head and looked away. “I just wanted to live sir.”
City Hall became a hive of activity as the Emergency Services descended on the building in the aftermath of the incident. Hostages were transferred to medical care and the surviving suspects were taken away by the police for processing. Once quiet hallways had become choked with people and noise as the authorities began the difficult process of unraveling the evening’s events and creating a timeline to answer questions that would surely be asked in the coming months.
Much to her protest, Olivia had been checked over by paramedics on the orders of one of the sergeants handling the scene on the ground. They had eventually released her with only minor injuries. She had been desperate to find Richard when she was able to get out of the building but found the task frustratingly difficult. Nobody she spoke to as she moved through the crowd of hostages seemed to have seen him or knew where he was.
Olivia slumped down on the edge of a flowerbed on the front steps of the grand building and rested her head in her hands. She was more tired than she realized. The night had been long; it was just after two in the morning and the place was busier than daytime. Fear she realized, used more of one's energy than any physical exertion ever could. Her body shook as she cried. The sum total of her emotions washing over her like wave breaking against the shore. The events of the evening had taken her to a breaking point. One she hadn’t known existed beyond her old limits. A part of her knew that Harry wouldn’t have made it this far, but Harry was gone now for good.
She felt an arm wrap around her shoulders from the side and looked up startled. The Sheriff was sitting beside her.
She wiped her eyes and sat up more straight. “Sorry Ma’am.”
Reilly shook her head. “Sometimes we need to let it all out, it rots our brains if we keep it in. Crying is cathartic,” Reilly explained kindly. “You don’t feel brave, but you are. Bravery isn’t trying to be strong, or intending to do something heroic. It’s doing the right thing, even when you’re terrified.”
“I’m sorry I caused such a pain,” Olivia offered weakly.
Reilly smiled and patted the girl’s shoulder. “You’re ok. Truth be told, I’d have done the exact same thing if I were in your shoes, only I’d have caused a far bigger mess.”
“You would?”
The sheriff chuckled, “sure would. Now you don’t go telling people any of that ok?”
“No Ma’am.”
“Enough of that kid, it’s Kate.”
Olivia nodded. “I still can’t believe I did this. I’m not even back yet.”
Reilly laughed. “I always had the same problem before I became Sheriff. I’d get up to all sorts of shit when I wasn’t meant to.”
She looked off into the distance and smiled almost whistfully, remembering old times. Her expression turned more serious and she turned to look at Olivia.
“You were a very different person in there tonight.” she observed. “You’re not the young green cop that I visited in hospital anymore.”
Olivia shook her head. “No, I’m not.”
“You did yourself some favors tonight. Nobody’s going to say a word against you now.”
“That wasn’t why I did it.” Olivia protested.
“I didn’t say you did, and they all know it.”
Olivia looked at the older woman and smiled her thanks.
Reilly paused as her radio chirped in her ear. She listened for a moment and smiled. “I think Anderson found someone you were looking for.” she grinned.
“Richard?” Olivia asked hopefully, her heart quickening, “he’s ok?”
The Sheriff smiled. “Yeah, he’s fine, They’re at the command post, go on.”
Olivia took off running. The Sheriff smiled as she ran through the crowd. She remembered that feeling, it felt like a lifetime ago.
Olivia dodged and weaved and ducked past the hoard of bodies clogging the area outside City Hall. It seemed like everyone had to be there at that moment doing absolutely nothing but get in her way. She didn’t care about her dress or her hair or anything beside reaching the man she’d left behind in that conference room.
Olivia spotted Anderson stood beside a man that looked a lot like Richard. He was facing away from her, talking to her partner. She saw Anderson notice her and point to the man, he turned and she recognised his face.
Olivia ran on, desperate to reach him, it felt like a thousand years had passed since she had last been with him. Richard opened his arms and she lept at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. She wrapped her legs around his waist and clung to him like a liferaft. He kissd her with such passion she thought her heart would stop beating. Her head was light and she felt dizzy, she was glad she wasn’t standing.
After what felt like an eternity, Richard pulled back smiling and brushed her hair from her eyes. Olivia stared dumbly at him, a silly grin on her lips.
“Hi.”
“Hi yourself.” Richard laughed.
Olivia could hear clapping. She glanced around for the first time seeing the world outside of her and Richard. Officers and fire fighters were clapping and smiling. It seemed like everyone had stopped and were enjoying their moment. Olivia detangled herself from Richard and brushed her hair behind her ears and stood nervously, flushing at the attention she was receiving. She didn’t let go of Richard’s hand the entire time.
People just stood, what they were doing forgotten, and clapped. Olivia had no way of knowing that what she had done inside had become widely known by her colleagues. Some didn’t know who she was, many did, but they knew she had been the one that had made the difference there that night.
“I think I need to go give a statement.” Olivia muttered to Anderson, shrinking under the attention.
Anderson shook her head. “Sheriff’s waved that off, She’ll send someone over tomorrow. She figures you need some rest, wanna go home?”
Olivia glanced at Richard and smiled. “Yes, I think I do.”
Extracting themselves from the crowd of onlookers, Olivia was able to dodge a lot of the attention directed her way by her colleagues and the media. Anderson led the two of them to a cruiser and drove them away from the madness that had overtaken downtown.
It was just before three when they were dropped off at their apartment. Neither had said a word as they rode the elevator up to their floor and entered the familiar surroundings of their home. Richard simply held Olivia’s hand and led her to the bedroom.
Olivia glanced up at the handsome man before her. Her body trembled more than it ever had in her life. She wasn’t sure if it was residual fear or fresh desire. Richard reached behind her and slowly unzipped her tattered and bloody dress. The dress fell to the floor, forgotten.
Richard stroked Olivia’s cheek gently, his fingers tracing the edge of her bruised lip. His eyes were full of love and sorrow.
“I thought I would lose you.” Richard whispered, his hands caressing her bare arms. “I Didin’t know if life would be worth living.”
Olivia stared into his eyes as she unbuttoned his shirt. Her heart was beating so hard she thought it would break free from her chest. Her breath was short and heavy, she ran her hand up his chest and felt his own heart beating.
“I did it for you.” she whispered. “I would face an an army for us.”
“You already did.” Richard smiled. Without further word, he lifted her up and carried her to the bed.
Olivia sat behind the wheel of her truck in the parking lot for thirty long minutes unable to leave the vehicle. She’d been offered further time off after the events of the previous Friday, but she’d turned it down. She knew it was time enough to face the music, it was now or never. Somehow the theory had all been well and good until she arrived at the station parking lot.
She knew that a lot of her colleagues were aware of who she was now, it wasn’t the introduction she would have wanted but it was done. She stared at her hands on the wheel in front of her and gripped it tighter until her knuckles changed color. What was she afraid of? Why was this so hard?
She knew that from the moment she walked through those doors her life would resume where it had left off so long ago. She’d started along this path long before that fateful summer day, but for some reason, it had all felt so reversible then. Like it was something she could slide in or out of at will. She knew it wasn’t, but the truth was that life wasn’t rational in the slightest. The last six months had almost felt like a dream; someone else's life that she had gotten to experience for a brief while. It had been a break from her miserable life where she could be anyone. Returning to work meant the dream was over. Just what would the real world bring her?
There was a soft knock on the driver's window that stirred her from her thoughts. Kelly Anderson grinned back at her from behind the glass. Olivia shook her head and hopped down from the cab with a sigh.
“Contemplating your existence?” The redhead observed handing her a coffee cup. “I figured you’d need one of these.”
Olivia shouldered her bag and took the cup with a nod, “It feels super real now.”
Her partner looked her up and down with a raised eyebrow. Even dressed down in jeans and a teeshirt, Olivia didn’t look remotely like Harry once had.
“Blondie, it’s been real the entire time and you’ve handled it like a pro. Most of them know already thanks to your antics on Friday, so what’s the deal?”
Olivia sipped the coffee to buy herself time before she answered. “I just don’t want them to hate me,” she admitted quietly.
“Nobody’s going to hate you, honey,” a voice added from over her shoulder. Olivia turned and smiled weakly at Abigail.
Kelly shook her head and put her arm around her friend and began guiding them toward the station. She could feel the nervous tension in the girl’s body the entire time. Olivia was acting like it was her final walk to the execution chamber, each foot placed deliberately in front of the other.
They rounded the corner and made their way toward the front steps, Olivia focusing most of her attention on her coffee cup unable to look up. Two blacked-out SUVs were parked in the visitor bays at the front of the building. As they approached, the doors opened and a large group of men in blue utility uniforms disembarked and approached the group.
Olivia looked up uncertainly at the men blocking their path. She recognized the patch on their sleeves, they belonged to the city’s Swat team. She glanced at their faces and recognized the men she’d been with at City Hall.
The Latino team leader grinned and gestured at his men, “we thought you’d like some backup for your first day back at work.”
Olivia glared at Kelly who held her hands up in protest. “Not my idea Blondie.”
The leader extended his hand, “Alex Sanchez. Look, the boys and I respect what you did Friday. What you did took a lot of guts and you were pretty kickass in there. Anderson filled us in on what today means to you and we all wanted to walk in with you. For support, you know?”
“Why?” Olivia frowned looking around the group. “I’m a nobody, I’m certainly not a hero. I know I’m going to face a ton of crap for simply existing and I want to keep my head down and get the worst over today ok?”
Parker laughed, “Do you really think you can keep your head down looking like that?” Olivia blushed and looked away.
One of the guys she didn’t know by name spoke up and elbowed Parker, “Hey we all consider you our unofficial mascot after the City Hall job, even Parker’s considered changing sides.”
“Not a chance at all of that ever happening, even for her.” Taylor snickered elbowing Parker. “This guy is almost too gay to function.”
“Don’t make fun of me.” Olivia winced.
Abigail shook her head and smiled gently, “We’re not honey, we’re just trying to make you feel better.”
“Come on,” Kelly tugged at Olivia’s arm. “Let’s go, we’ve got your back.”
Olivia ascended the steps with her honor guard in tow. As much as she protested, she was glad she wasn’t doing this alone. The group entered the lobby and made their way through to the squad room. It didn’t take long for people to notice her presence.
The clapping started quickly and grew to a crescendo as it seemed as though most of the station had crammed into the open-plan space. Everywhere she looked, people were smiling at her and clapping.
Olivia stood frozen in the center of the crowd. She didn’t know what to do or think. She’d played through so many scenarios in her mind and this hadn’t been on the list at all. Her entire plan had been to try to not draw attention and hope she was able to slowly become a part of the furniture. If people found out or made the connection, she’d hoped they might know her better by then. She hadn’t planned to be the focus of attention, and certainly not an apparently positive one.
“Decided to finally join us for work huh?”
Olivia turned to see the Sheriff had appeared nearby, a sly grin on her lips. “Back to work everyone, the show’s over. You’ve all got things to do and if you don't, I’ll find you some.”
As the grass grows, night falls, and waves crash against the shore, the prospect of more work elicits a rapid response from employees around the world. Before long, hurried normality returned to the squad room.
Reilly turned to the group and folded her arms. “Now the appreciation party is over, I expect you wish you’d taken the time I offered you.”
Olivia shook her head, “No Ma’am. It’s been long enough, I just want to get back to work.”
The Sheriff nodded and her expression softened. “It’s good to have you back. Perhaps this was a good idea. I think your shenanigans at city hall may have overridden any drama about your change of appearance.”
She looked at the Swat team members and rolled her eyes. “I’m sure she appreciates your support, but I’m well aware you have better things to be doing. You hang around much longer and I’ll go find some pom poms for you.”
Sanchez gave the Sheriff a nod and led his men back out to their SUVs. As each man passed, they clasped Olivia’s shoulder. The Sheriff watched with an amused expression on her face. “I think you’ve got some hardcore fans there. Those guys are hard to impress.”
Olivia nodded, “They’re good people.”
“You lot get off and get in uniform, you’ve got patrol briefing in fifteen minutes.” The Sheriff chided shaking her head. “I swear I feel like a school teacher here sometimes,” she muttered as she walked away to look for someone making a mistake.
“Yes, Miss.” Anderson chuckled as she steered Olivia away before the Sheriff could react. The three women made their way through the hallways toward the locker rooms to change into their duty uniforms. Arriving, Olivia froze for a moment, a sudden wave of uncertainty hitting her as she stared at the door to the once-forbidden place.
Anderson looked at her sideways, “What?”
“Should I?” Olivia asked uncertainly glancing at the door. “I mean, is it ok?”
“You want to change with the guys?” Taylor smirked. “I mean I’m sure they’d be ok with it.”
Olivia shook her head. “No I mean… is it ok?”
Anderson finally understood and shook her head, “yeah of course it’s ok. Get in there dumbass,” she added shoving her in the back.
Olivia crossed the threshold and entered the women's locker room with a bump. It was identical to the men’s for the most part, although it did smell far better she noted. There really was no difference beyond that. A couple of women from her shift were in the latter stages of changing and didn’t pay her much attention beyond a glance toward the newcomers.
“Your locker’s here.” Kelly gestured towards a row identical to the men’s lockers. “Sarge assigned it last night.”
Olivia dumped her bag on the bench and glanced around uncertainly.
“Get on with it Blondie, you don’t have much I don’t.” the redhead leered suggestively.
Olivia shrugged and pulled her shirt off and began to unbutton her jeans. She paused shyly, before shrugging and pushing them down.
“God damn,” Kelly grinned in a similar state of undress. “I’m actually jealous.”
Olivia smiled slightly and started to pull on her uniform. Kelly had given her one of her spare vests the night before. She was glad, as it fitted her new shape far better than her old one ever had. Finally fastening her duty belt, she turned toward one of the mirrors on the end wall of the locker room and regarded herself.
Her blonde hair wasn’t long enough to put up yet, but she wore it neatly behind her ears out of the way. There were small simple studs in her ears, and her makeup was light and within regulation. For the first time in her life, she felt right in the uniform. She smiled at her reflection in the glass and knew it was real.
“Not bad at all Liv,” Taylor remarked from over her shoulder, “not bad at all.”
“Come on Blondie, we’re going to be late.” Kelly chided, slapping her backside. “Let’s go.”
To say Olivia felt awkward walking into the briefing room was an understatement. That entire morning had been an exercise in self-control to prevent her from running screaming from the building. No matter what she told herself, or how people reacted, she was tensed to receive a poor response at any moment. The only thing that flashed through her mind was the anger on her brother Mark’s face, his words, and his hatred.
She followed the others through to the briefing room. It reminded her a lot of a classroom in many ways, there were desks, chairs and a board at the front. High school certainly hadn’t been kind to her, it was almost fitting that she was here again. Taylor took her seat a little further back with the other training officers for the shift, and Olivia followed Kelly to a seat roughly half way up the room.
Olivia tried to keep her head down and her eyes toward the front of the room to avoid directly engaging anyone. She had noticed some looks directed her way, though she couldn’t tell if people simply didn’t recognize her yet, or had already caught on. Unlike high school, she knew adults would keep most of their thoughts to themselves within earshot.
“Dalton right?” a voice asked as Olivia heard a chair being pulled out beside her. Glancing over she saw one of the women from the locker room, Hernandez, taking a seat alongside them. She nodded.
“You change shift?” she asked brightly, “Surprised you’re working after Friday.”
“Um, no,” Olivia muttered quietly. “I just want to get back to work, been off too long already.”
The woman frowned, unsure what she meant before the penny dropped. “Oh, you’re the one that got hurt in that robbery right? I coulda sworn you were a guy.”
Olivia cringed and nodded slightly, unable to meet the woman’s gaze.
“Ah,” Hernandez chuckled, “I see.”
Kelly chose that moment to step in, she’d noticed the conversation around the room had quietened once Hernandez had spoken. “Yeah she’s joined the better team, problem?”
“Wait that was a dude I was beating off to all weekend?” One of the guys at the back of the room laughed, “Man, fuck!” a ripple of chuckles spread around the room and Olivia hung her head.
Hernandez turned and raised an eyebrow at the deputy, “MacDonald, you’ll beat yourself raw to anything that looks like her, once you can shave your palms of course.”
The room broke into rawcus laughter. Hernandez squeezed Olivia’s shoulder, “Ignore the boys, they’re assholes. They wouldn’t joke if they actually didn’t like you. I don’t think anyone can say anything bad after City Hall. Plus we can chalk that one up as a win for the ladies so we good.” she added conspiratorially.
Olivia let herself relax, “Thanks I guess, I just want to get on with the job, you know? I don’t want to make a fuss.”
The woman nodded, “Yeah all good, bit weird for some but this is LA, shit happens. Just don’t go perving in the locker room ok?”
Kelly snorted, “She’s bagging a sexy lawyer man, she’s not on your team Hernandez.”
The latina raised an eyebrow and smirked.
Their conversation was interrupted by the entry of the watch commander. Lieutenant Wilcox ignored the bustle of conversation and took the podium at the front of the room. “Alright calm down.” he barked silencing them all. “We picked up seven burglaries from night shift and two muggings, that’s going to be you Willard and Carter, I want Heston, Martins and Adams on the burglaries, Anderson and Dalton, you two are on area three today, Wilson and Mar…” The older man trailed off and looked at his notes before looking up at the room again searching around. “Dalton?”
Olivia flushed bright red, “Sir?”
“I…” Wilcox muttered to himself for a moment, “Ah yes, you’re…”
“She’s the badass bitch that saved the Governor on Friday,” Kelly called out.
The Lieutenant seemed to put two and two together, “Ah yes, thank you.” he coughed frowning at his notes.
As Wilcox continued with his briefing, Olivia glanced around the room. She knew that they knew, but nobody was making a scene; she could be thankful for that atleast. As old man Wilcox prattled on about a new outreach program she relaxed and watched her colleagues. Regardless of what they said, she was here and she had the support of the department. She could handle some flack, hell it was part of being a cop. She had her friends, and she knew that a lot of people respected her after what she’d done. She just hoped that it would be enough to override their other feelings with regard to her gender. With her friends around her she could cope, and that would hopefully be enough. She would prove herself to her doubters, and she would show them she was a great cop. She knew who she was, and she knew the people that mattered in her life did too. They’d get used to her, and if they didn’t, that was their problem.
Olivia Evelyn Dalton was just another Deputy Sheriff working the streets of Los Angeles. In their car, it was just her and Kelly. They laughed, they cried, and they chased bad guys. Olivia was home.
Sunset was falling as the waves crashed against the shore of Venice Beach. Amber light glinted off the water as Olivia paddled hard through the waves toward deeper water. Surfing was a glorious escape from the pressures of daily life in Los Angeles. Out here was about as close as she could get to her native Montana; a wild lonely beautiful place that she missed dearly. Out on the waves she was alone in nature’s grasp even as she looked inland towards the city's concrete sprawl. Turning on her board, she dug hard as the wave rose behind her. Catching its leading edge, she stood with practiced ease as her board began to dip as the wave swelled around her.
The ride was always exhilarating, the natural power of the ocean harnessed briefly as she raced towards the shore. Like life, it was fleeting and over before you really knew it. Olivia stood in the shallows after the wave deposited her on the shore. She pushed her hair out of her face and straightening her bikini top. Glancing at the sun she calculated she had at least one more wave before she had to head back to real life.
Slinging the board ahead of her, she began to paddle back out towards deeper water. Surfing was something she had picked up when she first got to LA for college. She was fresh from the mountains and valleys of Montana and the ocean provided one of the few escapes from the noise and vibrance of college life.
She sat astride her board taking in the wild beauty of the ocean. A lot had changed since she first left the mountains of home. That shy uncertain kid that had been the butt of so many jokes and ass kickings hadn’t known who they were. They’d moved away from a darkness that had been there all along and they’d tried to fit into a different, but still unfitting shoe. She didn’t understand why she’d made the choices she had, but she was certain of one thing. Her life was only just beginning. The darkness was gone now and instead, it was filled with the light of possibility. She had absolutely no idea what she would face in the future, but she was sure she would enjoy the ride.
“Just can’t face going back in huh?” a familiar voice called from a short distance away.
Olivia opened her eyes and glanced back over her shoulder. A man was paddling out to catch one last wave too. She smiled, “hey baby”
The man paddled his board over to her and sat facing her. “Hi yourself.”
Olivia took Richard’s head in her hands and kissed him deeply, tasting the salt on his lips. Her heart lept, and her spirit sang.
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*CRACK* the rifle jumped into my shoulder as my finger caressed the hair trigger. Through the telescopic lens I could see a perfect circle intersecting the two already on the bulls’ eye down range.
“Awesome shooting Mike,” chuckled Sergeant Harry Thompson beside me as he observed the holed target at the 500m line through his binoculars.
“Oh it’s nothing really,” I grinned, rolling onto my side and resting my head on my hand. “Someone’s got to be this good.”
“Sure.” Harry grinned. “They need somewhere to keep that ego.”
Throwing an empty ammunition carton at him, I stood and collected my equipment. It was early evening on the second Monday of the month, and as usual we had spent the day on the ranges outside London training. The door kickers, the men in the unit who’s job it was to enter hostile buildings, were working on room clearance on the other side of the training area, according to the infrequent bursts of popping gunfire, and aside from myself and Harry, 8 other sniper teams had been practicing on the 1000 yard range. Harry and myself had spent an extra hour on the range in the growing twilight, we were perfectionists, and I always tried to practice in as adverse conditions as possible. Nut jobs with guns rarely waited till it was calm and sunny.
Zipping up my rifle bag, I slipped it over my shoulder and followed my spotter out towards the car park.
“You coming out for a beer with the off duty team later?” Harry asked looking over at me.
“Maybe,” I murmured chewing my lip. “I figured I’d just stay in tonight,” I said with a non-committal shrug.
“You never come out mate. You got a bird on the side you ain’t telling us about?” He probed jokingly. “She must be fucking hot to keep you away from us.”
“Yeah, 5’10, Swedish, blonde, great rack,” I laughed. “If only…. maybe some other time Harry.”
Harry leant against the roof of his Car and looked at me or a moment before shaking his head and slipping into the driver’s seat.
“See you tomorrow Mike,” he waved as he drove off.
I stood for a moment in the growing dark, before shaking myself mentally and slipping the gun case into the boot of my unmarked police car and slipping behind the wheel.
I made the drive back into London on autopilot; the roads were quiet after the evening rush to leave the metropolis. I arrived back at New Scotland Yard without much trouble and returned my rifle and ammo to the armoury before changing into my jeans, polo shirt and jacket and slipping out of the station and onto the streets.
I had loved the work at first. It had been a pleasure to make a difference to the community… or so I thought. Policing didn’t really involve much actual crime solving, or helping of the innocent. Looking back, I think I had imagined the force as some sort of institutionalised super hero club; protecting the innocent and hunting down the guilty… Not quite reality.
I had joined the police straight out of 6th form: Fresh faced and eighteen years old, I’d gone into the Met to protect and serve, as the saying goes. After four years on the beat, I applied to the firearms unit and after an inordinate amount of vetting, shrinks and tests, I was accepted. I had shown exceptional promise in my training. Almost immediately I had been trained to become a marksman. I wasn’t some American redneck that grew up with a gun in my cradle, but I had a natural ability: An ironic talent for the son of a green peace activist and her City Stockbroker husband.
I made my way off the dark windy streets into the hot, bright caverns of the London Underground at St James Street and fought my way down into the hive of tunnels. It was after rush hour, so there was less of a crowd in subterranean London, but it was by no means quiet. I silently made my way, ignoring those around me as they followed suit. Two changes later, I was breathing in the moist cold surface air in Battersea Park. The car fumes made a pleasant change to the warm dry air below ground. A brisk walk later, and I was climbing the stairs to my apartment.
I owned the place; my parents had bought it for me when I left school so I could ‘make a go of it’. It had been my first place away from home, and I had felt quite alone… Shortly after moving in, I had advertised for roommates to occupy the two spare bedrooms in the place. I didn’t need help with the rent… there wasn’t any, but the money certainly helped with my pitiful Officer’s salary. My roommates were quite interesting characters. I had met Becky in a bar shortly after moving in. We had got on like a house on fire, but not in the sexual way. We seemed to click as friends, much to my dismay. She had confessed that she was looking for a new place, and my offer had been readily accepted. She was a perky little brunette, the sort of girl that was perpetually on a sugar high. Her enthusiasm was infectious; making her excel in her chosen profession as fitness instructor at a swanky city health club. The depressing thing was she probably made more than me. Pete was a stockbroker like my father, considerably lower on the tree however. He had studied at Oxford and had the air of public school boy about him. He had seen my advert in the paper, and had never looked back. He was the type of City processional that was native to London; perfect suit, receding short cropped hair, late 20s and air of confidence. The three of us got on surprisingly well.
I shoved the door closed behind me with a foot, dumping my keys on the sideboard and throwing my jacket near the coat rack.
“Uh-oh, he’s home.” Becky announced poking her head above the back of the Sofa. “Fun day?”
I shrugged noncomittally as I walked past her into the kitchen to get myself a beer out of the fridge. Walking back, I slumped into one of the chairs and opened my beer, taking a long drink of the cold liquid, flushing the dusty air-conditioning taste of the tube out of my mouth.
“It was range day, of course I had fun,” I replied sarcastically. “You know I like getting paid to shoot stuff.”
Becky chuckled as she flipped the page of her book. She was dressed as usual at home, in her shorts and a vest, cross legged on the sofa. “So you keep telling me Mr Oswald,” she grinned impishly.
“Knock it off you.” I replied shaking my head. “Anything fun in endorphin land?
Becky proceeded to tell me all about the clients she had coached that day, and the different bits of celebrity gossip she had heard. I tuned out slightly, all the while nodding politely and drinking my beer.
Pete got home about an hour later and proceeded to inform me of the vital goings on in the money world. He was a nice guy, but very wrapped up in his job. As he told me about the value of the dollar relative to the euro and what it meant to potatoes, Becky feigned a suicide attempt and it was all my bodily control to not laugh. Pete still noticed, and with the practiced ease of three friends, knew exactly who to aim his cushion at. The indignant squeak that followed the impact proved the last nail in my coffin and I burst out laughing. After a series of repeats and increasingly dull quiz shows I was yawning, so dragging myself off the sofa I bid my roommates goodnight and retired to my room: Sleep was fitful.
I woke the next morning to the radio alarm blaring out some mindless poppy tune by some other clone. Blearily, I dragged my feet from under the covers and sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes: I hated mornings. Reaching out, I slapped the alarm and made my way into the bathroom. The sight that greeted me in the mirror dragged me back to the land of the living almost instantly. I looked like I’d gone 20 rounds with an assortment of garden tools and lost, my hair was beginning to make its way past my collar in terms of length; when it was tamed. At the moment however it stuck out in every direction resembling some sort of afro.
I rubbed my chin thoughtfully for a moment, screwing up my face with annoyance when I realised I was rubbing smooth skin for the 4th day in a row…. When was I going to get some damn stubble? I was 24 for god’s sake! I was sick of being considered the baby of the unit, even guys who were younger than me called me the baby!
“Oh well, at least I SHAVE ten minutes off my bathroom time.” I chuckled to myself as I climbed into the shower and turned on the water, wincing as the cold water hit my body.
Shortly after, I felt refreshed and clean, and made my way back into my room to dress. Pulling on yesterday’s jeans and a new tee shirt, I grabbed my jacket and shoved my feet into the same worn trainers before heading out to forage for breakfast.
Becky was in the Kitchen when I surfaced.
“Hey, Morning,” she beamed with incomprehensible perkiness. She was wearing her running gear, the sweat marks suggesting she had just returned.
“When am I going to get you to join me huh?” she mock scolded with a hand on her hip. “You know you could use some bulking up,” she grinned slyly.
“Lay off and pass the coffee,” I growled with as much menace as I could muster..
Chuckling, Becky shoved the coffee pot across the table towards me. “So why are you in a good mood today?”
“I didn’t sleep too well,” I murmured into my coffee.
“It happens,” Becky agreed. “Look, I gotta jet, hon, See you after work?” she called cheerily bouncing out of the kitchen without waiting for an answer.
“Sure, Becky,” I mumbled to myself as I dumped my now empty mug on the worktop; I’d wash it later. Grabbing my jacket, I collected my keys on the way out the door and jogged down the stairs out onto the street. A tube ride later, I was walking through the main doors of New Scotland Yard, the Home of the Metropolitan Police Force.
The building didn’t feel like a police station in the classical sense… I had moved around several stations in the London area during my time on the beat, but nothing quite compared to the bureaucratic grandeur of New Scotland Yard. It was a tower block by any other name, a great steel clad monstrosity in the centre of London. It didn’t feel like a police station, it didn’t even have cells! I caught the elevator up to the 3rd floor, where the firearms team head offices were. The ready teams usually stayed around the armoury in the basement or out around London in patrol cars, but off rotation officers, and supporting specialties like myself kept ourselves to ourselves in the suite assigned to the Unit.
The elevator was full of white shirted officers, not one stab vests or set of body armour here save the guard on the door … Dress uniforms and pressed shirts filled NSY’s halls. I felt rather under dressed wearing my tee shirt and jeans. We did have standards … somewhere …. But the firearms team was more relaxed in our formalities unless under inspection, or for special occasions. We did our jobs, and we did them well, there was little point in the off teams wearing their jumpsuits or dress uniforms all day.
I walked through the door into the office and after nodding to Janice, the boss’s assistant, slunk away to my desk in the far corner.
I had loved this job, but it wasn’t everything. I hated the down time when I wasn’t on rotation. It wasn’t living…
It was midmorning when Janice knocked on the divider of my cubicle, I had been reviewing a shooting the previous week. I hadn’t known the officer that pulled the trigger, but I knew of his unit.
“Sergeant Cohen, The boss wants to see you… you got your uniform handy? There’s some bloke with him…” She trailed off nodding in the direction of Chief inspector Farvey’s office.
“Sure thing Janice.” I sighed reluctantly. The boss calling you by name wasn’t ever good…. “How long have I got?” I asked hopefully.
“Minus 5 minutes.” She hissed vanishing again.
“Shit.” I swore and began to drop my pants in my cubicle, praying she didn’t come back.
Three minutes later, I was knocking on the Chief Inspector’s door.
“Come in,” came the muffled reply.
I opened the door, straightening my tie with one hand. “You asked to see me sir?”
“Come in Cohen, You aren’t in trouble, don’t look so worried. How was Bisley yesterday?” smiled Chief Inspector Farvey broadly.
He never asked how range time went … he never smiled … who the fuck was the plain looking man sat at his desk who was now regarding me intently …. 3 questions I really did not want to know the answer to.
“Fine sir, but I don’t like the new batch of lapuas, you ought to send them back.”
“Good good, I’ll make a note.” He smiled, clasping his hands in front of himself on the desk top and flexing his crossed fingers.
“This, Sergeant Cohen, is Mr Benton. He works for the foreign office … and was wondering if you could spare him a few hours for some questions?”
This had brain crippling waste of time written all over it…
“Yes sir, not a problem, ah, where?” I asked sheepishly. The man, Benton nodded at the boss and stood, turning to face me. Straightening his suit jacket, he stuck out a hand in greeting.
“Chris Benton.” He smiled politely, grasping my hand firmly. “I’ve heard a lot about you Michael.
“All good I hope.” I smiled politely, hoping this civil servant tosspot would hurry up and get to the point. “What is it you need?”
He looked at the boss, who nodded. “Get your things Sergeant, we are going for a drive.”
I shrugged, and smiled, “I’ll just get my Uniform Jacket, excuse me.” I replied, turning to the boss. “Sir,” I intoned before exiting the office.
Before the door had closed, Harry accosted me from behind.
“What was that about?” he asked.
“Some foreign office lackey wants to take up my afternoon.” I grumbled. “Can’t fucking wait … Anyway, how do you know? You probing Janice for information again?”
“Not at this moment.” Harry grinned, waggling his eyebrows.
I just rolled my eyes and collected my jacket and phone before returning to the boss’s office, where Mr Benton was waiting for me.
“Ready?” he smiled.
“Sure, can you tell me what this is about though?” I asked as we left the suite.
He hesitated for a moment. “Yes, but can it wait till we get to the car?”
I shrugged, and we boarded the lift down to the garage level.
There was a green Focus parked at the end of the garage, as we existed the lift, the car purred to life and slowly pulled up in front of us.
After waiting for me to get into the car, Mr Benton circled around and took a seat next to me.
“Back to Vauxhall Cross Mr Benton?” asked the driver,
“Yes, Martins, but take a scenic route.”
That name rang a bell… but I wasn’t sure why.
“So, to the point,” announced Mr Benton with a new sternness he had previously masked. “Michael Cohen, Sergeant Met firearms team, 24 years of age, you share an apartment in Battersea with two friends, good grades in school, joined the force in 2003, 4 years rotating around inner London Stations, before finally qualifying for the firearms team in 07 where you graded Advanced marksman … need I go on or do you get the point?”
“You have read my file,” I stated bluntly.
“That I have, but we have done more than that Mr Cohen. “I work for the Secret Intelligence Service, I have been sent here today to ask you for your help, we have a situation, and your … particular skill set would be of value to us.”
The news hit me like a brick to the stomach. I had been selected by Mi6 …. To do something…. I didn’t really care what, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be involved.
“I see,” I replied, my poker face lying horrendously. “What about my skill set?”
A slight smirk crossed Mr Benton’s lips momentarily. “Your experience with long range rifles Sergeant”
I chewed this information over in my mind. What could they want me for? Well no, that seemed painfully obvious, but why seemed more pertinent, to do what? For whom?
“I’m not killing anyone,” I stated firmly. “I don’t care what they did.”
Mr Benton regarded me for a moment, before smiling slightly, “Oh no Mr Cohen, You misunderstand me. We want you to teach one of our agents …. Teach them how to do what you do.”
I sighed inwardly, this wasn’t what I was expecting, and to be honest, the idea almost tempted me.
“What would you need from me? I mean specifically?” I asked slowly, careful not to agree to anything yet.
Benton waved a hand dismissively. "They can shoot, of course, but they require some coaching in the finer aspects …. How you behave, how you would BE a sniper, so that anyone who interacted with them, in that capacity, would basically take them as they appear … Need I remind you that should you turn this down, you will be required to sign the official secrets act regarding this discussion …” he continued raising his eyebrows.
I looked out of the car window for a moment, we had just passed the Tate Modern gallery and the car was heading across Vauxhall Bridge. I turned to Benton, “I don’t get to sleep on this do I?” I asked, knowing the answer before I the question left my lips.
“Regardless, I’m in, but,” I said holding up a finger to emphasise my point, “I reserve the right to tell you if your agent doesn’t make the grade.”
Benton nodded slightly. “Perfectly amicable Mr Cohen.” He smiled. “Need I remind you that your country is proud of your effor ….”
“Don’t bother.” I chuckled. “I don’t want to know what you are doing, but I will help you to satisfy my curiosity.
Benton raised an eyebrow.
“I always wanted to see where James Bond worked.” I chuckled.
He rolled his eyes and grinned with an exasperated sigh, he knew I was yanking his chain.
“Drop us at the embankment, Martins.” Benton ordered the driver.
We were left at the side of the road by the footbridges leading towards the main doors of Vauxhall cross. Benton led me towards the visitor’s entrance and I had my photograph taken, and my face scanned by some camera before a pass was printed off and handed to me. I was given pin instructions and told how to operate the pod things we had passed. It was all going over my head, but being inside this building was almost a letdown. I expected to see super spies, semi naked girls and catsuits everywhere, but everyone looked normal… right down to the bored expression on the security guard that processed my pass…
Benton grinned knowingly at my expression of wide-eyed surprise as he escorted me through the foyer to a bank of lifts. Guiding me into a car, we ascended to the 5th floor where he led me down a corridor to a conference room overlooking the River Themes.
Ashamedly, the first thing that caught my eye on entering the room was the .308 Mini Hecate sniper rifle, perched on its spindly bipod legs in the centre of the mahogany table. Further down the table, a young woman, around my age sat quietly.
I turned to Benton with a questioning expression.
“This Is Ms Carlisle, she is the agent you will be training. Ms Carlisle, this is Sergeant Cohen from the Met,” he said by way of introductions.
The young woman had risen and approached me with her hand outstretched. “Good to meet you Sergeant, I really appreciate the help.”
“Ah, no problem,” I blushed as Ms Carlisle looked me over unashamedly.
We sat at the conference table; my eyes kept drifting to the beautiful rifle on the table.
“Is that what she will be using?” I asked, out of curiosity. “Bit flashy isn’t it?”
“Yes,” replied Benton with a roll of his eyes, “All you need to know, is that it fits with her legend …. Cover,” he added on noticing my confused expression.
“First orders of business,” he announced, reaching into his briefcase, “We require you to read and sign this,” he said, handing me a document and a pen.
I shrugged, and began to read through the document, they could be guaranteed I would read every word till I was happy I wasn’t signing up to vanish or something equally suspicious.
One part of the document made me raise my eyebrows. “I’m being paid to do this?” I asked looking between Mr Benton and the £10,000 figure on the document.
Benton nodded. “Yes, you didn’t expect us to ask you to do it for queen and country alone? Let us just say, the money is an incentive to not reveal this assistance,” he replied firmly reminding me of the secret nature of the task. I nodded, and signed the document, handing it back to him. Benton rose, slipping the document into his briefcase, and after shaking my hand, left without fanfare.
Turning back to the table, I looked Ms Carlisle over. She was medium height, around 5’6, an inch shorter than my own 5’7. She had sandy blonde hair, tied back in a bun. Her charcoal grey skirt suit fitted her form well; she looked every inch the corporate executive, nothing remotely resembling a spy…
“Ok, shall we start?” she prompted, breaking my stare.
“Sure.” I started, “But you’re going to have to tell me what your cover … legend is.”
“Didn’t Mr Benton say that was not your concern?” she replied with a hint of annoyance.
“He did.” I began, “But if I am to teach you this, I’m going to know at least what you are supposed to know, I don’t need to know everything. But give me the basics … Is your cover ex-military? Ex-law enforcement? What nationality? What country did they serve with? What related details are there? Right or left handed? It all matters.” I replied defensively. “If I don’t know that, I can’t teach you,” I said with a sigh.
Ms Carlisle looked thoughtful for a moment. “I suppose it won’t matter,” she replied with a shrug.
“Well, She’s meant to be ex-British army. Out about 5 years working freelance for a PMC company, then herself in less than entirely legal circumstances, but that’s about as much as I can tell you,” she said with a hint of an apologetic smile.
I shook my head. “That won’t work. You’re a woman.”
She was about to protest when I held my hand up. “You people don’t research things very well do you? An error like that would blow you instantly.” I snapped feeling a little annoyed at getting dumped with such a task. “The British army do not have female snipers or females in combat roles, so that would stand out. You can either be Israeli, Swedish, or Russian if you insist on being ex-military, and I’ll tell you now, you will pass for maybe one of those three,” I offered. “OR, we can use the ex-law enforcement angle, Make you a retired sharpshooter.”
Ms Carlisle looked like she wanted to argue, but sighed and nodded instead.
We got no real work done that day. Most of the afternoon was spent working on the legend details with Harriet; Ms Carlisle. By about 6pm, we decided to call it a night, and I had my first experience with the pods. She escorted me downstairs to the lobby, where she informed me that she would meet me the next day at 9am. As she returned to the lift, I made my way over to the wall of pods. It all looked awfully complicated.
There was a security guard sat behind a desk off to one side, turning to him, I waved the card and held up my hands in confusion. “I don’t suppose you could show me how to work this please?” I asked tentatively.
The guard nodded and walked over, “You put this in the slot sir, and enter your pin. New sir?”
“Ah, you could say that,” I replied with a shrug. “Good night.”
“Good night sir.” Replied the guard as the pod doors slid shut behind me. After a few seconds, the outer doors slid open and the cool night air washed over me.
After a short tube ride, I was home again, after possibly the longest day I had yet to experience. For some reason, I did not think it would hold that record long.
Unlocking the door, I slipped into the apartment; it was quiet. Out of habit, I dumped my keys on the sideboard and wandered into the living room. Becky was on the Sofa reading her book. She looked up for a moment when I walked in and smiled. “You’re back late,” she stated matter of factly without looking up from her book.
“And you ain’t my muvva!” I shot back, in a fairly accurate facsimile of The Classic soap opera line.
Becky looked up and chuckled shaking her head. “You’re too good at that.” She grinned. “What’s her name anyway?” Becky asked with a sly grin.
I coloured slightly but hid it well with a look of theatrical shock. “You’re out late, and you won’t tell me why…. What’s her name?” She persisted.
“I wasn’t out with a girl, okay? I just had to work late. Some report the Boss man made me write,” I shrugged. “What can you do?”
She grinned. "Why did you blush when I asked if it was a girl? Does that embarrass you?” she asked quietly as I sat down in one of the empty chairs.
“Not really,” I mumbled, “I don’t like you taking the piss though, I don’t get a lot of dates.”
“Sorry,” she mumbled, biting her lip, “You know I’d never do it to upset you, I … I just joke with people ….” She trailed off.
“No it’s fine, it’s just me,” I shrugged. Oh well, here goes. “I guess the subject just gets to me … I never really had a girlfriend,” I shrugged, feeling myself turning red.
Becky looked at me for a moment, wondering if I was serious. “How come?” she asked curiously.
I shrugged sheepishly. “I guess in school I never really got a chance; It was a boys’ schoo.” I grinned embarrassedly. “Not many girls around. I guess when I got to the police I was too focused on getting ahead and making something of myself. I never really had chance …" I tailed off.
I couldn’t bring myself to look at her, I knew she would laugh, I felt so stupid admitting these things. Poor Mike: The baby faced virgin! The next thing I know, I felt a hand on my arm. Becky slipped onto the arm of the chair and wrapped her arms around me.
“I’m so sorry Mike,” she whispered as she held me. “I didn’t know, and believe me, there are loads of girls who will fancy you.”
“I feel pitiful, Bex.” I muttered. “I’m a shit guy, I avoid going out with the guys at work, I don’t socialise, I look like a fucking kid, and I’ve never even really wanted a girlfriend.”
“Now you stop that, mister …” Becky scolded playfully tapping me on the back of the head. “I’ll have none of that negativity from you …
“You need some feel good time,” she announced. “You work too hard, and you don’t play. Look, if you don’t want to go out, we can do it here!
I looked at her curiously for a moment before realising what she meant. “Oh, okay, sure.” I shrugged. “I guess it can’t hurt.”
“You stay here.” She grinned, wagging a finger, “You’re Doctor Becky’s patient tonight!” She chuckled as she walked out of the room.
I was running scenarios through my mind as Becky returned. “Right you.” She announced, "Get into your room, and get back here in Pjs … that’s an order.
Shaking my head, I walked off to follow her orders. It could be fun I guess. I duck into my room and pull off my uniform. I place it carefully over the chair, I’ll need it tomorrow …
I pull on my jog bottoms and a tank and head back into the living room. Becky has her duvet over the sofa, and is doing god knows what in the kitchen.
“Right, I’m here,” I announced.
“Good.” She grins, returning from the kitchen, a bottle of white wine in one hand, two glasses in the other. Now I realised what she was up to….
“You’re going to subject me to a girls night?” I ask incredulously. “Have you forgotten one big part?”
“A, yes I am, and B, they aren’t just for girls! Nobody ever said only girls can drink wine, or watch romantic comedies…. Anyway, when I’m down, it makes me feel better, so I'm sure it will work for you, too …. And if you’re so bothered by my pink duvet, you can go get yours … or ask Pete for his.” she replied with a grin.
“Fine, but I draw the line at painting my nails and fucking with my hair,” I laughed.
I decided to play along, It really couldn’t hurt. We jumped on the sofa, popped a movie in, and had a relaxing drink under the blankets and just relaxed. I have to admit it was actually fun. Somewhere in the time the movie was playing, I ended up lying against Becky’s shoulder … That was when Pete came home.
First thing I heard was the door close, and for some reason, I just sat there, under that pink blanket, sipping my wine and chatting to Becky.
“Hey Becky.” Pete called as he walked through to the kitchen to grab a beer. “Who’s your lady friend?”
I turned around at that moment and fixed Pete with a shocked expression. The look on his face was priceless.
“Woah, Mike. Sorry dude.” He stammered. “I swear you looked like a bird from behind mate.”
“Oh come on.” I snapped exasperatedly. “I don’t look anything like a girl!”
Pete raised an eyebrow. “Mate, you’re watching a chick flick, drinking wine and sat gabbing away with Becky under her GIRLY duvet, what do you expect?” he chuckled, taking a swig of his beer. “Sorry mate. I didn’t mean anything.” He shrugged apologetically before making himself scarce.
“Whatever,” I muttered, sinking down into the duvet and returning my attention to the Tv.
I didn’t look like a girl. How blind is Pete? It was just the situation … I’d get my hair cut at the weekend. That was probably it.
We watched another movie, and I had to admit, she was right. It did make me feel better. The wine relaxed me nicely, and I was able to unwind for the first time in a while. We would have to do that again I mused as we sleepily headed to our respective bedrooms and bid each other goodnight.
I slept a lot better that night. And when I woke in the morning, my alarm had not yet gone off. Seizing the initiative for a good day, I hit the off button to pre-empt the damned device, and headed for the shower.
Clean and refreshed I returned to my room. I was about to reach for my uniform shirt when a though struck me. Should I wear my uniform? I was not there on any official capacity, and they had repeatedly stressed how secretive this was … In the entire time I was there the previous day, the only person I saw in uniform was the door guard … I’d stand out a little if I returned in uniform for a second day ….
I chuckled to myself as I realised how I was thinking. One day in that place and I start thinking spy!
Dumping my uniform, I reached into my wardrobe and extracted my rarely worn suit. It was the sort of thing you bought for formal events that didn’t require a tux …
A few moments later, the suit had been combined with a shirt, tie, and my body, and I was leaving the house to make my way to Vauxhall Cross. One morning commute that I had never envisaged taking …
As I approached the footbridges that led to the banks of pods on the front of the building I was shocked by the queues leading up to those unconventional doors. I wasn’t sure if this was normal or not, but I took a place in line and waited.
There were conversations going on around me, and I felt like an intruder. I didn’t hear anything I supposed was confidential or secret; it was almost like being new again.
“I hate these bloody waits,” said a voice beside me. I turned and saw a guy in his mid 30s taking a sip from his takeaway coffee cup.
“Ah yeah,” I agreed noncomittally. “It’s a good job it isn’t raining,” I replied.
“Sure.” The guy grinned. “I’m Martin Hammersmith,” he said, offering his hand. “You new here? I’ve not seen you around.”
“I guess so.” I replied sheepishly. “Sort of my second day,” I admitted.
“Ah ok.” He smiled. “Its overwhelming isn’t it?” he chuckled. “I remember when I started I felt like I didn’t belong.”
“That about sums it up.” I admitted.
“So which department are you with?” he asked conversationally, as the lines slowly progressed.
“Ah, I’m working up on the 5th floor, I’m not sure if I can say much,” I shrugged apologetically.
He nodded knowingly. “Probably not, though that’s not unusual for here. Nobody can talk to each other about work,” he chuckled.
We chatted for a few moments till we reached the pods and swiping myself in, I entered my pin and stepped into the clear pod and onwards into the lobby.
“See you around,” Martin said with a wave as he headed off in another direction.
I met Ms Carlisle by the lifts as we had agreed, and instead of making our way back to the conference suite on the 5th floor, she told me we would be spending the day at a range outside of London for the beginning of the practical instruction. We left Vauxhall Cross in a ‘6’ car and drove out of London towards Salisbury.
We spent the day out at an MOD range, where I observed her technique and attempted to offer suggestions to improve her overall impression. I was quite disappointed to say the least.
Ms Carlisle was familiar with firearms; that much was clear, but she was no marksman. It was almost like being back at training again, watching the ham-fisted early attempts of some of our less accomplished shooters.
When we returned to MI6, or Legoland as she referred to it, I requested to speak to the agent in charge of this operation, and was escorted down to the lower 5th floor in the basement where the Controlerate leading this operation was located. From what I gathered, this was the Middle East and Far East controlerate. I was shown into an office where Ms Carlisle introduced her boss; a Mr Tornworth.
Mr Tornworth was a tall man in his late 50s, still in reasonable shape beneath his expensive Italian suit, but the grey hair and weathered skin of his face betrayed his age. Mr Tornworth seemed annoyed by my presence, an outsider.
“What is it you want?” he asked, going straight for the point with predatory haste.
“I need to know how long I have for this training assignment.” I said with as much resolve as I could muster. “I may not be ‘read in’ or whatever you call it, and I already know I’m told as little as possible: I’m an outsider, A civilian, but you need my help, and I’m a professional, I would like to be treated as such, not like a child,” I replied getting slightly angry.
Tornworth regarded me for a moment. “You have 3 weeks to teach Ms Carlisle,” he replied with little feeling.
“I’m sorry Sir; I don’t think I can do that.”
Mr Tornworth sat up in his chair and looked. “Why not?” He asked knitting his brow.
“Well you want her to be believable or you wouldn’t have recruited me for this job. Yes? You want her to be able to shoot, I’ll wager. And while I was told she can shoot, and I am very confident she is proficient with other firearms, she is not Marksman material.”
He was about to say something but I held my hand up. “Look, the British army sniper school is 10 weeks. I was sent on that with a group of other Police firearms marksmen, as advanced training.” I said, letting my ability sink in. “But I’m sure you know that. My point is, you have to be a reasonable shot to attend that school, and it still takes 10 weeks to get them from a good shot to Snipers … Even then a shooter is not as experienced as her legend dictates till they see action. There is a lot that can be faked, a lot that can be told, taught and acted, but with respect, and I’m sorry.” I said, turning to Ms Carlisle, who was sat by my side. “She can’t do it in three weeks.”
Mr Tornworth looked mildly annoyed. “What do you suggest?” he replied tersely.
I thought for a moment, I hadn’t really expected to be required to offer other solutions other than the one they had. “Find a female who is already an experienced sniper and send them on your mission. I don’t think you will find anyone able to teach any novice how to do this in that time.” I replied confidently.
Mr Tornworth nodded slightly. “I think you are right,” he said with resignation. “Thank you for your honesty,” he said smiling weakly. Hitting the button on his desk, he called his secretary and asked her to invite his deputy and a few other names I didn’t recognise into the room. Turning to Ms Carlisle, he asked her to take me up to the canteen and get me a coffee.
He stood and offered me a hand. “Thanks again Mr Cohen.” He said, and with that, we left.
I shouldn’t have been surprised that the Mi6 building had a canteen, like any other work place, but I still was. The image I had held of the Secret Intelligence Service really didn’t fit ‘work’. We sat at a table overlooking the Thames and sat in awkward silence.
“Look I’m sorry.” I said. “I didn’t mean to put you down. I had to be honest, it was purely professional.”
Harriet looked out the window for a moment and didn’t respond. “I know,” she said without looking at me.
“Look, I know I’ve been a bit short with you, and treated you like an outsider,” she admitted looking at me. “It’s just how this is,” she shrugged. “I know I’m not up to the job. And that’s what it is, just a job, so I’m not going to cry because I don’t have a specific skill. For what its worth, you were a good teacher, but you are right, I can’t shoot that well, and we didn’t have the time I guess.”
“I take it the mission parameters required a female sniper, not 6 picking it as some part of a legend for you?” I asked, realising she didn’t want to talk about her failings anymore.
Harriet shook her head. “You’ve been here two days and you sound like you belong.” She chuckled.
“Hey I’ve watched my share of spy thrillers,” I replied smiling. “The reality seems depressingly mundane though.”
She nodded taking a sip of her coffee. “Sure. At the end of the day, this is just a job like yours, only our sphere of influence is larger.”
She was right of course. It was really just police work really … Only you would work in someone else’s patch without telling them and you didn’t always have to follow the law to enforce it.
“So what happens from here?” I asked, noting the early evening tinge begin to creep across the city. “I go home and never hear from you lot again?”
Harriet shrugged. “They haven’t said. But it’s possible.”
We drank another round of coffee as the sky outside grew dark before Harriet’s phone rang. After a short conversation, we were on our way down towards the lower floors of the building once more. We arrived at the MEFE entrance, and I copied Harriet as she swiped her card and allowed her face to be scanned by what I was told, was a facial topography recognition package. I was added to the controlerate’s access list apparently … that should have bothered me.
We made our way into the now empty controlerate’s main operations area and Harriet led me straight back to Mr Tornworth’s office.
There were three men and a woman in the room with Mr Tornworth who all turned towards us as we entered; I felt all their eyes boring into me.
“Harriet, Mr Cohen, please take a seat,” he smiled more broadly, waving at two empty chairs. “Mr Cohen, May I call you Michael?” he asked without waiting for me to reply. “This is Tobias Goodwin; my deputy head here at Middle East and Far East Controlerate, This is Daniel Green, our head of systems, Mark Sanford, our chief analyst, and this,” he said gesturing at the woman. “Is Jane North, our agent handler.”
I smiled weakly at the group, all of whom were still looking at me curiously.
“We have been discussing the situation at length, this is an awkward situation for us, and it is highly unusual, but before we discuss this, we want to read you in to the operation.”
“Ok,” I said feeling as if I was missing something. “Why am I being read in? I thought my work was over?” I asked cautiously.
Mr Tornworth looked at his college Tobias Goodwin and raised his eyebrows.
“Thing is,” Mr Goodwin said with a broad Scots accent. “We aren’t exactly overflowing with qualified candidates, and to be honest, you are probably the closest we have to the required skills, and it would be much easier to give you the required field craft skills than vice versa …” he said with a lopsided grin. Of course, we will would have to modify the mission parameters to take into account other factors … he said trailing off.
My bad-feeling-o-meter was now off the charts.
The younger man, Sanford stood and walked over to a laptop on Mr Tornworth’s desk and pressed a button, projecting an image onto a screen behind the desk.
“This,” he said, “Is Omid Dujani, a radical Muslim cleric with political aspirations. He’s a Syrian national, with connections throughout the Middle East. He’s quite high on our most wanted lists, and a bit of a naughty bloke,” he said with a straight face.
I heard a few chuckles around the room, but didn’t take my eyes off the screen and Mr Sanford.
“His group has been operating out of Syria, Lebanon and the West bank for some time; they have been involved in several major incidents in Israel, and we have intelligence that something is planned soon … What. we don’t know, and that scares us most. Usually, there is a lot more chatter, but there is nothing coming out other than the usual. With his track record, it will be significant, and within the intelligence time frame, there is only one possible target, The Beirut Treaty … Our PM is going to be one of the many in attendance …. That makes it our ball game too … Security is tight, but there are always holes in that area, and they are unfortunately viable to a focused group … Thing is, Dujani isn’t stupid, and he is also quite the feminist …” He said raising his eyebrows. “He has as thing for empowering women, usually with C4 strapped to them. He has said that some tasks are not fit for males, and thus his MO of using females to do his dirty work, usually where there is little hope of coming back. The news on the wire is he is looking for female assassins on the market at the moment. Clearly the market doesn’t know his track record.” Sanford smirked. “Women are not viewed as equals around that area, and its much easier to slip a female killer into a security net than a male, and we think this is where he is going with whatever it is …” he finished flipping off the projector and taking his seat again.
“How do I fit into this?” I asked unsure weather I wanted to hear the answer. “He’s looking for a woman, no?”
“Thank you, Mark,” Mr Tornworth said clasping his hands together, “I’ll be straight with you Michael, “We received an email to the account of one of our Legends. Her name has been put around by a few of our puppets, and her name came to Dujani’s attentions. We have had a request for her to meet him.”
“So how do I fit in?” I asked again. “You have another agent with more experience that you need me to work with?”
“The thing is.” said Mr Goodwin, rubbing his chin. “You are the only person qualified enough to fit the Legend.
“But he’s a man! said Harriet incredulously. “Have you not noticed that tiny fact?”
She said what I had wanted to. At the moment, I was too rigid with shock to know what to do. So I sat there, hoping I was imagining this.
“We appreciate that Harriet,” said Mr Goodwin staring daggers at the Field Officer beside me. “But as I said, we have nobody else, and we believe it may be possible to send Mr Cohen in as Anastasia. It’s not like he’s some 14 stone rugby player ….” He snorted letting the comment hang.
That was the last straw. “HE, Is here.” I yelled standing up. “He can hear every fucking word you say. Does HE not get a say in this?” I seethed clenching my teeth.
Harriet tugged at my suit sleeve pulling me back into my seat, “Look, calm down Mike. This is as unorthodox as it sounds, and from what we just heard, it doesn’t seem personal. Those two have a shit way of putting things,” she said, glaring at The Head and deputy behind me. “I think we need to go for a walk.” She said without any hint that it was a suggestion. “John, Toby, we will talk about this in the morning,” she said giving the two men a withering look. “You realise that this man is not used to this building, never mind the work we do, Dumping all that on him then this …. Woman business…. That’s just cruel.”
“That’s enough, Harriet!” growled Mr Tornworth standing. He was about to speak again when she cut him off.
“No, that’s enough from you,” she snapped, slamming the door as she dragged me out of the office, still half numb.
The pinging of the elevator doors closing finally broke me out of the shock that I had been wallowing in.
“I don’t believe this is happening,” I murmured quietly.
Harriet squeezed my hand. “Don’t worry, we can sort this out, there has to be another way. Come on, we need some fresh air and some coffee that doesn’t taste like hot water with gravel mixed in,” she grinned weakly.
I attempted a smile at her joke, despite the feeling of dread knotting my stomach.
We made our way out of the building and across the foot bridges and onto the Albert Embankment before walking south along the river’s edge. I didn’t know what time it was, I didn’t really care. There was the occasional person travelling the opposite way, but other than that we were alone.
Harriet stopped and turned towards me as she leant against the river wall. “Tell me what you’re thinking?” she asked softly.
“I don’t know,” I sighed looking out over the Thames and the lights on the far bank. “I guess I’m wondering if this is my fault…”
Harriet scrunched up her face, “How?” she asked indignantly. “You didn’t suggest that idiocy.”
“Would they have suggested it if I was, what was it? A 14 stone rugby player?” I replied sarcastically.
“That’s not the point and you know it,” Harriet said flatly. “You have image problems don’t you?” she asked quietly, knowing the answer.
“How did you guess?” I chuckled melancholically.
“It’s my job to read people, remember?” she replied. “This is hurting you more because you think you aren’t a real man,” she stated plainly.
“I guess so,” I admitted with a sigh. I watched a boat passing along the river while I formed my thoughts; “I never felt macho, or manly. I guess I never thought of myself as a man, just a boy that grew up. I feel constantly inadequate, I work in a hyper macho environment, in a hyper macho role, and I always feel like a letdown …”
“Maybe they are right.” I laughed turning away from the river and walking on. Harriet caught up with me and stopped me, putting her hand on my arm.
“Maybe then, you need to do this,” she replied with a sly grin.
“What?” I asked. “How do you figure that?”
“Think of it as excising the fear.” She shrugged, “You do this, and what’s the worst that happens? You realise you don’t look like a girl, they are wrong and you go back to your job and feel better about yourself … its free therapy.” She chuckled.
“I don’t know.” I frowned. “What if I do? I’ll probably kill myself out of shame.” I grimaced.
“No. If you do, you get to do something not many men can claim to have done …” she said seriously.
“What? Wear high heels?” I scoffed.
“No, saved the world in the name of HMG …” she grinned.
I stuck my hands I my pockets and walked on. The scary thing was, she was sounding more and more right, and admitting that took away some of the gripping fear I felt.
“Fine.” I shrugged.
“Pardon?” she asked curiously.
“I’ll do it.” I said, before I could back out mentally. “Let’s do it. I know I don’t look like a girl and it will seal that forever.” I said resolutely. “And it’s not like I'm doing this for free.” I shrugged. I still had a £10,000 deposit from some ‘firm’ that probably didn’t exist in my bank account.
“That’s the spirit.” chuckled Harriet. “Look, are you going to be okay tonight?” she asked.
“Sure, I guess.”
Harriet hugged me, it was nice actually… there was no sexual tension, not a quick greeting hug, but a warm, comforting embrace.
“I’ve got to head back to the office and grab some things. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning OK? Come down to MEFE, and I’ll be around,” she said with a smile before turning and walking away.
I watched her go for a moment before making my way to the nearest tube station and beginning my commute home. It was gone 10pm, and I didn’t even feel hungry. Slipping into the flat, I quietly made my way to my room and to bed. Why was I going to regret this?
I rose early again; I hadn’t slept well. I managed to dress and quieten my growling stomach before I set out towards Vauxhall Cross once more. Before long, I was stood in the morning pod queue again, I didn’t feel as awkward as the previous day, but that was party due to the fact I wasn’t really paying attention to anything in particular. It felt almost robotic as I reached the pod and slipped into the stale air-conditioned building. Nobody seemed to notice me as I made my way towards the MEFE area; the whole place seemed to have lost its charm to me.
The computer scanned my face and a green light flashed. The doors slid open and I walked into the controlerate, not really knowing what to expect.
Several heads looked up from the desks towards the centre of the area. I stood there, not really knowing where to go.
“Hi,” Harriet said with an apprehensive smile, appearing from one of the side offices “You’re early,” she said giving me a quick friendly hug. “Come on; let’s get this over with, huh?” she said with an optimistic smile that I did not share. Gesturing me to follow her, we made our way back towards Mr Tornworth’s office and as we entered, I saw the same four people present that had been the night before. As she closed the door behind us, I stood fidgeting sheepishly; not sure what to say.
“Mr Cohen,” said Mr Tornworth getting my attention. “We wanted to apologise for last night … Ah, we realise this is so very new to you, and this isn’t something personal … It’s just the only thing we can think of to be honest,” he said with an apologetic shrug.
“It’s okay,” I said screwing up my face, “I guess it was just a shock. Look, I’ll go along with this, but if it gets stupid, or she …” I said. gesturing Harriet, “thinks its not going to work, we pull the plug ok? I don’t want to look stupid, and those types wouldn’t laugh at me, they would kill me,” I said raising my eyebrows.
“Quite so,” said Goodwin, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Look, we have three weeks, and that’s cutting it fine, but we want to try something…. I really respect you for going for this,” he said looking awkward. “And I’m sorry about what I said, I just meant that you at least had a chance of this working, not that you weren’t a proper bloke,” he said with a shrug, offering me his hand in some act of manly reconciliation.
Grudgingly, I took it and offered a weak handshake, mumbling something noncommittal and took a seat in the room. Mr Tornworth went straight ahead in the briefing. As Goodwin had said, we had a total of 3 weeks till the meeting. That was short notice for even an experienced Field Officer but as a raw recruit, as I suppose I was, it was all very overwhelming.
I was to leave Vauxhall Cross just before lunch, and with Miss North, and Harriet’s assistance, along with a vetted salon that the service used occasionally to change the appearance of agents, we would set about seeing if it was possible, or in my mind, impossible to fit me into the life of Anastasia Zanov, the Ex-Russian army sniper turned mercenary, and my one mental sticking point … a woman.
We left Vauxhall Cross just before noon and caught a cab from the embankment. Miss North gave the driver directions before sitting back and regarding me thoughtfully.
“You know, with all the staring that’s gone on today, I think I must have sprouted another ear …” I smirked sarcastically. Miss North looked embarrassed
“I’m sorry Michael,” she said “This is most definitely a first for me, and believe me; I’ve handled a lot of weird situations with Field officers. I think you’re the first to do this,” she admitted with a shrug.
“It’s not like he chose this is it?” interjected Harriet with an air of the haughty attitude I’d started to see more of since getting to know her better. “We practically pull him off the street and thrust him into this world … Granted he’s not a civilian in the strictest sense … but still, this would be crazy to even one of my bunch, I can’t begin to imagine how this feels to Mike,” she said, biting her lip.
“Well thanks for the touching Eulogy, but I didn’t realise I’d died,” I said sarcastically. “Come on, I’m terrified about this, but it’s not going to be the end of the world.” Both the women looked a little sheepish, but thankfully they backed off with the sympathy and the rest of the journey was spent in relative quiet.
About 20 minutes later, we pulled in outside a row of rather posh looking boutiques and salons in one of those namelessly fancy parts of the city that I rarely ventured into. Getting out of the cab took the last of my reserves, and I felt utterly drained as I stood on the pavement with the two women. We entered the salon and Miss North spoke to the receptionist, I was really glad I didn’t have to try and communicate; I was sure I would scream if I opened my mouth.
We were escorted to a private waiting area. It appeared the salon had been closed for the day specially, as the receptionist collected her things and left as soon as we were seated.
We were not seated long when a slim middle aged redhead came in and introduced herself to us. Her name was Sally, and she apparently knew Miss North quite well.
“I see you have a project for me Jane. Care to tell me a little about it?” she beamed rubbing her hands together eagerly.
“Well, Sally.” Jane North began, pointing at me. “We need to see if it’s possible for you to make our colleague here pass for a woman …”
Sally looked at me and raised her eyebrows. “Quite possibly the weirdest request I’ve had from you ghosts yet.” She grinned, “Wait no … what is it?”
“Spooks, dear,” Jane North said rolling her eyes.
“That’s the one; whatever! Who are you dear?” she asked smiling at me.
“Um, My na. I’m Mike.” I said awkwardly.
“Don’t be embarrassed dear; you won’t be my first man,” she chuckled. “What’s this in aid of, Jane?” she asked, rearranging some flowers in a vase beside her absent mindedly.
“He’s taking the place of one of our agents on a mission … The mission is … requires a woman.” She said with a shrug.
“Oh, right.” Sally said slowly with a frown, “Well let's see what I can do then, If you two would like to get comfortable, Jane? I think you know where I keep the kitchen in this place.” Sally led me out of the waiting area and into one of the treatment rooms at the rear of the salon.
“Ok dear,” she smiled, “Don’t be so nervous, okay? I can see you’re all jittery…” she chuckled warmly. “There’s really nothing to be afraid about here, I’m not going to do anything permanent to you yet, so relax and you might enjoy it a little. I know I enjoy being pampered,” she smiled.
“Sorry,” I shrugged. “This is really new to me, and to be honest, it makes me feel sort of uncomfortable.”
Sally smiled sympathetically and patted me on the arm.” Look, I won’t do anything to embarrass you, and I certainly won’t laugh. If this doesn’t work, we can at least say we tried. And if it does, I guarantee you there will be nothing to be embarrassed about. Believe me dear, being a woman is no different to being a man, it's no worse, certainly not embarrassing; I know your fragile male ego can’t rationalise that yet though.” She chuckled. “Now get in there and put on the robe,” she said pointing at a changing room in a tone that suggested I had little choice.
I pulled the curtain closed behind me and tried to breathe for a moment, she was right in a strange way … this wouldn’t kill me. At worst I’d have a wasted day and a few bad memories … I decided to go for it. It couldn’t hurt, right?
Stripping off my suit, I put it on the hanger and began to slip out of my underwear and quickly grabbed the maroon silk robe hung on the wall.
The robe was cool against my skin, and extremely soft to the touch, I could see why people liked the material … I stopped admiring myself and steeling my nerve, stepped out of the changing room.
“Ah good, you’re ready,” smiled Sally. “Let's get you sat here and I’ll begin,” she said, indicating a salon chair she had positioned facing out into the room away from the mirrored wall that it obviously normally faced.
“Don’t want me to see the horror till it’s completed huh?” I joked nodding at the mirrored wall.
“No dear, I just think it will be better to see the end first, it’s easier to see the difference.” She replied sorting through various items on a shelf. “Let’s get to work shall we?” she announced with far too much enthusiasm for my liking.
Sally stood looking at me intently for a moment after she got me into the chair with her chin in her hand. “Hmmm.” She murmured aloud. “Does it matter who you look like? Or will anyone do?”
I shrugged. “I don’t think it matters, but maybe a little Russian, if there’s such thing,” I suggested.
“Okay then, “she smiled reaching for a pair of tweezers. “Now don’t worry, I’m only tidying things up, they won't look girly,” she soothed before beginning to rip my eyebrow hairs out one by excruciating one.
Thankfully, she finished quickly, and began to play around with my longish hair. “I’m not sure if we want to go for long or otherwise, but your hair is workable as it is. What do you think?” she asked.
I wasn’t sure I had an opinion. “Um, Longer I guess? But I think a wig would be hot where I’m going,” I said trying not to reveal too much.
“Well let’s try one for now, and if this goes ahead, I’ll give you extensions ok? You have enough hair to weave them in.” I nodded, and she smiled before vanishing off into some other part of the salon before returning promptly carrying a slightly wavy brunette wig with a short bouncy fringe. She combed my hair back, and covered it with a plain white skull cap and slipped the wig over my head and stood back to adjust it.
She looked at me for a moment before shaking her head and chuckling to herself. “That suits you dear.” Now let’s get some makeup on you, and then we can deal with below the neck.”
She proceeded to apply makeup to my face, telling me what each item was and how it was used, I tried to pay attention, but felt quite awkward as she moved the brushes over my face. It really made me want to scratch.
I wrinkled my nose as she applied a powder to my cheeks.
“Now stop that, you!” she scolded, “I’ll be done soon. This is turning out great,” she enthused.
“I’m not sure I share your sentiment,” I muttered under my breath. “Do I have to remind you that I didn’t sign up for this?”
“Sign up to protect your country, or to wear your first bra?” she chuckled as she painted my lips with a clear gloss. “I think we are nearly done.” She smiled. “Let’s get you dressed, shall we?
I rose out of the chair slowly, feeling the strange sensation of hair brushing against my shoulders; It felt very alien indeed.
Sally led me over to a closet in the far corner of the room and began rummaging through drawers and shelves looking for things that she threw out into my arms as she found them. I just stood stock still holding what was thrust at me without any real idea of what I was meant to do.
“Why do you have all these clothes and things?” I asked somewhat curiously. I didn’t really suppose that a swanky London salon had many of this sort of job, not enough to stock up specially.
“I often get contracts to do modelling shoots, and bits now and then,” she called as she dug through another box. “I get lots of free stuff, and I hate to throw out basically unused things … plus it comes in useful for makeovers or special jobs like yours,” she laughed playfully. “
“Annnnnddd,” she continued reaching into the depth of the cupboard. “I have these.” She grinned holding up a plain black box.
“What’s in there?” I asked curiosity peaked dangerously.
“Your two new best friends dear,” she smirked, placing the box on the side and collected the pile of clothes from my still frozen arms. “Right dear, take these and go and get them on … be back out here sharpish, too … Go on, shoo,” she chided directing me towards the changing room again.
Once I was safely behind the flimsy curtain, I opened my hand and stared at the silky white knickers in my hand with something approaching mystification. For some reason, the hair on my head, and the makeup hadn’t really been crossing that line, it was still me … it was only bits of chemicals and minerals and hair, but the knickers in my hand were a line that I could not uncross once I took that last step. There was no way back; I would have cross-dressed. I didn’t care if it was something only I would know, but 3 women? Could I? Would it really be that big a deal? Another part of my brain reasoned… 'It’s only clothing…'
“For queen and country,” I muttered to myself as I slipped the silky garment up my legs and seated it securely around my private parts. There, I had done it … It felt weird, but not in the way I imagined. I had a stupid notion that Noel Edmunds would pop out with a camera any moment, but it didn’t happen.
I slipped the robe on again and stepped out of the changing room.
“Good, I thought I was going to have to send mountain rescue in there for you,” chuckled Sally as she stopped sifting through the clothing she had extracted.
Picking up a bra and a corset from the clothing, she approached me and ordered the robe off. Reluctantly, I complied and slipped the garment from my shoulders.
“Hm, not bad,” Sally muttered to herself as she looked me up and down. “There is plenty for me to work with.”
With some struggling, she helped me into the corset which stopped below my chest, and began to lace me into the restrictive garment.
“Now breathe out and I'll fasten it okay?” she said reassuringly as I was squeezed more and more. Following her instructions, thinking it would ease the constriction; she placed her knee in my back and pulled extremely hard on the laces. I was almost snapped in two as she fastened the laces behind me.
“Oh God,” I moaned. “Is my liver meant to be trying to force itself out of my ear?”
“Stop playing silly buggers, young lady,” she scolded. “You’ll get used to it,” she chuckled playfully.
“I may, but my intestines disagree.” I moaned sarcastically.
Sally fastened the bra around my chest, and approached me ceremoniously with the black box. As she took the lid off, I got the surprise of my life.
“What are those!?” I exclaimed with shock and curiosity.
“Why, these are your breasts, dear,” Sally said with an amused grin. “Did you think I would use socks?” she smiled sweetly.
Sally hefted two large fleshy objects from the box; they were large breast forms, extremely realistic, but a shade or two lighter than my slightly tanned complexion. Even the nipples looked scarily real.
Sally slipped the two breasts into the bra cups, and I immediately felt the tug against the shoulder straps.
“You get used to this?” I asked hopefully.
Sally smiled sweetly. “Some dear, but the weight is never ignorable, you may want to be careful, your centre of balance will be different now, so no gymnastics till you’re used to them okay?” she giggled. Sally proceeded to help me into a pair of tan tights, and a silky white blouse and charcoal knee length skirt that fastened high at my new waist.
“Here’s a pair of nice safe flats for now, you can deal with heels once you are more practiced,” she said, offering me a pair of simple court shoes.
“You say that like it’s a foregone conclusion that this will work…” I stated dryly.
Sally shook her head. “Come here, hon,” she said softly taking my hand and walking me towards the mirror wall in the other half of the room. I followed, grudgingly, not sure I wanted to see the monster drag queen she had created. As I looked into the glass however, I spun around self consciously to see where the heck the pretty brunette had come from; Sally saw my reaction and chuckled.
“She’s you, hon,” she said with a hint of amusement.
I stepped back in front of the mirror and stared at the reflection in front of me. It was hard for me to look at the shocked, bemused looking girl in the glass and relate her with myself.
“I’m … I look … I look like a girl.” I stammered ignorant of the fact I was stating the bloody obvious. “How?” I asked rhetorically, reaching out a hand towards the glass and watching the attractive young woman copy my movement. “This is impossible,” I whispered.
“No hon,” Sally said softly, placing her hand on my shoulder and appearing behind me. “No its not. I didn’t want to say anything before, as I was working on you, because I didn’t want you to back out, but you looked almost perfect as soon as I put the wig on you… You’re very lucky, and this isn’t anything to be ashamed about,” She said giving my shoulder a squeeze. “How do you feel about showing your friends?”
“They aren’t really my friends,” I sniffed. “I met them both a few days ago, I’ve been dumped into this world and I’m flying by the seat of my pants,” I replied stifling a sob.
Sally turned me around and hugged me tightly. “Don’t you cry little one, this is a lot, and you are very brave, and believe me, if I know Jane, and unfortunately I do, she will look after you. Miss Carlisle seems to care for you too, so don’t worry so much okay? And damn it girl! You stop crying!” she laughed. “You’re going to ruin my makeup job!” She chuckled playfully slapping me on the shoulder. “Get on out there and show them how you look.”
I made a face, “I’m not sure I can, I mean, I know how I look. I can’t deny that, but part of me wants to run and hide and never see this again.”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed about. Go out there and take every moment as it comes,” Sally said with a sly grin.
I rolled my eyes, “Here goes nothing,” I shrugged and opened the door.
Harriet and Jane were sat in the waiting room chatting when they turned at the sound of the door. Jane started to turn back to her magazine not recognising me, but Harriet sat transfixed.
“Good God, Mike, is that you?” she said in a surprised whisper. Jane did a double take and just sat gawping.
“Erm, I guess this answer’s my question,” I shrugged, blushing.
Jane and Harriet just sat motionless; Harriet had a silly goofy grin on her face. “This is totally so much more awesome than I thought it could be,” she said shaking her head.
“Oh what are you? 12?” I laughed. “I guess this really decides things for us. God save the queen, etcetera?”
“This is quite amazing.” Jane said quietly, finally speaking. “I suspected that it would work, but I didn’t think he … she, would look so natural; so pretty…”
I scowled. “Did everyone see this but me? Did anyone see me as a man?”
“You know that’s rubbish Mike,” scolded Harriet. “Damn, it’s weird to call you that like you are…” Harriet shrugged apologetically getting up and walking over to me. “What do you think? Do you want to go for this?
“I don’t think I have a choice,” I said shrugging “I told myself I’d do it if I looked like a girl, I guess I called my own bluff,” I said rolling my eyes. “No, in all seriousness, I don’t know… the scary thing is, this doesn’t feel so bad now… I expected it to be so alien that I couldn’t cope, but… I don’t know, I could do it, I know that, and I have never backed down from the Job. I haven’t quit to date. There are a lot of things that are a great deal more important than me riding on this and if I can do something to change that, it will be worth it. I can take each day as it comes,”
Harriet bit her lip and looked at me intently for a moment before pulling me into a hug. I just hugged her back and we stood there for a moment. “You’re an amazing person,” she said quietly.
“Now I want to tell you that you can back out of this at any time.” Jane said slowly, as she crossed the room. “But, I spoke to John before we left,” she said. Noting my confused expression she added that this was Mr Tornworth. “Basically, he told me that if I decided that this would fly, that he thought it prudent to offer you a transfer more permanently to 6 … From an official standpoint, you’re already vetted, and read in, and it would cover us in a legal aspect. We can draw up the transfer papers when we get back to the office,” she said raising her eyebrows. “Would you be okay with that?” she asked cautiously, watching my reaction like a hawk.
“So I’d not go back to the Met?” I asked, letting the idea swim around my head. “Work with 6 permanently?” I asked curiously.
“Sure,” Jane nodded, “John has taken a liking to you. You stood up to him, and that’s a rare occurrence, normally …” she said tossing a sly grin at Harriet. “He thinks you have potential, your record certainly qualifies you, and pending completion of the Field officers Qualification Course, you would be a permanent MI6 Field Officer. Obviously that would come after this mission however…“ She said with a strange look on her face.
“Today seems to be a day of going with my instinct,” I said quietly, biting my lip thoughtfully. “Sign away my life,” I sighed reluctantly.
Harriet grinned and hugged me again. Turning to Jane, I asked. “Has she lost 10 years today? Or does she always act like a 14 year old?”
Jane smirked, “Partly,” she smiled, “but the prospect of what is soon to come is also a key motive. She knows we will have to go shopping.” She laughed as she watched the colour drain out of my cheeks.
Sally had stripped me of my feminine garbs and I had returned to being a subdued and apprehensive Michael Cohen. We had gone our separate ways on leaving North Bank, Sally’s Salon. I slowly made my way home in the growing dusk, finally getting home around 6pm.
The flat was dark when I let myself in. It seemed that I was alone; something I honestly relished after so long in the company of others. I had a lot of thinking to do, and they were not sociable thoughts. I stripped off my clothing in my bedroom, and padded through to the bathroom and turned on the shower. After allowing the water to warm, I slipped under the relaxing pulsing jets, allowing the water to force the tension from my tired body.
I stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my waist. On impulse, I wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror, and looked at my reflection. I didn’t see anything particularly girlish looking back at me, certainly not the woman that I had seen this afternoon. I messed around with my wet hair, trying to make it appear more feminine but was unsatisfied. I realised my chest was bare and I lifted the towel around my chest, tying it above where I would have breasts and closed my eyes. As I opened them, I tried to see the girl in my reflection, and I thought I caught a glimpse but it was gone as the mirror lost the battle against the steam. Why was I doing this? I didn’t want to look like a girl I rationalised. Just thinking about it made my stomach feel weird. I stepped out of the bathroom trying to shake the thoughts running through my brain and ran straight into Pete.
“Shit, Pete, sorry! I didn’t see you.” I gushed as I bounced off his chest and landed on the floor. Pete gave me a strange look and offered me his hand to help me up.
“Sorry, do I know you?” he said slowly, furrowing his brow.
“Pete, it’s me? Mike?” I said blushing. “your flatmate?” I added wondering if he was joking. Pete’s eyes widened.
“Woah, shit. Mike! God man I didn’t recognise you, what’s with the…?” he tailed off gesturing at me in general, not quite able to put a finger on what he saw. “You going gay on me mate?” he said with a hint of an amused grin. I was at a loss for words for a moment before I remembered the towel I had tied around my chest. Blushing deeply, I untied it and slipped it down to my waist.
“Heh, I don’t know how that got there.” I laughed nervously. “And I don’t look any different. Pete. Get your god damn eyes tested.” I laughed punching him on the arm and dashing off to my room before he could say anything else. Slamming the door closed I slipped down the door and sat on my bedroom floor breathing deeply. What the hell was happening? Why did I do that? Why didn’t he recognise me? I wasn’t wearing makeup, or women’s’ clothes. It wasn’t the first time… This was getting weird…
After enough time had passed I dried myself off and slipped into a pair of sweats and a tee shirt before venturing out into the kitchen to find something to eat. With all the excitement this afternoon, we had missed lunch, and I really wasn’t a one meal a day sort of guy.
Pete was sat at the counter as I walked into the kitchen.
“Alright,” He said looking up from his paper. “Why were you acting weird before Mike?” he asked, going straight for the kill. I looked around for a moment.
“It's stress I guess.” I shrugged. “Lots going on at work at the moment, in fact I’m transferring out of the Met at the moment.” I said, trying to distract him. Thankfully, he bought it.
“Oh? You moving somewhere else?” He said looking a little crestfallen. “How come you didn’t tell us?”
“No, I’m staying in London,” I said quickly. “I’m staying within the government, but changing Department, as it were.” I said cryptically. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go around telling people I was joining MI6, regardless of whether I was actually allowed to:
Unfortunately, Pete wasn’t that easy to satisfy.“Where are you going? Surely you’d have known you were going to transfer out? They aren’t giving you a desk are they?” he asked curiously between vicious oral assaults on the food before him that passed for eating.
I shook my head. “No, It's very spur of the moment, I… I was recruited, lets say,” I said raising my eyebrows.
“Who by?” Pete asked innocently. Why did he have to be so curious? I tried to pause as I reached into the fridge for a beer and spent an inordinate amount of time opening the thing. It was as he was turning to see why I had gone quiet, I remembered the 6 man Benton’s cover… “Foreign and Commonwealth office,” I said nonchalantly. “Paper pushing, nothing fancy, I look forward to the change of pace to be honest,” I shrugged.
Pete looked at me for a moment then went back to his food. “Sure sounds boring,” he mumbled. Becky chose that moment to return home. She pushed her way into the flat with as much physical drama as such a small person could create, dumping bags in the hall and slamming the door. “Blasted tube was out on our line,” she growled. “I had to walk from bloody Victoria. And these bags aren’t light!” she scowled.
“Don’t buy so much you dozy cow,” Pete said grinning. “It would be easier on you in more ways than one,” he lectured with a chuckle.
“Oh piss off.” She laughed. “You know that will never work. How was your day?” she asked regaining some of her trademark bounce now the long fight home was over.
“Fine,” he shrugged. “It’s been much more interesting since I got home though.”
Why can’t the world swallow you up when you want it to?
“Why’s that? Becky called from the living room, groaning loudly as she pulled off her knee high stiletto boots. “AAAHHHHHH circulation!” she moaned happily.
“Mike was running around in a towel looking like a girl, and now he’s announced that he’s left the police,” he announced triumphantly, trying to make me look as bad as possible. “I think he wants to be called Michaela now!” he laughed not quite managing to dodge the well aimed spatula I launched at the back of his head.
Becky appeared at the door to the kitchen seconds later. “Really?” she asked, her head cocked to one side. “I’d confirm it.” He winced, rubbing the back of his head. “But I’m afraid SHE will try to hurt me again.” He laughed. I was just stood there with my head in my hands hoping the world would end.
I felt Becky’s hand on my arm and dropped my hands to look at her. “He’s pulling your leg about most of that,” I said weakly. She nodded knowingly.
“Oh I didn’t believe a word of his usual bullshit, especially his kinky fantasies that he inflicts on us all,” she laughed pretending to vomit. “But is he right about you quitting the Met? I thought you loved that job?” She asked with concern.
I sighed. I was going to have to be honest; it was the safest way out that I could think of. They would be fine if my housemates knew? Right?
“Look, both of you listen up; I’m going to say zis once, and only once.” I said, imitating a famous quote from an old TV show. “I have been recruited by the Secret Intelligence Service, MI6 to you lackeys. Please don’t tell anyone this, as it is quite secret,” I said seriously, glaring at the pair. “If I ever say I can’t talk about something, please respect the fact that I can’t. The same goes for any extended unannounced trips.” I finished, watching the two closely for their reactions.
Becky and Pete looked at each other for a moment; Pete started to laugh, but caught the serious expression on my face. “You’re serious aren’t you Mike?” he asked furrowing his brow. “Straight up? Mi6?”
“Yes,” I sighed, “and this is the last time we talk about it, ok? So get your curiosity out of the way now before I lose my patience.” I grimaced.
The three of us talked for nearly an hour, they were both extremely curious. I think Pete didn’t believe me till I showed him the security pass in my suit pocket. I was deliberately vague; I didn’t know how much I was allowed to say, or not as the case may be. I just hoped men in black suits wouldn’t turn up in the night and spirit me away to some dark cell for all eternity. Thankfully, in the aftermath of my honesty, Pete had forgotten about the bathroom incident. The evening wound on slowly as we returned to our usual evening routines. Before long, I was welcoming the warm embrace of sleep once more.
I woke the next morning to the annoying voice of the radio DJ; it was possibly the last voice I ever wanted to hear first thing in the morning, second to perhaps Cherie Blair. As usual it succeeded in dragging me from the warm confines of my bed. I showered quickly, and got out of the flat before my housemates woke: I wasn’t in the mood to talk to them this morning; I needed a break in the interrogation after last night.
I missed the normal morning rush at the pods, arriving slightly earlier, and entered the Vauxhall Cross for my 4th day working with MI6, although I supposed that today would become my official first day. Catching one of the lifts, I descended to the sublevels of the building, and arrived at the Middle East controlerate.
The door unlocked with a beep, and I slipped into the offices. I headed towards Mr Tornworth’s office, hoping that he would be in early, I was in luck. As I knocked, he looked up from his desk and gestured for me to enter.
“You’re in very early Michael.” He smiled. “Though I suspect you didn’t come in for an idle chat.” He said raising his eyebrows in question.
“Yes Mr Tornworth, I mean Sir. Sorry.” I stuttered not quite sure of the appropriate title.
“Ah stuff the formality down here Michael, Call me John.” He said. “What’s on your mind? How were things yesterday?”
Taking a seat in front of his desk, I pursed my lips, wondering how to phrase yesterday’s happenings. “Well, I guess it went okay, if we are talking about mission success.” I began. “But I came to speak to you about something Miss North told me afterwards; when we knew things could progress…” I said trailing off, hoping that he got the hint.
John nodded. “Yes, I asked her to offer you a more permanent position with us pending on the success of yesterday’s erm… test,” he said with an embarrassed grin.
“Look, I’ll be honest with you,” he said shrugging. “This is unorthodox, and I think this avenue honestly holds the most chance for us to field an agent successfully. It’s hard to find reasonable Field Officer candidates at the best of times and your skill-set and background offers us a unique opportunity to diversify…” he smiled conspiratorially.
“You impressed me when you told me that our initial plan would not work, even against my insistence that you try. To be honest, I suspected as much, but at the time we were short of ideas. “You’re a professional, as you said, and you aren’t willing to compromise your beliefs and work for the unrealistic or impossible: That makes you an asset as a field Officer,” he said leaning back in his chair and looking at me. “What do you say to working for us?” he asked.
“Okay,” I replied simply. “I had plenty of time to think this over last night after Miss North… Jane told me, so don’t think this is spur of the moment; but yes, I’ll do it.” I said with more confidence than I felt.
John leant forwards and offered me his hand across the desk. “Welcome to the Team, Mike,” he said with a broad smile. I took the offered hand, once again losing mine in his massive paw and vicelike grip. I felt like I had just signed a business deal …
“How do we progress from here?” I asked, cutting to the point of my coming in early. “This assignment, this mission … I don’t want to be left out of the loop on this,” I insisted.
“Well, When Jane and Harriet get in; we meet with Toby, my deputy. You met him yesterday, blunt Scottish chap,” he said reminding me with a grin. “And we will form an action plan for the next two weeks that remain before the mission begins. Of course, there will be some job training that will have to be conducted …” he said with an apologetic smile. “I can’t quite let you go into the field untrained… All Field Officers attend the Field Officer Entry Course before assignment to a controlerate, but we will have to compress the actual important parts into this period for you, the fluff can come afterwards when you get back.”
“You mean IF?” I replied grimly, saying what I really thought, and what I was sure he meant.
“No, I mean when,” John said, his face taking on a serious expression. “I never expect to lose an Officer in the field, and this mission is no different, you have the particulars for this job that no amount of legend specific training or prep could teach. If anyone would complete this successfully, it’s you.” He shrugged, “Now if you do get killed and prove me wrong. I will dig your damn body up, and kill you myself. Clear Cohen?” he said with mock sincerity.
I couldn’t help but smile. There was a different side of this man I was seeing now I had crossed the invisible divide between working with, and for.
Over the next half hour, the department began to fill up: Soon, those pertinent to the operation arrived, and were subsequently called into John’s office. There were congratulations given and knowing smiles when it was announced I was becoming a permanent member of the Controlerate. Jane gave her report on the previous day, and much to my embarrassment, she could find no reason for the operation to not go ahead. We discussed the next two weeks, and what would have to be incorporated.
Jane kept looking at me as if she was about to say something, but changing her mind at the last moment. Eventually, it got too annoying to ignore.
“What is it?” I asked turning to her.
“Well,” she said slowly, as if choosing her words carefully. “There isn’t much time to fit all that Mike has to learn in… I would like to put it past everyone that we kill two birds with one stone,” she said, glancing around the room nervously.
“What is it, woman?” Toby Goodwin asked impatiently in his broad Glaswegian accent. “You want us to come back later or are you going to tell us now?” he asked sarcastically, earning him a scowl.
“Look, I just think it would work better if we spend a few days with Mike… dealing with the more… erm, Vital aspects of the… Disguise…” she said looking at me with a worried look. “Then Mike lives as Anastasia 24/7 till the Mission… so he can get used to it, allowing him more time to focus on the other aspects...?” she offered tentatively, with an expression that suggested she expected me to explode any second with rage.
It didn’t seem as shocking or disgusting as I wanted it to in my mind. The idea, while scary, was annoyingly sensible… I didn’t want to make some major goof when it mattered and it could kill me … did I?
“I guess,” I shrugged. “I mean, I’ll have to do it at the end of these two weeks anyway. Starting a few days earlier won’t exactly change anything.”
“Sorry Mike,” Jane said softly. “I just didn’t want to seem like I was throwing more of this at you, I realise how hard yesterday was…” she said with an apologetic smile.
“I’ll just be happy when it’s all over,” I shrugged.
“This is above and beyond, lad,” said Toby seriously. “We’ll look after ye’,.” He said patting me on the back roughly. This stays within the controlerate, nobody else in Six needs to find out, okay?” he smiled reassuringly. “I Know I wouldn’t want anyone to find out,” he chuckled. I just looked at my feet and blushed.
“That’s not what we all think, you know,” Harriet said as we walked across the footbridges away from the Mi6 building.
“I know, but he, and God knows how many others are or will be in the next few days,” I said to the floor as we walked. “Facing that lot when I do this is going to be so embarrassing,” I sighed.
“There is another way,” Jane shrugged as we hailed a cab.
“I dread to find out, but go on …” I urged as we climbed aboard. “New Scotland Yard Please,” I told the cabbie, before returning my gaze to Jane. “What?” I asked.
“You start living as the legend 24/7 now …” She grinned. “Nobody gets to know you before, and when the mission is over, she goes away, and Mike goes on the Field Officer’s Entry Course before being assigned to MEFE…” She concluded looking pleased with herself.
“Would John and Toby go for that?” asked Harriet sceptically beside me. “It seems a bit deceptive. I don’t think people are that immature here…” she said making a face.
“I’d rather not be known as ‘that agent that dressed up as a girl …” I said, hoping the cabbie had his mike off. “From what Mr Goodwin said before; I can be pretty sure there would be a lot of attitudes that aren’t vocalised, and as much as I don’t want to run around in skirts, it offers me a way out with my manhood intact. It’s not quite the best way for me to start at a new job.” I grimaced.
“Keeping your manhood intact by wearing a skirt?” Harriet asked coyly, cocking an eyebrow. “That’s certainly the most roundabout way I can imagine,” she chuckled.
After paying the driver, we left the taxi and made our way into the Lobby of New Scotland Yard. The two girls decided not to come up; Jane said something cryptic about phone calls. Shrugging, I called the lift, and was soon on my way up to the 3rd floor, and my old place of work.
“Where’ve you been mate?” boomed Harry from across the room as I entered the office.
“I’ll tell you in a bit, Harry,” I replied, trying to throw him off long enough to ask Janice if the boss was around. Well, my old boss.
Knocking on Chief Inspector Farvey’s door, I entered.
“Welcome back Cohen.” He smiled as he looked up from the papers on his desk. “Have fun playing with the spooks, lad?” he chuckled.
“How did you?” I began to ask furrowing my brow, when he held up a hand and laughed deeply. “You don’t think that’s the first time some busybody from the ‘Foreign and Commonwealth’ has been around these parts? It’s one of the corniest covers in the book, but we’re British, so we keep using them because they make us feel better,” He chuckled.
It struck me as true when I thought back. Why would some Foreign office lackey come here to talk to me?
I cut to the chase; “Sir, I’m here to tender my resignation, unfortunately, it has to be effective immediately,” I shrugged apologetically.
“Stole you have they? Bastards,” he said with a wry grin, offering his hand. “Good luck in future pastures, Michael,” he said ruefully giving my hand a good squeeze. “May our loss be their gain.”
We chatted for a few more moments before I said my goodbyes and left his office for the last time. Harry was still loitering when I closed the door.
“What’s all this cloak and dagger stuff mate?” he said in his usual tactless manner.
“I’m being transferred,” I shrugged. “Position with the foreign office, diplomatic protection detail,” I shrugged. Somehow, I knew that line would work on Harry.
“Sounds boring,” he said making a face. “When you go?” he asked as I cleared the few personal items I owned from my desk and hit a few keys on my keyboard before my machine began to format its drive.
“Now, Harry,” It’s a short notice placement. Overseas, you know …” I shrugged with fake remorse. “Boring, but they pay great,” I grinned, hoping he was satisfied.
“Fair enough,” He grinned. “Been cool working with you mate,” he called as I walked out the door.
“I don’t share the sentiment,” I muttered as I walked down the corridor.
It was strange. At the time, I had thought that I enjoyed the job, or at least had been happy, but the more I thought back, the more I realised that it had been just that; a job.
Exiting the lift on the ground floor, I headed over to the seating area where the two women were waiting for me. I gave the building a last look over as we hailed a cab, and left New Scotland Yard for the last time.
The cab dropped us off outside North Bank, and we made our way inside where we were greeted warmly by Sally.
“I ordered those things you requested Jane, the courier dropped them off a few moments ago,” She said grinning devilishly, “It’s funny how fast your lot’s money moves things…” she chuckled.
“What have you done?” I asked with a growing feeling of dread.
“You’ll see,” replied Jane with a coy smile.
“I really don’t trust you with surprises,” I said shaking my head. “Fine, let’s destroy my life as I know it for the next few weeks,” I sighed reluctantly. “Shall we?” I asked turning to Sally, “I don’t want to delay everyone’s plans.”
Sally led me through into the room we had used the day before and I mindlessly walked straight into the changing room and stripped. There was another pair of knickers on the side, and the same silk robe. I slipped both items on without really thinking about it. I was too far beyond being able to complain or worry.
When I returned to the main room, Sally led me to a long table and ordered me to lie face down on the padded top. I gave her a funny look, but complied.
“Now this might sting a little dear…” she said as she began to spread warm liquid wax on the backs of my legs. I wasn’t stupid; I knew what was coming from many other sources, but nothing quite prepared me for the utter agony when she ripped the first of the cloth strips from my skin.
YOOOWWCH.” I screamed in a most unmanly fashion. “Can’t you do that any less violently?” I begged squeezing my eyes shut to block out the pain as she removed more of my flesh.
“Of course not, dear,” she said in a bored tone. “Now be a good girl and grin and bear it; beauty hurts,” she giggled. I could almost swear she was enjoying this.
Before long, the backs of my legs were clear of hair, and having rolled me onto my front, she repeated the process. Thankfully the rest of my body was relatively hair free, apart from my armpits and pubic region which received similar vicious treatment.
“Do MI6 employ you to torture suspects too?” I groaned rubbing my sore body parts. “Is it always that bad?”
“No, you get used to it,” she said as she cleared some items away. “And yes, once or twice they brought in a particularly hairy terrorist for me to play with,” she grinned, before bursting into giggles when she saw the look on my face.
I was allowed the modesty of the robe once more and Sally had me sit in the salon chair again.
“Ok hon, we’re going to give you hair extensions,” she said as she played with my existing locks. “How long do you want it?” she asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know, you decide.” I replied dismissively, not really wanting to be voluntarily involved in my emasculation.
Sally smiled and rubbed my shoulder. “It’s not so bad dear,” she soothed. “I know this isn’t easy, but you need to relax a little and go with the flow ok?”
“The flow terrifies me,” I admitted. “This whole thing is alien and strange, I came into this hoping that I’d prove them wrong and look silly, then I found myself feeling glad I didn’t look stupid … that … I don’t know; if I have to be a girl, at least I don’t look stupid… does that make sense?” I asked locking eyes with her through the mirror.
“Sure it does dear,” she said with a reassuring smile. “Nobody wants to look stupid. Look, why don’t you try to put Michael away for now, and pretend you’re someone else? You might find it easier if you stop thinking of yourself as a man dressed as a woman …” She shrugged,
“But I am,” I said, “Or I will be.” I shuddered.
Sally shook her head. “No you won’t.” she said firmly. “For your mission you will be a woman, so you’d better get into character, huh?
“I don’t see how,” I shrugged, beginning to feel stupid. “I’ll be a guy pretending to be a woman on the mission, nothing changes that.”
Sally knelt down by my side and turned to face me. “Look dear, I’m not one of your spy types, but I do know that if you go with that attitude, you will fail, and it will most probably cost you your life,” she said seriously. “My advice, is to let go of Michael for a while, let's pick you a name to use, It will make this easier for you than seeing yourself as ‘Michael in girls clothes’,” she smiled. “any ideas?” Sally prompted.
“I really never thought about it.” I shrugged screwing up my face. “I’d like something Hebrew though.” I admitted. “I won’t change everything about me.”
Sally nodded. “How about Sarah?” she offered, “That’s a Hebrew name isn’t it?”
I shook my head. “No, it’s too… girly... I really don’t quite see myself as the princess sort yet either,” I chuckled darkly.
Sally smiled ruefully and shook her head. “You really are a hard one to please aren’t you?” she said shaking her head. “Well you have a think while I do your hair okay? I will be expecting a name when I’m through.” She smiled and rubbed my arm before she got to her feet and began to work on my hair.
As she worked, I lost myself in thought. I had to admit she was right; my entire problem with this was that I saw myself as Mike cross-dressing. For Mike, being treated like this, wearing clothes like this would be wrong, or strange…. But If I thought of myself as a girl, it wouldn’t be… it would be normal. I tried to think of girl's names, but each one that popped into my head was someone I knew… I really didn’t want to be reminded of them each time someone called my name for the next few weeks. As I tried to think of names that didn’t belong to anyone I knew, I remembered something my Father had mentioned once; he had described how my Mother had vetoed my sister’s name… I had gotten a Jewish name, and my sister ought to have a Christian one… to reflect the two faiths my parents belonged to… Of course, it hadn’t mattered that Veronica had not been a Christian name either… but the name had stuck with her to this day as names tend to… I thought about the name my Father had wanted…. Sharon…. I played with it in my mind for a moment and something seemed to click. It was as if it was a name waiting for me… It was part of my family, but awaiting an owner… Sharon Cohen, Miss Sharon Cohen. ‘I am Sharon…’ I thought to myself. I smiled inwardly at the irony of the name… Plain, flat, new… a clean slate in my mind…. Yes, Sharon was perfect.
When I came round from my daydream like state I realised that Sally was practically finished. I looked at the person in the mirror… I saw no trace of Mike and the only difference I could see was that my hair was longer and a different colour… She had finished the extensions, and dyed my hair a very natural shade of blonde, almost honey coloured. It was currently cascading around my shoulders with a slight hint of waviness. I could see the girl again … she was more plain looking at the moment, but none the less still pretty, and still a girl. It was scary to see myself look like that…
“Wow,” I breathed quietly.
“See what I meant yesterday?” Sally said nodding at my reflection. “You suit this,” she smiled.
“Even flat-chested and without any makeup I look like a girl,” I said slowly. “How?” I asked dumbly, feeling increasing confusion begin to creep through my brain.
Sally finished trimming a section of hair and fluffed it lightly. “Good genes dear,” She said with a shrug. Holding a mirror behind my head, she moved it around to let me see the whole effect. “What do you think?” she asked with a proud smile on her lips.
“I … I like it,” I said without really thinking. I looked so different that it felt easier to think of myself as Sharon… as a girl. As the hypothetical Sharon, I think it suited me, or her, I wasn’t quite sure yet.
“Did you decide on a name?” she asked leaning on the back of the chair and looking over my shoulder. “If you haven’t, I’m going to name you Betty-Sue,.” she giggled, wiggling her eyebrows.
I chuckled at the thought and looked at myself in the mirror again… Nope, no Mike…
“Sharon, I think,” I said slowly “I guess looking like this it makes it easier to call myself that,” I murmured quietly.
“The name suits you,” she smiled. “It’s feisty without being sluttish, but feminine at the same time… and yes, you do look more like a Sharon at the moment.” She said with a smile.
“I’m not so sure feisty is anything I want to be,” I frowned, running my fingers through my blond locks. “This feels so real,” I said furrowing my brow. “I can’t even tell.”
Sally beamed. “That, my darling, is because I’m a pro,” she said winking and laughing before explaining what she had done… I didn’t understand most of it, but I was glad she did.
Sally spun my chair around again and proceeded to attack my eyebrows with a pair of tweezers before she set about applying cosmetics to my face. To her credit, she tried to explain what each thing was, and what they did, but I was lost.
Sally dove into the wardrobe cum cupboard again, and produced another small mountain of clothing on the floor by my feet. Once she was satisfied, she didn’t go for the corset as before, but reached onto the shelf behind me and removed a package. Ripping the paper, she extracted another box similar to the previous day.
“Jane had me order these from a supplier in the city and got them couriered over,” she said with a sly smile. “MI6 spares no expense…”
Opening the box, she lifted out one of the fleshy objects. They were more realistic than the previous pair, and the tone matched my skin much more closely. Sally placed the breast forms on the tabletop next to her, and extracted a tube from the box and began to read the label.
“What’s that?” I asked puzzled.
“It’s a skin glue.” She said, “It will adhere the forms to your chest for about two weeks, we will need to take them off and clean the underlying skin before you go away, so the timing is quite good.” She said. “This will make it much more realistic, and help you get into character.” She said it as if she was trying to convince me it was a good idea.
In all honesty, I’d given up much hope of escaping with some modicum of masculinity, so I lay back on the waxing table once more as Sally applied the glue to both my skin and the breast forms before individually positioning each one. Once they were on my skin, she added more glue around the edges, and applied a semi permanent makeup to blend them to my own skin. The effect was shocking; I sat up and immediately felt the tug of my breasts on my chest.
“This is weird,” I muttered. “too damn weird.”
Sally laughed. “You’ll get used to that,” she said with a knowing grin. “Most of us grow ours over a few years, so we don’t notice a difference,” she said with a note of amusement.
Sally retrieved the bra and the corset from the pile of clothes and ordered me to stand before imprisoning me in the blasted thing again. I was NOT pleased with the way it pushed my breasts up… I could swear they looked larger. Fastening the bra, Sally showed me how to position my breasts in the cups. I did feel more comfortable now the weight was supported more evenly, strange, but more comfortable.
Sally selected a knee length grey skirt and a pale blue blouse that exposed just the hint of cleavage without actually revealing the false breasts. While I wrestled with a pair of nude tights, she rummaged in her venerable Aladdin’s cave and returned with a pair of low black strappy heels.
“I don’t think I’m ready for those,” I said with a grimace. “What happened to walking before I run?” I asked hoping she would reconsider.
“Nonsense.” She smiled. "Consider them training. Plus, these are barely two inches,” She chided. “Grow up, girl,” she winked.
Straightening my clothes , she gathered my hair behind my head and fiddled with something before pronouncing me done; I could feel my hair tugging lightly at whatever she had pinned it with.
Leading me over to the mirror, she showed me the results of her hard work.
I was speechless. There was no doubt I appeared female now… My blonde hair was pulled into a loose bun high on the back of my head, with a few wispy strands framing my expertly made up face. My figure was undeniably female, and the young woman that looked back at me was slim and attractive. She looked ready for a business meeting and most definitely was not a Mike …
While I had been admiring myself, Sally had invited Jane and Harriet in. The two of them were as shocked as I was. “Mike, I can’t believe that’s you,” Harriet whispered, with a look closely approaching awe.
“Girls,” Sally announced, getting their attention. “We decided, for the good of her role, that she needs to be referred to in the feminine from now on … And she’s called Sharon,” she said with a broad grin.
“Whose idea was that?” Jane asked curiously, fixing Sally with an accusatory stare.
“Hey it was my idea for a name, but she picked it!” Sally giggled holding her hands up in surrender.
“How do you feel Mi … Sharon? Jane asked raising her eyebrows. “I must say you look great…
“The jury is still out,” I shrugged. “I know I look good, and I’m happy that I don’t look silly, but this still feels uncomfortable,” I shrugged. “So what’s the plan now?” I asked with trepidation.
“Well, I thought we could get a spot of lunch, and then do some shopping for you,” Jane suggested. “John authorised us to use a 6 credit card, so there’s no worry about money.”
Sally rolled her eyes, “I should have become a super spy like my sister.”
I wheeled around. “You two are sisters?” I half asked, half stated as I looked back and forth between the two. “I should have guessed,” I sighed. “Why would 6 go round vetting salons?”
Sally grinned. “I just wish you were in as safe hands this afternoon with the other North sister.” She chuckled, dodging a playful swipe from Jane.
Sally found me a handbag and a jacket to go with my outfit, and placed one of each of the cosmetics she had used in the bag. I gave her a hug as we left.
“Thank you, you made this as painless as I expect it could have been,” I said genuinely. “Apart from the waxing, of course.” I said laughing.
“My pleasure,” she smiled warmly. “I just wish I could come with you guys now, but I have to open the shop and tend to the boring normal customers,” she replied ruefully.
After a final round of goodbyes, we stepped out onto the street and waited for a cab to pass.
It was about then I realised I was standing on a London street wearing women’s clothes, makeup, and with big fake breasts glued to my chest.
Some part of my brain told me that I ought to be scared of what I was doing, but was overridden by an overwhelming sense of self preservation. If I broke down now, I would draw attention to myself, but if I kept going, nobody would be the wiser.
So I did just that … I followed Jane and Harriet along the street, occasionally agreeing with something, or making non committal sounds. Before long, a taxi appeared, and we flagged it down and boarded. Jane gave the driver an address , and I sank down into my seat with relief. I had never before been more self conscious of walking 50 meters in my life.
“You okay?” Harriet asked, watching my expression carefully. “It’s okay to be nervous,” she said with a friendly smile, giving my hand a light squeeze. “I know what you’re thinking … Seriously though, nobody will work it out unless you telling them; you look amazing,” she grinned.
“She’s right,” added Jane from the other side of Harriet. “Sally did a right number on you, it suits you down to the ground …”
“So everyone keeps saying,” I sighed. “I’d like to get to grips with pretending to be this first though if you don’t mind,” I muttered darkly.
“Just treat this as what it is …” Harriet said with a shrug. “An operation … you’re an undercover Intelligence agent, so act the part and earn your paycheque,” she added, making it sound like this was the simplest thing in the world.
“It may have escaped your notice,” I said darkly. “But I don’t know this role very well.”
“Coulda fooled me,” snickered Harriet. “That’s the easy part though. You look like you belong, that gives you a little leeway … We won’t have to concentrate on getting your mannerisms and behaviour to be as feminine as possible to remove suspicion … you look so …. female,” she said gesturing at me, “that nobody would begin to suspect you were undercover. So relax okay?”
“Easier said than done,” I muttered to myself.
We arrived at a small Italian Bistro in Knightsbridge and made our way inside. I tried to take what the girls had said to heart, but it was easier to understand what they meant, than it was to truly believe. It sounds silly, but I swear that I expected everyone that cast their eyes in my direction would see through my deception. It was irrational I knew; I had seen myself in the mirror at Sally’s, and I knew there was no way anyone could tell, but subconsciously, it was a hard feeling to shake.
We were seated quickly, and shared a quick light lunch. We relaxed, and I began to get to know the two girls a little better. If anything, they seemed to open up to me more as Sharon than they had as Mike. Harriet kept looking at me strangely when she thought my head was turned: My unnaturally broad field of vision was clearly not on 6’s file ….
“So what is Mr Tornworth like to work for?” I asked between bites of my salad. I had been scolded several times for how I ate, and was beginning to feel like I was 5 again.
“He’s not bad. He can get stroppy at times when the Deputy Chief rides him and the other heads of departments, but that’s normal; the guy’s an ass,” Harriet shrugged.
“Er, ’not bad’?” Jane scoffed. “He’s only not bad to you because you’re one of his precious field Officers … You don’t have to spend as much time with him as I do. He rides us pretty hard when you go off gallivanting around foreign countries,” she snickered. “All in all, he’s not TOO bad. I suppose, we could have done so much worse,” she shrugged. “Safe to say you won’t find him too bad.” Jane said to me. “You’re a man, after all.”
“Yeah, he can be a bit old school,” Harriet added screwing up her face, “But he’s not as bad as Toby can be.”
“What have I walked into?” I moaned. “Although I’ll probably get to see a different side thanks to this mission,” I said, sipping my wine, “I may not see the full brunt of his misogyny, but doubtless, my membership card for the old boys club will get lost in the post.”
“I guess that makes you an honorary girl for the duration,” Jane chuckled. “You’re going to have to learn to fend off Daniel Many Hands, so if anything, that qualifies you,” she said with something approaching glee.
“I think I get the idea,” I sighed. Men were another facet of this mission that I was as yet unwilling to even consider. Though that might be easier said than done like so many other things I was dealing with for the first time.
We chatted idly for another half an hour or so before leaving to get a cab into central London to begin the second part of my torture and education: Shopping.
The taxi dropped us off at the end of Oxford Street, and Harriet, like a true general led the attack from the front. She was clearly an experienced London shopper, possessing just the right amount of haughty confidence to keep the vulture-like sales assistants at bay. Between themselves, the girls began to compile a small mountain of clothing they thought suitable for me. Thankfully, I wasn’t exactly sure what was suitable for a female me, so I largely kept out of the discussions, occasionally vetoing a disgusting colour or style that I would have found repulsive on any woman, let alone myself.
Eventually, the mountain of clothing became too large for them to support, and I was dragged towards the changing room to begin trying on the third of the shop we had acquired. To my credit, I only balked slightly when I was guided forcefully into the women’s changing room and installed in a cubicle. I had often wondered why women took so long when shopping, and after seeing the lengthy process that took place in each shop, I had a new understanding for the process. I started to think about how much I would benefit from the experience when I got a girlfriend, but something felt extremely wrong about ‘girlfriend’ when I was stood there, a perfect representation of the sort of girl I would have fancied. The world was a weird place…
“Where next?” I asked with trepidation as we left Harvey Nicks.
“It’s a surprise.” Jane replied ominously.
I groaned; “I’m about done with your surprises.”
“There is one thing my dear sister cannot do,” Jane said as we made our way along the busy streets. “She cannot pierce.”
I swallowed heavily. “Pierce what?”
“Your ears silly … It’s going to look very funny if a 24 year old woman doesn’t have pierced ears.”
“I thought we weren’t doing anything permanent?” I asked nervously, trying desperately to find some way out of having metal shoved through my body.
“They heal if you take them out within a few weeks.” Harriet said, attempting to reassure me. “And if it doesn’t, lots of guys have them pierced…”
I sighed, “It just seems a very permanent step to take. This is moving so fast.”
Harriet was quiet for a moment before she spoke, “Think about it this way: The more we do sooner, the more dramatic the difference, and thus, easier for you to separate yourself from this … If anything, getting your ears pierced for a few weeks is going to help …” she offered. “Plus you’re such a big baby. It doesn’t hurt.” She grinned, spotting one of my reasons for hesitation.
“I’m not scared.” I said puffing out my chest, only to breathe out rapidly when I saw my breasts push forwards in a way I did NOT want to see on me. Harriet was watching the entire inner conflict with amusement, and found it hard to stifle a giggle.
“You’ll get used to those,” she whispered conspiratorially in my ear as we walked. “And for future references, you can’t pull off macho at the moment, honey.”
I scowled, but said nothing. She was right.
Jane took me to an upmarket piercing parlour where she paid for me to be impaled by a disturbingly large needle; twice. It hadn’t hurt as much as I expected, but I was still not pleased by such a permanently feminine step, whether I needed it or not. The silver studs were plain and unfeminine, but represented a strange new line I had crossed unwillingly.
Afterwards, we returned to the shopping assault with renewed vigour. I should have been pleased by the respite. Much to my embarrassment, I was subjected to Lingerie and shoe shopping before my two captors were finally satisfied. By this time, it was almost five, so they grudgingly decided to call it a day. We took a taxi back to my flat in Battersea, not wanting to chance the tube with such a mass of bags and packages. The girls offered to come up with me, but I declined, there were some things I needed to face alone.
Before I knew it, I was alone outside my flat. Hefting my packages, I climbed the stairs slowly towards the second floor. As I climbed, the stairs seemed to extend further and further. I didn’t know if it was the thought of what lay at the top, or the weight of my bags, but my feet felt like lead. How had things happened so quickly? It was only Wednesday that I had agreed to do this, and now here I was … stuck as a girl for the next few weeks. It was almost enough for me to want to be back at the Met again.
I reached my flat, and let myself in. I carried my bags through to my room and dumped them unceremoniously on the floor. I couldn’t meet my housemates looking like this….
I stripped off my skirt and blouse and pulled the pins from my hair before slipping out of my room and down the corridor to the bathroom where I cleaned off the makeup; that girl was still there …. I looked at my face from every angle, but no matter what I did, I still saw Sharon looking back at me. I cursed to myself under my breath and returned to my bedroom to find something simple and unfeminine to wear. I wasn’t quite ready to reintroduce myself to my housemates in a skirt.
I sorted through the bags, hanging the different garments in my wardrobe before I finally found what I had been looking for. We had gone to several High Street chain shops to find me some less dressy clothes for when I was around the house. I carefully slipped off the tights, and pulled on the loose jog bottoms and tee shirt. I felt much more comfortable after the restrictive garments I had spent the day in. Needless to say I still wore the damned corset, but I had grown used to it to a certain extent. I padded through into the kitchen, and got myself a beer from the fridge; I needed something to take the edge off my anxiety. Opening the bottle, I slipped onto the sofa and rubbed my aching feet. I certainly understood what girls meant about the pain of beauty now.
I sipped the beer and began to think of ways that I could phrase my predicament. I didn’t think the truth, no matter how appropriate, was possible; the nature of the Mission denied me that option. I toyed with several other ideas to little success, I opted in the end to go with a very vague version of the truth, and play the national secret trump card.
The sound of the door opening and shutting in the hallway snapped me from my reverie.
It was all the strength that I possessed to not run for my bedroom as each footfall reverberated on the polished wooden floor of the hall. I clenched my fists and waited for the inevitable.
Becky came into the room and dumped her bag on the sideboard with a sigh before turning to head towards the kitchen. As she did so, her eyes fell on me as I sat rooted to the spot on the sofa.
“Hi,” she said, a little startled. “You scared me … I’m Becky, I live here,” she said smiling warmly.
“I know Becky.” I said quietly. “Me too …”
Becky looked at me for a moment and I saw recognition flicker across her eyes.
“Mike?” she asked slowly furrowing her brow. “Is that you? What is this?”
“Ah, it’s a long story,” I sighed, trying to find the words. “This isn’t some lifestyle thing,” I hurriedly added. “It’s for work ….”
Becky looked sceptical but sat down to listen while I told her the edited version of the truth.
When I finished, Becky sat looking at me for a moment, as if wondering whether I was being honest or this was some massive fabrication to cover my queerness.
“How can they ask that of you?” she said with a frown. “Isn’t this a bit much?”
“I don’t honestly know. I originally decided to do it because I knew it wouldn’t work.” I grimaced. “But then it did … and I’m sort of flying by the seat of my pants here … well, my knickers…” I said dryly.
Stifling a laugh, she smiled warmly and moved over to sit next to me on the sofa and wrapped her arms around me.
“I don’t care what you look like, Mike,” she murmured softly as she hugged me. “You’re one of the few people in this city that actually gives a damn about me, and you deserve the same in return,” she said looking up at me with a deep far away look in her eyes. “You are very brave,” she said quietly. “Not many men would do this.”
“I’m still wondering if any have,” I snorted. “Anyway, I worked out today this is easier If I don’t see myself as a man.” I mumbled quietly. “I guess that makes me more embarrassed by this, and no amount of ‘brave’ will fix that.”
Becky looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “So you think of yourself as a girl like this?”
“I guess so.” I shrugged. “Sally thought … she … helped with this,” I said gesturing at myself. “She thought it would be a good idea to think of myself as a whole different person during this thing. I think I agree … It made shopping easier this afternoon … thought I was still scared.”
“You went out like this … in town?” Becky asked with surprise. “What was it like?”
“Well nobody pointed and laughed or shouted freak at me … so I guess okay,” I shrugged.
Becky giggled. “Well I can see that,” she said slyly raising her eyebrows. “I didn’t recognise you till you said you lived here … I noticed the similarities, I thought you might be a relative till you said,” she trailed off. “You look like your own sister,” she added flatly.
“I wouldn’t know, I don’t have one,” I shrugged.
“You know what I mean,” she sighed. “You just look like … I guess what you would have looked like if you were born like this.”
“This feels really weird Becky.” I admitted biting my lip. “Since this started, I’ve started feeling so strange, things just keep getting weirder.”
Giving me a reassuring squeeze, she said nothing for a moment. “Take your friend's advice,” she said quietly. “There is nothing weird about being a girl; I’ll vouch for that … So stop being Mike, and become Mike the girl … at least for a little while.” She shrugged.
She was right of course, so was Sally, they all were. The more I thought of myself as ‘Sharon’ the easier I found it to just exist, but the disturbing fact was, the more I did so, the more I forgot Mike. It hadn’t been a day, and I felt him slip just a little as I thought this way … This was wrong ….
“So ….” Becky pressed, forcing me from my reverie. “Do you have a name you use? For this I mean …” she added.
“Sharon,” I muttered.
“Oh, very cultural,” Becky giggled. “Sharon Cohen … Yes, I like it. It suits you.” She smiled.
“So Sharon,” she giggled playfully. “How are we going to tell that nasty man we live with that you came to your senses and joined the winning side?” she smirked devilishly.
She was taunting me, I knew her game, but I wasn’t going to rise to it as much as I wanted to. For the most part, it was because I knew she was only joking to make me feel better, not to upset me, and I guess that made a difference. The subject of Pete still cast a very large, very black shadow over my mood.
“I guess I can tell him when he gets home.” I frowned. “I guess it’s easier to get this out … I just know he won’t begin to understand this like you have.” I sighed ruefully.
“He’s going to be difficult.”
To my surprise, Pete was rather well behaved about the whole subject. Naturally, he had been utterly surprised by my appearance. He fielded many of the questions I expected. He wasn’t as convinced by my story, but gave me the benefit of the doubt. I think something in his eyes told me that he expected something like this … but I didn’t want to think about that. In his favour, he didn’t give me any hassle; that much I was glad of.
The night wound on, and we found an uneasy coexistence. I caught Pete looking at me curiously on several occasions. I think despite his own ideas, I did not meet them in a way he had envisaged. Tired from the day’s activity, I made my excuses, and retired to bed. It was almost surreal as I changed into the nightgown we had bought, and slipped beneath my familiar covers: one of the last things that remained constant. As I lay there, fear, uncertainty and confusion wracked my mind; sleep provided welcome respite.
I woke late on Saturday morning. It was unusually sunny for this time of year, but still brisk and windy. I lay in bed watching the tree outside my window blow back and forth in the spring breeze. I had woken slowly; that lazy, gentle awakening that leaves one refreshed and awake. I slipped out of my covers, and felt the weight of my breasts as I sat up, no, that wasn’t right … the false breasts; I didn’t think I’d ever get used to that feeling. I slipped out of my room, and made for the shower without looking at the mirror. I stripped off the nightdress, and stepped under the cool jets of water and tried to ease the night’s tension from my body. I reached for my body wash, but something about the men’s shower gel seemed a little weird this morning. Shaking my head to myself, I reached over and grabbed one of Becky’s many bottles and began to soap my wet hair. The whole process took much longer than normal, how did girls not find this annoying?
Stepping out of the shower, I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around myself; it took a moment for the sway of my free breasts to remind me to tie it higher. Steeling myself, I peered into the steamy mirror. That girl was still there…. She just looked a lot soggier. Even with my sodden hair plastered against my skull, I looked like a female. It was quite disconcerting to be honest. I rubbed my chin in the vain hope that I would have magically turned into a man over night but there was to be no miracle. Resigning myself to this new me, I brushed my teeth, and returned to my room.
I spent the day around the flat, doing very little; watching television, reading, and ignoring life. It felt reassuring to be doing something normal that didn’t remind me of my appearance. Becky and Pete surfaced around lunch time; Pete looked surprised that I was still dressed as a girl.
“Why don’t you take that stuff off at home, mate? Isn’t this a bit much?” he asked leaning on the kitchen counter, watching me carefully.
“I can’t really,” I said honestly. “Most of my guy clothes won’t really look right with these, will they?” I asked hefting my false breasts. “And unless I’m totally deluded, I’d look really strange, what with the hair … and stuff,” I trailed off running out of ideas.
“That’s what has me boggled, mate,” Pete said screwing up his face. "I expected that to be a wig and some water balloons, but it's you isn’t it? What did they do to you?” he asked with a faint look of unease.
I turned towards him properly and looked at him. “You think I’m having a sex change don’t you?” I asked, not really expecting an answer. “You think this is all some big story to cover up the fact I’ve turned gay and decided I want a vagina … That’s what you think isn’t it?” I asked standing up and approaching him with what I hoped was menace.
Pete recoiled as I did and held his hands up in surrender. “Wow, no, mate, seriously, I don’t think you’re gay,” he said, “I mean, even if you wanted to be a woman, that doesn’t make you gay I don’t think…” he said looking a bit taken aback by my burst of anger. “Look Mike … God, it,s weird calling you that … Look … It’s just sudden... is all.. Like the spy business … Something keeps telling me it’s a bit convenient I guess. You just look … so….” He trailed off gesturing at me.
“What?” I snapped angrily.
“Well look at yourself,” he said, sighing. “You look just like my ex when she was angry …. The huffy angry routine … the hands on the hips … You … You just … This doesn’t seem so out of place for you I guess.” He admitted. “I look at you, and I don’t see a guy. Sorry, mate, but you just come across as a girl in pretty much every way, and it’s a bit disconcerting,” he said frankly.
Automatically, my hands shot down to my sides. “I … No I don’t,” I said not even believing myself.
Pete raised his eyebrows and said nothing.
With a sigh, I slipped onto one of the breakfast bar stools and put my head in my hands. “This is weird, Pete,” I admitted. “This isn’t some sex change, I don’t think I’m a girl, I don’t want to be a girl … This is fucking me up in the head, but I just don’t think I have a choice … I can’t say what … but too much is riding on this.”
Pete reached out and took my hand and gave it a squeeze in that manly reassuring way he did …”It’s alright, mate, you said what you need to. I guess I was just being a tool as usual … you’ve got more balls than me to do this,” he admitted honestly with a lopsided grin.”
I snickered. “It takes balls to be a woman.”
After my heart to heart with Pete, I felt slightly better knowing that I had both of my housemates onside to a reasonable extent. I felt somewhat shocked that he had thought I wanted to become a woman … that I would lie to him like this … As for my behaviour, I wasn’t going to think about that. As far as I was concerned, it was appropriate, and probably a product of yesterday’s launch in at the deep end. I spent the rest of the day in my room reading, only venturing out to order takeout and retrieve it. I resolved to spend the weekend in the flat. Becky had other ideas…
On Sunday morning, I was dragged from my slumber by a persistent knocking at my door. Rolling over in bed, I rubbed my eyes and listened to see if the knock came again. As it was repeated, I swung my legs out of bed and made my way towards the door. Opening it a crack, I saw Becky looking up at me. “Come on you, we’re going out,” she grinned mischievously.
“Becky, I was asleep,” I moaned stifling a yawn.
“I know,” she said with a sly grin, “and you really should wear a dressing gown when you answer the door, what if I’d been Pete?” she asked with a leer.
Looking down, I realised just how exposed I was. The nightdress was brief, and a lot of leg and breast were on display. Blushing, I grabbed my dressing gown off the back of the door and wrapped it around myself. “Whatever,” I muttered sleepily. “Fine, I’ll get up … in about 3 hours,” I muttered closing the door and retreating to my bed. No sooner had I slipped beneath the covers again, Becky had entered my room and pulled the covers from my bed.
“No you don’t,” she laughed. “Come on girl, Up!”
“There is no girl here,” I mumbled, shoving my head under my pillow. “Go away.”
“Come on now,” she soothed, removing the pillow and sitting down on the bed beside me. “You hid all day yesterday, now I won’t let you spend the rest of the weekend in the house,” she said sternly.
I shook my head. “It scares me,” I muttered quietly into the pillow. “I’m a guy in a skirt, and it freaks me out. I’m not leaving this place in drag unless I have to,” I said resolutely.
“Now stop it,” Becky admonished. “We are going out for a walk to relax and unwind. You need to get over this freak business. You aren’t in drag if you start thinking of yourself as a girl,” she said prodding me in the back.
“So everyone says, but I’m not,” I insisted flatly.
Becky didn’t say anything for a moment. So I rolled over and looked up at her. “What?” I asked quietly, trying to read her blank expression.
“I just want to help you,” Becky said sadly. “You need some time to get used to things … I … Never mind,” she said shaking her head as she got up and left the room with a choked sob.
I sat up in the bed and felt truly awful; I took out my own idiotic anger against my friend, and I’d hurt her feelings. At that time, going out didn’t sound so bad if it would help settle the mood. Showering, with effort to keep my hair dry, I dressed simply in the plainest underwear I could find, the corset, and a pair of jeans and a cowl neck sweater before venturing out of my room and knocking on Becky’s door softly.
“Go away,” she called quietly. Ignoring her, I pushed the door open and stepped inside. Becky was lying on her bed curled into a ball; she didn’t even look up when I entered.
“Becky,” I said awkwardly. “Look, I’m sorry. This is very sudden for me. I realise you wanted to help, and I will come if you still want to,” I said quietly.
Becky looked up at me with red eyes; she had been crying. It made me feel even worse. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled sadly. “This is my fault.”
“No it’s not Becky,” I sighed. “This is me. I got into this, you only wanted to help,” I said softly.
“No,” she said flatly, sitting up. “This was my fault,” she said looking away. “The other night, when we had that night in … It was … lovely, but when you came home like this…” she said gesturing at me. “I sort of hoped that I could be a part of this for you, because I saw you like a little sister, sort of…,” she said quietly. “Growing up, I had two older brothers, and more than anything in the world, I wanted a little sister,” she said with a tear rolling down her cheek. “I took advantage of you like this,” she sniffed.
I walked over and sat down by her side and put my arms around her. We had known each other for nearly 5 years, and I almost did see her as the sister I never had. Growing up an only child, one makes attachments with close friends. You find substitute siblings, and being the two people I had known longest in my life beside my parents, Becky and Pete were almost a second family to me. At that moment, this ceased to matter to me. The fear of these feelings, the fear of being discovered and the fear of being a man in a dress evaporated. If Becky needed a sister, maybe I could help her? What if I made this one person happy for a while? I could do that…
“I guess I could be her for a while,” I said softly.
Becky furrowed her brow and looked at me, trying to work out what I was saying.
“Well you are older.” I said with a shrug. “And we have known each other so long, you do feel like a sister…. and as I am at the moment … well, I guess while I’m like this, I could do with a big sister around to talk to,” I said, meaning every word.
Becky looked at me with wide eyes and a silly grin on her lips. “Do you mean that?” she asked hopefully.
“I guess so,” I said, “I suppose I could use the help and experience.” Becky hugged me tightly, squeezing the air from my lungs more effectively than the corset. “Oh thank you Mike,” she said wistfully. “I really, really wanted a sister for so long,” she grinned. “Are you sure you’re okay with coming out? I didn’t mean to press…” she asked cautiously.
“Sure,” I shrugged. “And I think we should both get used to referring to me as Sharon, don’t you think? I do need to get in character …”
Becky grinned, and ran out of the room to shower and get ready before I could change my mind.
While she was busy, I slipped back into my room and searched amongst the new footwear I had acquired. There was a pair of flat, fur boots in a light tan that caught my eye, both for comfort, and for some reason, I liked the way they looked when women wore them with jeans. So slipping them on, I found a large shoulder bag, and transferred the contents of my suit pockets into it, along with the contents of the bag from Friday’s adventures. I managed to apply a little makeup in the mirror on my wall. Nothing extravagant, just a little mascara and a clear lip gloss. I wasn’t meant to be parading around like some supermodel; my girl was down to earth. Somehow I managed to look more feminine wearing less cosmetics; that was slightly disturbing.
Feeling ready as I could possibly be, I sat on my bed and brushed my hair for a moment while I waited for Becky to finish. How had I gotten into this? I was sat in my room, having just applied cosmetics and chosen what women’s footwear went with my women’s jeans and women’s top … The more I thought about it, the weirder it felt. What if I was Sharon? As Sharon, this was getting dressed … this was making herself presentable to go for a walk and a coffee with her flatmate on a lazy Sunday. When I thought of it that way, it really wasn’t anything to even write home about; a non issue. But I wasn’t Sharon … was I? I was Mike … masquerading as a woman he invented called Sharon … I finished brushing my hair and walked over to the mirror by my door.
I didn’t look like a Mike … the harder I looked; the harder it was to see that the girl in the glass was a masquerade. I looked like a young, casually dressed girl … Right now I felt like one too … I was Sharon?
At that moment, something clicked inside my brain and I felt my identity shift, or split; I wasn’t sure which, but from that moment however, I felt different. A part of me was Mike. He wasn’t going anywhere. But for now, I was a 24 year old woman called Sharon Cohen, I worked for MI6 and I had so very much to learn … For the first time, this didn’t feel like a charade. I knew deep down, this was a job, but I felt like I could manage…. There was no way anyone could see Mike unless they investigated the contents of my knickers … and short of Angelina Jolie turning lesbian; that was never going to happen.
“Just a job,” I shrugged, as I slipped out into the hallway.
Becky and I left the flat and walked down towards the river. It was an unusually warm Sunday morning, and there were people going to and fro as we walked; I felt extremely self-conscious for the first few hundred meters, though that began to wear off as it slipped through my confused brain that nobody was seeing anything out of the ordinary.
We found a small café by the Thames that wasn’t as overflowing with tourists as the others and we ordered coffees and a pastry before finding a table outside in the weak spring sunshine.
“You alright?” Becky asked, sipping her cappuccino. “You were really quiet on the way down here.”
“I guess,” I mumbled looking out over the river. “It’s not so bad, but a little bit at the back of my mind keeps telling me that someone’s going to twig.”
Becky snickered. “You looked at yourself recently?” she asked with a sly grin. “I don’t know how, but you sound, move and act so real it’s scary … I can hardly believe that there’s Mike in there…” she said quietly.
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I said quietly. “I don’t really feel like him at the moment either.”
“How do you mean?” Becky asked, setting her coffee down and giving me her undivided attention when I wanted it least.
“I guess … well I’m not wearing anything too feminine,” I said plucking at the jumper I was wearing, “and I really haven’t got much if any makeup on, but I still feel very much like girl I guess,” I shrugged. “It sounds weird I know, but I sort of started to think of this me as a different me …” I trailed off, not knowing how to go on.
“I know you don’t want to hear it,” Becky began, raising her eyebrows. “But even in a guy’s clothes, I think you would still appear female at the moment. It’s not just the hair, or the boobs,” she chuckled, “You carry yourself differently; I don’t know how much coaching you had, but its great!” She enthused. “There’s nothing macho or masculine about you like this …” she said smiling reassuringly.
“Yeah, lots,” I said quietly taking a sip. “Lots of coaching,” I said hating the truth she had inadvertently stumbled on. I know she had intended to be supportive, but I couldn’t help but feel the rug begin to come out from beneath my feet. Things were beginning to move faster in strange directions and I had no map and the brakes were shot. It hadn’t escaped my mind that I was faring much more easily at this than I should, but perhaps it was because I was an extremely observant person. I watched people, I analysed, I studied … It was my job to watch. As a sniper with the Met, 90% of my job at an incident was to watch, interpret and relay information. I decided that this was what I was doing now … I was using what I had subconsciously collected over the years … Just a job ….
After we were finished at the little café, Becky and I walked along the Thames and into the city proper. We looked around a few shops, not really intending to buy anything. Becky asked my opinion on feminine things, clothes, shoes, etcetera, trying to gauge how I thought now. It was mildly irritating, but I humoured her. After eating lunch in a deli near Victoria, we made our way home on the tube, having had our fill of Sunday exercise. I was glad to get back to the flat. There had been a lot brought up during the day that I needed time to think over. Things were changing. I found it hard to say whether that was good or bad, but I knew that was still to come.
I had truly enjoyed our day together, and before heading to bed that evening, I made sure I told Becky so. The smile of genuine pleasure I had received was worth the worry.
Monday morning arrived too quickly for my liking. I was being picked up by car at 8, so there was no rush to get out the door and on the tube this morning. Showering, I realised that I would soon have to buy my own bathroom products instead of using Becky’s; I was quite surprised by how much shampoo and conditioner my longer hair needed … Drying myself, I returned to my room, and slipped into my underwear. It was too weird now to even think of it as women’s underwear now, plus no woman had ever worn it, they were new clothes, I guess it made it easier to think of it as just a different style. I dried my hair, and brushed it out before looking through my wardrobe for something to wear. This was ten times harder than it used to be; now every day was pretty much ‘smart casual’ from my old life. There was no slumming in a tee-shirt and jeans in the office anymore…
Today was pencilled in as training … girl training … I had been told to wear a skirt by Harriet, so I began to look through what was available, finally settling on a dark grey skirt that came to my knees. Adding dark tights, and a black blouse, something dragged me to the mirror in my room to appraise my appearance. The reflection that greeted me was somewhat daunting. A slim, pretty blonde woman looked back at me. It made me feel numb, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She wasn’t wearing makeup, and she was stood in her stocking feet, but she looked every inch a woman. I closed my eyes and shook my head; I didn’t need this. After spending an age attempting to apply makeup, I gave up in favour of a little lip balm and mascara, like the day before; the less was more approach seemed much less clown like in my opinion. Collecting the bag from Friday, and a pair of low heeled black shoes, I pulled on a long knee length trench coat that Jane had simply insisted that I needed, I left my bedroom to make breakfast.
Pete and Becky were sat at the breakfast table when I entered, and both looked up. Pete gave me a curious look, and Becky smiled broadly, it was nice to have some constants in this world of upheaval. I muttered a good morning, and went straight for the coffee pot and toaster. Sitting down with my prizes in hand, I caught sight of Pete shaking his head, a silly grin on his face.
“What?” I asked between bites of my toast. “Did I do something?” I asked self-consciously.
“Nah,” he shrugged. “I’m still so thrown at how good you are at this, mate.” He chuckled, folding his paper. “It’s like living with another bird now.”
I rolled my eyes, “Whatever, Pete,” I muttered.
“It’s his training.” Becky added, “I mean her training …”SHE has had the best teachers, so you would expect a little authenticity,” she said gesturing with her spoon. “Plus I think you could do with more female influence Pete,” she chuckled. “Maybe you’ll stop that disgusting scratching you have a habit of doing around the place … and the mess … Maybe another female will drag you in line,” she said with a sly smile.
“Not likely, “And he’s not a female, so I’m safe.”
“Can breakfast discussions not revolve around me?” I asked sheepishly. “Its bad enough, without being flavour of the month,” I said feeling very much on show.
“Sorry,” They mumbled in unison, before awkwardly shifting the conversation in other directions.
I was the last in the flat as Pete and Becky left to make their ways to work. I felt nervous waiting, but almost on the strike of 8, my phone rang. Collecting my bag, I let myself out of the flat, flipping my phone open.
“Hello?” I said into the handset, as I locked the door.
“I’m outside,” Harriet said, “You can’t miss me,” she added closing the connection. I looked at the handset for a moment, before shaking my head and making my way downstairs and out onto the street. Between the hatchbacks and estates that were part of my road, a pristine black range rover was parked, with a sole female occupant behind the wheel. I grinned and walked around to the passenger side before climbing in.
“How subtle.” I said by way of greeting.
“Well I like to make an impression,” smiled Harriet. “Good weekend?”
“Fine I guess, I went out and picked up a few guys, nothing exciting, though I’m still walking funny, I think,” I said as she pulled out into the street. Harriet turned to look at me with a shocked expression on her face as she drove, not quite sure if I was telling the truth or not.
“At least you’re looking on the funny side of things,” she said shaking her head as we turned onto the main road. “You had me going for a minute.”
“Well don’t worry, I’m not going after men, nor do I intend to,” I said firmly. “Although I did go into town with my flatmate on Sunday, we had a good time.”
“Dressed as you are?” Harriet asked curiously, although I didn’t miss the conversational air she used to set me at ease with the question.
“Yes,” I confirmed. “We thought it would be helpful to get me used to it more, it was nothing intensive, just a walk, and a few shops.”
“I’m surprised by you,” Harriet said quietly. “On Friday, you were awkward, but your appearance made up for that, but now, you seem to be more relaxed and comfortable, even more natural I’d hazard to guess…” she added glancing my way. “Did you practice with your housemate?” she asked.
“No,” I sighed. “She noticed it too. I guess it’s like I told her … I’m an observant person, I guess I’m subconsciously copying things other women do … I mean women do…” I corrected quickly. The slight twitch in the corner of her mouth told me she had not missed it.
“It’s not a bad thing,” Harriet said as she navigated the streets of London in the 4x4. “It makes our job easier, gives us more time to focus on the agent side of things.”
“How much of this do I need to know?” I asked plucking at the blouse I was wearing. “I’m not supposed to be mincing around in high heels and stockings; I’m supposed to be a freelance killer...”
“Truth be told,” Harriet said looking over at me. “Not that much. We will do some coaching and test work today, and see how you fare, run some scenarios, practice mannerisms and behaviours, but as you say, the refinement is less important for the tomboyish character you’re portraying, Jane thinks it best if we give it a week at least.”
“And the rest of the time?” I asked, not sure if I wanted to hear the answer.
“We will spend some time on the ranges, you may need time to get used to shooting with…. New developments,” she said giving me a wink. “Later in the week, the formalities of working in the field, and protocol, we hope to have next week free for more mission specific work.”
I nodded, I was excited, but I didn’t want to reveal that just now. The prospect of a week’s worth of prancing around in high heels and mini skirts all week, and learning to flirt and act like a lady was not that appetising.
We arrived at Vauxhall Cross about 20 minutes later, and Harriet pulled into a bus stop just down from the Albert Embankment. I was about to ask her why we were waiting, when I caught sight of Jane North making her way across the foot bridges and towards us. We exchanged greetings as she slipped into the back seat of the Range Rover, before Harriet slipped us out into the traffic flow once more.
“Where are we going?” I asked nervously, the details of the day were conspicuous in their absence.
“We’re going to spend the next few days at my place, and work on your presentation, Miss Cohen,” said Harriet taking on a tutorial tone. “You have a few days to learn what we did in many years, so you had best be studious.
“But I thought I had enough to cope?” I asked, feeling my hope of avoiding finishing school disappearing fast.
“I must admit you do look fantastic this morning,” said Jane from the backseat. “Did you help her?” she asked, looking at Harriet.
“Not me,” Harriet replied holding up her hands, which made me wince, despite the Range Rover never changing course. “She came out this morning like that when I arrived to collect her.”
“Housemate?” prompted Jane, looking over at me.
“No, I just wore a skirt because you said so…” I shrugged. “The rest seemed to go with it, so I just did….”
“Impressive, perhaps you’ve been hiding yourself all these years?” she said with a sly chuckle.
“NO,” I said emphatically. “I’m not some transsexual, or confused, or anything, I’m just observant, and happen to look at women a lot,” I said, attempting to recapture some ounce of masculinity; difficult as that was as I straightened the hem of my skirt with my manicured nails.
We pulled up outside a house in Hampstead and Harriet let us in. The place was expensive, just like most of this part of the city.
“It was my parent's London town house,” Harriet offered by way of introduction as we hung up our coats. “After Daddy decided to move the business to the States, they let me have it; it sort of makes sense for work.” She shrugged.
“It’s nice.” I said honestly, feeling somewhat overawed, despite having been similarly given a property by my parents. This was much nicer … Harriet took us through to the living room, which like the rest of the house, was stylishly furnished, and spotlessly clean. As she left to put the kettle on, Jane wasted no time in admonishing me for how I sat. By the time Harriet returned with our drinks, I had taken a seat nearly a dozen times.
I spent the day with the two girls learning how to walk, sit, and behave in a manner befitting a young woman … I tried to remind them that I wasn’t meant to be on a catwalk, just a simple arms deal, but Jane showed annoying persistence that appeared to be a family trait, and I was cut little slack.
“Can I sit down now?” I begged after what felt like the hundredth time around the living room. “My feet are going to drop off and I’ll be no use to you,” I whined.
“You might start to appreciate how hard it is for us now,” snickered Harriet as she watched my progress from her position on the plush, comfy couch.
“Believe me,” I said, planting my hands on my hips and striking what I hoped was a superior air, “I shared that pain after Friday’s torture session.”
“You’ll grow to love shopping, dear,” Jane smiled sweetly.
“I bloody hope not,” I muttered sourly. “Look, I can mince around in high heels, and wiggle my arse with the best of them now, can I stop?” I begged with a sigh, “isn’t this a bit much?”
Apparently it wasn’t … By Thursday afternoon, I had been taught to walk, sit, move, gesture, and properly apply makeup with the natural ability of the fairer sex; although maybe that was the un-fairer sex? I had seen little of my flatmates thanks to my punishing schedule, something of which I was extremely glad. Once satisfied, Jane North released me from her clutches, pronouncing me ready or the world at large.
Dropping Jane North at Vauxhall Cross for the last time, Harriet pulled out into the traffic flow once more and aimed for my humble abode.
“You’ve been quiet,” she said, more factually than a question.
“I’m tired, mentally and physically,” I sighed giving her a weak smile. “She was very exacting.”
Harriet nodded. “The benefit of it wasn’t direct you know,” she said looking over at me as we crawled through the city.
“I know,” I said quietly. “Teach me the lot, so even if I tone it down, the undercurrents are still visible, that even relaxed and not acting the catwalk princess you two created, I will be ‘feminine’.” I said gesturing quotation marks.
“Not as dumb as you look, Blondie,” Harriet chuckled swinging the Range Rover down a side street. “We’re back at the office tomorrow okay? But bring some casual stuff for on the ranges in the afternoon.”
“Finally, something I know,” I groaned. “And Just because I’m blond doesn’t mean I’m stupid,” I insisted, with an over the top pout that made Harriet burst out laughing. “Tomorrow, this girl gets to have some fun.”
Harriet shot me a sideways glance. “Do you mean that?” she asked, suddenly quite serious. “I mean … the girl bit?”
“Well it beats referring to myself as a boy at the moment,” I shrugged non comittally. “I don’t FEEL like a girl, or want to be one, but for the purpose of this whole thing, when I am …. And after the last few days of eating, sleeping and breathing girl … I do sort of think I might feel like one, if I knew what that was like,” I shrugged. “Does that make sense?
Harriet nodded sagely. “How do you think girls … women think?” she asked softly.
“Different to guys?” I said not really knowing where to begin. “I guess more sensitive, emotionally lead, more passive and submissive…” I listed off every stereotype I could think of. “I mean, guys are meant to be the dominant violent ones, right? We think with our heads, you think with your hearts.”
“Not always the head on your shoulders,” Harriet said coyly. “So what does that make me?” she asked. “I’ve killed for my country, I’m dominant, a ‘go getter’, I’m violent, and submissive, and emotional, and decisive … what am I?” she prompted, looking for my reaction.
I shrugged. “I know it sounds clichéd but I really don’t think these things make a difference. How do women think? Just like men I guess, but we have different goals and ideals that are social things we acquire over the years. What are you? What am I?
“God knows, because right now, I think I’m starting to lose grip myself. Does what we do define our sex? No, that’s like trying to suggest women are better nurses, and men are better soldiers. I guess I failed that test right?”
“Mmm, No,” she mused quietly.
“What?” I asked, almost afraid of the punch line I was inviting. “What did I Just say wrong?”
“It’s not that, Mike,” she said quietly, “Hang on,” she added, pulling the Range over to the kerb and turning the engine off before turning to face me.
“Look, this is going to sound so out of the blue, but I’m going to burst If I don’t say this … I was attracted to you when you started to work with us,” she said blushing, “I was a snotty cow at first because I didn’t want you to see … then you were just so damn nice…,” she sniffed. “The way you took to this whole charade…. It made me respect and … care for you more,” she said quietly. “Now, the way you are … You aren’t a man pretending to be a woman, you’re not undercover. The way you think, and look, all say woman to me … and the weirdest part is; I’m not put off…. What you just said … and how things have been … I think I love you … I guess that makes me a lesbian … ” she said in a tiny voice, looking down at her hands as they gripped the steering wheel. “Please say something,” she said quietly, after an awkward silence.
“I … I don’t know what to say.” I said, stunned. It was by far and wide the last thing I expected. “You love me?” I asked dumbly.
“Sorry,” Harriet mumbled quietly. “I thought I could put my feelings aside, but this…. It’s really got me thrown.” She shrugged, turning towards me. “I don’t know how to feel about this, Mike.”
“I’m not sure either,” I said quietly, feeling my heart in my mouth. “Can we go somewhere? It doesn’t feel right discussing this in the car … and who knows what your people have in this…” I said gesturing at the vehicle around us. Harriet nodded quickly, before starting the ignition again and pulling out into the street.
“Please just tell me how you feel,” Harriet asked looking across at me as she drove. “Please tell me that I’ve not lost it.”
I swallowed and looked out of the window before I answered. “I guess.” I mumbled.
What could I tell her? Yeah, I fancied the pants off her, and I thought she was an amazing person that I’d love to get to know better? Why now? Why not a few years ago? Why does the first opportunity for a relationship come when I’m dolled up like a transvestite on Her Majesty’s Secret Service? Irony is a bitch.
Harriet drove us to a small pub just south of the river near Putney Bridge. We left the Range Rover and walked into the pub in silence. I had completely forgotten how I was dressed; it didn’t seem to matter now and I hardly even saw the other patrons as we ordered drinks and walked out onto the terrace to find a quiet spot to talk privately.
We sat at a small table overlooking the river and sat in silence, neither of us sure where to begin. The entire time, my heart was thumping in my throat and I didn’t know if I could say what I want to: This was the first time I had felt anything for someone, and the kicker was that she felt the same, but we were both stuck. I shook my head and took a gulp of the wine in my hand. I chuckled to myself and looked at the large white wine I had ordered. What happened to a pint? My manicured, painted nails gripping the glass delicately reminded me why this could not work. It didn’t make the choice any easier.
“Please tell me what you’re thinking,” Harriet asked quietly. “This silence is so bloody awkward,” she said with exasperation, the corner of her mouth twitching into an embarrassed grin. “Where do we stand?”
“Honestly?” I asked, setting the glass down on the table. “I really like you. You’re pretty, friendly, and over the last week, I’ve sort of felt I want to know you more … but I don’t see it happening realistically … do you?”
Harriet looked at me and bit her lower lip. “I … Why does it matter?” she asked with a hint of disappointment.
“It matters because we are working to a tight deadline here, then I get to go save the damn world in a frock,” I said quietly. “And didn’t this … appearance put you off?” I asked furrowing my brow.
Harriet shook her head and reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “Look, Mike … Shit, I can’t call you that … I’m trying to convince myself it’s you under there, but try as I might … I only see Sharon …” she whispered softly.
Harriet sighed, and looked out over the river as dusk began to settle over London. Her hair rustled lightly in the breeze, and she looked more beautiful than ever.
I lifted my wine glass and took another sip, I didn’t want to get into this; all sense told me to wait till after the operation, but it couldn’t work, and it wouldn’t …”Harriet talk to me,” I prompted gently, breaking her daze.
“I don’t know Mi … Sharon, this is all so weird, but I do really think we have something … I don’t want to risk it by waiting, and I realised on the drive over here that I don’t really care about your outside. You are you, and the rest doesn’t matter…. I feel for the person, not the clothes, whoever that is; you said it yourself … What does gender matter? All these things are smoke and mirrors, and I want to try,” she said softly.
I raised my hand and stroked her cheek gently. Her skin was warm to the touch, and I looked into her eyes. That moment, I realised I wanted to kiss this woman, and I wasn’t going to worry about the consequences. Taking each day as it comes became my motto at the beginning of this spy rubbish, and it wasn’t about to change. Cautiously, I leant forwards not taking my eyes off Harriet’s beautiful hazel pair. She sensed what I was doing, and lent forwards till our lips met gently. The sensation was electric, I could feel a tingle spread down my body, and I heard my heart thumping in my ears. The kiss seemed to last forever. I didn’t know how long we had kissed, but when we eventually separated, she had a goofy grin on her lips.
“That was magical,” she whispered softly, squeezing my hand. “Are you sure about this?” she asked.
“I’m sure,” I replied with ragged breath. “I need you.”
“Where do we go from here?” she asked, still looking at me. “What do we do?”
“What we are supposed to do,” I shrugged. “We can’t let this interfere with work.”
Harriet nodded. “Of course … Sharon,” she said slowly. “I guess I need to get used to the fact my lover is a woman.”
“I … she is for the next month.”
“I’m going to take this as it comes,” Harriet said with a weak grin. “This is too complicated otherwise.”
“I guess,” I replied, not sure if I ought to protest. I lifted my wine glass and took a sip, feeling the sweet, cold liquid flow down my throat. “So where do we go from here?” I asked dumbly. “I’ve really never done the girlfriend thing before.”
“Me neither,” Harriet chuckled dryly. “Come back to mine? We can talk more, and it’s less … public.”
I looked at my watch, it was only 7; so I nodded, drinking the last of my wine and we left the pub. The drive back was quiet, we chatted lightly, about little things, our lives; who we were. I think we wanted to avoid the main topic till we were more settled. We pulled up outside Harriet’s house a short while later, the main rush hour traffic having died down within the city. Slipping out of the large 4x4, I followed her up the steps to the house, feeling very nervous. Following her inside, I removed my coat and placed it on the stand in the hallway before following her into the living room. Harriet turned towards me as we stood there, both feeling awkward. We stood for a moment before she moved over to the sofa and sat, patting the seat beside her. Nervously, I sat opposite her, my hands clasped in my lap, feeling extremely tongue tied.
“I don’t know how this goes.” I said stiffly. “Sorry I’m so useless.” I muttered quietly.
“Sssh,” she prompted, putting a finger to my lips. “May I kiss you again?” she asked softly. I nodded, and closed my eyes as she gently pressed her lips to mine. That electric feeling returned, and I felt a tightening in my stomach that I had never felt before. I felt her hands clasp my own as we sat kissing for what felt like an eternity.
Eventually, she broke the kiss and I forced myself to open my eyes. Her smile made my heart flip again. “That was lovely,” she whispered, reaching out to stroke a loose strand of hair from my face. “This feels so right,” she said with more feeling. “You’re so pretty,” she sighed, looking at me intently.
“Thank you,” I replied breathlessly, at this moment, not caring how she saw me, as long as that made her happy. Harriet leant in again, wrapping her arms around me and kissed me again, this time with more passion. The flipping sensation in my stomach tripled, and I caught my breath as the charge between us left me feeling weak. I reached out gently, placing my hands on her waist and pulled her to me. The passion increased, and I found her tongue pressing at my lips. Some reaction made me open them slightly in surprise and I felt her tongue slip into my mouth and dance with my own, the sensation was intoxicating. Harriet pushed me back slightly, so that I was reclining against the side of the sofa, her body pressed against mine. I felt her hands moving softly over my torso, tracing the lines of my body and gently began to caress her too. Her smell was overpowering as my fingers traced the bare skin between her blouse and trousers. It was so soft and warm that just caressing it felt wonderful. Harriet broke off for air and looked down at me. Somehow, I was now lying on the sofa, with her above me; it was perfectly ironic that I was taking the female role in things.
“That was amazing,” she purred. “I’ve wanted to do that since I met you.”
“Me too,” I smiled happily. “It’s a little traditional, no?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.
“How do you?” she asked looking confused, then realised how we were positioned before sitting up and offering me her hand in a mock gentlemanly fashion. “I guess I’m a bit keen,” she shrugged. “And It’s not my fault you’re Little Miss Submissive Stereotype.”
I shrugged. “You’re the first person I ever kissed,” I admitted shyly.
“Really?” she asked softly, stroking my cheek. “I want to find that hard to believe; looking at you … But my mind plays tricks … it’s so difficult to picture you as the man I first met last week.”
“Right now, I don’t think he’s here,” I said quietly.
Harriet reached out and stroked my cheek, running her hand down the curve of my neck and coming to rest on my shoulder. “Let’s not think about that, let’s just enjoy being together.”
Nodding, I leant forwards and kissed her with passion, trying to take the lead as I felt I was meant to. Cupping her head in my hands, I felt her melt in my arms, our tongues dancing. Harriet slipped her hands down my front, and began unbuttoning the blouse I was wearing. Gingerly, I began to repeat the process on her blouse, and soon, we were lying back on the sofa, warm skin against warm skin, in our bras and knickers, running our hands over one another’s bodies, gender forgotten, and eyes only for each other.
Harriet rolled off me and lay beside me on the sofa, propped up on one elbow.
“You know, I think I really do love you,” she said quietly, stroking my belly button.
I bit my lip and looked up at her as we lay there. I felt a glow that I had never experienced before. “Me too,” I sighed.
“I think I really am a lesbian.” Harriet said with a rueful grin.
I sighed and realised she was right. Not once had I been the predatory male that so many of the guys at work seemed to be, we had made out, sure, but it had been more of a equal experience, shared passion with no rush for gratification … On top of that, I had felt strangely at home in a role that I should have found alien, and it did not limit to this encounter. The past few days, the weekend, ever sine this project had begun, I had not felt as outraged or bad about things as I expected I should. If anything, I felt more at ease for the first time in my life. “Yeah.” I said simply. “I think you are.”
Harriet reached out and slipped the bra strap from my shoulder, gently caressing my skin. Her eyes asked a question, that my lips answered. Cautiously, she unclasped my bra and slipped it from my body, till my breasts were free to her touch. She gently lowered her head till her lips covered my nipple, and I felt her tongue gently caress the hardened flesh.
I awoke with a shudder.
I was lying in my bed at home, the covers half off me, one of the straps on my nightgown had slipped down, and my fingers were cupping the silicone of my breast form. The strangest part was, I felt a surge of disappointment as I remembered not only our parting the night before, but the fact that I now had questions to ask of myself, and I had a good idea of the answer.
Note to my readers:
I'm posting this in chunks of around 10,000 words, Its my new novel I’m writing, and while I have written more, I’m trying to write more than I post by several chapters, so I can keep things flowing and make sure the plot functions without the pressure of fans begging for the next installment. As some of you have guessed, Haifa has taken a short break, I'll resume Sarah's adventures after I finish Focal Point, which at this rate... won't be long! So read, enjoy, and Don't stop commenting, I really appreciate all the suggestions and discussion. With regards to my grammar: Thanks for letting me know guys, I know I’m not perfect, but I’m a writer, not the editor type, I intend to send it via an editor before it visits the publisher, but that is a way off yet. So for now, Believe me, I know I have the grammatical ability of a dead badger.
Alyssa :) xx
I arrived at Vauxhall Cross at a quarter to nine and the pod party was in full swing.
It was the first day back since this aweful business had begun; I was somewhat nervous, although that was most likely an understatement; I was terrified, but this morning was clouded by the strange feelings that I had awoken to, my mind was elsewhere.
“Hello again,” said a cheery male voice.
I turned to my left, and was greeted by a tall man that had something vaguely familiar about him.
“Mmm, hello,” I smiled weakly. “Do I know you?”
“Sure, my name is Martin, I met you last week? Your first day remember?” He prompted, swigging his coffee. “Seems we are to be pod partners again.”
I felt a lead weight drop in my stomach; he recognised me!
“I ah, I can explain this….” I stammered flicking my fingers through the blonde hair that hung loose around my shoulders.
“Don’t feel you have to on my account,” smiled Martin, “you look stunning, it’s quite a change. Though I expect you’d have to kill me if you told me,”
“Ah… I don’t…” I began but was cut off by his laughter.
“Still so fresh and innocent.” He grinned. “Its 6 humour, bad as it may be. So what happened to the nervous little tomboy that started here last week? The place seems to have done you some good… quite the reverse to normal,” he said still grinning.
He thought I had been a woman then…. As glad as I was that I wasn’t having to explain cross dressing on the steps of the Secret Intelligence Service, I was baffled by his mistake.
“I guess it’s something in the water,” I smiled.
“Keep drinking it,” he said giving me a funny look.
I slipped my card into the reader, and entered my pin before stepping into the pod and entering the building.
“Hey, are you doing anything for lunch?” he asked as we made our way towards the lifts.
“She’s not going to be around Martin,” purred Harriet appearing from nowhere. “You’re not getting your grubby claws into this one.” She grinned.
“Hey can’t blame a guy for trying eh? See you around…..” He said furrowing his brow, “Sorry, I never caught your name.”
“Sharon.” I said with a flicker of a smile. “See you around.” I called as Harriet led me away towards a lift that was going down.
“What was that about?” she asked giving me a friendly hug as the door closed. “How do you know Martin Hammersmith?”
“I met him on my first day… the pod cue.” I said softly, drinking in her scent.
“Didn’t you… the first day…” she said with a frown.
“I thought so too,” I said raising my eyebrows. “Does he wear glasses?”
Harriet shook her head and chuckled to herself.
We arrived at the controlerate, and Harriet swiped herself in, and entered, waiting for me to follow. I slipped my card into the slot, and waited, but a red light flashed and denied me entry. I tried again, but received the same signal. I looked at Harriet through the Perspex door, and shrugged. Frowning, she swiped out and came back through the door. “It’s the facial topography,” she sighed. “You need a new card, your hair is so different it doesn’t read you as the same,” she explained. Turning to the machine, she entered a code, apparently a command override, and let us in to the controlerate.
“I’ll get John to sign off on another pass for you, now you’re official… It will make this less of an ear ache,” she grinned. “Come on, let’s get the briefing done and get out of here huh?”
I followed Harriet through to John Tornworth’s office, where the rest of the team were waiting.
“She had a card issue John,” Harriet said briskly, collecting two cups of coffee from a pot at the rear of the office. “She gets an official one now she’s with us yes?” she asked, turning towards her boss when he didn’t respond. He was looking at me…. They were all looking at me.
“Fucking hell,” Toby muttered.
“My word,” Mark said quietly.
Jane had a satisfied grin on her lips, and John was speechless.
“I take it from your goldfish impressions the budget expenses were justifiable?” Harriet added, poking fun at her superior over what I was sure was the amount of money we had spent. “What do you think?”
“I think the mission is a go, pending further work on field aspects.” He muttered shaking his head, his eyes fixed on me.
I stood stock still by the door, feeling extremely warm.
“Sit down Michael,” he said, realising I was immobile. “I must say I’m impressed, there’s …. Nothing permanent is there?”
“I, ah, no sir.” I mumbled.
“God he even sounds like a woman, I’m impressed Jane,” he said looking at Miss North.
“I think you should call her Sharon,” Harriet said taking a seat next to me and handing me one of the cups of coffee. “And use female pronouns,” she added. “We agreed that this would stay in this room, and I don’t think the other members of the controlerate need to know, referring to an obvious female, with a male name and pronouns is going to raise questions you don’t want to answer,” she said, letting the comment hang.
“Rightly so,” John said with a cough. “I’m still quite surprised that it’s been so… effective…” he said with reluctance.
“Did you expect Dame Edna?” Jane chuckled. “My sister is a miracle worker, and I’m not bad myself,” she said with a self satisfied grin.
“Nice to see you justify that salary for once,” interjected Toby with a hint of amusement. “I agree with Miss Carlisle. If we let this operation out below us, it’s bound to make it above us before much long… you know this place is like a sieve John.
“Of course.” He nodded. “Mark, let’s brief, erm, her shall we?” he said, handing off to the Head Analyst.
Mark stood and flipped on the projector.
“Ok, we have an agreed date for a meet in just under two weeks; the 29th at Mr Dujani’s Damascus residence. It’s not the job; it’s a consultation, if you will.” He said waving a hand. “You will meet Dujani, and discuss terms with him, Intel suggests this will be a formality, but it’s vital we get this right with you, we have an unprecedented advantage.”
“How does she fit with the Zanov legend?” Toby asked, chewing on a pen.
“Hi…sorry, her, background gives us a little leeway…” John said thoughtfully. “You spent a few years in Georgia in your teens yes?” he asked me, knowing damn well that I had.
“Yes, I speak a little Russian, but I’m not fluent, though you knew that didn’t you?”
John nodded. “Yes, but I’ll wager your accent is Georgian, that gives you a little room for manoeuvre if your language isn’t perfect for a native.
“Why Georgia?” Toby asked curiously.
“My mother,” I replied. “She worked for an NGO that was working with the schools system over there, we spent some time in the area.”
“Aren’t you the mysterious one,” he grinned.
“Well I suspect that’s why you are employing me.” I chuckled dryly.
“Aye, true enough.”
“How current is your Russian?” Mark asked as he fidgeted with some papers.
“Not very I’m afraid; I’ve not used it since we left Georgia.”
“Get her one of those language packages to brush up,” John said pointing his pen at Jane North, who nodded and made a note on her pad.
“Here is your legend brief.” Jane said, handing me a manila folder. “You need that memorised by the time you head out.”
I flipped open the folder and scanned the document. “There’s a lot.” I grimaced. “I need to know it all don’t I?”
“Yes, it’s your cover, and vital to the operation, you can’t well go forgetting your own past… That’s a fast track to winding up dead,” Toby said. “They’re going to know most of what’s on there, so you can’t be caught out.”
I nodded and flicked my eyes over the paper. “Can you get me anything I need?”
John nodded, “within reason.”
“I need a broad selection of soviet and current Russian combat gear and firearms, pistols, assault rifles, smgs, rpgs, and explosives. If I’m meant to be ex MVD, I’ll need to be familiar with the lot, If nothing else, I must be familiar with the SVD, VSS and VSSK… they are common enough in that part of the world, and I’d be expected to be familiar with them.”
“Can we?” John asked, looking at Toby.
“Aye, I’ll wander down to the rednecks in the basement and rustle it all up.”
“Splendid…” John said clasping his hands together. “Now, operational details….”
The brief continued for another hour, as minor details were ironed out, and plans made. I tried to pay attention to as much of it as possible, but a lot seemed beyond me. I hoped that the training in this side of things would come soon, I still felt very much the outsider in their world.
At 11am, Harriet and I left Vauxhall Cross and began the slow drive out of inner London.
“What did he mean about an advantage?” I asked curiously, “They never explicitly said why it’s a good think that I’m doing this…”
“It’s… partly that you’re the only one we have for the timeframe.” She said, concentrating on the unpredictable London traffic. “And you’re a cleanskin… It’s rare and useful in an agent.”
“Cleanskin?” I asked, furrowing my brow “What does that mean?”
Harriet chuckled. “Yes, sorry, It means an agent that has no official ties to the agency… generally new agents, or… recruited operatives.” She said waving her hand. “Generally disposable and deniable, but in this case, it means that there is less chance of you being flagged as 6 by Dujani… he can dig as hard as he likes, but he wont find any intelligence service links for you. It adds credibility.”
“Oh,” I said, not really sure what I had expected her to say. “I’m expendable?” I asked feeling slightly hollow.
“No sweetie,” she said reaching across to take my hand. “Look, for outside operatives, it means that, but with inside people… it rarely arises as a situation, most agents go through basic, are on official payrolls, you aren’t…. yet… So it makes you a rare situation. You’re a cleanskin, that protects you, but you ARE one of us now, and we don’t leave people behind.” She said giving my hand a squeeze.
“Look, Lets stop off at mine and get you something to wear out at the ranges, you can’t shoot in that suit.” She said smiling.
“Shit,” I swore, “I completely forgot… I was a bit distracted this morning I guess.”
“How come?”
“Didn’t sleep too well,” I mumbled vaguely. “A lot on my mind I guess.”
Harriet looked across at me and frowned. “About last night?” she asked in a small voice. “You’re having second thoughts aren’t you?” she asked nervously, her fingers tightening on the wheel.
“No.” I said softly, shaking my head. “It’s not that at all…”
I ran my fingers through my hair while I thought of the words to describe how I had felt when I woke up… what I had dreamt.
“I dreamt…. about us.” I said slowly, trying to not sound as weird as it did in my head. “I.. I was with you, and I…” I mumbled as I clamed up, unable to talk properly.
“What sweetie?” Harriet probed softly. “I love you, you can tell me anything, nothing will change that.” She said resolutely, rubbing my leg reassuringly.
“You took my bra off…” I said taking a breath, “And I had breasts… real breasts…”
I looked over at Harriet cautiously. “And when I woke up, and I didn’t have any, I was disappointed,” I said quickly, before my nerve went. “That’s why I feel weird.”
There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment. “I’m weird aren’t I?” I said quietly.
“Not weird,” Harriet mused quietly. “Unexpected, yes, but not weird. I guess you’ve been learning to be a girl so much that you’re mind is being tricked into thinking it’s meant to have things…” she offered with a shrug.
“No,” I said shaking my head. “I think it’s worse than that… Ugh,” I groaned in frustration. “This is so god damn weird.”
“Look,” Harriet suggested, “Put the weird away, Put Mike away, just complete the mission, and deal with all this after its over, ok? Just be Sharon for now, it’s going to be easier on you, and I think you want that too…” she added, looking over at me with a lopsided smile. “I’m here for you, don’t forget that.” She said softly.
Her words were a life raft of rationality. I had an escape, a get out clause… I realised that I could let go for now, but a niggling worry at the back of my mind, asked if I could go back to my life afterwards.
Harriet pulled up outside her house and let us in. I followed her upstairs and through to her bedroom. The room was modern, yet tasteful, floorlength cream linen curtains hung from the large bay window, and the dark mahogany bed was covered in a thick white and cream duvet. I didn’t know what I had expected of her room, but it was surprisingly feminine and soft for an international spy. I suppose my preconceptions for the job still showed through.
Harriet crossed to her wardrobe, and pulled out a pair of worn jeans, a white vest, and a grey check shirt which she handed to me. “Here, these ought to fit you. Get changed, and we can get off.” She said with a grin, beginning to unbutton her own blouse.
It took all the concentration I possessed to remove my clothes and change. I had seen her in her underwear the night before, but something about the way the sun light reflected off her bare midriff was intoxicating.
“Are you going to stand there ogling me all day?” Harriet asked coyly, making me blush when I realised I had been staring.
“I ah, Sorry.” I grinned sheepishly. “You’re beautiful.”
“So are you…” she whispered. “Especially when you blush like that; its so cute,” she giggled.
I stepped forwards and wrapped my arms around her waist, drawing her too me before gently bringing our lips together. I ran my hands down her back till they rested on her buttocks, cupping the warm flesh in my hands as we kissed for an eternity. It was ironic that when the kiss broke, I felt her hands in the same place.
Harriet looked at me with the same silly grin she had worn the night before. “We should stop before we waste the whole afternoon,” she said softly, nibbling my lower lip.
“Waste?” I asked, feigning shock.
“You know I didn’t mean it like that,” she scowled, playfully slapping my bottom. “But John and Toby would wonder why we didn’t show at the ranges…”
Unfortunately, she had a point, so I reluctantly released her from my embrace to dress herself in another pair of jeans and a pullover.
“Feels great to be out of those things.” She said with a grin. “I might be a glamour puss at work, but this is the girl you get out of it.”
“I think I prefer you out of it.” I grinned.
“Later.” She grinned grabbing a more casual bag and her keys. “You coming?” she asked, nodding towards the door.
I nodded and followed Harriet out to the Range Rover.
“Where’s the rifle?” I asked, the thought having just struck me.
“Open the boot.” She said, locking the door and following me down to the boot of the 4x4. Opening the rear of the vehicle, I was confronted by a large black metal box, bolted to the floor beneath the parcel shelf. Harriet grinned, and fished for a key in her bag, and proceeded to unlock the gun safe. Lifting the lid enough for me to see the rifle tucked away, before closing it again. “I don’t really want to have my neighbours asking questions.” She said, locking things up again. “We have these in the back of company cars.” She said, leaving the comment ominous in its ambiguity.
We arrived at the MOD facility about an hour and a half later, having stopped for lunch at a small pub just outside the main gate of the base. Harriet flashed her ID, which opened doors unquestioningly; we were expected. The gate guards were quite taken aback by the two female ‘secret agents’ they logged in.
We drove through the base, and out to the ranges, a mile into the training area. Parking the Range Rover, We got out and unlocked the rifle case. I was lifting the rifle from case, and slipping it into the drag bag when a soldier in a high visibility vest walked over and introduced himself as Sergeant Major Owens; the rangemaster.
“I got the call from the gate to expect you two.” He said in a gruff manner. “I wasn’t told it was two women.”
“Does it matter?” Harriet asked, pulling herself up to her full 5’6.
“No Ma’am,” he grinned. “It’s just I have 2 Para’s sniper platoon on the 1000yarder who wont pay a blind bit of fucking notice to their work.”
Harriet looked at me and grinned. “More training.”
The Sergeant Major gave us a funny look, before gesturing for us to follow him as we walked past several squads of young soldiers shooting on the rifle range, who all paid me more notice than I wanted.
We arrived at the 1000 yard sniper range, set off to one side from the main ranges and I could see several teams of men firing, with a few other groups waiting around and working on weapons. It all reminded me of my time at the British Army’s Sniper School: How different things were now…
“I have to get back to those muppets,” Sergeant Major Owens said, gesturing over his shoulder at the soldiers on the main ranges. “You two going to be ok?”
“Yes thanks,” I replied confidently, finally happy to be back on familiar ground. “How long we booked in?”
“Three hours Ma’am.” Owens said consulting a spiral notepad he kept in his trouser pocket. “Good shooting,” he said, turning and heading off.
The 500 yard line was occupied currently, and as I planned to shoot from further away, we had a wait till the men on the range were complete, and a lane opened up.
I sat down on the ground cross-legged, and unzipped the rifle bag. I lifted the Pgm Hecate .308 from the case, and flipped its bipod legs down, setting it on the ground.
The rifle was beautifully crafted, and I took a moment to release the bolt and apply a layer of oil around the working parts from the small bottle in the bag. I was too engrossed in my work to notice the attention myself and Harriet were attracting.
“Hey there,” said a voice. I looked up from my work to see 3 soldiers sat near us looking over.
“Hi,” I replied brightly.
“You girls civvies?” a tall ginger man asked, as he finished reassembling his own rifle.
I looked at Harriet, as I wondered how to respond, but she was talking to a man over by a Landrover.
“Um, Intelligence Services,” I said, knowing the men were all fully up to date on the official secrets act.
It was difficult to suppress a giggle as 6 eyebrows shot up in unison.
“Um, Wow,” the guy said grinning sheepishly. “What you doing out with a long then? Don’t you spies like pistols and stuff?” he asked curiously.
“Practice,” I offered vaguely, “I’m just brushing up.”
“That’s a damn nice weapon,” the shorter blonde sniper offered. “PGM right?”
I nodded and lifted the rifle to show the 3 men. “PGM Mini Hecate .308, made in France.”
“That belongs on a Paris catwalk, hell you both do,” grinned the ginger man. “Makes our old things look like peashooters.” He chuckled.
“I wouldn’t go hitting on her Dan,” laughed the 3rd man, who was of Asian origin.
“She’s a spook, she don’t have time for scum like you.”
“Hey come on, I’m not all Ice queen,” I heard myself say, cringing inwardly. “Anyway, I got my licence to kill revoked for one too many ex boyfriends.”
The guys grinned and exchanged knowing looks. The same macho bullshit that I had found so idiotic from within now seemed almost laughable. They were like school children all banding together because they felt intimidated… by me… part of me wanted to roll my eyes at the situation, another sort of liked it.
“You probably can’t tell me,” The blonde guy said as he cleaned his bolt. “You done much shooting? I mean with longs…”
I nodded. “Met firearms team for a few years, and did your sniper school too a while back. First time with this thing though,” I said gesturing at the PGM I was now loading the magazines for. “New toy.”
“You had a few firearms plod in your run didn’t you Alan?” said the ginger man, looking at the Asian.
“Yeah, no fit birds like her though,” He said with a grin. “Probably why I passed.”
“What’s your name anyway?” asked the ginger sniper. “I’m Dan, this is Chris, and our chinky friend is Alan.”
“Piss off ginge.” grinned Alan. “Ah sorry love.”
I laughed, “Its fine, I’m used to it. My name is Sharon.” I said without hesitation.
The team on the firing line rotated off, and we made our way down to the 800m line.
Harriet finished her conversation and jogged over to me with a pair of binoculars.
“Having fun?” she asked with a smile.
“Yeah, they seem nice,” I offered. “You too by the looks of things,” I grinned slyly.
Harriet rolled her eyes. “Not like that, He was and old friend from when I did my escape and evasion training on Brecon. Was just catching up.”
“Sure,” I said not paying attention. “I’m starting to feel slightly jealous.”
“You want me to kiss you in front of all these hunky soldiers?” she asked raising an eyebrow. “That’s more likely to get them to jump you than not.”
I tried to look thoughtful for a moment, but burst out in giggles when she poked me in the ribs and stuck her tongue out.
We spent the next few hours with me shooting, and her observing. It was awkward at first for me to get used to spotting for myself than working in a two man team, but I got used to it, and by the end of our time at the ranges, I was feeling quite confident that with a few more practice sessions, I would be up to speed. The sensation of lying prone on my breasts was alien at first, but I grew used to it, although the squashed sensation, regardless of the false nature of my bust, was awkward. Now I knew why this was more important. It wasn’t about shooting, it was about my feminine role; a female in that position would be used to her breasts getting in the way: I had a lot to learn.
We packed up the gear, and began the long drive back to Inner London. I dozed lightly on the drive back, and awoke to find us parked outside Harriet’s house; she was just sitting behind the wheel, with the engine off, watching me as I slept. “You looked so calm,” she smiled.” I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Mmm, it’s fine,” I said sleepily. “Why are we back here?” I asked.
“Well I live here,” she said sarcastically. “And I thought you would like to come in for dinner?” she asked hopefully.
“I’d like that,” I agreed honestly, feeling my stomach rumble. Leaving the vehicle, Harriet led me into the house, and proceeded to whip up a divine Risotto and a delicious bottle of white wine. As we sat eating at her dining table. It was hard not to reflect on the events to date as I sat here, with my girlfriend… as her girlfriend, quietly just enjoying being in each other’s presence. For once feeling truly satisfied with life. That however, was a problem.
After dinner, we moved through to the living room, and spent the evening watching television together. It wasn’t especially romantic, but I enjoyed just spending time with her out of the pressure of work. I lay back, with my head against Harriet’s shoulder, and couldn’t remember the last time I had felt so relaxed in someone else’s presence.
“How do you feel about all of this now?” she asked quietly, turning off the TV and wrapping her arm around me more snugly.
“Better,” I admitted, “although this is starting to fuck with my head.”
“Are you worrying about afterwards?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“No matter what, I love you,” Harriet whispered, kissing me on the top of my head.
“Even if I stayed a girl?” I asked, feeling the return of my mental turmoil.
Harriet was quiet for a moment. “Yes, even if you were still a girl… Is that what you want?”
“To be honest; I don’t know.” I admitted truthfully. “This has thrown me for six… I don’t know how I feel, But I do sort of like it.”
“I know.”
I bit my lip. She knew, I knew… but no matter what, I still found it difficult to talk about.
“Before all of this, I didn’t feel like I wanted to dress up, or even feel like a girl. Since this has begun, I’ve started to feel really strange, in a good way…
“How do you mean?” she prompted softly, stroking my hair gently in a loving way.
“I guess, I’ve realised that something was missing in me… Being Sharon has made me see things differently. Feel differently, reacting and thinking differently… Something about it seems right, and no matter what I do or think, I can’t get rid of the feeling.” I said, looking away.
“When we were together the other night… There was no pressure on me to be macho, no urge to satisfy myself; I just loved being with you, and making you happy made me happy.” I said frankly. “It was what happened when I went home that made it so much clearer. The dream I had… I had… real breasts. But it wasn’t that. I wasn’t disappointed when I woke up because I didn’t have breasts; it was because I wasn’t real… I wasn’t a girl.”
I looked at Harriet and tried to read her expression, but I failed. She looked at me closely for a moment before smiling slightly.
“Sharon, something in me was attracted to you that first time I saw you, this you…” she said running her finger down my cheek. “I fell in love with you, not you’re body, and there was something different about you before. But since this…. I don’t know, you just seemed more real; more whole as a person… You were more expressive, more talkative, more interesting… On top of that, I realised that I was attracted to you… like this… Its not that I wasn’t attracted to Mike, but Sharon caught my heart, and if you have to be Sharon forever, I’ll be happy either way. I love you.”
I felt tears begin to run down my cheeks as I looked into her eyes. “Really?” I half choked.
“Yes.” She whispered, kissing me lightly on my lips. “I love you, Sharon.”
“Are you listening Sharon?”
“Sorry,” I replied quickly, shaking my head. “Yes, I am.”
Jane gave me a disapproving look. “You really do need to concentrate on this you know… It’s vital to your survival.”
“I know,” I sighed. “My mind just doesn’t work well at this time on a Saturday morning… and I had a long day yesterday,” I admitted. “The whole time since I joined you guys has been one long day.”
“I know,” she replied more softly. “This is a lot to expect from a beginner.”
“It’s not that that bothers me,” I said, sipping the long cold coffee on the desk in front of me. “I have always been able to lose myself in work and get the job done. This isn’t any different to going undercover with the met, I did that once or twice in lesser capacities… it’s just… so much bigger.” I shrugged. “It’s not the why, more the how.”
Jane cocked an eyebrow at me, “How do you mean?”
“The girl thing is causing some issues.” I said, in what I hoped was an offhand manner. “I won’t be too upset when it’s resolved.”
“So not when it’s over?” Jane asked.
“No, I think it might take a little longer, this is… affecting me.” I admitted. “Sorry, you were saying about radio procedure?” Hoping she took my hint to get off the subject.
We worked on, whiling away my Saturday morning with endless operational procedure. The 6 building had been quiet, but not deserted, and when I logged myself out of the pod and into the bright spring afternoon, I felt almost glad to be back amongst the world of the living, and out of the techno tomb.
I walked down the riverside path towards the Embankment tube entrance. There was a light breeze blowing off the river that ruffled my hair. As I reached up and ran my fingers through it to calm the wind’s effect, I caught myself; it was such a feminine thing to do… And the little things like it that I kept catching myself doing were strange. I lent against the balustrade and looked out over the river. I felt so very at home as Sharon that I was doing things Jane or Harriet hadn’t taught me. The self conscious way I messed with my hair, how I looked at my nails more often, even the way I curled up on the sofa was extremely feminine. On top of that, the most overbearing part was my budding romance. While it was true that we shared a far more equal relationship to present, I found myself increasingly submissive in my relation to her. We had grown together as teacher and student I told myself. She was the experienced one, I was the beginner and that rubbed off into our private life, but it was more than that. I even tried to blame my sexual inexperience but it wasn’t that. It was most likely the same reason I had never had a girlfriend, or a desire to go and find one all my life. I chuckled to myself as I realised how stereotypical it was that I was the submissive little girl. I just didn’t want to chase, or control, or win, I wanted to be won… wooed, chased. The very thought made me quite uneasy: It wasn’t how a man was meant to think. The more I tried to put the subject off, the more I realised that that too was a problem. I hadn’t cross dressed before, or felt that I might have been a girl ‘in my head’, but since this had begun, it was as if a pair of curtains had been drawn. I felt alive… human, and not just existing. As much as I tried to loathe admitting to it; I enjoyed being a girl.
Shaking my head, I left the river behind and made my way down the steps into subterranean London. Being a commuter station, Embankment was relatively quiet and free of tourist hoards as I descended to the platform levels. After a short wait, I boarded a train with very little trouble and settled into the nearly empty coach. Reaching into my handbag, I pulled out my Ipod and slipped the buds into my ears: It was always a habit of mine on tube rides or whenever I was alone and didn’t want to think. We pulled into Pimlico station and the 3 passengers in my carriage got off, leaving me alone.
As the train rattled along, I heard the carriage door open and close, but no footsteps. Ignoring the noise, I returned to the dance song I was listening to and watched the flickering tunnel lights speed past the dark window.
“Give us the Ipod and your bag love,” growled a voice in a Croydon accent. “Don’t want me cuttin’ that pretty face now do we?” he hissed pressing his face closer to mine from the seat behind.
My heart rate jumped at the unexpected sound, and I pulled the buds out of my ears, turning to face my assailant. “What?” I asked, pretending to have not heard the man.
The mugger thrust a penknife towards me over the top of the seat and leered. “Give us your Ipod and bag darlin’, or I cut yer face up,” He hissed, frustrated at having to repeat himself.
I had never been mugged as a man, and I didn’t intend to start now. As I made to slip the bag from my shoulder, I brought my other hand down against the man’s hand that held the knife, forcing his wrist against the top bar of the seat at a painful angle that made him yelp and drop the knife. Wasting no time, I slammed my other palm into the man’s nose and jumped free of the seat into the isle while he was stunned. Regaining his senses, the man spat blood and glared at me. “Fucking cunt, I’m goin’ to rip your fuckin’ head off.”
“You really mugged the wrong woman asshole.” I growled through a sly grin.
The man came at me in a totally uneducated manner, allowing me to use his momentum to slam his head into one of the vertical poles that ran from the carriage floor to the roof. As he bounced off, I swept my leg around bringing his legs out from under him and dropping him to the carriage floor. I rolled the man onto his front, and forced his hands up his back, slipping the pair of cuffs I kept in my bag around his wrists.
“You are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent and anything you do say will be given in evidence.” I hissed, standing up and brushing off my charcoal pantsuit and slipping my bag on my shoulder. I pulled the man to his feet, who was now swearing and cursing me with a great deal of colourful language.
“Hey are you ok? I heard the commotion,” the driver called, sticking his head through the cab door.
I gave the man a wry grin, “Yes, Attempted mugging.” I shrugged. “Could you call for the transport plod to meet the train at the next station?”
“Um, wow, sure,” he said scratching his head. “Looks like he picked the wrong bird to rob,” he chuckled shaking his head as he retreated to his cab.
“Oh yeah.” I replied quietly to myself.
“I’ll find you and fucking knife you slag,” growled the mugger.
“Ok,” I replied, without really listening to the man, One acquired aural filters after time on the beat driving goby suspects around in the back of a panda car.
The train pulled into the next station, the one before my own, and I alighted, pushing my prisoner before me. There was a reassuring group of florescent jackets on the platform; the British Transport Police.
“We got a call about a disturbance on the train?” one of the officers, a Sergeant in his mid 50s said to me, “Who are you?”
“Sergeant Co…” I began out of habit. “Sorry, Sharon Cohen; Intelligence service.” I said, showing the man my badge. “Sorry, I already read this scrote his rights out of habit.” I smiled sheepishly, “Just transferred out of the met.”
“Oh.” He said, a little taken aback. What happened?” he said, handing the cuffed man over to one of his colleagues.
“He tried to mug me from behind with a penknife; it’s still on the floor at the rear of the carriage. Sorry, I had my hands full,” I said with an apologetic grin. “I subdued him, and asked the driver to call you in.”
“Fuckin’ hell,” he breathed. “Met are getting more efficient. I’m not sure if your arrest can stand; you don’t have domestic Jurisdiction if I recall rightly.”
“I know,” I admitted. “As I said; force of habit. Get one of your men to formally arrest him, consider that a citizens arrest.” I replied, placing my Mi6 ID back into my bag.
The sergeant laughed. “You’re a plucky little one aren’t you? Nice to see one of these arseholes get some back for once.”
“I was just reacting,” I admitted. “When I had him down, It was almost automatic to cuff him and hand him over.”
“Good job you did,” He said as we walked towards the Transport Police office. “I swear those guys are getting more brash now… they don’t even care about the CCTV… we should have officers on the trains.”
“Maybe,” I mused. “You want a statement don’t you?” I asked as he escorted me into the office.
“Yeah, for records,” He replied looking for a pen.
“I can’t,” I replied ominously. “At least I’d appreciate it if we forgot I was even here.”
“I’d ask why, but I suspect you’d have to kill me once you told me,” he smiled setting the pen down on the desk once more.
I grinned, remembering the corniness it now held to me. “Something like that.”
“Look, I’ll run you home, is it?” he said, “You missed your stop, and you did us a favour, plus gets me out of the paperwork,” he chuckled.
I felt like protesting, but smiled instead. “Thank you.”
Sergeant Brice, as I discovered, led me up through the station to his Transport Police car on the surface. I slipped into the passenger side, and Sergeant Brice pulled out into the traffic.
“You’re so like my youngest,” he said as we drove through the streets of south London. “She just graduated onto the Thames Valley force.”
“Oh?” I replied. “And how do I remind you of her?”
“She has that same strong sense of justice I can see in you. I don’t think you decided to put that bloke down and arrest him; you just did because it was right. Doesn’t hurt that you’re small and blonde like she is,” he grinned.
“I guess,” I admitted, ignoring the last comment. “It was why I joined the force.”
“Why did you leave?” he asked curiously. “You seem like the career type to me.”
I paused for a moment to think about why I had left. “I’m not sure, I suppose I was offered a chance to protect more people, and enforce the law more effectively.” I shrugged. “It sounds cheesy, but I see myself being able to help more people.”
“Its not,” he admitted. “Was how I felt till I did me leg in chasing a car thief. Transferred to a quiet job chasing fare dodgers to see out my days.”
“I hope I see enough of my days,” I grinned darkly.
Sergeant Brice dropped me off outside my flat, and I gave him a grateful wave as he drove off until I realised it was a feminine little finger waggle, so I immediately stopped.
What I would give for a quiet weekend.
I let myself into the flat, dumping my coat on the rack and removing my suit jacket as I padded through to the living room.
“Hey Becky,” I called as I walked past my housemate’s vegetating form on the sofa, “Busy morning I see?”
“Mmmmm, horrific,” Becky smiled happily as she stretched out on the sofa with catlike grace.
I grabbed a coke from the fridge, and wandered back through to sit on the sofa opposite Becky.
“I wish I didn’t have to work Saturdays,” I complained, slipping off my shoes and kicking them unfemininely under the coffee table.
“Anything interesting in the world of spies?” she joked, marking her page and placing her book on the floor.
“Nothing much,” I shrugged, “boring lessons mostly. I had more fun on the tube ride home.”
“What like?” Becky asked, raising her eyebrows.
“I got mugged, well, he tried, I smirked It’s generally not a good idea to mug an ex police officer that was recruited by mi6.” I chuckled, “I got a ride home from a nice policeman though,” I admitted. “So it was worth it.”
“Was he cute?” Becky asked, grinning devilishly. I could swear I saw her ears visibly prick up.
“He was old enough to be my father,” I replied trying to look appalled. “What do you take me for?” I felt a sickening feeling hit my stomach. “Oh god!” I gasped. My Dad said he was going to visit this afternoon!”
“And you only remembered this now?” Becky asked incredulously.” How the hell are you going to explain that he has a daughter?” I looked at my watch. It was 2pm; my father was coming by at 4 o’clock to see how I, his son, was doing. I felt a surge of panic spread through me as I imagined scenarios that may come.
“I’m fucked,” I moaned, burying my head under a cushion.
What are we going to do?” Becky asked.
“I’m going to get out of all this,” I replied uncertainly. “Try and make myself less girly.”
Becky snorted, “That’s going to be hard.”
“Oh you’re a great help,” I glared, standing up. “I’m going for a shower and to get these things off,” I announced, hefting my bosom and turning to walk out of the room.
Becky’s sniggers didn’t help matters.
Stripped off my clothes in my bedroom and managed to remove corset and my underwear. Standing naked in my room, I felt extremely strange. I lifted my hands to the two lumps on my chest and cupped them in my hands. They were warm from contact with my body, the strange thing was, I was reluctant to remove them; they felt like part of me now. Wrapping a towel around my body, I stepped out of my room and made for the bathroom.
I locked the door, and slid the towel to the floor before turning towards the mirror and appraising my appearance. The corset had left an impression on my body, and my waist dipped in more acutely than before, emphasised by the two firm mounds atop my torso. As a man, I ought to be disgusted by this, but yet I wasn’t. The last chip fell in place at that moment, as I stood looking at what I had become. I wanted this now; I liked this. For the first time in my short life I truly felt happy with how I looked. The hints I had dropped to Harriet, the comments and offhand suggestions that this was something more than a job… I had never gone out and said how I felt. Right now, I felt that I wanted to be Sharon for ever; I am Sharon.
With genuine regret, I reached for the bottle of solvent in the bathroom cupboard, and began to spread the liquid along the edges of my surrogate breasts. As the silicone began to peal away, I felt a pang of sadness spread through me. It was as if I had been reminded of the truth beneath my exterior. It seemed so sudden to admit my feelings to myself, but in truth, I had felt them for a long time. I had never liked myself growing up. I had just accepted my body as fact, and ignored things. I had never wanted to socialise with ‘the guys’; in fact I had gone out of my way to avoid it, men intimidated me…
I felt a pronounced shift in my weight as I removed my left breast, followed shortly by the right. I ran my fingers over my tender, red chest, feeling a definite sense of loss. Pushing it aside, I turned on the shower, and slipped under the jets of water.
I soaped my now unfamiliar body with some of my old shower gel, taking care to rub the residue from my chest. After rinsing my hair out, and shampooing it to remove any of the hairspray, I gently washed my face to remove the last feminine signs from my body.
Shutting off the water, I stepped out of the shower and began to wrap the towel around my chest, pausing, I tied it about my waist and slipped back to my room, cradling my now detached breasts. I returned my breasts to their box, and dried myself off. I had an hour and a half left before my father arrived; there was no time to relax. I found my mobile, and dialled Harriet’s home number. After a pause, she answered.
“Hello.”
“Hey Harriet, it’s me.”
“Hey baby,” she cooed, recognising my voice. “How are you?”
“Not good right now. Look, are you busy this afternoon?”
I proceeded to fill her in on the visit that I had somehow managed to forget up till now.
“Look, can you come over and play my doting heterosexual girlfriend for a while? I need smoke and mirrors to throw the old man off the scent,” I begged.
“Lots of skin, but not sluttish right?” she asked slyly. “I’ll be over in an hour. I love you,” she said softly, hanging up the phone.
I grabbed the bottle of nail polish remover I had bought during the week, along with my own feminine shampoos and potions in an expensive trip to Boots. Dabbing some onto a cotton pad, I began to clean the pale blue polish from my fingernails. Satisfied that I had removed the last possible trace of femininity, I grabbed a pair of knickers and slipped them on. I realised what I was doing as I settled the pale pink silk around my bottom, but felt no compulsion to change them; my father wasn’t likely to perform a strip search.
I pulled on a pair of faded jeans from my male wardrobe, and a plain white tee-shirt. Adding a pair of socks and my trainers, I felt hopeful that I could face my father after all. After drying my hair and locating my old Casio wrist watch, I returned to the bathroom to check my appearance in the larger mirror: The overall Image wasn’t so bad. I looked gawky, and had to correct how I stood, but I didn’t look especially feminine. I had tied my hair back into a low ponytail, the best I could do without incurring the wrath of Sally.
I shrugged. All I could do now was wait… So returning to my room, I moved a few things around, hoping to return some semblance of masculinity to my feminised bedroom. I couldn’t remove all trances of femininity, the makeup, the clothes, the hair dryer and shoes were as much a part of that room now as any, and I hadn’t the time to remove them all. Perhaps he would believe Harriet was living with me if asked?
At half past three, I heard the door buzzer ring, so wandered through to the living room and picked up the handset. “Hello?”
“Hey it’s me. Let me in.” Harriet replied cheerily. I returned the handset to the hook without replying and hit the entry buzzer. A few moments later, she knocked at my door.
I opened the door and let her in. Harriet looked amazing; she was wearing a short denim skirt, and a beautiful white knit jumper, her blonde hair flowed in silky waves around her face, she looked incredible.
“Will this satisfy your father?” she grinned, posing slightly.
“Him and me both.” I grinned, giving her a gentle kiss on the lips. “Thank you,” I added, giving her hand a squeeze.
“You look different.” She replied, raising her eyebrows. “Its hard to remember Mike now, even after such a short time, but I guess you could be a Mike if you squint a bit,” she giggled.
“Thanks, way to boost my confidence.” I growled. “Just hang off my arm a lot and he might be convinced I’m not gay.”
“But you are dear.” She replied coyly. “Just not the way he may think.”
I let Harriet through to the living room, and introduced her to Becky. My flatmate was surprised when I introduced my girlfriend, doubly so when I admitted we worked together.
“You look close enough for him.” Becky said cocking her head. “The boobs make a difference, but the hair he will notice…”
“I can’t really do anything about that unless I want to get skinned alive,” I grimaced. “I’ll pass it off as fashion.”
Subconsciously I raised my hand to my flat chest, Harriet noticed, and gave my knee a gentle squeeze.
Just before 4, my father rang.
“Hello my boy, I’ll be outside in a few, Pop down and wait for me, we’re going for a pint.” He fired off in his usual upbeat manner.
“Ah, Sure dad, I’m bringing my girlfriend, is that ok?”
“Wait, is this my son? A woman? Sure lad, bring her along.” He chuckled heartily.
“See you in a few Dad.” I replied apprehensively, putting the phone down.
I grabbed my neglected Jacket, and tried to fit the contents of my handbag into my pockets… It didn’t quite work. I was quite surprised by how many things I had come to need.
Five minutes after we stepped out onto the pavement, my father pulled up in his Jaguar. I don’t know why he wanted to own such a large car, never mind drive it through central London, but I supposed it bolstered his fragile male ego. I snickered to myself as I realised that I had begun to think of men as the opposite sex.
I was about to open my door and slip in when I realised that I was meant to be playing the gentleman son, so turned and opened Harriet’s door, allowing her to seat herself before closing it, and slipping into the car myself.
“Hi dad,” I smiled weakly. “This is Harriet.”
“Hello dear girl,” he smiled, turning to extend his hand to Harriet in the back seat. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Michael, It’s been too long, but you have changed boy,” he said with a frown as he pulled out into the street. “You don’t eat well on a Policeman’s salary?”
“I’m doing fine,” I countered, “Just busy at the moment, lots of work on, you know how it is.”
“Your hair is a bit flouncy,” He noted with distain. “You should get that cut.”
“Can’t dad, it’s for work, I’m undercover,” I shrugged, displaying my lack of control with the situation.
“As what? Some Nancy boy metrosexual?” he replied with a hint of scorn.
“Hey fuck off dad,” I growled, Its just long hair, I’m meant to be fitting in with a rock group doing some drug trafficking using their tours as cover… so it fits ok? Leave it out.”
He gave me a long look, questioning my story, but shrugged and accepted it. “As long as you cut that when you’re done, I can’t have your mother see you looking like that, she will think you’ve become one of her hippies.”
Harriet giggled. “Your mum is a Hippie?”
“No,” I replied grinning. “She’s a NGO worker, charities and such, Dad is just stuck in the 60s.”
“I am not.” He cut in, trying to sound offended. “I merely hold a different view to my darling wife.”
“He thinks she’s mad.” I stage whispered to Harriet behind my hand.
We pulled into the car park of one of the last remaining quiet pubs in the area that had not been overrun by Pete’s sort, although its days were numbered, one could tell by the number of expensive cars next to ours.
I offered Harriet my arm as we walked into the pub and she took it with a sly grin; I think she loved the role-play, although reality would most likely have placed me on her arm.
Dad led us to the bar and we ordered our drinks before he made his excuses and departed to the men’s room.
“Here you go ladies,” grinned the barman, placing the two pints and a glass of wine before us.
I blushed, but ignored him as I handed over the £10 note and beat a hasty retreat to a quiet booth.
“Did you hear that guy? Dad is gonna smell a rat soon,” I moaned with resignation. “I should have pretended to be sick.”
“He wasn’t looking closely; it’s just your height and the hair,” she offered, trying to make me feel better.
“I doubt it, and ordinarily, I wouldn’t care.” I shrugged. “But I don’t want dad asking questions,” I hissed.
“Ordinarily?” she asked curiously.
I swallowed, “I’ve decided I’m not going back. I want to stay as Sharon.” I said quietly, looking into her eyes for a sign of reaction.
Harriet smiled and ran her fingers down my cheek. “I know,” she said simply, before kissing me softly on the lips. I wrapped my arms around her, and drew her body closer to mine as we kissed, our drinks ignored. I felt stars leaping around my heart as our tongues danced.
“I was going to suggest we order a late lunch,” my father announced with raised eyebrows, returning quietly. “But it seems like you two are already on desert.”
Detangling myself from Harriet I grinned, whipping the lipstick from my mouth. “Didn’t hear you come back Dad.”
“Ah it’s fine, you’re not a child any longer Michael, I’m glad you two get on so well. Tell me about you my dear.” He said jovially, turning to Harriet, “What do you do?”
“I’m a civil servant.” She replied demurely. “Foreign Office paper pusher, I’m afraid, nothing exciting.”
“Ah, the circles of power eh?” Dad chuckled, sipping his bitter. “How did you two meet?”
Harriet looked at me and raised her eyebrows. “How would you say it was?” she asked conversationally.
“Ah, we had a… bit of a problem, and her bosses wanted some Met assistance to… Focus, on the issues at hand.” I replied cryptically, grinning broadly. Harriet barely contained a giggle at the corniness of my line.
“Sounds interesting,” my father replied, paying little attention. We were soon called for our table, and Harriet made her excuses before heading for the toilets. My father and I were seated, and he took no time in giving me a talking to now Harriet was out of the way.
“I hope all this appearance crap is for your undercover thing.” He said with distain. “I must say you don’t look like the same man that came home for Christmas.”
“It is dad,” I sighed, “Do you think I want to do this?” I asked, avoiding the question. “Look, I have a lot on at work that I can’t talk about, and I need you to just drop it. Okay?” I replied a little too tersely.
My Father sat back in his chair and looked at me for a moment before shaking his head. “You know, as much as I don’t want to say it; you do look an aweful lot like your mother when she was your age. Of course you’re not a woman,” he laughed. “But that hair, and your face are very similar to hers. Pity you didn’t get more of me eh?” he grinned.
“I suppose.” I replied blandly.
“I’m glad you finally found yourself a woman,” he said taking a sip of his pint. “Your mother and I were beginning to wonder.”
“What?” I asked defensively. “That I was gay?” I grinned inwardly.
He shrugged. “Well you should bring her over to dinner after this is all over,” he said, gesturing at my unmanliness. “She’s a nice girl, keep hold of her.”
“Oh I intend to,” I smiled.
Harriet returned, I think she had taken her time to allow the two of us to talk. I stood and pulled out her chair for her, in the gentlemanly fashion and was rewarded with another gorgeous smile. A waiter approached and we ordered; the meal went without incident, and we talked about nothing in particular, just polite conversation. I suspected that Harriet wasn’t too comfortable around my old-fashioned father. Eventually things wound up, and my father dropped us off at my flat. I promised to phone my parents soon, and he drove off.
“That was stressful,” I admitted as we climbed the stairs back up to the flat. “Thank you for being there.”
“It was nice,” Harriet smiled. He’s a bit out of date, but his sort always are. It was nice to meet my girlfriend’s daddy,” she giggled.
“You want to come in?” I asked, as we reached my door. “Maybe stay the night?”
Harriet smiled and squeezed my hand. “Sure,” she replied softly, kissing my cheek.
I let us in, and the flat was quiet. “Do you think he twigged?” I asked, as we moved through to the living room, and I fetched a bottle of wine from the kitchen.
Harriet shook her head. “Others may have seen differently, but I suspect he sees you with rose tinted glasses, I doubt he ever would guess unless you slapped him in the face with your boobs.”
I reached up to my chest subconsciously. I was beginning to feel really messed up.
We drank the wine as we chatted quietly, and the night wound on. I had purposefully remained ‘male’ to test myself. I hoped that experiencing things differently might change my mind, or give me some food for thought. I found myself longing to be Sharon again; however I forced the thought to the back of my mind and leant over and kissed Harriet softly on the lips. She responded hungrily and we embraced tightly as we kissed. I stood quietly, and took her hand, leading her to my bedroom.
We sat at the foot of the bed and resumed our embrace. I slowly reached down, and began to remove her jumper to no resistance; before long, we sat in our underwear.
“You’re wearing knickers.” She giggled softly.
I blushed slightly. “Closest thing at hand,” I shrugged.
Harriet ran her hand over my chest sensuously. “You want to do it like this?” she asked.
“I want to try,” I replied in a small voice. “I want to make sure I’m doing the right thing.”
Harriet nodded, and reached around to remove her bra. As she did so, I found my eyes fixed on her beautiful breasts; they were not overly large, but not small by any means. They were round and full, and very beautiful. I reached out one hand and gently cupped her right breast, my eyes locked on hers. She smiled as she felt my touch, and a small moan escaped her mouth as my fingers found her nipple.
“I love you.” I said softly, kissing her gently. We lay back on the bed, kissing and fondling each other with increasing passion. Removing the last of our clothing, we lay side by side, kissing softly, “I’ll get a condom.” I said, beginning to sit up.
“Don’t bother, she replied huskily. “I was on the pill before I met you, I figured I’d stay on it as this girlfriend can still get me pregnant.” I grinned and rolled over on top of her, and we melted into a joint passion.
Several hours later, we lay side by side on the bed, glowing in the aftermath of our love.
“That was amazing,” Harriet whispered softly, stroking my face. “I love you so much.”
I smiled, “I’m glad you enjoyed it, but I think I know what I have to do now.”
“That was awkward for you, I’m sorry.” She said, biting her lip.
“Don’t be,” I replied. “It wasn’t you. I just know that I’m not meant to be Mike. I guess that was the final nail in his coffin, the one part of being a man that I can’t deal with.”
“Ok,” Harriet replied simply. “I guess I won’t need the pill anymore.” She giggled.
“No.” I whispered, resting my head against her breast. “I’m afraid you’re stuck a lesbian.”
“I guess I am,” she giggled.
As I drifted off to sleep, I wondered just what I was letting myself in for, and just what the future would hold.
I woke early on Sunday morning, the activities of the night before fresh on my mind: We had made love, and I had reached the most important decision in my life so far; although, I suspect I had never really made a decision, only an admission.
After experiencing even such a short time as a woman, I had woken up to who I really wanted to be… no… was. I knew some would say that I could never possibly be so sure after such a short period of time, but how does one know that one is awake? You just do. The barrier between consciousness and unconsciousness is invisible but definate, and I had crossed a very similar divide; Mike was not coming back after this operation.
Wriggling out from under Harriet’s arm, I slipped out of the bed, and quietly made my way towards the door. I was naked, and not in a way that I liked. I quietly grabbed my robe and the box containing my proxy femaleness, and slipped out into the silent hallway and into the bathroom.
I lifted my breasts from the box, and placed them on the counter while I applied a coating of glue to both them, and my chest. I lifted the breasts, one at a time, and carefully lined them up on my chest in the bathroom mirror. The act felt strange, and a sense of fraud clouded my mind for a moment. I ignored it, and finished affixing my bosom. Once I was reasonably sure I was all secure, I sat on the closed toilet seat lid, my hands cupping the breasts to my chest, to ensure the glue held. I giggled at the crazy image I must have presented. The dishevelled yawning girl sat on the toilet groping herself; if someone had told me a month ago that I would find myself in this situation, I would have had them committed.
Happy that my assets were accounted for, I turned on the shower, and allowed the water to caress my body. After I was finished, I dried myself and my hair as best as I could manage without waking Harriet, and slipped on my underwear. As I clasped my bra closed on the second attempt, I looked down at my sleeping lover. She lay in the covers; an angel at rest, her sleeping lips pouting ever so slightly. I sat on the edge of the bed and gently lay down facing her. I could feel her warm breath against my cheek. I wanted so badly to kiss her, to tell her how much I loved her, but I left her to her slumber. It was three hours later when she woke me.
“Hey,” Harriet smiled softly after waking me with a kiss. “Mike’s gone?” she asked quietly.
“Mike’s gone,” I confirmed.
“Thank you for last night.” She whispered. “It was hard for you.” She said knowing the truth. “You tried for me, don’t think I didn’t notice that.”
I frowned, “I just wanted you to be happy, to see if I could be what you wanted.”
“You are what I want, and what I need you silly woman.” She replied lovingly, kissing my forehead.
It was nearing mid morning, so we both dressed, and made our way through to the kitchen and breakfast. I had just finished making our toast and coffee when Pete surfaced.
“Mike-ette,” he muted wandering past me to the kettle rubbing his eyes. He did a double take, catching sight of Harriet at the table.
“Um, hello,” he said with a sheepish grin, brushing his hand through his hair.
“Don’t bother Pete,” I grinned. “She’s mine.”
“I thought you were mine?” Harriet asked coyly.
“Ok fine we share,” I shrugged, enjoying the mix of confusion, lust and that were visibly flying around Pete’s brain creating a wonderful collage of expressions.
Pete broke at that point. “Too early,” he groaned sinking into a kitchen chair. “You two are an item? With him like this?” he asked, looking at me with a mixture of admiration and curiosity. “You never ONCE score a bird in 5 years, yet you grow a pair of tits and suddenly you land a Hottie? That’s fucking unfair mate,” he grinned ruefully, shaking his head.
Harriet stuck out her hand to Pete. “Hottie at your service, but my friends call me Harriet.”
“Pete,” he mumbled shaking the proffered hand.
“Do you have a problem with lesbians?” Harriet asked coyly.
“I ah, god, no!” Pete spat, “Of course not, erm, what?”
“She’s just teasing you Pete,” I smiled glaring sidelong at Harriet, hoping she got the message. It was one thing to come out to myself, but I wasn’t ready for the party.
“Man this keeps getting stranger,” he chuckled, sipping his scalding black coffee.
Becky joined us after a short while, and Harriet visibly began to relax as she became more accepted amongst my friends. I think it meant a great deal to her that she fitted in. We spent the day around the flat, just enjoying one another’s presence. We nuzzled and kissed from time to time, and eventually Pete retreated to his room. My education in the male world told me just why he had vanished, and it caused all of us girls no end of amusement at the poor man’s expense. It seemed awkward to refer my myself outwardly as a girl, but it seemed to come so easily in my mind, far too easily.
Before long, Monday morning rolled around, and it was back into the breech once more. Harriet had left on Sunday evening, and I made my way alone to Vauxhall Cross on the tube. The number of times I had travelled on the underground was uncountable, but today things felt very different. I was comfortable finally. It was as if accepting who I was had removed my fear of being seen as a man in a dress… I was a woman in the grey skirt suit and knee length designer trench coat… just like so many others in this city, and I finally had my slot; although admittedly, on the crowded morning tube, that was more like a slit I was crushed into.
I waited for the obligatory Pod cue to progress and made my way down to the Middle East Controlerate. This week would contain tradecraft classes for me, all the things I needed to know about staying alive, condensed into one week… I was sceptical of the timeframe, but wiling to put in the hours.
I spent the next five days learning operational procedure, running through numerous key faces, profiles and the finer details of my legend. I immersed myself in Anastasia Zanov, and felt that I had almost begun to become that woman with the knowledge I held of her. I spent Wednesday familiarising myself with the equipment and weapons that I had been given to further deepen my cover. It felt reassuring to be in these final stages; Harriet understood that, but a lot of the others did not. I had been involved in minor undercover operations with the Met, and All the planning meant nothing in the lead up to an op, the final stages, feeling prepared and ready to go were when I felt most secure, the most confident. I just hoped that I could pull this off. Friday morning approached too quickly for my liking, and before I knew it, I was swiping into the Middle East Controlerate’s area in the dark recesses of Vauxhall Cross.
I slowly stepped into the controlerate, setting my wheeled suitcase down. I had dressed that morning as per Anastasia… I wore a pair of high heeled ankle boots with a wedge heel that I was reasonably secure in, a pair of tight fitted jeans, a white tee-shirt, and a black leather jacket that I had spotted one night on the way home from work. My blonde hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, and my Oakley sunglasses rested casually atop my head. Simple stud earrings, a thin watch and a woven gold bracelet were the only Items of jewellery I wore. Naturally, Jane and Harriet had wanted me to dress differently, but the more I learned about Anastasia, the more I realised their viewpoints fell short. She was a soldier, a gun for hire; she was not the sort to turn up to meet a client in a business suit, or a dress. My outfit was simple, functional, yet stylish; It was also by far the most subtle outfit.
“Hi Sharon.” Jane smiled approaching from one of the side offices. “Ready?”
I grinned nervously “I’m going either way aren’t I? But yeah, I think so… I just want to get it done now.”
Jane nodded. “Yeah, I think we all do. Come on, lets go for the brief.” She offered leading me back to John’s office.
“Welcome… Sharon.” John smiled. The entire team was present; this was the send off after all.
“Jane; is he… is she ready?”
Jane nodded. “Her understanding of procedure is good, she will have a team on her for as much as we can, so yes, I’d say she’s ready, Its not like she’s a raw recruit after all.”
“Quite.” John nodded, turning to me. “Sharon, are you ok with this?
“Yes s, Boss, I just want to do my job.” I nodded curtly, trying to blank out the pre game nerves.
“Daniel?” John prompted, do you have the items?” he asked the wiry haired Tech.
“Yes sir, its all here,” he nodded patting the tray on his lap.
John waited for a second before raising his eyebrows. “Are you going to give them to her?” he asked with a hint of annoyance.
“Oh, yes, sorry sir,” the man gushed, moving over to me with the tray. He proceeded to give me an audio receiver, and tracking device come microphone that doubled as a pendant beset with Anastasia’s birth stone.
“Do I get the laser watch?” I asked coyly as he finished fitting the pendant.
Daniel looked confused for a moment, “I ah, erm,” he began looking over at John, “I wasn’t asked to produce one,” he admitted with surprise.
“This isn’t bloody bond Sharon,” chided Toby. “Daniel, she’s pulling your leg you simpleton.”
“I know.” I admitted with a sheepish grin “I guess I had to get it out of my system.”
“We all did it at some point,” smirked Harriet.
“You more than others,” Toby groaned theatrically. “Regular fucking comedian.”
“You line them up for me Toby dear.” She grinned devilishly.
“Enough.” John said sharply. “This is not the playground, can you act like professionals?”
There were muttered apologies and the focus returned to me again.
“Now I must stress that this is not an intelligence gathering op, or target removal, you are to do exactly as Dujani expects from you till you are in position to take the shot, that is the only time you will deviate from what he expects, we cannot afford him to become suspicious.” He said looking at me with a most serious expression. “It is down to you to make sure this goes our way… we cannot visibly step up security and let him know we suspect something.”
I nodded. “Yes sir.” I replied curtly, we had passed the joking and planning, and it was game time. Everything from this point onwards was serious.
John pointed at the pendant around my neck, “You will be contacted by our Damascus team on arrival, but there will be no transmission after you are picked up by Dujani’s men, We can be sure they will be monitoring communications, so you will arrange an extract word, and the only time you will communicate with Damascus station, is when all hell breaks loose, are we clear?
“Perfectly sir.”
“Then I will see you when you get back Miss Cohen,” he smiled as he stood and offered me his hand. “Good luck.”
I shook the proffered hand and smiled nervously. “I hope it isn’t required sir.”
My flight was scheduled to leave in 5 hours from Heathrow, so I had some time to kill. After the goodbyes with the team, Harriet and I left Vauxhall Cross, The atmosphere was too tense for my liking; it made me nervous. It was near lunch time, so we drove to a small Pub just out of town for a quiet lunch, and a more personal goodbye.
I picked at my lasagne, as we sat quietly in the pub garden. I knew this would be hard for us, but that it had to come eventually. She was a Field Officer, and I suppose I was to… We would part, and return to each other, but this was the first time, and no matter how I rationalised things, It was going to be the hardest. Our romance was still blossoming. We had been an item scarcely two weeks, and I was going out of the country on her majesty’s service, I could die… It was a strange thought to have, sat eating lunch outside a quiet surrey pub with the one I loved, but it was real. I hadn’t thought about it so much in the past. I supposed that the times I had done it with the met were no comparison, I had backup, I was in England, in my turf… This was abroad, in their territory, alone. It sounds so selfish to think that the one thing that worried me the most was that I had something to lose now. I had always expected my parents would be devastated if I died, but this was different, a different love… I didn’t want to hurt Harriet by dying. I was surprised when I realised that this girl business had not factored once in my mental battle, the idea made me giggle aloud.
“What’s so funny?” Harriet asked softly, cocking her head to one side.
“Nothing really,” I shrugged. “I was just running through all the horrid things that could happen, and I realised that I didn’t Include the female part anymore.”
Harriet smiled. “It’s scary I know, I’ve been there,” she said squeezing my hand. “This is the worst bit, believe me, but you will come home, and you will come back to me.”
“I know,” I replied quietly, unable to meet her eyes. “The thought of losing you is…” I began, unable to find the words.
Harriet leant forwards across the table and kissed me gently on the lips. We sat for a moment, just kissing softly, holding hands till she broke the kiss. “You will come home,” she said softly yet firmly. “I wouldn’t let them send you if I didn’t think you were ready you know,” she smiled. “You can do this.”
I bit my lip and nodded. “I will.”
As the airliner soared through the afternoon sky, I watched the clouds float past like leaves on water. I couldn’t help but think about my life up to now. It seemed so narcissistic to be flying along in first class, sipping my wine and wondering about who I really was. My departure from Harriet had been tearful, I’m sure we created quite a scene as we kissed goodbye in the bustling terminal. I didn’t care, and neither did she. I swore I would return to her, I didn’t intend to break that promise.
Who was I? It seemed an innocuous enough question, but I wasn’t sure I knew the answer. I knew right now who I was meant to be, but I was quite unsure who me was exactly.
It wasn’t a question of my gender; that much I had cleared in my head. I was a girl but I couldn’t describe myself as a woman yet, only that I was female. That was a part of me, but not the keystone of my life, a defining feature. I was Sharon Cohen, but who was she?
I had spent my life playing a role, being who I was expected to be; it wasn’t my life.
I knew what music I liked, what foods I loved, but it wasn’t enough. The realisation that I wasn’t as I had thought was akin to a form of amnesia: I had woken up and I didn’t really know who I was beyond the obvious. There was more depth to Anastasia Zanov, an imaginary character than my own personality. I loved Harriet, but I wasn’t sure the label of lesbian fitted me very well; it wasn’t something I held to my breast as a personal identification. There would be time to investigate myself once we returned. Right now, I had a job to do, and my job was to protect the country… That much I was sure of.
After several tense hours of in flight movies, and mediocre food, the plane began its decent into Damascus International Airport, Syria. We landed shortly after 6pm, local time. Once the plane was secured and the rigmarole taxiing about complete, I was allowed to alight with the other first class passengers and joined the International line at immigration. As the line grew shorter and I approached the desk, I felt a surge of adrenaline rush through me and I fingered my Russian passport nervously.
Finally, I reached the window, and handed my passport to the bored looking guard with a weak smile.
“What is the purpose of your visit?” he asked, flipping through my passport.
“Business,” I replied dismissively, turning the corner of my mouth upwards in a half grin.
“You have return ticket?” he asked holding the stamp above my passport.
I lifted the ticket from my bag and showed the guard. He nodded and stamped my passport. “Enjoy your stay in Syria Miss,” he smiled mechanically, waving me through.
I had expected more, but to him, I had just been another passenger on another day; I don’t know how I expected him to see through me, but I knew it wouldn’t be the last feeling like that on this mission.
Collecting my bag from the carousel, I walked slowly through to the arrivals area, and made for the exit to the airport. Our contact had told me that I would be met by one of Dujani’s men and escorted to his residence. I purposefully held back from exiting the airport.
I turned on my transmitter, and bit my lip. “I’ve landed.” I said quietly, to myself, hoping I didn’t appear to be a madwoman, after a moment, I was answered.
“Welcome to Syria Miss Cohen,” announced a voice in my ear. It was unnerving to hear it so loudly, but I maintained my calm. “What is the plan?” I asked the poster I was looking at.
“You leave the airport, and meet your contact,” the voice came, “He’s waiting by the coffee stand in the main terminal building, Our men have him flagged, he’s alone, so we are safe to talk here.”
“We?” I asked with surprise.
“Yes, we.” Came a voice from my opposite ear, I spun to face a businessman in his early 40s, briefcase in hand, grin on his lips. “The boys at home do keep producing more attractive Field Officers don’t they?” he grinned.
I grinned slightly, feeling playful, I looked him up and down obviously, “Pity the Damascus team has not got the update yet.” I replied coyly.
“Ouch,” he chuckled, “Not bad. Look, I’m Terry Anderson, I’m Damascus station chief, I just wanted to meet you before you go under. We have your back, and we can pull you out if the shit hits the proverbial.”
I nodded. “I’m glad, what’s the exit word?”
Terry grinned lecherously. “I think ‘sex kitten’ will do, don’t you?”
I groaned, “You guys don’t get out much do you?” I asked over my shoulder as I walked towards the arrivals door. “I hope I don’t have to use that, goodbye Terry.” I called, as I slipped through the door.
Clearing my mind of the humorous exchange, I fixed a mask of nonchalance on my face, and walked through the door into the bustling terminal.
I had made it past the arrivals area, and was beginning to wonder what I would do if the person was not here, or did not recognise me; I purposefully ignored the Coffee stand.
“Ms Zanov?”
I turned and looked up at an extremely large Syrian man He was around 6’4, and broad; the hired muscle sort.
“Yes,” I replied blankly.
“I am here to take you to meet a mutual friend.”
I nodded, and followed the man as he walked out towards the main exit. I drew level with him as we walked, “You have me at a disadvantage.” I offered innocently. “You know my name…” I added, hoping he took the hint.
“I am Hafiz,” he offered in a demure tone, “Mr Dujani has told me to see to your every need and then bring you to him.”
I glanced across at the man as we stepped out into the scorching sun and lowered my shades. “My every need?” I asked coyly.
“Ah, Ms Zanov, I am not…” he began, confusion evident on his bearded face.
My sly chuckle seemed to put him at ease.
I looked up at Hafiz and smiled. “My needs are to finish this job, shall we go directly?”
“Ms Zanov,” he replied, leading me over to a sleek black Mercedes. He opened the rear door for me and I slipped into the cool air conditioned interior. Hafiz lifted my case into the boot, and took his place behind the wheel. His size was not deceptive, as the car visibly sank as he took his seat.
Hafiz pilled out into the busy traffic and began to head into the city proper. We didn’t talk during the journey. I could see Hafiz occasionally watch me through the mirror as I pretended to ignore him.
“You would tell me if I had something on my face, no?” I asked after he looked for what must have been the hundredth time in the space of 10 minutes.
“No Ms Zanov, I mean of course. Sorry,” he muttered looking away.
“What is it?” I asked, now more curious than ever.
“Are you really the mercenary Mr Dujani has hired?” He asked, looking at me as we crawled through the traffic near the Damascus tower. “It is just… you do not look like a soldier,” he added sheepishly.
I narrowed my eyes, wondering if he was mocking me. “Yes I am,” I replied softly, with no emotion. “He has hired me to do a job, I am a professional, if you cannot accept that, maybe it is a good thing he called me after all.”
Hafiz chuckled. “I mean no disrespect. You just do not look like a soldier; you are a little woman…”
“And just what does that mean?” I asked feeling my anger rise. “I’m not upto the job because I don’t have a cock?” I asked in an accusing tone, immediately aware how ironic that question had been.
Hafiz Laughed openly. “Do not get angry little one. I do not think less of you, It is just… you are far more attractive than most females that I have come across in this line of work.”
“Oh,” I blushed, not really sure how to follow such a statement. “Thanks, I guess.”
“And I do not doubt your skill, I have heard of some of your previous work, you are quite the professional.”
I nodded, looking out the window. A funny thought struck me, why was the gopher sent to collect me privy to my employment history, fake or otherwise? I was positive that things were not as they appeared on the surface; I would need to watch things more closely.
We pulled in to a compound in the old quarter of the city. There was heavy security. The men were quite innocuous to the untrained eye; leaning against a wall smoking a cigarette, or reading in a chair, they appeared casual, but I could see the compound was under tight guard, just what was I walking into?
Hafiz left the car, and made his way around to open my door. As he did so, I felt the oppressive heat slap me in the face; this would be a long trip. I wanted to remove my jacket as the oppressive heat caused me to sweat more profusely, but I was very aware of my bare arms bellow, it was not done…. The thought reminded me of the scarf I had placed in my bag before leaving which I now removed and wrapped about my hair.
Hafiz retrieved my suitcase, and I followed him into the house where I was met by a middle-aged woman that introduced herself as Fatima.
“Mr Dujani is expecting you Ms Zanov, would you like to freshen up before meeting him? You must have had a long journey?”
I nodded and smiled, following Fatima up to a room she informed me, was mine.
“Is there anything you need?” she asked.
“No thank you,” I smiled, “Wait, excuse me?” I called as she turned closing the door.
“Yes child?”
“I ah, I am not sure about the social behaviour expected of me,” I asked, indicating the headscarf. “Is there anything I should know? I have never been to a Muslim country before.”
Fatima chuckled. “You are Mr Dujani’s guest, he would not ask you to do so when In his residence, although you should cover your body and hair when outside,” she smiled. “Please come down to the main hall in half an hour.”
I thanked her, and she left.
I sat down on the large bed in the room and took in my surroundings. The walls were white, and the furniture a soft mahogany. The linen curtains fluttering in the breeze from the open windows that looked out over the city. I pulled the scarf from my hair and let it fall to the bed beside me. I was in deep now; I was in the house of a known terrorist, alone, in a foreign country. I gritted my teeth as I felt myself begin to shake. “Pull yourself together.” I growled to myself out loud. I shook my head, clearing the thoughts that kept creeping in, and stood, pulling the jacket from my body. I began to strip before slipping gratefully under the cool jets of the shower in the ensuite bathroom.
Half an hour later, I descended the stairs of the house feeling refreshed. I wore sandals, beige loose linen trousers, and a simple white blouse. I felt clean and cool for the first time in this country. I had carefully applied just a little makeup to befit my professional image.
Fatima appeared from an archway as I reached the base of the stairs, “Ms Zanov.” She asked submissively. “I trust you are refreshed?”
“Thank you.” I smiled honestly. “I feel human again.”
Fatima’s lips twitched, before she turned, leading me through into a central open courtyard where several men were sat around a table, under the shade of the building.
I recognised Dujani immediately.
The man rose, clasping his hands together. “Miss Zanov, you are well?” he asked dramatically as he approached. I offered him my hand, which he theatrically kissed before turning towards the men at the table. “Gentlemen, this is Miss Anastasia Zanov, She is here to… streamline certain concerns.”
The 5 men stood, offering my various hands to shake before Dujani offered me a seat. “A drink my dear?” He asked politely. His accent was a curious mix; there was a hint of Midwestern US, and European accents coupled with his Syrian accent that I couldn’t understand, his appearance and behaviour was not in keeping with my brief: The rat I smelt earlier obviously had friends over for wine and cheese...
I nodded appreciatively, “Water would be fine.”
“Come now,” he smiled, “a glass of champagne with us?” he offered, indicating the men’s glasses.
“I thought it was not done to drink alcohol?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Dujani looked at me curiously. “This may be a Muslim country, but I like to believe this,” he said gesturing at the compound around us, “Is our little enclave of civilisation.”
It clicked… “You are not a Muslim?” I asked, with too much shock to escape suspicion.
“No.” he chuckled. “I am a Syrian Jew.”
I looked at the men around the table, I hadn’t noticed before, but every one of them was drinking alcohol… They were not Muslim… Things began to rattle around in my brain at light speed. “My mistake,” I smiled, accepting the glass that a waiter offered.
I think we should perhaps walk and talk?” Dujani announced, his eyes fixed on mine, in such a way to let me know that it was not an offer, but a command.
“Gentlemen,” he acknowledged, getting up from the table.
I excused myself, and walked over to Dujani, and followed him as we walked out of the courtyard and through an archway into the gardens of the residence.
“I believe we are on different wavelengths,” he announced more fact than question. “I wonder why that is.”
“I presumed incorrectly,” I stated flatly, “My apologies.”
“You got an offer of employment in this part of the world, from someone with my name, it is simple to presume my dear,” he smiled dismissively.
“Of course, you’re employers could have told you this, along with your legend as the mysterious but false Anastasia Zanov,” he added in an offhand manner, with no hint of emotion: My blood ran cold.
“Er, what are you saying? Of course my name is Anastasia Zanov.” I spat with as much indignation as I could muster. “And I work for myself thank you.”
He turned to me and chuckled. “Maintaining your cover is naturally your job. I would expect little else from you, allow me my musings?”
I nodded weakly.
“When you entered the car at the airport, my man Hafiz scanned you, of course, your equipment is state of the art, and does not emit a very visible signature. It is not traceable with commercial or… accessible equipment.” He added, raising his eyebrows.
It clicked; He was with some Intelligence service also, I had been found out by those in my own game.
“Your legend is deep, and comprehensive, but if such a woman existed, believe me, we would have her on our radar.” Dujani smiled conspiratorially. “I have had enough of smoke and mirrors, we expected an agent to attempt to infiltrate this cell, and we allowed it, yes. I do however, require some level of honesty from you my girl. While I abhor the methods of some of my contemporaries, they will help us discover the truth if you choose to remain silent.”
I felt truly sick as I slumped down on the edge of the ornamental fountain we were stood by. I had been discovered, he was toying with me, and I was dead. So much for my super spy career, my new ambition in life was a swift painless death.
“MI6.” I said quietly, looking at the floor. “Get it over with please, give me that much?” I asked, looking up at Dujani with a pleading expression. The fear was gone, I looked back at the ground and waited to die. As numb as I felt, and as scared as I was, the tears rolling down my cheeks were for Harriet, not me. I was going to let her down.
CHAPTERS 14 - 16
By Alyssa Plant
Michael Cohen's dream was to protect and serve as a police officer.... That job didn't satisfy him until one
day, when people without names came to visit. He wanted to make a difference, but he didn't expect it to make a
difference to him, too...
Dujani chuckled. “Why would I wish to kill you child? I suspect my superiors would have a diplomatic crisis if we killed an agent of a friendly Intelligence Service; especially one as pretty as yourself.”
I looked up and tried to focus on Omid Dujani, the man had a look of mild amusement on his face. “You’re not going to kill me?” I croaked; partly in disbelief, part relief.
Dujani frowned, and crouched down on his haunches so he was looking into my eyes as I sat on the edge of the fountain. The man cocked his head to one side and looked at me intently. “This is your first assignment, isn’t it?” he asked softly. “You are lucky we are on your side, or you would be dead now.”
“Who are you? CIA?” I asked. “No,” I narrowed my eyes, “You’re a Jew… You’re Mossad.”
Omi Dujani laughed. “Yes, a pleasure to make your acquaintance, even If I do not know your name.”
I smirked and stuck out my hand. “Sharon Cohen, Mi6.”
Dujani raised his eyebrows. “You are a Jew also?”
I shrugged. “On my father’s side, I… I was never very religious.”
Dujani looked at me again, “Why are you here?”
I frowned, “I don’t really know.” I admitted. “Everything in my brief is wrong… I was sent here to stop you…” I nodded at Dujani, “A radical Muslim you… from assassinating the British Primeminister at the Beirut treaty… Nothing has fitted…”
Dujani looked puzzled. “Intelligence can get crossed, but I doubt that is the case here.”
“I don’t know what to think.” I shrugged. “I’m very new to this.”
“I can tell.” Dujani smiled, sitting down beside me at the fountain. “That also bothers me, why did they send one so unprepared into a perceived hornets nest?”
“That is a long story.” I half chuckled.
Naturally, the long story that I told Omid Dujani, was not the full honest truth. I carefully omitted certain facts pertaining to my gender, while presenting him with the honest facts. Needless to say, he was more than unimpressed with my employers.
Dujani stood and walked towards the archway we had come from before turning to me, “Come with me child, I think we may be able to make use of you yet.”
Grudgingly, I followed the man back into the central courtyard where the other men were still waiting; the conversation stopped as they noticed his return.
I hovered by the edge of the lit area as Dujani approached and called for the attention of the men.
“Gentlemen, Sorry for the delay, but I believe our little problem has been solved.”
“She is dead?” One man asked, “Did you find out who she was working for?”
“Dead? What? No,” Dujani chuckled looking over at me and beckoning for me to come closer. “I think our friend here would like to reintroduce herself.”
I blushed as the attention of the men seated turned towards me. “Sharon Cohen, Mi6,” I smiled apologetically. “As Mister Dujani says, there seems to be a little confusion from our end.”
There were exchanged looks at the table. One man leant back in his chair and let out a quick laugh. “The British do it again.”
“I’m afraid we had bad Intelligence.” I offered, trying to believe that myself. I turned to Dujani, “You said my services would still be useful? Want to tell me why that’s a good idea?”
“You really are an assassin for Mi6?” One of the men asked.
“British Army trained sniper actually, I was recruited for this.”
Dujani looked thoughtful. “I put it to you,” He started slowly, addressing the men around the table, “That we use Miss Cohen’s services for the operation as planned, and give her the choice to assist us or not.”
There were a smattering of agreements and non committal replies from around the table and Dujani looked across at me. “Let us offer you the full facts Miss Cohen?”
“Why should we read a foreign operative in?” An older greying man asked. “It is clear that she was sent to interrupt this operation, further involvement could not guarantee its security.”
“Because,” I offered turning to the man, “The reason you hired out in the first place still stands, I’m all you have, and I’m an ally, we made a mistake, we didn’t even know you were Mossad.”
The man muttered something in Hebrew before turning to Dujani, “I’m not happy about this Peter, but do it.”
The man I knew as Omid Dujani nodded curtly before pulling a folder from a pile on the table and sliding it across to me. I flipped the folder open and leafed through the documents and photographs, trying to absorb what I could. “This is a narcotics op.” I mumbled. “Afghanistan? What does this have to do with the treaty?”
Dujani nodded again. “An international ring has been running Heroin from factories within Taliban controlled areas of the Afghani Mountains; pockets that the Americans have yet to uncover.” Dujani pointed at one of the photographs, “This man, is Mohamed Hasizi, he is the Syrian Oil minister, and only part of the organisation. This group,” he indicated the document, “Are using the oil networks of the Middle East to traffic Heroin around the world, It is a new network of unprecedented size, Forget the Columbians and their unmanned submarines… this is practically a postal service…”
I sat, taking in the information for a moment, and flipped through the documents in the brief, “I’m going to take it, by your colleague’s reaction; you have not deemed this worthy of Mi6’s ears?”
The lack of reaction told me all I needed to hear. “You try to blame me, when you run a covert operation to assassinate a politician at a summit, and accuse us of not doing our job when we send someone to investigate?”
Dujani looked, to his credit, somewhat embarrassed. “The problem is, we do not know how far this extends… The corruption is deep. We hoped to maintain this… In house… till a greater picture was found.”
I looked at my forgotten glass of champagne on the table, and frowned. Dujani’s words had terrifying meaning to me. The misdirection could point at a corrupt influence operating within mi6… but who? And where? I kept my mouth shut about my concerns, but began to realise that if it was true that I was sent to disrupt Mossad, the enemy already knew that we knew… If I officially reported back to 6… It would tie the traitor’s hands. “You do realise, that beyond my decision to assist you, I am required to inform my superiors of the change in threat…” I replied dryly looking at Peter Dujani
“I do not think that…” the grey man began indignantly, only to be waved to silence by Dujani. “That is a good idea.” He said, glaring at the grey man. “It is about time we share this information with a sister agency, and we cannot afford any further confusion as to our purpose…
“Why kill him though?” I added, “He is not more use to you as a prisoner?”
Dujani shook his head. “We take him down at a political event, and the reason for the assassination is unclear, we spread misdirection, one or two shadow organisations claim responsibility for political reasons, there is a significant loss to the drugs ring, yet no direct proof that anyone is on to the operation.”
As dubious of the Israeli’s methods as I was, I couldn’t help but see logic in their blunt force approach. Several unfortunate accidents, political deaths, etcetera, of key members of the ring would expose others through increased security and rash acts. I’m sure Dujani and his colleagues were followers of the ‘Remove the head, and the body will wither’ philosophy too.
We had agreed that I would contact Mi6 in the morning, and Dujani insisted that I remain in the residence for our mutual convenience: As nice as he was, I suspected the Mossad Officers wished to keep close tabs on me. I bade the men goodnight, as loath as I was to leave, but it had been a long day. Quietly, I left the courtyard and made my way back inside the house to return to my room.
Hafiz, the muscle that had retrieved me from the airport was loitering in the Foyer when I entered.
“Ms Zanov.” He smiled, looking up. “You are going to bed?”
I nodded, my hand on banister of the wide stairway, “Yes, It has been a… revealing evening.” I replied with a half grin. “I had an enlightening discussion with your superiors.”
Hafiz looked sheepish. “Look, I was waiting for you I guess.” He admitted sheepishly, his heavy Syrian accented English dropping seamlessly into that of his native Israel. “I wanted to talk to you.”
I smiled, “I’m flattered,” I smiled coyly. “Do you make a point of waiting for every foreign intelligence agent, or just the female ones?” I asked with a cocked eyebrow.
Hafiz blushed, “No, its not that… Sorry for what I said in the car.” He offered. “I’m really not such a misogynistic pig, you know?”
“We were both playing roles, I did bait you though.” I shrugged. “And I made you by the way.” I chuckled, watching the confusion spread across his face.
“How?” he asked.
“You knew too much about my background, you were hired muscle, they do not get told the time of day.”
Hafiz grinned embarrassedly and shook his head. “Amateur of me, but you are somewhat distracting,” he smiled. “According to some of the guys, you are Mi6, so I guess I should count myself lucky.”
I nodded. “Yes, Mi-6,” I agreed, “Sharon Cohen.” I said, offering my hand.
Hafiz lent forwards and took my hand in his paw. “Daniel Gefen, Mossad.”
I smiled, noticing he had not let go of my hand. “Pleased to meet you Daniel.”
He eventually let go of my hand, and we stood in awkward silence for a moment. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” I asked, beginning to climb the stairs, “Good night.” I offered.
“Night.” He called, as he stood unmoving at the foot of the stairs. Knowing what he was waiting for, and how stupid walking upstairs backwards would be, I turned and departed. I had never felt a pair of eyes on me so definitely. I shook my head and smiled to myself. Men….
Securely inside my rooms, I stopped and ran my fingers through my hair and looked at my right palm. That man had the serious hots for me… Yuck! I could still feel his huge bloody paw on my hand… In his favour, the man apologised, but I wasn’t about to jump into his bed… not now or ever. I wasn’t interested in men, and I had Harriet…. I was faithful to my love. However, as hard as I tried to ignore it, a worm of doubt burrowed into my head on the subject of men.
I undressed slowly and changed into my nightie before slipping a carbon polymer divers knife I had secreted amongst my luggage beneath the pillow; It never hurt to be cautious. Drifting to sleep on my first night in Syria, I wondered what the hell I had gotten myself wrapped up in. The following days would prove most interesting….
The sound of the morning prayer horns ringing out over the city roused me from my slumber. It took a moment before I remembered where I was, why I was here, and occurrences of the night before. My first mission was an utter failure…. It had, however, raised questions that I found hard to ignore… How had we so badly interpreted the Intelligence? It seemed the sort of tabloid wet dream of a mix-up… I rubbed my eyes sleepily and yawned. I shouldn’t think so deeply at this time of the morning.
Slipping from the bed, I wrapped my dressing gown about me; to my delight, I had found the guest room equipped in similar fashion to a hotel room; the coffee pot and kettle in the corner was my first port of call before retreating into the bathroom and doing my business. Collecting my sweet caffeine, I walked across to the window overlooking the city and gazed out as I sipped. Feeling human enough for light conversation, I activated my microphone and contacted the Damascus station.
“Miss Cohen, is something wrong?” asked a male voice that I didn’t recognise.
I shook my head before realising that the owner of the voice wasn’t in the same room. “No. But my cover is blown, and we fucked up in a fairly spectacular manner.”
“Ah, let me get the Chief.” The man replied nervously before the earpiece went quiet.
I sipped my coffee while I waited. I wasn’t sure this was the best idea, but I had nobody else to turn to… I didn’t want to start thinking conspiracy, but the options were few and far between, besides, it could be a simple mistake…
“Sharon, talk, do you need an out?” came the breathless rapid-fire reply of our man in Damascus, Terry Anderson.
“Calm down Terry.” I replied sipping my coffee, “Look, we messed up here… the players aren’t players after all… they’re Israeli Mossad.”
“What?” he spat. I was glad he sounded shocked; my paranoia lobe was going 10 to the dozen and his response at least confirmed that this might be an innocent mistake.
“Mossad?” he continued, sounding more subdued. “The Head shed’s Intel was very specific… we got the wrong guys?”
“No, I don’t think so.” I mused. “I think we screwed up…. OR….” I emphasised with a pause. “Or someone planted that very specific Intel.”
“Hang on.” Terry muttered, “Right, I’m alone. Explain,” he said quite gruffly.
The confusing thoughts that had filtered through my waking mind returned with the awkward clarity of morning. “Look, there’s too much wrong here … I know im only a new field officer… but … I’m not stupid or blind.” I admitted defensively. “It just seems far too convenient and obvious a mistake. I mean… Even Dujani isn’t who he apparently is, he’s not even Muslim.”
“I’m not going to tell you you’re stupid Sharon.” Terry said in a reassuring tone, “Look, I know this is hard on you, tell me everything…”
Over the next half hour, I explained everything from the night before in minute detail. He wasn’t pleased, but he came to the same conclusion as me. We were being played by someone at home. And it seemed someone high up...
“What do you want me to do?” I asked, wondering just how far I was getting into something beyond my experience.
“Nothing,” Terry responded after a pause. “Do nothing, I’ll call a mate back home who I know is squeaky and check on the Intel, I want you to report in as normal to six.”
“Are you sure?” I asked cautiously.
There was an awkward silence for a moment before he responded. “You’re a newbie Sharon, no offence, but they will expect this to come back from you. You’re not allowed to be a paranoid old cynic yet.”
I chuckled dryly setting my coffee mug down on the window sill. “I can play the innocent little girl for a while, but keep me in the loop.”
“I will, Bye.”
I turned off my mike and set about getting ready to face my new friends.
I showered and dressed in a knee length linen skirt and a sleeveless vest now my worries of offending delicate cultural sensibilities were lost, and set to brushing my hair out before clipping it back into a ponytail. Feeling ready to face the Israeli’s, I left the room and made my way downstairs.
Fatima was hovering at the bottom of the stairs when I descended.
“Miss Cohen,” she smiled with hostly warmth. Not the housekeeper either…. “You slept well?”
I smiled and nodded before following Fatima through to the same courtyard as the day before where the men were eating breakfast.
“Miss Cohen,” smiled Dujani when he noticed me approaching. “Good morning my dear, join us please,” he offered waving at an empty chair.
I sat, and to poured myself a cup of steaming coffee. I was of the belief that one is never enough to start the day.
I took a moment as I sipped the boiling liquid to look at the men around the table; it seemed the activity was mutual. “As you can see we are still here, I’ve not called in a cruise missile on the compound.” I grinned weakly.
The man that challenged me the previous night frowned, but the others seemed to smile at the joke. The conversation began to circulate once more, and I allowed myself a backseat role to observe the dynamics of the group.
Dujani… Peter, seemed to be the man in charge on the ground from the way the men interacted with him, the man from Jerusalem was clearly the only one not local to the operation and quite dry in his approach. I got the impression that most of the men interacted with him if they had to. He reminded me of the spook that first recruited me.
“So you have considered my offer?” Dujani asked after taking a sip of his own coffee. “I suspect you will wish to contact your employers?”
“You haven’t made me an offer yet.” I replied dryly. “As it stands, I’ve been read in, but nothing formal put on the table.”
Dujani smiled. “I see you are as mercenary as your legend. I think we chose well... Of course, Jerusalem will… compensate you off the books regardless of your official or unofficial involvement.” He gestured raising his eyebrows conspiratorially. The unspoken offer was plain.
I nodded. “I’m willing to be involved if six give me the go-ahead; I can’t go behind their back on this. The beurocrat looked as if he wanted to speak, but remained silent. I could only imagine the conversation between him and Dujani after I had left.
“I understand.” Dujani replied nodding.
After finishing breakfast, the group split up to attend to various tasks, and Peter led me to a communications room in the house.
Dujani handed me a satellite phone, “You may use this, it is encrypted, and we will not listen in. I believe we must have some trust,” he smiled.
I nodded and smiled back, things felt less awkward now. He made a point to leave, closing the door behind me… I lifted the satellite phone and entered the number for the Operations desk at Vauxhall Cross.
The Phone connected, and there were several bleeps before it began to ring.
“West Thames Fish and Chips.”
It took me a second to remember this was a code….
“Hi, do you deliver to Aberdeen?”
“Certainly, let me connect you.”
There was a flat waiting tone before someone finally picked up…
“Operations.”
“Sharon Cohen, Middle East Controlerate, I’m reporting in.”
“One moment Miss Cohen.”
I was beginning to wonder if Mi6 took its telephone protocol lessons from British Gas when I finally heard a voice I recognised…
“Sharon? Why are you reporting in so soon? Is something wrong?” asked the worried sounding voice of Jane North, my handler back home.
“Jane, I’m fine, there’s been a problem…..”
As I explained the situation to Jane, I became more satisfied that she too was on my side. She didn’t know protocol for this situation, and told me to remain in position till I could be given new orders… It sounded like a bust to me, being fobbed off for now, but it gave me time to think over the shadowy offer I had on the table.
Jane seemed distracted for a moment. “Sharon, hang on one moment, Harriet wants to speak to you.”
I felt my heart jump at the mention of Harriet’s name. After my experiences , I really needed to hear her voice.
“Sharon?” came the quiet voice from the ear piece.
“Hey,” I replied dumbly, lost for any other intelligent greeting.
“I listened in baby, are you ok?”
“Yes, I suppose. They are good men here, I’ll be ok.”
“I’m flying over.” Harriet added with deliberate slowness
“No don’t,” I blurted. “I mean, no, I want to see you, but don’t come, this is something I need to do.”
“Baby, you’re out of your depth now,” Harriet replied soothingly. “I’m going to fly out later… They will want someone else on the ground now.”
I sighed to myself, realising she was right. “Fine. It would be good to see you.”
“You too baby,” she cooed, “Look, I’ll be over as soon as I can get away… I love you.”
“I love you too.” I replied feeling my eyes moisten and hit the call end button on the Phone.
I slumped down into one of the chairs in the room to compose myself. I didn’t need Dujani seeing me crying. On one hand, I was annoyed with her for wanting to fly in…. This was my first mission… I wanted to complete it myself… to prove myself… But on the other hand, I knew I’d need her to help me… I was so very out of my depth, convincing myself I could cope. Realising just how very alone and isolated I really was brought another tear to my eye. I was not alone…
Hugging myself tightly, I wept quietly with frustration and fear. I was a part of something beyond my control… and the lack of control terrified me. I was so used to being the one in the position to control a situation, a place…. Even being Michael had afforded me the shadow of an act… the protection of his masculinity… He wasn’t really me… so damage to his self esteem, his self worth, his fears didn’t really matter… I could add more layers to hide them, and they were gone now…
Sharon was me, she was all I had, and if she was hurt.. it was permanent, and it was painful. As much as my idiot pride wanted to do this myself… I couldn’t wait to see Harriet again. To hold, to be held…. Her image in my mind’s eye silenced my tears as if she was here holding me.
Drying my eyes, I got to my feet and attempted to sort out my messy hair. I must look a sight, but there was no avoiding that. Composing myself as best I could, I left the communications room.
Omid Dujani or Peter… I had a hard time deciding, was waiting for me when I returned to the courtyard. He was sat alone at the table as I approached.
“What have you decided?” he asked, without looking up from the document he was reading.
I pulled out a chair and sat before answering.
“They cannot give me an answer yet. Can I see further Intel on this guy… the target? Even if Six make their minds up… I still have to?” I asked tentatively, gauging him for a reaction. “I want to be sure this is for a greater good… I can’t just kill people.”
Peter Dujani looked up from his papers. “I would not ask you to do this blindly, and certainly not expect you to kill without a need. Do not think I am ignorant of the art you practice… In war… orders are orders, but in something like this…” he shrugged leaving the comment open. I smiled appreciatively.
“Look, I’d like to go out into the city today? If that’s ok? I have some thinking to do… and I need to speak to my local Station Chief about some things at home…”
Peter Dujani nodded. “Reasonable enough… I will collect a dossier on the target for your eyes,” He muttered, looking up from his paper at me. He studied me for a moment. “Why don’t you wash up and go for a walk to clear your head child?” he offered with a slight curve of his mouth. He had noticed….
Leaving the compound, I wandered around the city playing the role of the western tourist, loosing myself in the crowd. It felt good to be anonymous after the last 24 hours. After several hours walking, I decided to find a quiet place to sit and think. I wasn’t ready to return to the compound yet and it was near impossible to concentrate in the oppressive heat and noise of downtown Damascus. Three blocks over, a small park provided the harbour I sought. Walking through the gate, I left the sandy metallic city and entered a desert oasis. The park was well tended; green and full of life. As I stood in the gateway to the park, my eyes fell upon a bench amongst a grove of palm trees; it looked perfect. I sat down on the bench and wrapped my legs under me. The palms swayed lazily in the light breeze. The tranquillity was complete; the bustle of the city felt a million miles away.
Instead of reflecting on how I had reached this point in my life, something I had done little else but consider over the last few days it seemed, I pondered where I would go from here. What would become of my life? Could I live through this? As much as I knew it was reality, it felt like a surreal twisted thriller with the moments of solitude occupied by deep philosophical thought. As hard as I tried, I really couldn’t see much beyond the job at hand. Could I kill a man in cold blood? Well the answer was yes. I had trained to do it for years, I had done it. Could I kill someone in a time of peace? A politician? Murder someone? Mr Dujani had been open with me, the man was corrupt.. evil… a sponsor of death and violence... But did someone’s life choices mean it was ok to kill them? Would his death solve anything? Or would the unstoppable tide of corruption in the world fill the gap before we could do anything with that victory? That wasn’t my choice to make. This was a call from higher up, and I was to answer it. Indirectly he was murdering thousands a year with the product he helped to move, that made him the equal of any enemy combatant. There was no smoking gun, but no firearm has killed without the person pulling the trigger. Humans kill, this man killed, method was irrelevant.
Part of me wanted to run and hide from this choice, but the logical part of me told me that it was necessary. I was trained for this. I had taken lives, when faced with the target in my crosshairs I would not hesitate at the moment. Choosing to progress as far as that moment was my present crisis.
The ringing of my mobile phone dragged me from my thoughts. Harriet’s number on the screen made my heart jump.
“Hello.” I said unable to stop myself smiling despite the dark mood. “You landed?”
“Yes, I just got off the plane, where can I meet you?”
“I think its best if you don’t come to the compound… Check into one of the city centre hotels, and give me your room number, I’ll find you.”
Harriet chuckled. “My little girl is all grown up,” she cooed. “Wise choice. I’ll be at the Damascus Hilton, I’ve used it before when I’ve been working.”
“I’ll head there now, text me your room number once you check in. I love you.” I added.
“I love you too baby, see you soon.”
I ended the call and slipped the mobile back into my bag. Knowing she was near felt good, but I also wondered how I could trust myself should things go bad, knowing she was in harms way. It was out of my hands now; we were both professionals, and we had told ourselves we wouldn’t let our relationship get in the way of the mission… one day at a time, I told myself… just one day at a time…
I walked out of the park and back to the busy street. I hailed a cab, and told the driver where to take me.
On the ride over, I found it hard to think about the situation we were in now. I just wanted to see my Harriet. That seeing her… That being in her presence would make this nightmare go away.
I earned a quizzical look from the cab driver when I laughed out loud at myself. Could I have predicted a month ago that I’d be in this situation? That I would know these things, feel this way? It was easier in some respects, I was starting from scratch in all things, I wasn’t adjusting. My whole being was up in the air. Collecting the pieces once this was over would be the true test. As thing stood, I could get by as I was required… The soul searching agony could wait.
My phone bleeped as the cab arrived in front of the Hilton hotel. ‘Room 2331, 28th floor.’
I flipped the phone closed and paid the driver before leaving the cab and walking up the steps to the front door of the Hotel.
A doorman opened the ornate door for me as I approached and I entered the cool air conditioned lobby. The marble and mahogany furnishings seemed more suited to Wall Street than Syria, but It was clearly what the residents paid for; a little slice of home… Why bother visiting at all?
I hit the lift call button and waited. A glance in the mirrored wall next to the lift satisfied me that I wasn’t being watched. Since the previous evening, my paranoia level had tripled. The mission had been dangerous, but it was contained. I was to be known to my enemy, and allied with them. Now… god knows what lurked around each corner.
The car’s doors slid open at the 28th floor. The hallway was deserted. I knocked on the door to room 2331, and waited. There was no sound from within. I reached to knock again but as I did, the door opened and I found myself face to face with Harriet, silly lopsided grin on her lips, her right hand planted on her hip.
“Hey,” she whispered.
“Hey,” I offered in return. I couldn’t think of anything better to say, or anything that needed saying. I stepped into the room and closed the door behind me. As I turned to find Harriet I felt her arms encircle me from behind.
“I can’t begin to describe how much I missed you,” she cooed softly into my ear. “I’m so glad I got here in time.”
“In time? I asked turning in her arms till we were facing one another. “This has become time critical?”
Harriet frowned. “There are definitely elements back at six that are being less than forthright about the details behind this. It doesn’t seem to have left the controlerate level yet, which is strange. I have a bad feeling about this…” she replied biting her lower lip. “It’s the first time in all my years with six that I feel out of the loop, and that scares me.”
“Did anyone follow you here?” I asked feeling suddenly concerned. “Do you think anyone might?”
Harriet shook her head. “I left too quickly I think, If anyone intended to, I do not believe they have our location… We are safe for now… we need to work out what our next play is…”
With a sigh, I slumped down on the bed. “What the hell have we stumbled into?”
Harriet paced in front of me with her arms crossed and an expression of deep thought. “I don’t know, but we need insurance, and we need a way out that isn’t on six’s books… we may have to go dark for our safety, the op seems a write off.”
I reached out and took her hand as she passed. “I agree, but let’s just take a moment out… clear our heads.”
Harriet smiled and stopped pacing. She pulled my hand till I was standing in front of her. Wrapping her arms around my waist, she lent forwards and kissed me softly on the lips. Fireworks exploded in my mind as we melted into each others arms. “I love you,” I whispered breathlessly.
About an hour later, we were lying entwined in bed, our passion sated, Harriet gently stroking my hair as we held one another.
“It was much better that time,” she whispered softly. “I was with you, not a façade.”
“To be honest, I haven’t given it much thought since we spoke about it before I left,” I replied honestly. “It’s sort of a mute point now.”
“I know,” she answered softly. “I love you Sharon.”
I rolled over till we were facing one another and placed a kiss on her forehead. Before lifting her chin with a finger and letting our lips touch.
After a moment, Harriet placed her hand against my chest and pushed me back. “Stop,” she grinned. “Or I won’t be able to.”
“Hey, I thought I was meant to be the sex junkie half of this relationship?” I asked innocently pushing myself up on my elbows. “Well I guess I was supposed to be.”
Harriet sat up and lifted herself off the bed before crossing nude over to the window. “You know that’s never been your style kitten,” she smirked slyly, looking back over her shoulder. “You’re mine.”
I smiled; I felt truly confident in our ability to handle whatever was thrown at us now. The reminder of our love reinforced my heart and my mind; we were together in this, we had each other and we would be ok no matter what.
“What’s the plan from here?” I asked bringing things back to the job at hand.
“You go back to the compound and wait for things to play out… Whoever is involved in the conspiracy will know things have been rumbled… they will make a move. Here,” she offered reaching into her handbag and retrieving a new mobile phone in its packaging. “I got this at the airport for you, one for each of us, clean.”
I accepted the mobile and opened the box, retrieving the phone inside. “You think they will have monitored our communications so far?” I asked, not really wanting to know the answer.
Harriet shook her head. “It’s impossible to know… If they are high enough up in six… they can do that. This room is safe; I contacted you with the new phone… Its not on any records for me… they wont think to look for it.”
“For your sake I hope not.” I sighed. “Damn this is heavy Harri.”
Harriet shrugged and blew a strand of hair out of her face. “Yeah, it is… But we know about it now, that’s half the battle.”
I nodded, she was right. Our awareness would prove our most potent protection. I dressed quietly, and collected my bag. “I’m going to head back to the compound now… I need to talk to the Israelis.”
Harriet nodded. “I’m coming with you. I want to talk to this Dujani for myself.”
“No.” I shook my head. “Not yet. I’m the one dealing with them, and they trusted me to talk to 6, not to bring others into this… Let me talk to him before I bring you in ok?”
Harriet looked like she wanted to protest, but nodded her agreement.
I walked over to Harriet and hugged her tightly. “I’ll keep you in the loop, I love you.” I whispered softly, planting a gentle kiss on her lips. I left her smiling stupidly after me.
On my journey back to the compound, I regretted my decision to not bring Harriet. She was so much more experienced in this game than I… the world of espionage was hers, and I was barely an amateur. As she had known, I knew I couldn’t bring her in as much as either of us wanted. Her presence was a more significant asset if she remained unannounced, her support unseen. When it was hard to determine whom your enemy was, one often had to resort to hiding ones plans from ones friends.
I arrived back at the compound to find everything as I had left it. The usual men guarded the exterior with practiced nonchalance.
I walked straight through to the main courtyard to find peter working through several schematics with some of his men.
I approached the group but stopped short, waiting for him to catch my eye.
After a moment, he looked up, and his eyes fell on me as I loitered by the edge of the courtyard.
“My dear, you are feeling better now I trust?” he asked warmly walking across to me. “I trust you are still onboard with things?”
“For the time being Peter,” I nodded. “However, I have a favour to ask of you, and some information for your ears only.”
Peter nodded curtly, and led me to an office room by the courtyard.
“What is the problem?” he asked locking the door.
“I think the operation may be in danger.” I sighed. “Mi6 is corrupted at an unknown level… There is someone working against the operation from the start, and my partner and the local section chief also don’t feel good about things… I wanted to warn you privately.” I offered tentatively, hoping his reaction would be less than volcanic.
Peter looked at me for a moment before turning to look out of the window. “It was a matter of time I suppose. I have already begun plans to accelerate the operation. I will be leaving my keeper from Jerusalem in the dark of these changes, I suggest you do the same. We simply cannot know who is a part of this.”
“I think now would be a good time to show your trust in me by giving me a weapon.” I prompted gently, raising my eyebrows. “This is not a game.”
Peter looked at me for a long moment. “Are you sure you want to be involved despite these concerns?”
I nodded. “I don’t really have a choice. “I was brought in as a puppet by some involved party. How they intend to pull the strings during this operation will come clear with time, but for now, I have no choice but to presume that I am not on their Christmas card list…
Dujani chuckled. “I suppose not. The things we do for our countries eh?”
Peter walked across to a desk by the window and inserted a key into the top drawer.
He rummaged under some papers for a moment before withdrawing a Walther PPK pistol and a spare magazine. Turning, he handed the two Items to me.
“For you.” He offered. “It was my throw away for near a decade. It got me out of several difficult moments, Lets hope it is redundant for you child.”
“Thank you.” I smiled. “But I am not a child.” I growled racking the slide of the pistol and checking the chamber was full. “I may be new to the world of espionage, but believe me when I say that a visible enemy scares me a damn sight less than the invisible one at present.”
Peter looked at me with a hint of curiosity, as If he wanted to ask me something.
“You are full of surprises little one. Come,” he offered gesturing at the door. “let me show you our revised plans.”
As we left the office, I was interrupted by my phone ringing. I flipped the mobile open and lifted the handset to my ear. “Hello.”
“Sharon, you have to come quickly, they found me, I need you’re Israeli friends about now.”
Note from author:
Hello Folks, sorry for the EPIC delay... (like Bejing can deliver takeout to france faster) I've been delayed by exams, then coursework, then moving house... now im settled and my muse deemed me worthy to return... so Focal Point is back... give me a few days for Haifa too... :)
Shalom
Alyssa
Equally concerned by the turn of events Dujani had sent me with Officer Geffen to retrieve Harriet from her hotel. To say Daniel Geffen’s driving style was original was an understatement, but my only concern at the time was that we may not be fast enough.
With a screech of tyres, we slid into the service car park at the rear of the hotel. Daniel and I left the vehicle where it had come to rest and made our way to the rear service doors of the hotel building. If she was indeed as compromised as she had thought, the front door would be far too obvious.
Approaching the door, Daniel drew his sidearm, I hung back momentarily thinking he was going to shoot the lock off, but was relieved when he used the butt of the weapon to smash the security keypad off before short circuiting two wires and allowing us access to the service corridors of the hotel basement. It wasn’t pretty, or subtle, but that was our last concern at present.
As we rode the service lift to the 28th floor, I drew the PPK from my handbag and removed the safety.
“Where did you get that?” Daniel asked looking over with a vague hint of surprise. “I can take care of anything.”
“Peter gave it me,” I replied tersely. “And I don’t need your help thank you.”
“Whatever.” He muttered.
As the doors began to slide open I raised the pistol, and elbowed Daniel. “Take right.”
He nodded, and moved forwards into the corridor. Leaving the car, I turned the left hand corner quickly and scanned the empty corridor. “Clear.” I whispered, “I’ve got the lead.” I added beginning to move down the corridor with my weapon raised.
I reached the end of the corridor, and flattened myself against the wall. Harriet’s room was another 20 meters down the corridor to the left. Crouching down low, I popped my head around the corner before snapping it back again. The corridor was clear, but Harriet’s door was ajar. Feeling my heart thump, I pressed on silently towards my target. I could sense Daniel’s presence behind me.
Reaching the door, I stopped to listen; Inside I could hear a male voice with an Arabic accent…
“Yes sir, I got here and killed them, but it was not the one you said…. The pretend woman was not here. Yes, yes, I know, I will make it right, have the others reached their target yet? Ok, I will call.”
Feeling the anger surge inside me, I swept around the doorframe and entered the room, weapon raised. “DROP THE WEAPON.” I shouted reflexively, more from force of training than intent. The man turned on hearing my voice, and raised the silenced pistol in his right hand as the scenario invariably plays out. I loosed off the first round from my own, shooting the weapon from his hand. The man yelped angrily and came at me. Without time to scrap, or the body mass to take on the large man, I dropped my aim and put a bullet in his kneecap. Howling in agony, the man fell to the floor. “Fucking cover him.” I yelled at Officer Geffen. As I swept forward clearing the room. “Clear.” I gulped as I moved to the far side of the bed and found the room’s only other occupant.
Harriet was lying face down in a pool of blood. I rolled her over, and checked for a pulse. There was none… Two bullet holes in her chest, and a small red circle on her forehead were the only marks that told me my darling was not sleeping… Choking back a sob, I cradled her broken form in my arms. We had been together just under a hour previously… She had been so very much herself despite the danger. We had been together such a short time, but I had truly felt that I loved her… She had been my closest friend, my confidante, my teacher in more ways than one.
Unable to stop myself, I felt red hot tears roll down my cheeks and drop onto Harriet’s still warm skin. I bit my lip and sobbed uncontrollably for several minutes before I could regain control of myself. Laying her head back against the blood-soaked carpet slowly, I rose, looking down at her still form. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth before turning back towards the others. Daniel was kneeling on the assassin’s back, and looking on with concern.
“Are you ok?” he asked dumbly. I don’t know why people ask that question when they know the answer, but I’m sure it’s the only thing they can think of at the time.
I sniffed and nodded. “Get him up.” I whispered quietly. “Put him on the bed then lock the door.”
Daniel nodded and lifted the injured man onto the bed that I had previously shared with Harriet. I walked across to the bed and stood over him, watching his expression for a moment. “Who sent you?” I asked quietly and calmly with a sniff trying to look like I hadn’t been weeping.
The man grimaced before shaking his head. “I will not talk,” he hissed.
I shrugged and lifted his silenced HK pistol from the floor. I looked the weapon over for a moment. I would use this weapon to destroy those that had ordered Harriet’s death, but first, it would get me their names. Calmly, I placed the silencer against the side of the man’s remaining kneecap and fired.
The man screamed out as the bullet destroyed his remaining knee, and sank back to the bed panting heavily.
Grabbing his hair, I yanked his head upright, and put my face in his own. “Tell me who sent you or I’ll destroy every one of your joints and you’ll never move again.” I hissed quietly. The look in his eyes told me that he knew I would keep my promise, but that he would still resist.
I placed the barrel of the pistol against his elbow, and paused for a moment, locking eyes with the man. His eyes widened in terror and his lips quivered. “Tell me.” I offered.
“I can’t they will kill me,” he begged. “Please.”
I shrugged and pulled the trigger.
As I felt the humanity leave me for what I was doing, the man’s screams of agony began to sate my lust for revenge.
“Life as a paraplegic can’t be too fun can it Officer Geffen?” I asked conversationally turning to the Israeli. Daniel’s expression was a mixture of shock and understanding.
“No, I here it’s worse than death.” He replied with a straight face. “I’ve never spoken to one though, I’d like a first hand account before I make and firm judgements.”
“Give me a moment and you can ask one.” I replied turning back to the pitiful excuse for a man on the bloodstained bed and placing the pistol against his remaining limb.
“Ok ok! I’ll talk!” the man half screamed. “Please don’t!”
I decocked the pistol and pressed the barrel against his kneecap, causing him to whimper. “I’m all ears.”
“I was ordered to come here and silence someone who got too close.” “A man pretending to be a woman, undercover… I got the wrong person… too late,” he pleaded. “I was ordered by an English man that I work for…I did not know his name.”
The man’s eyes locked with mine, and his eyes widened in recognition… I lifted the pistol and put a bullet between his eyes. I knew his next words…
I dropped the pistol on the bed between the man’s legs and turned to Officer Geffen. “I guess that proves it. Mi6 is significantly involved in the ring.”
Daniel nodded. “That was a little forceful maybe?” he asked cautiously, his eyes flicking between mine and the still body on the bed.
“He forced my hand. We have neither the time nor resources to interrogate him properly.” I shrugged.
“No, I am just surprised… I thought Mi6 officers were more… by the book than that…”
“There’s a book?” I asked raising my eyebrows. “Either way, it was personal, he deserved to suffer.”
Daniel’s eyebrows shot up. “You and the dead woman?”
I nodded, wincing at the word dead.. “Officer Harriet Carlisle of Her Majesty’s Secret Intelligence Service.” I replied fighting tears. “I love… loved her.”
Daniel walked over to me and opened his arms. I accepted his embrace and sobbed into his chest. Eventually we separated, and there was an awkward silence for a moment. “What do we do next?” I asked softly.
“We need to get back to the compound… If they have struck here, it can only be a matter of time…”
“What about Harriet?” I asked looking between my lover’s body and the Israeli. “We can’t leave her here?”
“We have to.” Daniel replied softly. “Contact your people or your embassy and tell them you have an agent down, they will recover her body and fly her home. But we must go,” he insisted.
I nodded weakly, and walked back to Harriet’s side. “I love you. Forever and always.” I whispered bending down to kiss my love’s lips.
Standing, I composed myself, and followed Daniel from the hotel room with a last look at the bloody scene behind me.
I stood outside the door for a moment before turning on my transmitter and contacting Damascus Station.
“This is Sharon Cohen, We have an Officer down at the Damascus Hilton, room 2331, Harriet Carlisle.” I stated without emotion.
“Sharon this is Terry Anderson, What happened?”
“Someone was sent for me.” I replied quietly out of Daniel’s earshot. “An assassin sent by a ‘British man’, she was murdered before I could get to her.”
“Sharon, I believe you, but we have just received a copy of an arrest warrant sent to the Syrian Police… For you and an Israeli named Daniel Geffen, for the murder of Harriet and the bombing of the compound you were staying at…. “
I felt a lead weight hit me; “The compound was hit? When? It can’t be Daniel; I’ve been with him since we left the compound… He can’t have done it.” I replied with insistence.
“We don’t know…” Terry began cautiously, “However, this man Geffen may be playing both sides, be careful… You need to go dark Sharon, This is way above everything… They have your Anastasia Zanov Alias too… you will both need new papers… “
“I’m a newbie remember Terry?” I replied with a mixture of resignation and exasperation. “What the hell contacts do I have? I couldn’t find fake papers if they sold them in Marks and Spencer’s…”
Terry sighed. “I’ll see what I can do, but With six watching me, it could be hard… I have orders to bring you in and have you sent back to the head shed.”
“Thank you Terry, I don’t know what I’d do without you…I had Harriet… but now…” I trailed off. “We will be ok, and I’ll watch my back… Don’t worry.”
“Look, after this conversation, bin the transmitter and mike, they have a gps locator in… do you have clean coms?” he asked almost as an afterthought.
“I have a new mobile, 07844 337228, It’s untraceable.”
“Good, goodbye for now Sharon, and good luck.”
“Thanks Terry, Goodbye.” I offered wondering If I’d ever speak to him again and turned the transmitter off, dropping both items into a waste bin as we left the service entrance of the Hotel.
I wasn’t sure if I could trust Daniel Geffen; His behaviour had seemed genuine, but we were in a high profile game, with very high stakes. I decided that I would keep the news of the attack on the compound to myself for the time being. We would return, and I could judge his reaction to what awaited us. It would be harder to fake shock than it would be to cover it.
Slipping back into the car we had arrived in, we vanished into the city once more.
As we drove, I looked over at Officer Geffen beside me: He seemed concerned at the hotel… and showed no sign of acknowledgement when I’d suggested we return to the compound. In anticipation of our inevitable discussion when we arrived, I carefully slipped the PPK out of my handbag and held it out of sight on my lap. I may have been out of my depth, but I was fully prepared to drain the pool should it come to that.
The roads became more congested as we approached the compound, and as we turned into the street, we were confronted by a sea of flashing lights… Syrian Authorities were all over the remains of the compound. The place looked like it had been on the receiving end of a cruise missile or laser guided bomb.
Daniel looked on with surprise… genuine surprise, but eventually he allowed his training to kick in, taking our car past the scene without raising suspicion, before pulling up about a block away.
“They…. It’s gone….?” he asked apparently rhetorically. “Shit they found us.”
“Keep both hands on the wheel.” I hissed quietly slipping the handbag off my lap and raising the pistol. “Talk to me.”
Daniel froze. “You’re working for them…” he frowned looking over at me with a mixture of disappointment and surprise. “But the hotel….?”
“What did you know about this… the attack?” I repeated. “You saw what I did to that bastard in the hotel… Don’t believe I won’t treat you the same.”
“I swear… I found out the same time you did.” He stammered in surprise. “Why the fuck would I want to murder my friends?” he asked incredulously.
I shook my head and lowered the pistol. “Sorry.” I offered with a sigh and an embarrassed half smile, “I needed to be sure you were not working against me. Things have gotten bad quickly… I’m scared” I admitted.
Daniel looked across at me. “You thought I was working with whoever did that?” he asked, jerking his head back towards the burning rubble of the compound. “You English are paranoid…”
“Paranoia keeps me alive.” I offered by way of excuse. “I’m sorry I had to do that… I was told earlier when we were leaving the hotel… The Syrian authorities have an arrest warrant out for both of us. Me, for murdering… for the murder of Harriet, and you, for the bombing… Our respective agencies have orders to pull us in too… Some very influential people are pulling the strings behind this.”
Daniel shook his head. “You don’t say.” he sighed. “I understand by the way.” he offered looking over at me as he lent forwards resting his elbows on the wheel. “If I had been in your shoes, I’d have treated you the same.”
“I’m so new at this.” I admitted. “My first mission has gone so wrong… now we are fugitives even from our own people… How did things get so twisted?”
“The players in the ring are tidying up loose ends… we posed a threat to them, and any further work on our part would compromise them, or spark investigations within our parent agencies.” He shrugged. “They couldn’t have that; setting us up to take the fall conveniently removes any blame from others. We went rogue, we are the perfect scapegoats.” He concluded with a sigh.
There was an awkward silence for a moment. “We need to go dark.” Daniel added firmly. “We need to get a new car, new ID papers, and new clothing… Change how we look… If we have any hope of surviving this, we need to find the traitors within our organisations: Exposing this is the only way we get out.”
I nodded solemnly. “I can help on part of that,” I offered tentatively. “Our station chief in Damascus is on side; he’s looking into acquiring papers for us.”
“How do you know he’s clean?” Daniel asked sceptically. “It is clear Mi6 is rotten.”
“No,” I stated firmly. “I trust him, I took this to him first, and he was surprised and supportive to say the least… This is someone back home judging by the train of events. He is a good man.”
“If he gets us papers he is.” agreed Daniel. “Look, we need to find somewhere to stay… I know a nice quiet hotel out near the airport. It will do for now I think.”
Pulling away from the curb, we headed into uncharted waters. Apprehensive as I was, I wasn’t about to concede yet.
I sat on the bed in our hotel room and tried to take my mind off what had happened earlier that day in a room so globally identical. Officer Geffen had driven us to a small hotel near the airport. He had signed us in as a married couple; Mr and Mrs Reese; American tourists. I learned that more often than not, an American couple abroad would blend in the easiest anywhere in the world; everyone overlooked them.
I was alone for the first time in days, and I really didn’t want to be; after we checked in, Daniel had taken the car and driven away into the city to dump the vehicle before it could betray our location.
Sitting alone in the soulless hotel room brought things back to me. Harriet was dead… I was wanted for her murder. I was sat in a Syrian Hotel room as a woman… minor technical detail. The most unsettling part however, was the latter didn’t seem to bother me anymore. I was in turmoil about that issue: As much as I loved how I was now, some part of me still wanted me to stop and get back to familiar ground. Now however, wasn’t the time; all I could think about was what had gone wrong… How the woman I loved had ended up being shot when she came to help me out of my mess… Indirectly, I had killed her.
I closed my eyes and lent back against the headboard. I could feel the hot tears begin to well in my eyes, and the slow trickle before the dam broke. I wasn’t sure how long I cried, but the last thing I remembered was feeling truly sorry that I had ever accepted that ridiculous offer.
When I opened my eyes again it was dark. The room was quiet, and the sounds of traffic on the road outside were the only sounds.
As I slowly woke, I became aware of a large shape in the chair on the far side of the room.
“Daniel?” I asked sleepily rubbing my eyes.
The shape stirred. “Are you ok?” he asked softly. “When I got back, you were asleep, I thought it best to leave you…”
I shrugged noncommittally. “Thanks I guess.”
As Officer Geffen hit the light switch next to him, I blinked reflexively as the room suddenly appeared all around me in a blinding flash.
“Are you ok?” he asked with a hint of compassion. “You were crying….?”
“I wasn’t., just tired.” I insisted groggily.
“Your makeup tells me otherwise, was it the hotel?” he pressed gently.
Reflexively I reached up towards my eyes; blasted mascara. “It was the cap on a lot of things.” I shrugged pulling myself upright on the bed. “I still don’t quite believe she’s gone.”
“You were in love… I have experienced that loss. Believe me.” He stated matter of factly with a sardonic half grin. “We blame ourselves… We tell ourselves that this job caused it, that we are to blame for bringing them into it. The truth? It is out of our hands…”
“This happened to you?” I asked cautiously.
“My wife and daughter were killed by a Hamas car bomb 5 years ago… Daniel offered without emotion. “When I was still with the Israeli Defence Force, they were killed by a revenge cell targeting the families of serving personnel…” he said solemnly with a shrug. “At first, I told myself that my joining up had brought this… that marrying her had caused it all… anything to blame myself,” he continued.
“It took me years to accept that I had no hand in it. Those bastards chose to take their lives at random. Your… partner?... She was an Intelligence officer also. She knew the risks, she was doing what she thought to be right. She died in the line of duty at the hands of those we fight to stop. There is no blame; there is only our duty to bring them to account for their evil acts.”
I felt a tear roll down my cheek as I listened to him talk. The strange part was, I understood what he meant. His words soothed the burning fire of guilt in my heart, but the flames would never go out.
“Thank you.” I whispered.
“For what?” he asked quietly. “All I did was tell you the truth.”
“For letting me in… for telling me about your family.” I replied in a small voice. “It helped.”
Daniel smiled; “You will heal… It just takes time.”
“Did you manage to dump the car?” I asked, trying to banish the awkward silence that followed our heart to heart. It had reassured me, but felt entirely too personal a topic to have with a man I hardly knew. The fact that I no longer viewed him as my peer was strikingly obvious to me.
Daniel nodded. “I left it in a multi storey car park, and got a cab back here.” He confirmed. “I did stop at some shops… I got us some new clothes. Sorry.” He grinned weakly. “I wasn’t entirely sure of your sizes…” he shrugged apologetically holding out a bag.
I took the bag he offered and retreated into the bathroom with a murmur of thanks. The bag contained underwear, a pair of blue jeans and a white blouse. The knickers fitted, but the bra was a total loss… men and their overestimation… The idea made me chuckle to myself. To his credit, he had a fair eye for the size of the rest of me and the jeans and blouse fitted well enough. Opting to keep my current bra and sandals, I set about removing the horror mask that my makeup had become.
As I stood before the mirror with clean skin and stared at my reflection. I fluffed my hair absent mindedly and rubbed my eyes: I looked tired, and my eyes were somewhat puffy, but it had been a very long day. I shrugged and applied light makeup before brushing my hair with my fingers and hooking an errant lock behind my ear. With a shrug, I tore myself away from the mirror and returned to the bedroom where I found Daniel stood by the window. He had changed out of his plain native dress, and was wearing a pair of cream chinos and a navy blue shirt with the top few buttons undone. It was only in the new light that I realised his beard was gone.
“You look different.” I offered, catching his attention. Daniel turned around and grinned. “I was tired of the beard…. Made me feel dirty. It fits I see..?” he added giving me a slow once over much to my embarrassment..
“Ok I guess.” I mumbled looking at my feet. “Thank you.”
“It was nothing.” He dismissed with a wave of his hand. “You hungry?”
Almost in response, my stomach rumbled in protest. “I think that’s a yes.” I smirked. “Wouldn’t room service be more subtle?”
“Maybe,” he shrugged, But Mr and Mrs Reese have no reason to hide… And we will be able to see a threat coming far easier in a restaurant than this room.” He offered with a smile.
As awkward as it felt, I took Officer Geffen’s hand as we left the room and made our way downstairs to the restaurant. It was part of our pretence, but it made me feel uncomfortable. I didn’t know if it was my role, or his.
There was no hint of Syrian police as we dined, and I began to relax as the evening wore on. We were still in danger, Harriet was still dead, but we could cope… We had to cope. More and more I thanked god that I was not alone… That at least I had one ally in the world. I felt very alone…
I woke the next morning as rays of sunlight began to slice through the curtains in our room. The sound of rhythmic breathing next to me reminded me that the bed had a second occupant. We had agreed to share the bed the previous evening. As much as my brain protested, it had made sense. We posed each other no threat, and the more comfortable we got around each other, the easier it would be to pose as a couple. I still didn’t like the fact that I had slept in the same bed as a man.
Sitting up, I slipped my feet out from beneath the sheet and stretched. Officer Geffen lay sleeping peacefully on his side facing away from me, the sheet had slipped down to his waist. I shook my head at the image in my mind and collected my clothes from the chair and padded quietly through to the bathroom.
Slumping down on the toilet, I rubbed my tired eyes. A day passed, and I still expected Harriet to be on the end of a phone, the whole thing had gone from sickening reality to numb dream. I couldn’t quite believe she was gone. This whole event felt crafted and false, as if the players would walk off the stage at the end before taking a bow. I doubted the blood on my hands would wash off however.
Showering and dressing, I returned to the bedroom quietly. Officer Geffen was still sleeping and I was unsure as to what I should do. Eventually, I walked over softly, and gently shook his shoulder before stepping back and waiting for a response. Geffen stirred, and rolled back onto his face. I rolled my eyes and shook his shoulder harder. With a moan, Geffen rolled onto his back and opened his eyes sleepily.
He frowned momentarily before smiling. “Morning.”
“Morning.” I offered, “We need to go.”
Daniel nodded lethargically and sat up in the bed. “You feeling any better this morning?” he asked tentatively as he stretched.
I shrugged. “I can’t answer that, not till I go home.”
Daniel nodded, “Ok, well you know you can talk to me if you wish…” he offered trailing off. “I’m going to head for the bathroom now, you might not want to watch.” He smirked slyly, laughing as the look of horror and understanding crossed my face.
“Ugh you were naked?” I asked screwing up my face. “Isn’t that a bit presumptuous?”
Daniel shrugged flipping the covers off himself before I banished myself to the view from the hotel window. “Well its not like I packed sleep wear yes?” he chuckled closing the door behind him.
How had I gotten so prudish? I knew exactly why he was embarrassed to get up in front of me, and I knew…. I mean, there wasn’t any tension between us… he was just like me… well… just like I was…
Just before lunchtime, we pulled up outside a small shop on a backstreet. I had spoken to Terry Anderson, he had secured documents and ID for the pair of us, but was being watched closely by six. As apprehensive as the neighbourhood made me feel, the fact we were meeting covertly made me all the more nervous. We were beginning to stray into field craft techniques that I had not covered yet… The game was changing, and I lacked the skills to play.
“Where did he say the drop was?” Daniel asked casually smiling as he did so. The man was a picture of calm as we drove. His quiet confidence the result of years experience. This was his element, and he loved it.
“The corner of the next street,” I offered. “Under the post box.”
“We’re clean, you go get the items when I pull over.” He nodded.
As the car cruised over to the side of the kerb, I felt my heart begin to flutter. Quashing the feeling, I opened the door and stepped out calmly and began what felt a one mile walk nude.
I reached the post box and made to read the times listed in Arabic before casually slipping my hand underneath and feeling for the attached envelope. My heart rate tripled as my fingers closed on the manila envelope, Pulling it out as subtly as I could, I turned and walked back to the car.
Slipping into the seat, Officer Geffen pulled us sedately away from the kerb and into the street. “You got it, you did good.” He smiled at me.
“Sorry.” I frowned. “I don’t know why that scared me.” I opened the envelope and tipped out the contents. Two aged and backdated US passports, and a Virginia Drivers licence in the name of Sally Westmore, and one from California for a Mr Mark Goldstein.
All the Identity documents looked as if we had possessed them for an extended period of time, the workmanship was supreme. Looking over the markings and seals, I wondered exactly how genuine they might be.
“Who am I then?” prompted Officer Geffen turning the car onto a main street.
“Mark Goldstein, Santa Barbra, California, born 1979…” I repeated aloud without looking up from the documents I was examining.
“Daniel chuckled. “Your man has a sense of humour; Goldstein indeed…”
“Well you don’t quite look like a Smith.” I quipped flashing him a smile. “I’m Sally Westmore, from… Norfolk Virginia, born 1981. Oh I’m older.”
Daniel looked over quizzically, “How old are you?”
“I’m 24.” I offered defensively. “Why?”
“I had you pegged as around 28 like me,” he replied shaking his head with a frown, “Not that you look 28, I mean you act older..” he added backtracking.
“I’ll forget that.” I grinned, “But I know what you mean… I’ve had a lot to deal with I guess. It’s probably to blame.”
“Probably.” Daniel nodded, letting the subject drop.
We had been driving in an irregular pattern for the last 20 minutes, mostly to talk, but partly to ensure that we were clean after the collection. As it turned out, it was a good thing.
“I think… we are not alone.” Daniel muttered his eyes flickering to the rear view. “Three cars back, the blue ford. It has been with us for the last four turns.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked, regretting the words as soon as they had left my mouth. Not something a professional field officer would say at all.
“Give me a minute,” Daniel replied quietly, watching his mirror. “And don’t turn around, or they will know we are onto them. We need to test if this is a tail or not.”
After the next set of lights, Daniel made a late turn onto a side street and watched his mirror with what I could only describe as a smile. “Yes, They are following us.” He stated matter of factly. “Not nice guys.” He muttered to himself before following the road round back to the main street. In the vanity mirror, I watched our tail follow at a discrete distance. As we reached the lights, Daniel Jumped a red and make a quick right turn into the stream of traffic. Quickly turning around in my seat, I could see our pursuers make the turn and give chase.
“When the fuck did they pick us up?” I asked reaching into my handbag for the pistol to reassure me. “Was it the drop?”
“Probably someone followed your friend because he reached the same conclusions about him we did.”
Daniel’s speed began to edge up and our pursuer became more obvious as they wove through the traffic in pursuit
“Are you sure this is safe?” I yelped as we took the wing mirror off a car as we passed.
“Hey I’m Mossad trained in pursuit and evasion driving.” Daniel grinned looking over. “We are best drivers in the world.”
“That is a matter of opinion.” I grimaced.
My own fears aside, Daniel wove the car expertly between the traffic as we sped through downtown Damascus. The tail car was unable to close on us, and after 3 more sets of lights, Daniel had managed to shake the tail and pulled the car off into a side street that allowed him good views of approach in either direction. I was impressed by his cool. I was qualified to drive pursuit as a police officer, but blue flashing lights tended to clear the road ahead. Being chased however was a different matter entirely; and one I was entirely unfamiliar with. I wasn’t sure if I could have kept my cool the way he had.
“Are you ok?” Daniel asked quietly as he checked the chamber of his pistol before slipping it into his trousers. “You’re quiet.”
I nodded. “Just a new experience for me.” I shrugged dismissively trying to act nonchalant. “We’re leaving the car?”
“It would be best.” He nodded. “They know it now, and I put good money on the Syrian police having our licence plate by lunchtime.”
“The first thing we need to do,” Daniel announced placing his fork down as punctuation and leaning back in his seat as we ate a quiet lunch at a small café in the heart Damascus’s busy tourist district. “Is we need to turn this around.”
I looked over at Daniel across the table and gazed at him for a moment trying to unravel the direction his mind was taking. “We are outlaws until this organisation is exposed...” I agreed slowly, “our only option is to take the fight to them,” I added realising the direction his mind was headed.
“Big words,” Daniel said slowly raising his eyebrows. “Where do you plan to start this little war?”
I thought for a moment, mentally reviewing the documents and discussions I had in memory from my short time with the Israelis. “We start with the Oil Minister… Mohamed Hasizi” I said quietly as a plan began to form in my brain. “If we grab him and make him talk… we can find out who else is part of this ‘inner circle’? I offered. “It’s our only lead, and the subtle approach is somewhat pointless now.”
Peter nodded. “It sounds risky, but you’re right, it’s all we have. How will we get close to him?”
“This isn’t the United States of Paranoia,” I smiled, “and he’s only the oil minister, at most he will perhaps have a guard and a driver with him, if we catch him in transit, we can make him disappear before they can realise he’s gone…”
Daniel gave me a strange look, “You were telling me the truth when you said this was your first mission?”
I grinned and blushed. “It is, I’m just not new to the world of catching people.”
“You were a police officer,” Daniel replied sipping his coffee with no hint that it had been a question. “However, if it is all the same, I will interrogate him this time,” he added quietly, “We do need him to live long enough to talk,” Daniel smiled sardonically.
“It almost sounds like you don’t trust me,” I smiled sweetly. “I can be good.”
Daniel chuckled, “Well I don’t know about that,” he grinned. “I first met you undercover as a Russian mercenary… you turned out to be an international spy, and you’ve tortured and killed a man before my own eyes… Do I even need to mention that you began to plot the kidnap of a foreign politician… You seem like my sort of girl, and they aren’t the good sort,” he smirked
His words and the look in his eyes made me feel strange and somewhat unclean. I didn’t want to be his sort of girl, at the moment or anyone’s… The girl part even bothered me a little when he so pointedly brought it to attention.
“Well you can do it, we just need the names,” I added quickly, wanting to end the awkward silence. “But we have to move before the others can realise we are alive and kicking, whoever followed us was working for someone, we can’t be seen to be taking these steps.”
“You’re treating this like a police job are you not?” Daniel asked flipping through his wallet for the bill.
“Why not?” I shrugged. “It’s the best way to deal with what we have; we’re undercover. We know who the bad guys are and we need evidence to bring them down…”
Daniel looked at me for a moment before raising his eyebrows, “You’re quite correct,” he sighed. “I had been thinking about this from a Mossad point of view… how we do things… Perhaps… yes,” he mused quietly for a moment tapping his hand against the table as he thought. “If we were to treat this as one of your police operations… it would throw them off our scent… It is not standard operating procedure for either of our agencies… they would not expect it.”
Looking over at Daniel, I saw an admiration in his eyes, thinking his words over, the more the realisation he had met struck me also. The only way we would survive this trial by fire, and have any hope of catching the men responsible for our betrayal, would be to become unpredictable, to do anything and everything they didn’t expect to buy us time. To them, we were Field Intelligence Officers… and there was a relatively fixed modus operandi from what I had seen during my short stint in the business… If we broke the mould, we broke their ability to predict our moves, and that gave us the upper hand.
We left the café, and made our way into the sea of human traffic outside: It was still the height of the tourist season and the streets were packed. Before long, we hailed a cab, and made our way back to the hotel and the relative privacy of the room.
I sat on the bed back in our room with my back against the headboard and my knees tucked into my chest. I was thinking, and it wasn’t pleasant. The tourists… the breaking of the proverbial mould: Becoming what they least expected had been niggling away at my brain since the thought had first entered. There was one answer that was repeatedly surfacing as I searched for the right one, and it would not allow itself to be submerged. It told me that I should go back to being mike, and as logical as it sounded, a strange regret held me back. They would not expect me to be male…. No record listed me as such, yet how would I explain this to Daniel? I had lied to him all this time? That I was not the girl he knew? I didn’t know what to say. I looked over at him by the window, quietly watching. It was something I had to confront.
“Daniel… About our disappearing?” I asked tentatively. “I had an Idea.” I offered quietly.
Daniel turned and lent back against the window sill. “Shoot.” He offered plainly.
I squeezed my knees harder. “We should change our appearance… They know what we look like… perhaps we should… I don’t know…” I trailed off uselessly allowing my hands to flop to the bed.
Daniel smiled. “No, you’re right, we should… but I had a beard, that’s one change… not much more I can do without plastic surgery really… what about you? Change your hair style? Colour? Stuff your bra?” he offered with a grin.
I shook my head as I felt colour rise. “Well…” I began slowly. “They’re looking for a man and a w-woman; right? So… mm, what If I dressed as a man?” I blurted without looking at him. “I could cut my hair and….” I said weakly looking up at him to judge his reaction.
Daniel shook his head. “No, that wouldn’t work,” he shook his head emphatically. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good idea… Excellent Idea… But I think you’d draw more attention pretending to be a man. Not that you don’t now… he added sheepishly. “I just don’t think it would work really, you’re too pretty.” He grinned blushing himself.
I looked down at the bed sheet. Some idea that had been… “What should I do then?” I asked quietly.
“We can go into town later and pick up the things we need. but I suspect we just need to look different enough to remove suspicion.”
Later that afternoon, we returned to the hotel with a plethora of bags and boxes. Having found an excuse to not return to being Mike, I had followed Daniel’s initial advice and chosen to change my appearance in more subtle ways. Sifting through the bounty, I collected an armful of items and retreated to the bathroom to begin my transformation of sorts.
Dumping the items and bottles into the sink, I looked at myself for a moment. I had almost begun to think of this me… As the real me. Would I go back to being blonde once more when this was all over? Hell, would I keep the hair? Was I mad? delusional? Lost inside some role? I didn’t think so. To me, this felt so real, so finite, and so important. I decided that when I got back to England, I’d resurrect my blonde locks, and the Sharon I had grown familiar with would return, if only to stop Sally from killing me for what I was about to do. For now however… Change was on the cards.. I raised the scissors and began my work.
Half an hour later, I looked at my reflection. I was no hair stylist, but I was pleased with the job I had done… My hair fell to my shoulders, and was jagged and rough… it took years off me… the deep brunette shade I had dyed it made the look even more striking… I looked NOTHING like Sharon Cohen anymore… not the Sharon Cohen born in a London Salon... I couldn’t tell if it was the experience of the past week, or just the new style that made me see myself so differently. Almost Like I had begun to earn my right to have this body. I felt a strange flopping sensation in my stomach; a strange mixture of panic and pride. I was finally looking at someone else in the mirror… seeing myself how others saw me, and it was striking…. As hard as I had tried, I had always seen some of Mike in Sharon, but now… now he was gone. I couldn’t see a trace: Daniel’s words made sense now. There was no way I’d be able to pretend to be a man successfully: The idea pleased me, and I did not feel guilt.
Fluffing my hair with my hands, I made faces at the mirror before smiling, and leaving the bathroom. Daniel was stood in his spot by the window, watching the traffic on the street bellow. “I’m done.” I announced quietly to get his attention.
Turning, I could see he had taken gel or something to his shaggy hair, creating a more youthful style… he certainly didn’t look 29… he looked almost handsome.
“Wow, different,” he grinned. “It suits you.” He smiled. “It always amazes me how you women can change your appearance so easily,” he chuckled.
I grinned and struck a silly pose. “Oh we get taught it in spy school.” I retorted playfully. “Or was that high school?” I asked myself putting a finger to my lip and looking thoughtful. “I guess I don’t have the blonde excuse anymore huh?”
“Whatever.” He chuckled. “I think the idea was a good one… we look different enough to pass cursory inspection I think. And you don’t even look old enough to be a Intelligence Officer anymore.” He grinned shaking his head.
“A girl always likes to hear that.” I chuckled. “Why don’t you use the bathroom, and I’ll change, and we can head out?” I offered nodding towards the now vacated scene of my experimentation. Grabbing a pile of clothes, Daniel vanished into the bathroom, closing the door, leaving me to change.
I slipped out of my jeans and blouse and stood in my underwear before the bed. I looked younger… I should dress younger too I mused. Searching through the clothing we’d bought, I pulled on a shortish denim skirt, and a tee-shirt. If we kept to the tourist areas, and broke some social rules, I suspected we would be overlooked by our pursuers.
Slipping my sandals on my feet, I sat on the bed and looked down at myself. I was surprised how much I had changed since this had all begun. What started as a challenge, had become disturbing, and was now almost second nature to me. I wondered if I was truly mad, or if I should even question myself. I felt happy with my appearance, Truth be told, the only negative thought I could come up with at the time, was that my enhancements were not permanent…
We spent three days observing Mr Hasizi and his movements. Three days of watching, and waiting, and planning, but in the end it paid dividends. We discovered that Hasizi was picked up and returned home in a limousine with only his driver and one bodyguard that remained in the car. While the man may be a big player, he managed to hide things well within the means of an Oil Minister. It was the avenue we would strike at: When he was returning home from the ministry on the coming Friday, we would strike. It gave us the most scope for success, and the longest time before he was discovered missing. It would be our only chance.
I looked out of the car window for what must have been the five hundredth time that hour. We were parked down the street from Hasizi’s office, waiting for him to leave the building on his journey home. We had taken his wife and two sons that afternoon: We had no desire to harm them, but they would act as leverage against a dedicated man. Daniel had been surprised by my cynical reasoning… A man with no fear of death, was immune to interrogation, but his family were a weakness that he had no control over. I felt bad undertaking such actions, but realised with resignation that they were necessary. We had no time, no resources, and no allies… We had to resort to methods and acts that normally would be considered excessive. I hoped we could gain the information we sought without harming an innocent, my sense of right and wrong was still as strong as the day I had joined the police force…. It was my job to protect the law abiding, not harm them; that day seemed so long ago…
I glanced across at Daniel, sitting calmly in the passenger seat, reading a novel; he looked extremely relaxed considering what we were undertaking.
“When is he due?” I asked to break the uneasy silence.
Daniel twisted the book in his hands to look at the watch on his wrist. “Any minute now.” He offered casually. “We wait till he has left the ministry, and move.”
I nodded more to myself than Daniel and sat quietly, unable to fully relax in the seat. I was always on edge before a job.
“It is now.” Daniel murmured as he reached down and began threading a silencer onto his pistol, his eyes flicked between the ministry door and the limousine approaching in the rear view mirror.
My heart thumped loudly as the vehicle approached. Daniel opened his door and slipped onto the pavement and slowly made his way forwards to an unobtrusive spot near the entrance to the ministry. There was precious little information on the security detail, but every precaution had to be taken with the presumption that they were good. A visible threat would result in a no show. We couldn’t risk that. I slowly slipped the car into gear as Hasizi left the building flanked by his security man. Hasizi was nothing like the photographs I’d seen of him, he looked older, fatter, but the eyes were the same. His security man was intimidating, but sloppy, hired muscle, not a true bodyguard. He walked with the Minister, not before, and one man was not enough for a personal protection detail; it made it too easy. After closing his principal’s door, the man let his guard down as he turned to get into the vehicle himself; he never saw the bullet coming.
Daniel fired the silenced pistol into the back of the man’s head as he was opening the front passenger door. Stooping, he lent into the vehicle and fired twice into the driver before the man could react. The limousine remained immobile.
I pulled the car alongside as Daniel manhandled a limp Hasizi out of the limousine and into the backseat of our car. A second security guard ran from the door of the ministry as Daniel was opening his door. With practiced ease, he turned and fired twice dropping the man as he fumbled with his holster. Daniel slipped into the car and I was pulling away before the door was even closed.
“That went smoothly.” I murmured turning onto a larger road. “What did you do to him?” I asked looking at the limp form in my mirror.
“He will wake in fifteen minutes or so,” Daniel shrugged. “I trapped a nerve cluster that knocked him out.
“Ah, the fabled Mossad voodoo.” I chuckled darkly, “We’re clean.” I added checking my mirror a second time.
Daniel grunted noncommittally his eyes not leaving our precious cargo in the rear seat.
After several miles we had left the city proper, and were driving through the industrial outlands of Damascus. I pulled the car off the road, and into the cluster of industrial buildings we had scouted out the day before. The old factory complex was deserted save the wild dogs and occasional vagrant. It was away from prying eyes and attentive ears.
I got out of the car, closing the door behind me and circled around to Daniel’s side and helped him to drag the unconscious minister from the back seat.
Propping him up against a support pillar in the deserted warehouse floor, we cuffed his hands behind his back and left him to wake; we didn’t have to wait long.
Hasizi groaned , his head lifting slightly before lolling back to his chest. His hands moved and his head snapped up with the realisation that he was restrained. He looked around the room for a moment before focusing on myself and Daniel standing against the far wall. “Who are you?” he asked nervously, his hands testing the bonds once more. “I will pay what you ask, please free me.”
Daniel walked forwards till he was about ten feet from Hasizi and squatted down till his eyes were level with our seated prisoner.
“What makes you think we want your money?” he asked with amusement ringing in his calm voice. “You believe your life so valuable that someone would kidnap you for money?”
“I… Ah, who are you?” He asked, caught off guard by our disinterest in his money.
“Who we are is not important.” Daniel said dismissively with a wave of his hand, “We are very interested in you however, Mohamed.”
Hasizi’s expression changed from fear to cold awareness in a heartbeat. “Why would you be interested in me?” He asked feigning ignorance. “I am but a lowly minister of the Syrian government, I cannot influence policy.”
“This is no time for games Mister Hasizi.” I added nonchalantly stepping forwards to stand at Daniel’s side. “We are running a tight schedule, and we will use necessary means to gain the answers we seek, cooperation is in your best interest, and that of your family.” I sneered.
Hasizi looked at us for a moment, gauging our expressions. “You do not have them.” He said firmly, looking me in the eye.
I took a step forwards and looked down at Hasizi, forcing him to crane his neck further. “That is a significant gamble to take Mohamed.” I said with an amused smirk. “Resistance is noble,” I sighed, crouching in front of him. “Noble, but foolish. I can see you are a dedicated man, a professional… There is no point threatening you with pain, or death, it will not motivate you to give us the information we require.” I said frankly, looking over at Daniel, hoping he had the same train of thought I was working with.
“Sharon, go and bring his son through.” Daniel said with resignation, looking over at me. I smiled inwardly; he had picked up what I had been planning.
“You do not have them,” stated Hasizi firmly. “You bluff.”
I turned around as I was walking out of the room. “NO!” I shouted, my voice echoing around the empty warehouse, “You are calling my bluff…. A gamble you are about to pay for. Perhaps it will take your son’s life to make that clear.” I snapped turning on my heels and walking out of the room. I drew my pistol and racked the slide before pulling his son to his feet, I dragged him to the doorway; from twenty feet away, I could see Hasizi’s eyes bulge. I shoved his son back behind the door and pushed him to the floor before covering his mouth with my hand; I fired a shot into a pile of sacking across the room and waited a moment, checking the gag in his mouth. I waited a moment before pulling the door open and returning to the main hall of the warehouse. Walking back to where Hasizi was bound, I said nothing till I was within several feet of him. The expression on Daniel’s face was exactly what I had hoped for… total surprise.
“You killed my son.” Hasizi muttered quietly. “You had them, you killed him…” he trailed off.
“I told you we were serious Mohamed,” I said raising my eyebrows as if to say ‘I told you so.’ “Are you going to talk, or do we have to kill Amira and Kalid?”
“Please do not harm them!” He blurted. “I will tell you what you need to know.”
Daniel lent forwards and gripped Hasizi’s jaw turning his head forcibly to look at him. “Who is your contact in mi6.” He asked, betraying no emotions for or against my apparent action.
“Mi6?” Hasizi asked slowly, realisation flickering across his eyes. “You want to know who sent the freak to stop the Mossad cell in Damascus?”
“You seem to be on the right track.” Daniel said refusing to rise to Hasizi’s barb; I however barely concealed the lurch I felt in my stomach.
Hasizi looked around for a moment, his eyes flickering to the door where he thought his son had been executed. “Harriet Carlisle was my point of contact with the head of our operation.” He said visibly sagging against his restraints. “Please don’t harm my family.” He pleaded.
I looked at Daniel with shock; his brow was furrowed. “How many times did you meet with Harriet Carlisle?” he asked Hasizi not showing any sign of surprise at the reply. “Where did you meet?”
Hasizi shook his head. “I never met Carlisle,” he shrugged, “I spoke to them via secure satellite phone as a conduit to the head of our group. We would speak monthly to discuss updates and receive orders.” He said flatly, a broken man. “I did not know the head’s name, he kept it anonymous He was referred to as Oxford.”
“”What are the names of the others in your group?” Daniel pressed on,
“I do not know.” Hasizi said shrugging against his chains, “We operated individually completing our tasks and were coordinated through Carlisle.”
Daniel stood up and walked to the door of the warehouse and made his way outsides. Unsure of what to do, I followed. He was leaning back against the brick wall, smoking a cigarette when I found him.
“Do you think he was telling the truth?” I asked tentatively.
Daniel nodded and sighed, “Yes, he was telling the truth about everything he was told. That man is broken.”
“But Harriet would never…” I began, leaping to her defence.
Daniel held out his hand, “I said he was telling the truth, not that he was right.” He said looking across at me. “It’s pretty obvious the group are using Mi6 Secure satellites to communicate off the radar… What intelligence service looks for chatter on its own birds?”
I nodded. “It makes sense, but why pass them self off as Harriet?”
“Smoke and mirrors, and fall guys.” Daniel shrugged. “All we know is that two people at Mi6, and at least one of them a woman, are the very top of this organisation… We may still complete the mission.”
“And clear our names,” I added. “And Harriet’s.”
“That was decisive of you in there.” Daniel said after a moment of silence. “Brutal, but functional. We achieved the desired result with minimal bloodshed.”
“He’s not dead.” I said looking over at Daniel to watch his expression.
Daniel chuckled. “That is so you.” He said grinning. “That is not one of your police tricks I think. Where did that come from?”
I smiled, “Some TV show I watched used the same trick.”
Daniel shook his head, “I will never understand you, but I love the way you think… It’s so… off the cuff… decisive… brilliant.” He added looking me in the eyes. I felt immediately warmer, which was quite a challenge in the Syrian climate. I wondered if I might feel things for Daniel I told myself that I wouldn’t… couldn’t... It was just the situation; we were thrust together by circumstance and fate, it was the tension; nothing more.
“We should go back and deal with him.” I said, breaking the awkward silence. “What’s the plan?”
“I make an anonymous phone call to the Syrian secret police and point them at the man coordinating their drug problem. They will be picked up and dealt with.” Daniel replied stubbing out his cigarette.
“Is that wise?” I asked, dubious of the Syrian system and its loose ties to justice.
“Of course not,” Daniel shrugged, “But it gets him into a jail cell rather than a shallow grave, if he cooperates: Which he will. They can tie up this end and save national face.”
“What about his son?”
“Bring him and the others in, we will leave them here for the Syrians.”
I nodded and walked through to the anteroom of the warehouse to unchain Hasizi’s family. I led them back through unharmed, before looping the chain through their plasti-cuffs around another pillar and fastening the padlock.
Hasizi realised immediately that he had been tricked. “You pig bitch, you lied to me.” He bellowed at the top of his lungs.
“No, I just have some humanity,” I growled, “unlike you organising the death of an innocent woman in Damascus.” I spat in return, feeling the pain I felt at the loss of Harriet resurfacing. “You’re the criminal; you’re going to pay.”
Hasizi looked as if he was going to speak, but closed his mouth. He looked between myself and Daniel and his eyebrows rose. “You’re the shemale pawn sent by mi6!” He laughed. “And you have the audacity to say I have no humanity. You are less than human.”
I stood, my mouth flapping uselessly, I looked over at Daniel, trying to gauge his reaction, He looked… shocked…. His professional mask slipped. Before I could feel anymore shame, I turned and fled, leaving the warehouse door swinging.
I ran for about a hundred meters before I slumped against a wall, choking back sobs. I slid to the ground and fingering the hammer on my pistol. I had lost the only other person I had in the world at that moment, and there was the very real chance that he would turn on me too. I dropped the gun to the ground in resignation and gave myself over to the wave of tears.
From the Author:
Sorry this has taken so long folks, but I'm back writing it now, and expect more of this and some others soon. Hope you like it! Please comment :)
Michael Cohen's dream was to protect and serve as a police officer.... That job didn't satisfy him, until one day,
when people without names came to visit. He wanted to make a difference, but he didn't expect it to make a difference to him, too...
“I’m sorry.” I muttered weakly. “I should have told you, I’m so sorry. Please….” I pleaded looking up at Daniel.
Daniel crouched down by my side, and took the pistol from my hand, “You will not need that.” He said realising what I was feeling. “I will not harm you.”
I swallowed the rising fear, “You realise what he said in there?” I asked tentatively, trying to establish what page we were on.
Daniel nodded slowly, “That you are… not a woman.” he said slowly, shifting uncomfortably.
“He’s right, or was.” I sighed closing my eyes to compose my thoughts. “Before this mission, I was… male.” I couldn’t bring myself to say man, because in all honestly, it had never been a title that I had identified with. “This mission required a female agent, for the legend, and I had to replace someone…. I was the only one with the required… skills.” I shrugged weakly. “Before I went on the mission, I began to feel more at home like this. I began to realise that it had been something I was missing my entire life.” I added sincerely, “This is the real me… even if I didn’t begin this way… I know how weird this must sound, but please… I have not deceived you… you are the only friend I have left.”
Daniel was quiet for a moment. “I cannot begin to understand this… but I cannot see a male in you.” He said softly. “Surprised? Yes: You are so… feminine,” he shrugged, I believe I expected someone like you to be more… masculine or awkward….” he trailed off.
“Daniel…” I sighed, “I can’t explain this very well… I don’t really understand this to begin with, but I can tell you with certainty that the girl, no, woman you see before you is a real person, I’m not a fake, or a pretender, or some in-between, I am Sharon Cohen.” I said with a determination that I didn’t know I felt.
Daniel took my hand and pulled me too my feet. We stood looking at one another for a long moment before he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to him. I hardened at first, but finally relaxed into the embrace that allowed me to cry out the pain and confusion that had been building up in me for the last few weeks. He stood holding me till I had stopped crying, and pulled back to look into my eyes. “In a world of lies and deceit Sharon, you are one of the very few honest people that I know. This does not change that,” he admitted with a lopsided grin. “It is not hard to see you as a woman, you must have made a very bad man.” He chuckled softly.
“I guess you’re right.” I admitted softly. “I’m a more complete person now.”
Daniel smiled and nodded his head in the direction of the car. “Come, let us leave this place, our work is done.” He said softly. “We have much to do now.”
I nodded absentmindedly as we walked back to the car and drove away from the warehouse. I will never know what happened to Hasizi and his family, but I expect he is still holed up in a Syrian Prison cell, awaiting a trial that will never come.
Our journey back into the city, and our hotel room was dominated by an awkward silence. I really didn’t know what to say to Daniel; I felt like a burden, and a bad fake, regardless of his well meant words of acceptance.
He had tried to talk several times, but I could only utter one word responses, and conversation quickly died. I so wanted to talk to him, to make things normal again… We had reached a significant breakthrough in narrowing down the search for the ones that had framed us, and our eventual freedom, but it felt like a minor victory compared to the turmoil that Hasizi’s words had created. It was a strange feeling. This felt right; I was happy with how things were… but was I simply fooling myself? Had this job changed me so much? Had I simply bent with the pressure? I didn’t think so, but it was a constant weight on my mind. The authenticity of my feelings was confusing. Hasizi’s words had been the truth, I reminded myself.
I wasn’t sure why I felt so bad that the truth was exposed. It was of course, simple fact, but there was something about how I had been treated by the Israelis, and Daniel; it made me feel normal. I sighed deeply as I stared out of the window. Why was life so complicated?
“Talk to me.” Daniel said softly, turning towards me as he drove. “You’re still upset by what Hasizi said, are you not?”
I nodded weakly and refused to meet his gaze.
Daniel sighed. “Sharon, look,” he said imploringly. “I’m ok with this… really; I am a tolerant man. Do not treat me as though you expect me to scream and shout about betrayal, I can understand your reluctance to reveal something so personal. We really haven’t known each other that long…. Things have been complicated, I bear no grudge.” He said looking at me imploringly.
“I’m sorry.” I murmured softly, “I still feel guilty.”
Daniel shook his head. “Do not feel guilty for being who god made you.”
I turned to face him, for the first time seeing the softness in his eyes. “Do you really believe that?”
He nodded, “I am a religious man, although I do not take the words as literally as some of my kinsmen. I was taught to see the meanings… not the laws. God has a plan for all things, and he would not allow something to happen that he considered a sin, or abhorrent, that someone was unable to help.”
I looked out of the window for a long moment while I thought of my answer. “Thank you.” I said quietly.
“For what?”
“Everything and nothing.” I said without looking at him. “Everything and nothing.”
It felt good to finally have my feet back on English soil. Our flight out of Damascus had been completely uneventful; the documents Anderson had secured were not questioned as we cleared customs and boarded the aircraft. Even the flight itself had been quiet, although I had mixed feelings. One part of me felt relieved with every mile that was placed between myself and that country, but another knew It would always be where so much had changed…. Where I’d lost so much… I’d spent the rest of the flight attempting to engage Daniel in conversation to distract my weary mind.
As the plane bean its decent into Heathrow however, the tension I had been enjoying a welcome break from returned with a small army of followers. I walked quietly next to Daniel as we left the aircraft and made our way along the gantry and into the brightly lit main terminal building: Customs, the first hurdle in what I hoped would prove the final leg of this mission lay ahead of us.
“Do you think it will be ok?” I asked trying to break the nervous silence that had occupied us since we had first landed.
Daniel shook his head, “Of course,” he shrugged casually. “They do not know we have left Syria, and these documents are clean, if we were going to get picked up, it would have been leaving Syria, we have slipped the net.”
I nodded to myself, trying to believe his words. I still felt like a lost little girl next to his years of experience at this game. I knew that I was miles beyond the meagre training I had received, but I was still miles away from safety too, nerves were only human I rationalised.
As we approached the customs lines I had to check myself as I began to walk towards the domestic line, thankfully, I didn’t think it was noticed.
The cue progressed and I found myself for the second time in front of the customs booth with my heart in my mouth.
“Welcome to the United Kingdom, what’s the purpose of your visit?” the bored officer asked barely looking up.
“Visiting friends.” I said casually, flashing a quick friendly smile at the man.
“Enjoy your stay.” He smiled back stamping my passport. It was amazing what a smile and a short skirt did to a man I thought rolling my eyes: He didn’t even ask for my return ticket.
“It feels good being home does it not?” Daniel observed with a smile as we walked out of the terminal building and hailed a cab. “That expression on your face is one I know well.”
I sighed as I looked around the taxi bay at Heathrow Airport. It wasn’t anything spectacular… It was a concrete overpass, four lanes of tarmac and a small copse of trees climbing the embankment on the far side… But it was England.
“It does.” I agreed without really looking back at him. “Miserable, but home.”
The weather was typically British as we drove out of Heathrow and towards central London. The sky was grey and overcast, with the occasional hint of drizzle; I found it difficult to believe it was actually July.
Our plan was not as complicated as I’d believed it would be… I was going to turn myself in; or at least that was how it would appear to the outside observer. Just a naive young agent believing that her coming back in would clear her name.
We were going to take the head off this organisation or die trying, but first, there was groundwork to be laid.
I surveyed the small hotel room before me, a double this time thankfully, but still relatively lacking in privacy. It was mildly annoying that I wasn’t able to return to my own flat, a mere handful of miles from the hotel we were staying in, but I wasn’t naive enough to believe they wouldn’t be watching my place. Eventually they would clock on to the fact that we were no longer in Syria, and it wouldn’t make the search a hard one if I was in the first place they would look.
I’d changed clothes on arrival, and felt more comfortable in the jeans, vest top and hooded sweatshirt I’d bought on the drive over; they were considerably warmer than the clothes I’d brought back with me from Syria.
I picked up the mobile phone I’d bought in the airport and dialled the one phone number I knew I could trust. As much as I had disliked some of our previous interactions, we had been partners… and we had worked well together, and it was time for one last job.
“Sergeant Thompson.” Harry answered when he picked up the phone.
“Harry,” I said neutrally, aiming for more of Mike’s voice than Sharon’s. “It’s Mike, how are things?”
“Mike?” He asked curiously. “This line sounds a bit odd… How are you mate?”
“I guess I’m ok.” I said biting my lip nervously before continuing “Look Harry, I’m back in England for a bit, could I meet up with you for a drink?” I asked, hoping he bought it.
“Yeah no problems mate, would be good to catch up… Though it’s not like you to want to go out for a pint is it?” he chuckled. “Foreign air must be doing you some good man.”
“Yeah, so uh, when’s good for you?” I pressed, hoping to actually get a time and place out of him. I was aware of Harry’s legendary reputation for never getting to the point and an extended conversation wasn’t really possible without getting drawn into detail I couldn’t reveal over the phone.
Harry sighed as though he was stretching. He was probably still at that same desk in the ops room. “I get out at six mate. ‘Bout seven in the Mare?”
“That works, I’ll see you then. Bye.” I offered closing the connection. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do or how I’d even do it… But I needed Harry on side for what I had planned, although his reaction to me would be unpredictable. I was sure I could spin some tale about it being a role… like it had been, but any thought of going back to being mike was out of the question now. I mentally shrugged. It was out of my hands.
It was quarter to seven, and I stood outside the Mare’s head, a quiet pub that was frequented by off duty officers. It was the favoured haunt of the firearms teams.
I’d wanted to dress down for the meeting; I had wanted to present as neutral an image as I could while reminding Harry that this was a role, in the end I realised that I had to go all out to achieve that… The brown boots and short skirt would probably draw more attention than I wanted, and the tight long sleeve white tee-shirt was left little to the imagination but it would also most likely stop Harry exploding and outing me to the whole pub if he thought people were paying attention… Small mercies I suppose.
I pushed the door open and entered the warm interior. I was right. It might only have been seven pm, but the place was busy, white shirts and open collars of the recently off duty mingled with other patrons that were quite obviously on the force too.
I couldn’t see Harry at first, but the place was crowded; it wasn’t that unusual. I approached the bar and ordered a bottled beer.
“There you are love.” The bar tender said cheerily as he handed over my drink. I nodded my thanks without really paying attention; my mind was elsewhere, currently watching the room around me. I wasn’t sure if it was my recent experiences, but the less than subtle glances I was receiving were pinging my radar. I wasn’t naive enough to believe they were sent to grab me, but after what I’d gone through, the attention was unsettling.
Harry walked into the pub shortly after seven and walked straight up to the bar after a quick look around; for me I presumed. He chatted aimlessly with the Landlord for a moment before taking his pint over to the darts board in the corner of the room, and began to pass the time throwing darts while he waited for my arrival.
I slipped off the stool I was on and walked over to him. He hadn’t changed much, still the same short receding hair, the same mix of Jeans and gym tee-shirt he always wore when off duty. I realised that while I hadn’t got on with him, it had been something wrong with me, not him.
“You’re still an aweful shot.” I purred softly causing his final dart to plough unceremoniously into the wall next to the board.
“Huh, oh hello.” He said turning around to face me. “Sorry, thought you were someone else for a moment darling.” He smiled. “Do I know you?” He asked furrowing his brow.
I swallowed and smiled. “It’s me Harry… Mike.”
Harry’s eyes widened for a moment. “Erm, what?” He asked slowly, confusion registering on his face. “Mike?”
“Um, yeah.” I offered looking down at my feet. I raised my eyes to meet his. “Look Harry, I can explain… can we go somewhere quiet to talk? It’s sort of important.”
Harry stood staring at me for a moment. He reached over and picked up his pint glass and took a long gulp before blinking and muttering “Uh, sure.”
We walked over to a quiet corner of the pub and took a seat in the booth.
“So this is what you’ve been doing since you left…” Harry said bluntly looking me over. “Not the diplomatic service huh?”
I couldn’t look him in the eye for a moment, he looked almost hurt… deceived. “It’s not like that Harry.” I offered trying to meet his gaze. “I can explain.” I offered weakly.
Harry’s expression willed me to continue, and over the next half an hour, I proceeded to give him the slightly edited version of the truth. I told him about the mission, Syria, Harriet, the Traitors… nearly everything. I left out my feelings about the whole subject, and thankfully he bought the duty line: Though not without a little ribbing.
“I still can’t believe how you look man.” He said shaking his head with disbelief. “I mean, you really do look like a bird.”
“That was sort of the point.” I offered rolling my eyes and sipping my beer. “It wouldn’t have worked very well if I didn’t.”
His expression turned serious for a moment. “You’re serious about these bent guys in Mi6? Jesus…” he breathed running his hands through his short hair. “I can’t believe you’re working for them.” He said incredulously. “This is dangerous Mike… uh, that feels weird.” He said shaking his head.
“Probably best if you call me Sharon.” I said blushing. “I guess it fits better for now.”
“Are you alright in there?” He asked softly after a moment. “I mean, this is pretty deep right? I’m not sure if I’d be in one piece up top if I was in your shoes… though I doubt they’d suit me.” He laughed attempting to cover his concern with humour.
“I… Yeah, I’ll just be glad when this is all over.” I said dismissively avoiding his question: It was true though.
“So what are you planning to do? I mean, can’t you take this higher up? To your bosses?”
I shook my head. “No, that won’t work, As far as they know… I don’t exist… well, sure I’m on some records, I have a pass… but I can be painted in as a traitor myself… I have been.” I offered with a sigh. “Only way we can really solve this is by drawing them out… by getting evidence… boots on the beat.” I smiled remembering the old phrase from when I’d been in uniform.
Harry finished off the remainder of his beer and placed the glass down on the table decisively. “Fuck it, I’m in.” He said with determination. “Beats going on shouts to some kid with a water pistol at Tescos.”
I smiled. It almost felt like the old days again.
From the Author:
Hey folks, Again, one thousand appologies for the length of time this took, but I've been doing that 'get an education' thing, and the bastards keep trying to get a girl down with all the work.. *sigh* Still. I'm back for now, and expect more Focal point and a Christmas NCIS special for your pressie :)
Thanks for reading, and please comment,
Alyssa
Michael Cohen's dream was to protect and serve as a police officer.... That job didn't satisfy him, until one day,
when people without names came to visit. He wanted to make a difference, but he didn't expect it to make a difference to him, too...
“Hi, do you deliver to Aberdeen?” I asked inserting a little nervousness into my voice.
“Certainly, Let me connect you.” The indefinable voice on the other end of the phone replied. I waited for a moment before the familiar clicking sound on the line let me know I was going through to operations.
“Operations.”
“I ah, I’m Sharon, uh, Sharon Cohen, With the Middle East and Far East controlerate.” I added trying to sound flustered. It certainly sounded like an Oscar worthy performance on my end. “I want to… I need to report.”
“One moment Miss Cohen.” The Operations Officer replied without a hint of emotion or sign that they knew who I was. I knew that the moment I came on the line and mentioned my name, that they had been made aware of my status. It was a surprisingly short wait when I was put through to Jane North, my handler.
“Sharon? My god, where have you been… we’re worried sick… Syria… what happened? Where are you?” she asked in quick fire. “We need you to come in, please…”
I don’t know Jane; I’m terrified.” I added nervously. “I need help, I.. Everyone’s dead, I got back to England, but I don’t know what to do… The police wanted me in Syria… they said I killed Harriet…. The Israelis… I don’t know what to do.”
“It’s ok honey,” Jane soothed. “It’s ok, just tell us where you are and we can come and pick you up.”
“Is it safe? I mean, I heard they… is it really ok?”
“Sure sweetie.” Jane soothed. “We’ll send a car for you… where are you?”
“I ah… god, I think someone’s following me.” I hissed urgently. “I’m sorry… I’ll call in again, I have to go.” I blurted dropping the handset back onto the cradle of the pay phone I’d been using and slipped out of the booth and back into the bustle of the London pavement. Within minutes, I was nowhere near the faceless street that they would inevitably track my phone call to.
My plan was quite simple really: I played into their expectations of me. If you live upto what someone thinks of you, or someone, they will never question it: A core doctrine of undercover work that I had learned while on the force. I was building up to a point where those working against us would feel that I was on the ropes and pliable: That they could control me. That point was right when I was at my strongest.
As much as I hated to believe that Jane North could be involved in the treachery. It was hard to deny given the evidence we had retrieved. I knew she and the rest of the people back at Mi6 that were involved in my operation had access to my background, but I was placing a lot of money on the fact that they would presume.
I was new to the world of intelligence: Just a police officer that could shoot well. Their kid gloves approach had been telltale of that fact. I was a newbie; rattled and unstable… sent in because I would mess up, and I wouldn’t be capable of thinking clearly or rationally. Playing up to the stereotype of the lost lamb was risky, but it could give me the upper hand. They would underestimate me simply because they wanted to. They had no reason to suspect that I knew anything at all about the group, or who was involved. By proxy, they would also never suspect I was planning to fight back. It was the perfect armour in our fight; the element of surprise.
Harry’s unmarked saloon pulled over to the side of the street where I was waiting. Slipping into the passenger seat I flashed him a quick grin.
“Went ok then?” he asked pulling out into the traffic.
I nodded slowly, running things over in my mind. “Yeah, it’s just like the old days really… just bigger stakes.”
“You think they’ll buy this plan of yours?” he asked trying to read my expression.
“Well for the good of my neck I bloody well hope so,” I sighed looking out of the window. “I’m pretty nervous… well no, scared I guess. But facing my fear is the only way to end this… the only way to make it out of this alive is to bring them down.”
Harry nodded sagely. “Still can’t believe you convinced me to get involved in this mess,” he chuckled softly. “I mean, going against the Secret Intelligence Service… aiding and abetting a wanted criminal… my former partner that’s currently running around the world in drag.”
“It’s just the same as any undercover Harry.” I said softly, my eyes fixed on the dashboard in front of me. “This isn’t easy for me.”
Harry muttered something incoherent. “That’s just it.” He said hesitantly. “You make it look easy mate… I’m not saying anything… I’m really not; but you somehow manage to pull this off without breaking a sweat… Hell mate, I can’t see the real you in there and believe me, I’m trying pretty hard.”
Part of me understood what he was saying… It must have been an utter mind fuck to see a former friend changed so drastically, but another part of me was a little hurt. I wanted my friend to understand how I felt… That I had to lie was tearing me up inside, but I wasn’t sure he could handle the truth… I had been barely able to...
“This is hard Harry,” I pleaded softly looking across at my former partner. “I’ve felt so… strange since this began; my life’s been completely turned upside down.”
“I can understand that.” Harry said quietly as he drove. “It’s the whole undercover thing… you get into it a bit much, and you begin to forget who you are; what you’re there to do. It’s a real mind fuck mate.”
I sat for a moment taking in what he had said; Harry’s words were not those of the man I had known… that I had worked with. He spoke instead with a wisdom and insight that exposed the true character under the bravado and bullshit. Looking over at him I smiled weakly. “Thank you for being here Harry… It means a lot that I’m not alone in this.”
We arrived back at the hotel where Daniel and I were staying. I had invited Harry came up to the room with me to discuss our next moves.
Entering the room, Harry nodded at Daniel before slumping down in one of the chairs by the desk. “Fine mess this is huh?” He chuckled. You and… Sharon here pissing on some nasty people’s toes, and running around the world causing mayhem…”
“You make this sound like a joke.” Daniel replied darkly. “Why again did you involve this man?” He asked turning to me.
I held up my hands in surrender. “Whoa, guys… less of the claws ok?” I smiled embarrassedly. “Look Daniel… Harry, for all his personality flaws is the sort of friend we need in this… He’s from my old unit, we can trust him, and he’s not bent. We have few enough allies as it is.” I pointed out.
“So what are you planning?” Daniel asked cocking his head to one side. “Some sort of …. Direct action?”
I nodded slowly. “In a way,” I murmured. “We’re going to sting them.”
“How?” Daniel asked curiously, his interest piqued.
“I called in this morning.” I admitted. “I called in, and told them that I wanted to come in, and debrief, and was scared… I simply filled their expectations. I’m going to arrange a meet in a few days and well… That’s sort of all I can think of at the moment.”
“Well planned as usual Cohen,” Harry chuckled. “So this meet is going to be a trap of some sort? Ah…” He sighed. “This is where I come in isn’t it?”
Smiling as sweetly as possible. I shrugged. “Well if you happened to liberate a few bits and bobs from work I wouldn’t be too upset.”
“Hah.” Harry laughed. “Typical… sh…you want me for my power… they all do.” He grinned.
“Not your power Harry, Just your access,” I grinned. “Some wires, listening gear and a few weapons wouldn’t go a miss for a day now would they?”
“So what am I meant to say? That I need to borrow kit that needs to be logged out?”
I pursed my lips for a moment and thought. Harry was right… The equipment I had hoped to secure from the Metropolitan Police through his help were all items that were securely watched and looked after. Getting at them would require permission… forms… “Harry.” I asked cautiously. “If I was to give you my sizes, could you get me a female PC’s uniform from stores? That is less secure after all…”
“What are you planning now?” he asked with a hint of dread. “Yeah, I probably can… though they will think I’m a proper perv if they catch me.”
“Then don’t get caught.” I grinned, patting him on the shoulder.
What I was planning was still somewhat hazy in my mind, but a definite idea was forming… I would have to be on my best misbehaviour to pull this off. I thought.
To be continued...
Michael Cohen's dream was to protect and serve as a police officer.... That job didn't satisfy him, until one day,
when people without names came to visit. He wanted to make a difference, but he didn't expect it to make a difference to him, too...
It was a strange sensation I felt as I began to dress in a police uniform for the first time since my erstwhile involvement with Mi6 had begun. Of course, it had barely been more than a month in all reality, but to me, it felt symbolic: It represented the completion of a circle in a way: I had changed so much, in the short time that had passed, but at the core of me I knew my beliefs and morals held fast. I was still the same person that had joined the police force six years before, and as I looked down at my tights covered legs and adjusted the skirt for the fourth time, my head was clear; I still felt like a police officer.
I had to admit that the image starting back at me in the mirror was pleasing. I felt an overpowering sense of calm as I looked upon my reflection. The female constable’s uniform that Harry had stolen without embarrassment from the stores fitted me like a glove. The young woman that wore it had changed so much since her sudden and violent birth. I had grown familiar with my shape, my contours, and my hair… the young woman was me, and I was finally proud of what I saw. No more than at that moment wearing the uniform of the Metropolitan Police Force. The white blouse and cravat, with fitted black skirt and low chunky heels were certainly very different to my old uniform, but they were also the same in a manner: It was still the uniform people put on to protect and serve, and in a roundabout manner, I was doing just that.
With a sigh of acceptance for what was to come, I picked up the rucksack I had left on the bed, and slipped on a short grey jacket: for all intents and purposes, I was just another officer going to work.
Our operation’s main objectives were simple, and the plan was to be kept as basic as possible. I would meet Harry once I had successfully entered New Scotland Yard, and we would make our way to the basement where the Specialist Stores and firearms teams were located to acquire what we needed.
Daniel felt bad being left out of the game, but it was nothing he could involve himself in. The job required people familiar with the corridors of the building and practices of the Metropolitan police force. To his chagrin, Daniel was to be waiting to extract us afterwards.
The walk from the hotel to the tube was a short one. And before long, I found myself once more amongst the thousands of commuters that packed London’s underground during the morning rush to work. As we travelled meter by meter closer to New Scotland Yard’s St James street stop, I felt my nerves slowly building. It was such an excellently simple plan, but despite my confidence, stage fright was beginning to grasp me in its twisted claws; they way it always had before the first steps undercover on the job. By habit, I retrieved my trusty Ipod from its still somewhat strange location in my handbag, to distract myself from the unwanted thoughts and allowed my mind to drift into the beat.
The arrival of the train at St James Street station signalled my departure from the coach. Climbing the escalator, I ascended to street level. By now, I was one of a handful of officers I could identify around myself making our way towards the building: We had timed our incursion for the morning shift changeover at 8am. The increased number of personnel would mask the presence of an unknown, and increase the chances of success. Walking the familiar steps, I walked the short distance from the steps of St James Street, to the front entrance of New Scotland Yard.
Entering the foyer of the building was as familiar as it had been for the previous years. Nothing had changed in the weeks I had been absent; I even recognised a few faces. My uniform under the jacket and the manner with which I entered the building, born of long repeated shifts and familiarity proved successful, and I swept past the front security desk without even showing my non existent warrant card. I turned off the music in my ears, but left the earplugs in place: People were less likely to make conversation with someone who presumably would not hear them.
Breaking away from the masses heading for the lifts, I made my way to the entrance to the ground floor offices and the service facilities beyond. Nonchalantly, I walked over to the door, and proceeded to enter the pass code into the lock. My first attempt failing, I re-entered the code, presuming that my nerves had made me hit a wrong key. The second red light however, started my heart hammering; surely Harry would have known if the codes had changed? Wiping my damp palm on my skirt, I once again tried to enter the code as I remembered it. A third red light flashed brightly, blinking angrily at me. A Mixture of dread and acceptance flooded me as I turned to walk away from the mission and perhaps attempt it again after securing another access route when I bumped into a young male officer that had been waiting behind me.
“Trouble love?” he grinned warmly, reaching past my startled body and entering the code. “They changed it yesterday apparently; it’s been stopping people all night,” he added conversationally with a shrug. Before opening the door and biding me enter. As we walked through, he gave me a quizzical looking over, “Don’t mean to sound cheesy or anything, but where abouts do you work? I’ve not seen you around before.” He asked in a feigned casual tone. “Sorry, you must get that a lot.” he chuckled sheepishly.
“Actually no.” I smiled back sweetly as I slipped the headphones out of my ears to appear more attentive, realising that this man may well be my ticket through any further barriers or Identification checks. “Yes, I am new, I’m working out of the firearms office,” I added, knowing for certain this man was not on the staff. “I’m just a secretary really.”
“Cool.” My companion said relaxing. “My name’s James… James Mayweather, I’m working with traffic.”
“Jenny Sheldon.” I replied offering my hand. “Thanks for talking to me.” I grinned nervously, “It’s rather scary to be honest; my old station was much smaller and I know nobody.” I admitted sheepishly with a gentle shrug of my shoulders. I was playing with this young officer, I knew it, but it was building a closer rapport, and decreasing the chances of suspicion. It was strange to consider how my application of undercover behaviour had changed... Gone was the by the book but somewhat mediocre Officer, and into his place had stepped a very cold, calculating and decisive woman: I was going to succeed, that much I knew. The stage fright was gone now… I was in mid performance.
“Thank you again James.” I smiled sweetly, “This is where I have to go I think.” I added nodding towards the basement staircase. “I guess I’ll see you around?” I offered tentatively with a smile, waiting for the inevitable response.
“Ok cool,” James said quickly, his smile fading slightly as he dug his hands into his uniform pockets. “Bye then I guess… Unless you fancy meeting up for a coffee later perhaps?” he asked cautiously, seeming almost like a young boy. “I mean, I could give you the low down on the place.” He grinned quickly with more self assurance.
Smiling inwardly, I gave him my number and told him to text me before leaving rapidly to make contact with Harry. This officer could prove his usefulness once more by offering me a safe way to exit the building if I needed to break and run… I could suffer coffee for that.
Slipping down the empty stairwell, I removed my jacket and stowed it in the bag I had over my shoulder. Checking my appearance in a darkened window, I pushed open the doorway to the basement level of the building.
More open plan than the other floors, the basement level of New Scotland Yard housed the equipment and departments that used more sensitive material in their policework. The different departments and stores were rooms built off a large open plan main floor and garage area. Slipping behind one of the unmarked surveillance vans, I waited by the fire point that Harry and I had agreed on as a meeting point.
“You took your sweet time.” Harry muttered from a shadowed corner to my left. I let my breath out quickly. “You scared the hell out of me Harry!” I scolded. “Ready?”
Harry nodded grimly. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but we need to be careful… My ass is on the line here…” he hissed frowning. “And you… Jesus, the guys in Belmarsh would love you mate.” He added with a dirty grin.
I elbowed Harry sharply in the ribs as I walked past him and made my way out from behind the surveillance van and strode purposefully towards the Special Equipment Stores room.
The room itself wasn’t quite as unassuming as the name suggested. Special Stores was more of a small warehouse. Several lines of steel shelving and lockers filled the majority of the space, with a long flat countertop just inside the door separating the rest of us mortals from the special breed of Met employee known as the store-man. Typically a reclusive and socially dysfunctional individual, they lived a mole-like existence in the bowels of Police headquarters the country over.
“What’s your plan here, uh, Sharon?” Harry hissed from beside me. “You can’t just walk in and take them.”
I shook my head as I reached out for the door handle and turned to look at Harry. “Of course not,” I said slowly rolling my eyes. “I’m going to ask them first.”
I opened the door and walked coolly into the Stores unit, cutting off any response from Harry and walked across to the desk where an aging sergeant was seated, occasionally typing slowly on a computer keyboard as he peered into the screen.
“Morning.” I smiled cheerfully. “Need to get some things for the Specialist Firearms Command.”
“Certainly, Constable.” The man replied dryly looking up. “Do you have the forms?”
I shook my head a few times and pursed my lips. “You know what that lot are like, “Go get this, go do that, go…. Anywhere… They said I can fill in a claim form to the department down here and get it authenticated afterwards? It’s just we need it pretty sharpish… it’s a short notice operation.”
The man frowned, “You’re with CO-19 upstairs?” He asked raising his eyebrows. “I didn’t know they had many women on the teams.”
I plucked my uniform blouse and smiled weakly. “Im not, I’m admin staff, sort of new.” I admitted sheepishly, looking down at my shoes. “I’ve fucked up haven’t I?” I added with a deep sigh. “I’m sorry to waste your time.” I added, before turning and walking towards the door.
“Oh it’s alright love, look, what’s your name?” the older man smiled leaning forward on the counter top. “Jenny I mumbled, sniffing and averting my eyes, “Sorry!” I blurted wide eyed, “sorry, I mean WPC Sheldon sir.”
The older Sergeant smiled warmly and chuckled. “No need to stand on ceremony down here girl; nobody but the relics down here.”
I slumped against the wall and dabbed the underside of my eye as if by reflex to protect my makeup from tears, “I’m sorry sir, I just wanted to make a good impression on my first day.”
The old sergeant smiled sadly. “I didn’t mean to upset you dear,” he replied soothingly. “I’m an old Officer in a new world, things change, so they put me where I don’t have to deal with it,” he shrugged. “I do however, remember my first day, so come here and tell me what you need, and I wont get you in trouble.” The man smiled. With a smile and relieved thank you, I left the Special Equipment stores carrying two small flight cases containing all the surveillance material on my list: The expression on Harry’s face was priceless.
* * *
Folding my uniform neatly, I slid the items of clothing inside the backpack I had brought with me and lifted the handheld mirror out of the front pocket before beginning to apply makeup. Harry had disappeared to stash the two cases of surveillance equipment in his patrol car, and I was currently standing in just my underwear in a small cold toilet stall in the basement of New Scotland Yard.
The second stage of my plan was the more risky element. It would require us to bluff our way past the armourers in the secure Central Operations Armoury and take the weaponry we required; not a mean feat by any standard.
Packing away my makeup materials, I slid the pair of loose but fitted jeans up my legs and rolled a tight white tee shirt over my head. Running my hands through my relatively short hair, I slipped my jacket on again, and slid a highly edited Warrant card onto my belt. A whole different woman looked back at me in the toilet mirror: Attractive, yet casual and relaxed. Just the image I needed to portray during the next phase of the plan; the most important stage.
Slipping out of the toilet, I smiled plaintively at Harry, who by this point had changed into his own version of ‘on duty’ civilian clothing, and was leaning against the far wall of the corridor, his leg propped up behind him.
“You ready?” he asked flashing me an equally nervous glance.
I nodded, “Let’s go.”
For old times sake
By a sleepy Alyssa Plant
The following is a short story based around something I dreamt during a migraine induced nap. This is about a young girl who returns to her old college OTC unit for memories sake after she quit to transition. It’s slightly true, mostly fiction. For the Americans out there, OTC is like your ROTC at colleges…
“So, can I interest you in the officer training corps miss?”
Sharron looked around to find the source of the voice that awoke her from her musings.
A young man, probably early 20s stood casting a shadow over her spot on the grass in a military uniform.
“Pardon” She asked groggily shielding her eyes with her hand.
“I’m from the OTC, Officer training corps at the university, were recruiting, can I interest you?”
IT had been a long time since Sharron had heard that name or even thought about it.
3 years earlier, Sharron had been in the unit, a whole year of trying to convince herself she was a man. But then, she had been Andrew those years ago. The lost 18yearold boy, wondering who he was, and who she wasn’t.
“Sure.” She smiled “Id be interested.”
“Would you like to come down to the barracks and sign up?” The young man asked.
Nodding, Sharron got to her feet and followed the young man, whose name was Marcus, to the University’s officer training corps barracks across the campus
Walking through those gates was a wash of memories for Sharron. It had been two years since she set foot in that compound, and hearing her heeled footfalls on the wooden drill hall floor was a strange feeling.
Marcus led her to a small table where a woman in a dark blue suit was sorting some papers, and left her to wait.
The woman turned around and greeted Sharron with a smile. “Hi, I’m Captain Harris, and you are?” she beamed extending a hand to Sharron.
”Sharron Davies, I was here about joining.”
“Davies….” The captain looked reflective. “Do you have a brother by any chance? You really remind me of someone by that name.”
At least Miranda Harris hadn’t recognised her, despite being her platoon commander for a whole year.
“I had a brother, Andrew” She stated with a sad expression.
“Had?” asked Captain Harris.
“He died, about two years ago, he committed suicide” She fabricated.
Miranda Harris’s face fell, “Oh.” She whispered, “I’m sorry.”
”Id appreciate if that was just between us.” Sharron continued, “I don’t want it to spread around, or should I get in, be known as Andrew Davies sister. I know he had a rough time.”
Captain Harris looked even more depressed at that. “He did.” She frowned. Of course, it won’t pass my lips.”
After handing Sharron a sheaf of forms to fill in, she returned to assist some other recruits.
Taking a seat at the small table, Sharron began to write.
Some things were new; some remained the same she mused.
Having filled in the form, she returned it to Captain Harris, who handed her over to a young woman cadet.
Junior under officer Maram led Sharron to the doctor’s office for her medical. Sharron had an invisible grin spread across her face, Anna Maram hadn’t recognised her, despite being one of Andrew’s better friends, if one of his only friends, within the unit.
Sharron began to worry about the doctor’s examination; surely it wouldn’t be pelvic too?
Entering the room, the doctor got up from his desk and greeted her.
Despite her nerves, and what she had endured at her last physical, the doctor merely examined her breasts, eyesight, hearing, and joints. She was saved a complicated explanation.
Passing her with flying colours, an expression that made Sharron giggle. She was lead upstairs to a small bar, the ‘Officers mess’ to meet some of the current cadets and recruits.
Looking around the room brought memories back to Sharron. Usually of sitting in the corner and ignoring people who tried to mock her.
Two of the JUO’s came over and began to chat to Sharron. Both had known her, both had bullied her.
Sharron decided she had to do this for the good of Andrew’s memory. She would make them pay for what they did to her.
The Commanding officer came in and addressed the assembled recruits, telling them of the trials to come in their time with the unit. Sharron had heard this speech before; she knew what she had to do. She would prove to them that she was, and always had been strong. And she would get her revenge for the miserable time she had endured those years ago.
To be continued….
Please comment! id love to hear your suggestions and ideas on this one, Its only random musing, but i think it could go somewhere....
“Hey mum, hey dad, I’m not your son, I’m really your daughter despite being born a boy and being called Mark.”
Doesn’t sound too logical does it?
“Hey mum, hey dad, I’m not your son, I’m really your daughter despite being born a boy and being called Mark.”
Doesn’t sound too logical does it?
It had been a whole 3 months since I had been back to school. Summer break was over, I’d be starting 6th form today.
I had been taking hormone pills that I had bought on the internet for about 6 months now. Things had been easy to hide for the first few months, nothing major happened. Hell, I haven’t even told my parents yet. How can I tell them? I mean, what would I start by saying?
“Hey mum, hey dad, I’m not your son, I’m really your daughter despite being born a boy and being called Mark.”
Doesn’t sound too logical does it?
Well things sort of happened over summer. I lost a lot of weight. I gained weight in some places… like my chest, my bum, my thighs. I generally have what one would casually describe as a girl’s figure. I know what you’re thinking now… Typical tranny story… the protagonist looks like a girl but nobody else notices…. Well that’s a lie. My sister noticed, my mum noticed, my friends I saw over the summer noticed. Most told me I was looking too girly, that I should cut my hair. Now a 5’7 boy with long blonde hair is sort of unusual. Especially when he has an arse the size of mine. Strangers tend to take me for a girl, abet, a somewhat skinny, flat chested girl. I love it, but it takes all the strength I possess to do the ‘hell no I’m not girly’ routine expected of a boy.
Well what would people think if I didn’t?
So yep. Today, going back to school. Not the best of times for any kid sure. But now I look like I belong in the other school…. Our place has a boys school, and a girls on the same campus. One of those old private jobbies… Getting dressed this morning has been interested. I avoided trying on my suit because of this reason….
Till you reach 6th form, you wear the school blazer and uniform, pretty standard. In the 6th form, one wears a suit and the school tie. So I was forcibly dragged along by my mother to the men’s department at the local department store to buy a suit.
Yes, my mum got asked why her daughter wanted a men’s suit…. That made her go red. I cant really understand why they don’t see it…. Maybe they just don’t want to? Denial seems a fairly big river when people want it to be.
So we bought a suit. It fits really weird Thanks to my blossoming body. I KNOW I won’t finish the year in this. I won’t be able to look like a boy at all by Christmas if there is any luck in the world. I guess it puts the pressure on me to tell people huh?
So yeah, back to the suit huh? Its grey pinstripe. Rather too bankerish for my taste, but my mum loves it. I got out of the usual backpack bonanza by picking the most androgynous black .laptop style bag for this year. Stops people calling me gay, which lets be honest, doesn’t usually really impede them remotely.
So the suit… yeah, pinstripe. Oh I said that? Ok sorry. Well, I found a collection of shirts I could live with. Black mostly, with the occasional dark blue or red. They are simply men’s shirts… there is no way I can possibly describe them to you. They come in one style, one shape, and are rather boring. But you didn’t read this story to hear about men’s clothes did you? No, you want to hear about the juicy transitioning parts and sex, and sordid details, possibly the pain if you are so inclined. Well hold your horses guys, gals, and um, others. I’ll get to the good stuff in time…
School tie tied. I don’t really think that required further discussion. It’s a tie, there are many like it, and fucking unfortunately, this one is mine. Collect my flowing feminine locks in a ponytail as normal, throw on my black zip front hoodie and suit jacket over it.
Why a hoodie? Well two reasons, its September, and its cold… and it bulks me up, and hides my swelling chest. While not uniform items, they are generally ignored by staff unless garish.
This isn’t your usual tranny story. No, I’m not intersexed as far as I know, and I didn’t suddenly wake up with DDs after popping my first oestrogen pills. They are big enough to be noticeable on my frame. Sure, if I was fat, they would simply look like moobs. But I’m skinny and thin. So they look like boobs. The jacket stays on….
”Mark, come on, we are going to be late.”
Sorry, that’s my dad. He gets annoyed when I keep him from the job he hates.
I grab my book bag, and bounce down the stairs to the kitchen. Ow! Damn it, I need to buy a sports bra, or flatten these things, bouncing hurts….
“Did you brush your hair dear?” calls my mum from her office.
“Yep mum, its all tidy as normal. I look vaguely presentable.”
”By my or your standards?” she asks, popping her head around the door.
I just look at her while I bite into a slice of toast.
I grab my coffee mug as I head out, one of those travel ones with a lid, its great I tell you…
I’m learning to drive at the moment; my dad lets me drive to school in the mornings before he takes the car on to work. I can’t say I’m thrilled by the prospect.
“Come on mark, show some balls and pull out. If I didn’t know you were my son, I’d swear you were a bloody woman.”
I cringe at that comment and keep my mouth shut. A comment either way is counter productive I feel.
“See you tonight.” He calls as he drives out of the car park.
Well, here I am; at school… at last. This all seems real now. They will notice. What do I do? How the hell do I get out of sports?
Ugh, one disaster at a time. My fingers slowly press the keys on the electronic pad controlling the gate to school. It’s early, and out of hours, the gates are electronic, open during the day. I get to school at 8am thanks to my father. Usually I like it, gives me time to do work, relax, wake up. Now, I rather fear it. The time to my death is extended. Part of me wants this over now. Part doesn’t want it to happen at all.
I slowly sip my coffee as I walk into the building; the warmth is reassuring. I poke my head into the common room, our new common room as 6th formers. Its empty… silent. Normally, id be excited; finally getting to enter the den of the cool kids. But it seems so dark and silent right now. Like a tomb… My tomb.
Slipping my suit jacket off, I hang it on the back of one of the sofas. I slump down on the couch to wait.
Unconsciously, I sat with one leg under me, as I always do. Today, it seems too girly. Straightening myself out, I sit properly. Legs apart, slouching. I laugh at myself. I’m going to all this effort for nothing. NOBODY IS HERE to call me up on my ‘manliness’. Chuckling to myself. I pull my leg back under me. I never liked sitting legs apart. Always seemed crude. And when not crude. It was opening a target location to the bullies. They always seemed to like kicking me there. Maybe if I did it more often they would kick me so hard my balls fell off?
‘One can always dream….’ I thought darkly.
The door creeks and I jump. Looking around, its just a cleaner.
”Sorry love, didn’t mean to make you jump.”
Did she mean love the way women talk to young boys? Or the way women talk to young girls? Fuck, why cant she at least use a gendered phrase. I’d know weather to run home or stay then…
The door goes again. I look around; Its Paul, one of the guys who I’m largely indifferent to. He’s a footballer, but not a snobby prick like the rest. He’s probably gay, he dresses far too well… but then, he is a footballer, and I swear he wears makeup….
I listen to myself stereotyping so wildly and shake my head to myself.
“Hey Mark. Good summer?” he asks sitting down in front of me on another sofa.
“Not so bad. Kind a quiet.” I reply non comittally. “You?”
“Yeah, was great. Football camp, and our Italy tour was wicked. You look different?”
Shit. “Aahhh, I lost some weight, I was sick.” I try hopefully.
“Shit man, you’re really fucking skinny, but you just look different. Like you put on weight, but lost it kinda… Softer, but smaller….” He gestured. “Sorry dude, didn’t mean to have a go.”
“Ah, its ok. I know I look a bit weedy.” I shrug. “Guess I wont make the rugby team this year.”
Paul chuckled over the mars bar he was wolfing down. “Like you ever tried out… or wanted to.”
I smile and shrug. “You got me.”
Paul looks over my shoulder at someone coming in through the door.
Twisting around, its Megan, Kara, and Gary. See, I know I said its ‘sorta’ a boys school, but the girls come over at breaks, and like now. Megan and Kara are Gary’s sisters and general entourage. So they are a common sight around.
As usual around other girls, I get quiet, and shy. I’m jealous, and curious at the same time. I sort of feel I have more to prove to other women, that I am one of them, than I do to prove I’m not a guy.
“Hey you two.” Beams Megan, the fiery redhead grins. She’s the epitome of the family’s Irish past: Freckles, bouncy, and with hair like a burning potato field.
Kara is more ginger than red, subtle, and bookish, A nice girl. We get on. Gary is the odd one out; jet black hair, fair skin, and glasses. The girls often kid him that he’s adopted, despite their father’s similar hair.
“Hey guys.” I mumble through my coffee, PRAYING that they don’t make some blunt comment about my appearance the way Megan has a tendency to…
Paul begins chattering to Kara about some book and Gary Slumps on the sofa and throws his feet on the coffee table.
“Just like we’re back home again.” Grins Megan shoving his feet off the sofa.
”Hey I’m just getting used to our new palace.” He laughs flicking the TV remote in the general direction of the TV on the wall.
Some random news show comes on, distracting most peoples attention momentarily the way any newly turned on TV does.
“You look different Mark, you get your hair cut?”
“No he didn’t” replied Kara shaking her head, her ginger straight hair wagging around in front of her eyes.
“He lost weight though. You have GOT to give me the name of the diet you used. You’re skinnyer than me!” She pouted trying to look hurt.
“He had some exotic disease or something.” Chimed in Paul.
“You look different, but I cant place it.” Megan replied slowly, squinting her eyes at me.
I felt VERY uncomfortable as they all scrutinised me.
“He looks like a girl with that hair.” Gary laughs.
I cringe, that is NOT the words I wanted to hear. Part of me knew it was only a matter of time.
“I think he’d look like a girl even if he was bald.” Smirks Megan.
I cant help it. Its too much. Stifling a sob, I get up and run out of the common room towards the toilets.
Locking myself in a cubicle, I slump down on the seat.
Great! I just confirmed their thoughts. I KNOW I look like a girl. And they know something is up… And now I ran crying to the toilets. What a fucking stereotype I am!
“Mark?”
“Fuck off.” I mumble.
“Mark, where are you.” Megan calls again.
“Somewhere you shouldn’t be.”
“Or you by the sounds of things.”
Erp. The goose which is in my ownership, seems to be rather cooked.
“Huh?” sometimes stupidity is the best way out of a problem. If in doubt. Be thick….
“Well the way you’re behaving this morning reminds me of me that’s all… Over sensitive, crying, You’re acting like a girl Mark, Come out and tell me what’s up.”
Thank god, she doesn’t know.
Unlocking the door, I slowly slide out of the cubicle.
She’s stood there leaning against the wall next to the urinals.
”You have changed.” She announces.
”Yeah so? We all do over the summer, its months since we last saw each other.”
Megan shook her head. “Not this much.”
I try stupidity again and look blankly at her.
“Well, let me explain something. You managed to get thinner AND fatter at the same time.”
“Huh?”
Megan smirked. “Don’t play dumb, you may be blonde, but you can’t cheat an expert.”
Extending her long graceful arm, she counts off on her fingers. “Firstly, you have a serious ass on you… I saw you leave the common room, that one surprised me. But yet you are skinny as hell. Your face seems rounder, but you are thinner, and finally, your thighs seem chunkier, while your calves seem smaller.” She finished ticking off before turning back to me and resting her hands on her hips. “What is going on?”
“I ah.” I mumble. I just don’t know what to say to that. She has me in one. And im finally as stupid as I act.
”I don’t know where to start.” I mumble, hoping to buy some time to get my jumbled thoughts in order.
“Well start with telling me how long you’ve been trying to become a girl.”
My jaw drops.
“What the fuck?”
“Mark…” She says softly, her hard expression breaking. “I’m not blind. You were never blokey, you acted like a girl this morning, and you got upset when someone mentioned that. You come running to the toilets, and Physically you look like I did when I was 12 or 13… what are you taking?”
“Um.” Can I ? “hormones.” I mumble, half hoping she cant hear me.
Girl’s hormones?” she asks. “how long?”
“6 months.” I admit.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks. Looking at her, I can see a hurt in her eyes. One of my best friends, and I ignored her totally.
“I thought you would hate me, and tell everyone.” I whispered, a tear rolling uncontrollably down my cheek.
“Aw baby I wouldn’t ever do that.” She cries throwing her arms around me.
”You girls aren’t allowed in here.” A high pitched little voice announces.
One of the kids from year 7 is looking up at us with an angry startled expression on his little face.
”Get lost.” growls Megan.
The kid looked like he wet his pants as he scampered away.
“Come on, lets go before he tells a teacher.” She smiles, taking my hand and leading me out of the toilets down some steps to the playing fields.
“So tell me.” She asks softly as we sit down on a bench in the cold morning air.
Staring at my hands; I tell her the whole tale, start to finish, nothing left out.
By the end, we are both crying, and hugging. It seems so soppy and stereotypical, but seriously, It was that emotionally draining. Still… I’d told someone. I had one hurdle down. Suddenly, things didn’t seem so dire.
If I lost everything, I’d still have Megan to lean on.
“How are you planning on dealing with the others?” she asked through a haze of breath.
“I hadn’t really planned.” I mutter looking at my feet.
“Well they are gonna notice something is up, you don’t look like you did before the summer.”
“Ugh. I know ok?” I sigh exasperatedly. “What can I do?” I ask hopeful that she will have some form of answer.
“Well, you can tough it out. Pretend nothing is wrong. And hope everyone is blind.” She gestures comicly. “OR…. You can admit it….”
I feel very cold suddenly.
“I, I don’t know.” I stammer. I WANT to do it, but I don’t know if I can….
“Stay here.” She says suddenly, a thoughtful expression on her face.
”Meg no!” I cry just as she vanishes.
Megan’s ‘cunning plans’ rarely are cunning or planned.
Oh what the fuck is she doing?
Not really wanting to, I turn my head to see a very sheepish Gary, and his two sisters looking equally solemn.
“I’m not dieing.” I mutter at my wannabe wake.
“I’m sorry Mark,” Gary begins again. “I didn’t know… I didn’t mean to upset you…”
I am SO not speaking to him….
“Look ah, Mark…” Kara begins slowly. “Will you come with me and Meg? We have an idea that might work….”
Why do I think this is going to cause a LOT of pain?
The three talk quietly before Gary vanishes, and I’m left with the two Olsen twins….
“Look, Mark… um, what should we call you? Do you have a name you’d prefer?”
“Ohh can we help pick?” squeals Megan gleefully.
“Hannah.” I blurt, not wanting to end up being named something insanely cute by Megan. “I always felt I was a Hannah…”
“Ok, Hannah it is.” Smiles Kara, “Well my dear, we think the best course of action is to call everyone’s bluff. Be yourself, and screw the lot of them!” she smiles.
“You do realize that it wont be you getting the shit kicked out of her if I do this?”
oh gosh, I just called myself she? (key turning point in any trans story don’t forget…)
“Stop looking so thoughtful babes, we have some serious work to do, and about 45 minutes to do it in….” Megan announces looking authoritative.
So, I’m escorted to one of the staff loos that visiting girls often use, the main door locks, so its perfect for my torture session…
Megan sits me down on a chair beside the sink, and rummages through her and Kara’s bags searching for cosmetic items.
“Now this might tingle a little.” Kara mutters through a mouthful of metal implements as she starts tweezing away at my eyebrows. I’m quite sure she meant that more as comfort than a statement of fact, because it bloody hurts.
“Hangon Kara, I need a better canvas.” Megan announces with a frown. “stand her up.”
Clearly not getting a choice in the matter, I stand and wait for the next fun pain.
Megan undoes my suit jacket and hoodie, and removes both. “Take your shirt and tie off please.” She mutters standing back with a hand cupping her chin and a thoughtful expression. Anyone would think she was some major designer or makeup artist about to go to work….
Slowly I take my tie off, and begin to unbutton the shirt. The cold air of the bathroom is making my skin goose bump and my nipples harden annoyingly. I hesitate, I’ve never been topless in front of anyone since I was a small child, I always hated the idea…
“Come on Hannah, we’re all girls here.” Smiles Kara sympathetically.
Like that fucking helps!
I finish unbuttoning the shirt and slip it off my shoulders with a sigh and await comment.
“Holy crap you weren’t kidding.” Gasps Kara as her eyes notice the small breasts on my thin chest.
Crossing my arms across my breasts I stand there shuffling my feet not really knowing what to do.
Looking back and forth between Kara and me, Megan’s eyes light up. Not a good sign….
“Kara, pass me your bra.” She grins.
Shrugging, Kara reaches behind her and unclips her bra and slips it out of the sleeve of her blouse. That trick has always fascinated me… maybe I can try to learn it one day?
Megan takes the offered item of underwear and approaches me with it grinning.
“Here put your arms up.” She asks softly as she slips the item onto me.
This is strange. I’ve never worn one before…. Not that I haven’t wanted to…. Maybe I’m not a proper tranny… I didn’t dress in my sister’s clothes from an early age, or borrow my mother’s dresses. I was just too scared I guess… and didn’t really want to wear the clothes as much as I wanted to BE what I was meant to be. As often as it’s made out, Clothes don’t make the girl…. They just make her warmer… But hey, this is a trans story, so ill get back to the transformation!
Clipping it in place, she fiddled around with my breasts until I was sat right. The effect was scary…. I had cleavage…. I had …. Breasts…. Wow….
I knew I had grown in the months id been taking hormones, but the effect the garment created was shocking… Megan just stood there grinning at me.
Looking at her watch, she swore. “Damn girls, we have a lot of work to do and not much time, we need to get a shufy on…”
The girls set to work on me… Ill spare you the frantic details. But when I got to look in the mirror, the effect was shocking….
Megan and Kara had done a total number on me… there was no way I could possibly be mistaken for a boy now…
My long blonde hair had been tousled and hairspray’d and teased and now fell down about my shoulders in a funky layered way, my thin eyebrows drew the eye to my big grey eyes that Kara had expertly highlighted and made up, I don’t think they used foundation, but my skin seemed to glow… a clear lip-gloss completed the image of a girl I could hardly recognize in the mirror…
My suit? Well, I still wore the trousers, they had been dragged up higher and after some confusing jiggery pokery with my thingy and a spare pair of Megan’s knickers, I had a girls flat crotch, an image that certainly didn’t upset me…
The suit jacket had been put back on me on its own, no shirt, and a single button done up exposing a good view of cleavage, with Kara’s spare sandals, I looked almost like a businesswoman ready for the office… I looked… I looked like a girl finally…
I cannot begin to describe how much it meant to me seeing myself in the mirror that cold morning. It was like waking up after a lifetime of nightmare ridden sleep.
Biting my lip I looked at Megan and Kara’s expectant faces and smiled. “Thank you guys.” Was all I could get out before choking up and being crushed by the Irish sisters.
“Can I really do this?” I whimpered as we approached the door.
Megan stopped and put her hands on my shoulders, “Look Hannah, if anyone can do this… if anyone is tough enough to do this, its you… You need to do it, you need to be yourself… you look right now, you look more comfortable in your own skin for gods sake! Do me proud.” She smiled pecking me on the cheek.
The bolt slid back in the door frame like a gun cocking. Why do doors have to open slow motion when you don’t want to see the other side?
Stepping out into the corridor, we slowly made our way towards the school office. Kara told me Gary had excused me from registration, so we would be going to deal with the easier side of my coming out carnival… the administration.
Walking down the corridors was terrifying, most of the students ignored me, a fair number stared at me. Something in me told me they knew, but nobody was shouting ‘Tranny!’ yet, so maybe it was something else?
As we ascended the stairs to the school office, 3 of the rugby team passed us joking and laughing, not without a good long leer at the three of us.
“Dude I didn’t know that fag Mark had such a fucking hot sister.”
How do you know that was his sister ? oaf two replied.
“She looked just like him! Didn’t you see? Man id hit that if I didn’t have to be nice to that little gay boy to do it.” The other sneered as they disappeared around a corner.
Megan looked at me and her serious face broke into a burst of giggles. Maybe they didn’t know?
As we finally reached the office, we slipped inside and approached the desk.
“How can I help you girls?” smiled the Secretary behind the counter.
“I ah need to see the headmaster please I need to talk to him about some of my personal details.” I asked with my heart in my mouth.
“Who should I say is here?” asked the woman not really paying attention.
“Ah, Winters Miss.” I squeaked nervously.
“Why aren’t you seeing your own headmistress love?” she asked clearly catching on to my nerves.
“Because She goes here.” Replied Megan with a firm resolve.
The secretary looked confused. “No you do….. Mark Winters?”
by Alyssa Plant
Making waves
By Alyssa Plant
What happens when a really good plan meets with its arch nemisis: Being put into action. A tale of One girl's self discovery, love, and swashbuckling on the high seas.
Part One.
Peter Goldwyn shivered in the early morning chill as he stood on the deck of the ship transporting him and two dozen other passengers southwards towards the East Indies. His father had left England when he was a babe under the flag to conduct the business of the crown in the territories of the Caribbean. His mother had told him tails of his father’s work, and where he lived, and he had learned to read with the letters his father had sent home.
Here he was; 15 years old, and aboard a ship sailing ever closer to his father. Peter closed his eyes and pictured his father’s painting over the mantelpiece in their London home, He pictured the port in Barbados, and his father, just like the painting rushing to meet him and his mother as they disembarked from the ship. The image brought a smile to his lips. Peter longed to see his father again, to be part of a real family like his friends had. Of course all of those friends remained behind in London while he was many many miles away. He had no idea how far, but it must be at least hundreds.
They were, according to the ship’s captain, a week out of the outer Caribbean. Peter had risen early that morning to try to catch sight of the dolphin’s the ships crew talked of, that bobbed and weaved as they swam alongside the ship. So far, he had seen nothing, but the fact he had not been looking slipped his over burdened mind. It was relaxing to be alone,. Well sort of alone, the ships crew were around, maintaining their charge, keeping them ploughing onward towards their destination. He relished time away from his mother. He felt less guilty for not being the son she wanted. His friends had grown tall, and strong, and become interested in girls, but Peter had not. If anything, he had become interested in his friends, much to his horror. Peter felt like god had punished him for his thoughts, his desires, the ones he kept locked away in his heart. He had never wanted to be a boy… he had never liked the rough and tumble games they had played, or the way they behaved. And as a punishment for his thoughts and inadequacies, god had punished him with a frail slight frame, and none of the manly attributes his friends possessed. Of course, a part of peter relished this, prayed it would always be, but his rational side told him the truth as he saw it. It was wrong, and a sin… That much he knew.
“Peter?” called his mother from behind. Turning, he snapped out of his self debate and smiled at his mother weakly. Marie Goldwyn was an attractive woman; she had given birth to Peter when she was 20, and time had been kind to her. Her long dark hair done up in an simple bun, with several strands breaking loose to frame her elegant face. Peter envied his mother.
Marie hugged the shawl tightly around her shoulders against the breeze as she approached her son. “Why are you awake so early Peter?” she questioned with a hint of concern in her conversational tone. “Are you feeling well?”
“Yes mother.” He smiled, “I just wanted to see the dolphins.”
Marie smiled and wrapped her arm around her son. She loved the boy with all her heart, but in truth, a pang of fear grew steadily stronger in her heart. What would Thomas say about him? Would he accuse her of failing to raise his son properly? Blame her for his lack of masculinity? Maybe this was just the way god had for him? To be a gentle soul, a kind, loving compassionate young man…
”What is it?” Peter asked looking up at his mother.
”Oh nothing darling.” She smiled, just thinking about your father.
Peter smiled, “I cant wait to see him, I don’t really remember him much.” He frowned. “All I have are the paintings in the house to really remember him by.”
Marie hugged her child. “Well you’ll get to soon enough. And we shall not be apart again.”
Four days later, The ship entered the first Island clusters of the Caribbean waters. Marie and Peter sat eating Dinner with the ship’s captain and the other passengers of standing n his quarters. They had just begun the meal when a ships crewman burst in, apologising profusely, but requiring the captain’s immediate presence at the helm. Making his apologies, the captain left the guests and followed the crewman.
“What the blazes is so damned important Davis, that couldn’t have waited till after dinner?” growled Captain Stevens as he followed his crewman to the helm deck.
Davis didn’t answer, but walked over to a crewman holding a telescope and handed it to the captain.
”That sir.” He announced grimly pointing towards a dot on the horizon.
Captain Stevens placed the lens to his eye and focused on the object. It was a ship at full sail. Atop its mainsail, a Calico Jack flew in the breeze.
Stevens felt his heartbeat quicken. He had dealt with pirates in the past, but he never relished the prospect of a boarding action with passengers aboard. He would try to outrun them and make for nearest port, damn the schedule…
“Full sail Davis, and arm the crew just in case, we’re running.” Barked Captain Stevens before making his way back bellow decks.
Dinner broke up early that night as the passengers were informed and crew readied.
Marie lead Peter to their cabin and locked the door behind them. She knew it was of little point, but it made her feel better. Peter was divided, one part of him fantasised about pirates, and the adventures… heroes and villains…, but another part was scared. Scared of fighting, and of death.
His mother paced the cabin a few times before sitting heavily on her bed..
”Mother?” he asked, half for reassurement that everything would be ok, half to reassure her. His mother didn’t look worried as he had first thought, she was concentrating furiously, thinking, working things over in her mind.. Feeling foolish stood there in the middle of the cabin, Peter sat beside her and placed his hand on hers as she held them clasped in her lap.
Marie worked the plan over in her mind several times, if what she had heard was correct, then it might well save Peter’s life… but could she? Could he? Could they? According to the captain, they might outrun the pirates, but at best, they had 2 hours before they knew for sure. Running the plan through her mind one last time, she explained things to Peter.
They would disguise peter as a teenage girl, her daughter… She had heard that pirates took young men and boys to bolster their ranks… to indoctrinate them in ways of crime and deviancy… If they thought peter was a young girl, they would spare him?
Anxiously, she watched her son for any sign of indignant refusal or bravado, but she saw none. He wore a look of meek acceptance and fear, mixed with something she couldn’t quite tell… Dismissing it, Marie began digging into her cases, she located the packages she had brought from the Oxford street boutiques for the Governor’s daughter as a gift; a child of similar age and size to peter. A pretty dress with all the fine accoutrements a fine lady of the City would wear… and would now hopefully save her darling son’s life.
Ordered to strip by his mother, Peter stood in nought but his underwear in the chilly cabin. Receiving a disapproving look from his mother, he slipped the underwear to the floor and stepped out of it. As much as the idea thrilled him, he was afraid it would show.
Marie bunched up the shift and lowered it over Peter’s and let the simple cotton undergarment fall about him. The young lady’s garment made him look even more fragile she mused: This may work yet.
Working quickly, she attached the petticoats, and laced the stay about her child, fussing and adjusting till she was satisfied his foundation garments were perfect. Helping him into the dress itself, she laced the bodice and adjusted the skirts before stepping back to admire her handiwork.
Before her stood a nervous young girl of 16 or 17 in the height of London fashion. She was shocked by how disturbingly pretty her son looked, unnaturally so for a young man. Things were not perfect of course…Naturally his hair would need fixing and a touch of makeup… but she felt a flutter of relief in her heart that the plan might just succeed.
“Darling? Do you feel well?” she enquired of her son, or daughter as seemed more appropriate at that moment.
Peter indeed felt strange. A mixture of signals flooded his body. Was he dreaming? Or was this a nightmare? “I.. Yes mother, The clothes just feel strange.” He answered hoping it would satisfy her.
Marie seated herself on her bed and motioned her child to join her.
”What shall we call you?” she asked, half to herself. The face looking up at her struck her of the paintings of her grandmother in her youth… Abigail Demontford… “Abigail” she mumbled. “Yes, you shall be my daughter Abigail.” She smiled.
”Now no arguing, we have a lot to do and very little time to do it in…” she said sternly. Before reaching into the trunk that contained her cosmetics.
Captain Stevens gripped the telescope in his hand as he watched the pirate vessel approaching on their stern. He did not need its magnification now to see what loomed. They had no hope of reaching port. This would be the time to stand and fight…
”Davis…” he began as the first cannonball flew overhead.
The battle was hard and furious, but within a space of a hour, the crew had surrendered and struck their colours. They were not a military vessel designed to survive prolonged sea battle…. And they were not Marines…
Captain Stevens, wounded in the exchange approached the pirate captain and handed him his sword. In all his days as a captain he had never expected this, but for the good of his passengers, it was his duty. The man before him accepted the blade without word. Looked it over from tip to hilt, before running him through with it. Captain William Stevens Died that day on the deck of his ship. His blood mingling with the timber.
Captain Brand did not relish the cold blooded killing of men, But the execution of a captain was always required to win the obedience of his men. Mercy bread heroes… and heroes were an inconvenience.
“Cooper, Martins, Hart,” he growled beckoning 3 of his junior officers up to him, “Crew, Passengers, and Cargo inventory. Now if you please.” He growled to the 3 men by his side. As the men moved off to their assigned tasks, Brand surveyed the efficiency of his crew. They had been raiding shipping in the Northern Caribbean for near 6 months now, and all together the crew was efficient. Good sailors, and good fighters. He controlled them with an iron hand and kept them in good coin for their loyalty.
Like a large number of his men, Brand was a former navy man disillusioned over time by the distance and desolation. While his values did not extend to property ownership, he despised rape and murder. Brand would raid a ship, take his pick of the cargo and move on: He often found that legends and fear grew more efficiently when there were people to tell of it.
Cooper, Martins and their men finished rounding up the crew and passengers of the English merchantman. Brand walked forwards. And stabbed the bloody sword into the decking by his feet, a rapid method of gaining everyone’s undivided attention he had learned.
As the hubbub subsided and all eyes fell upon him, he spoke in a quiet calm voice. “This ship and all aboard it now belong to myself and my crew. As you can see, some of my boys are a might twitchy, so if we can keep all heroics and dramatics to a minimum, there will be no further bloodshed.” He said plainly “If I get all I want, you may be allowed to go on your way.”
Peter, now Abigail, stood beside his mother on the deck of the ship, half hiding behind her skirts. He was terrified, The pirates were scary and nothing like the stories he had read. The Captain said that if they complied they would be free to go? Maybe his mother’s plan would work?
Peter had spent the hours before the attack with his mother, learning to move, act, and respond as a young woman of stature. Granted, it was by no means perfect, and she wouldn’t pass in the London social circles, but it was enough. His hair was done up in a braid and a slight amount of his mother’s makeup graced his cheeks. Peter felt… amazing. He couldn’t begin to describe the feelings of normality. It was as if he was finally awake after a life of dream. Did he think he was a girl? He wasn’t sure, He certainly felt better than when he wore boys’ clothes, and he wasn’t expected to be something he wasn’t now. Perhaps he was?
Abigail snapped out of her thoughts; Her mother was squeezing her hand tightly. The pirates were going through the passengers, checking them for valuables. Abigail felt her heart beat faster as the men approached them. When the Pirates finally reached them, Abigail wanted to cry with fear; the men looked over him and his mother with a animal hunger and started to grope around their dresses looking for supposed valuables.
A young Officer strode over and punched the pirate touching him in the face.
“You know the captain’s rules Smith, No touching womenfolk.” He growled before glaring at the man who had backed off from Peter’s Mother before turning to the mother and child, “Ladies, my apologies.” He smiled before moving on.
Cargo was offloaded, and a number of passengers and crew were persuaded financially to swap sides.
Marie looked at her child, no, her daughter, she couldn’t think of the angel by her side as her son. This ordeal was nearly over, she prayed that the bastards would leave them and be gone.
Captain Brand looked over the deck at loading operations. It had been a good raid,. 20 tons of powder for the Barbados guns, food supplies and luxuries aplenty… Amongst the passengers, they had secured a surgeon, and a navigator and 20 able bodied men from the crew. He was pleased with himself.
Captain Brand looked down towards his son, Edward Brand, the boy he had raised from a babe, and that would one day be his successor. The boy had taken the name of Martins so as to avoid any relation related issues amongst the crew. He hadn’t wanted it to seem as if his promotions had been based on his blood, rather than his backbone.
The lad was staring into the passengers milling on the deck as he supervised the detail guarding them. What was he looking at?
Brand walked along the helm deck of The Carpathia to get a better view. The boy was transfixed by an angel. The girl was a child, only 16 or 17 years, but a beauty. Brand chuckled. Perhaps he would have to give that son of his a kick start.
Abigail watched the pirates take the ship’s cargo, and begin to withdraw. She looked up at her mother and gave a weak smile, they had made it. If only she could find a way for her mother to allow her to wear this dress again? Oh how she loved the feeling, the caress of the fabric, Perhaps not the tight corset, but the way it squeezed her boyish chest into small mounds pleased her.
“Come here darling” growled a pirate as his fingers closed around Abigail’s arm. Abigail began to panic, and her mother began screaming. The last thing she remembered was someone clamping something over her mouth and nose before being engulfed by a deep blackness.
Making Waves
By Alyssa Plant
'Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of feet on the steps at the end of the hold and the sound of keys in the lock. Abigail slipped her legs off the bench and slipped into the gloom at the rear of her cell. She didn’t know who was coming, but she had a good idea what happened to girls taken by pirates, and it wasn’t related to tea parties or puppies.'
Part two
“You wanted to see me sir?” Lieutenant Martins sighed with annoyance. He was stood before the Captain’s desk while the old man looked over some charts. Looking up, Brand cracked a half smile,
“Would it hurt you to call me Father once in a while boy?”
Edward frowned. “Well I’m not feeling particularly friendly, so do you mind if we get to the point?”
Captain Brand looked up from his charts. “You never touch a woman when we make port, yet you seem to loose all sight of anything else when you are meant to be doing your job. I don’t get you boy.” He smirked. “I brought you a little something from the raid, she down in the brig. Try and act like are one of my lieutenants in future?”
Edward looked at his father. “You did what?” he asked incredulously.
”The pretty young thing you were eyeing… one of the passengers.” His father waved dismissively without looking up from his charts.
Edward left his father’s cabin without another word.
Peter came round in a dark, damp room. He was still at sea; the gentle rolling had become easily recognisable during the voyage. Peter took a deep breath of musty air… at least he tried: For some reason he was unable to breathe deeply, and his chest felt sore. Reaching up, he felt his chest and found it encased in the stay his mother had laced him into earlier. Sitting bolt upright on the bench, the memories came flooding back to him. He was dressed as a girl, and had been taken prisoner by pirates, who assumed he was a girl. Abigail… his name was Abigail. He had to start thinking like a girl if he was going to survive this. How did girls think? He wasn’t sure.
Abigail looked around her. She was in a cell, in the hull of a ship. She seemed to be alone. There were barrels and crates around the hold. There was noise coming from above; all the regular sounds of a ship at sea that she had become accustomed too. Abigail was terrified. Where was her mother? Would she see her again? Would she ever see her father? Why was she thinking in feminine pronouns? Fingering the lacy hem of her dress, she thought for a moment. She didn’t look like a peter, or a he… and there was something unexplainably right about how she was dressed. As if the change of clothes had cleared a fog in her mind.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of feet on the steps at the end of the hold and the sound of keys in the lock. Abigail slipped her legs off the bench and slipped into the gloom at the rear of her cell. She didn’t know who was coming, but she had a good idea what happened to girls taken by pirates, and it wasn’t related to tea parties or puppies.
Footsteps rang off the deck as she cowered in the darkness. The young officer that had protected herself and her mother appeared out of the gloom.
“Please don’t hurt me.” She whimpered quietly. “I.. I’ll do whatever you want.”
The man looked at her for a moment. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He replied softly, unlocking the door and stepping into the cell. Abigail pulled herself up flatter against the bulkhead.
“Please.” He repeated. “I just want to talk to you. I didn’t know you had been taken.”
Abigail relaxed a little. The man clearly didn’t intend to rape her immediately, which was a small mercy she thought.
The man approached and offered her his hand. “Here.” He said. “Allow me.”
Accepting it with a half smile, Abigail regained her feet. Her hand still in his, she followed him across the cell to the small bench she had woken on. Sitting as demurely as she could, she turned to face the young officer as he began to speak.
“Look, I wanted to apologise. I… My father.. Captain Brand… He took you because of me.” The man said slowly. “He thought I liked you, so… I’m so sorry.” The young man replied, a blush rising in his cheeks.
Abigail looked at the young officer. He was stammering and blushing like a boy with a crush. Well he was a boy with a crush… Wait… He was? She was it…. Abigail was torn by conflicting emotions; the realisation that someone liked her made her heart flutter happily. However, the fact it was a boy made her worry. In the short time she had been a girl, it had felt sort of normal, but she knew this was just a dream… an imaginary moment that would not last. This was all wrong… this morning, he had been a normal boy. Hah, that was a lie, he had been far from normal. Fragile, feminine, pretty, not a normal boy at all… But did that make him a girl? Abigail realised that morning, when her mother tried to protect her, that she was not a boy. This felt right. She felt whole for the first time in her miserable existence. It seemed odd, strange, disturbing, but she knew now that she had to exist by the moment, it was the only way forwards.
“What’s wrong?” He asked, staring at her with a curious expression on his face. “You looked so thoughtful.” He said.
“I.. I miss my mother. And… and I’m scared.” Abigail replied quietly. “I’m sorry, I’ve not been abducted by many pirates, and I… I don’t know.”
Edward reached out and took Abigail’s hand. “I promise I will let nothing happen to you. I got you into this, and on my word as a Gentleman I will get you out.”
Abigail was beginning to like the young lieutenant. He was a kind man, and he was quite handsome she observed.
“Look, You Can’t stay here.” He announced getting to his feet. “You will have my cabin, and I will see you set to rights once we reach port.” he said, offering Abigail his hand.
Taking the Lieutenant’s hand, she rose and followed him from the dank cell.
The two made their way along dark passageways in the hold of the ship before reaching a staircase at what must have been the stern. Lieutenant Martins lead the young woman up towards the officers quarters and led her into a small but comfortable Cabin.
”Here is my cabin, I.. I’m sorry its not much, but its all I can offer.” He replied sheepishly. “I suppose you would like to rest now, I’ll bring you some food in a while if you’d like.”
Abigail nodded silently, biting her lip, and watched the man leave the cabin, closing the door behind himself.
Finally alone, she sat heavily and in a decidedly unfeminine manner on the bunk. Tears rolled from her eyes as she awkwardly unfastened the dress and let it slip from her body, Sobbing with effort and stress, she fought with the stay’s laces and finally freed herself from its grip. Slumping onto the bunk, she was soon fast asleep.
Abigail woke several hours later feeling groggy. She listened again for the sound that had woken her. There was another knock at the door.
Slipping her feet off the bunk, she pulled the dress over her shift and held it closed as she approached the door. . She knew enough to not answer the door in her underwear.
Opening the door, she saw a young woman, perhaps 20, or 21. The woman was dressed similarly to the crew she had seen. Tunic, loose trousers and her hair tied back under a scarf. Abigail’s confusion must have been obvious. The woman smiled.
“I’m Hannah. Lieutenant Martins asked me to come down and check on you.”
Abigail held the door open and invited the young woman into the cabin.
”He wanted me to help you get cleaned up, he wanted you to eat with the cap’n and the officers later.” She announced shaking a small canvas bag she held.
“I don’t have much, but he figured that you didn’t have anything to get cleaned up with.”
“I, ah, thank you.” Abigail answered quietly.
Hannah looked at her with an expression Abigail wasn’t quite sure of. Before she had chance to decipher it, the young woman had gathered her in a tight embrace.
”I know how you feel sweetie” she said softly. “I lost my parents when I was about your age. It’s scary being alone in the world.”
”My parents aren’t lost.” Abigail whispered. “We were travelling to Barbados to meet my father, and my mother… I don’t know…” she trailed off sadly.
Hannah squeezed her tightly. “The Cap’n left the ship sailing, so there is a good chance your parents will be alive and well in Barbados, but I don’t know when we will make port, much less when you can find a ship back to them. I know the lieutenant said he will get you back, but you got to understand it’s a long shot honey.”
Abigail slipped from Hannah’s embrace and frowned. “I guess.” She mumbled. “This is all still so sudden for me. I’ve not had much chance to think.”
“Lets get you cleaned up huh?.” Smiled Hannah, in a less than subtle attempt at changing the topic.
Hannah brushed out Abigail’s hair with her worn brush, and using the pale of water in the well on the dresser, helped her clean the smudged and run makeup off her face.
Abigail felt a great deal better as the older girl helped her, Hannah almost felt like a big sister. She had never expected to find a woman aboard a pirate ship, such things were never told of in the stories back home. Pirates were all rapists, murderers, violent nasty smelly men. The captains barbarous, vindictive and cruel. But these people… they were different, more like normal people.
Hannah picked up Abigail’s stay and began to loosen the laces so she could fasten it once more.
“Such beautiful clothes.” She mused quietly. “I wish I had such finery.”
“You would not lust after it if you had worn such thing.” She smiled. Even in her limited experience, Abigail had gained a deep empathy with other women with regards to the clothing expected of them. Stay’s were torturous things. Perhaps she could get some clothes like Hannah? But then, Hannah was a real girl, and the clothes were the only things that made her body appear feminine she thought with a sigh.
Lacing the girl into her stay, and fastening the buttons of the dress, she helped Abigail tidy her hair and pronounced the girl fit for an audience with the captain.
The two made their way up towards the main deck of the ship. It was early evening, and the sun was beginning to set over the horizon. A skeleton crew manned the deck and helm, keeping things in check.
Hannah led Abigail through a door towards the stern and into the captain’s quarters.
“She’s here Sir.” She announced before giving Abigail’s hand a squeeze and disappearing out the door.
Abigail stood awkwardly in the candle light of the cabin. 6 men sat around a table with the Captain at its head.
Lieutenant Martins stood and made his way over to her. “Captain, men, I’d like to Introduce Miss Abigail Goldwyn.”
There was a round of murmurs as the other officers rose and greeted her. The Captain looked… well she couldn’t quite describe it. He looked funny… It was almost as if he wanted to speak, but was holding his tongue.
Lieutenant Martins lead Abigail to a place at the table and held her chair for her. Aware she was under the intense scrutiny of the men present, Abigail tried to be as graceful and feminine as possible, Copying the way her mother behaved at formal dinners in the past.
Throughout the dinner, she was engaged by many of the men at the table, in various questions of her past, England, and other dinner topics. The captain remained quiet.
Abigail found herself laughing at more and more of the jokes the officers made. They were a friendly group, and none of them seemed to make any advances. As much as she missed her mother, she knew that she would have to be strong to make it back to her. Perhaps she could learn to enjoy this? She wasn’t treated like a prisoner, more a guest. As the dinner drew to a close. She withdrew as her mother and the other women always had to leave the men to their drinking and man time. Thanking the captain and officers, she asked The lieutenant to escort her back to her cabin. He was only to pleased to assist.
Reaching the cabin, Abigail caught Lieutenant Martins looking at her and smiled at him. As much as reality told her not to. She felt increasingly smitten by the young man. His handsome features were looking down on her with a mixture of kindness and appreciation. The man was clearly searching for something to say. Her body took over and Abigail found herself reaching onto her tiptoes to touch her lips to his. She melted into his encircling arms. Reality be damned…
“Gibbs” smiled Director Vance warmly. “I never knew you arrived this late, I always though you snuck in with the cleaning crew.
“Had to get a refill.” Gibbs muttered raising his takeout coffee cup. “What do you want Leon?” Gibbs asked suspiciously, looking over at his boss.
“Mcgee.” Vance replied. “There’s a new cyber crimes taskforce the Joint chief’s are setting up, Secnav (secretary of the Navy) wants us to give them a team, Agent Mcgee is the best we have.”
“So what do I get while the Secnav kisses ass on the hill? You’re leaving me a man down on short notice.”
“I thought it was about time Agent Mcgee moved on anyway. He’s been a probie for what? 4 years?.”
“I like my team Leon, Jenny never interfered with how I ran it.” Gibbs growled as he took a sip from his steaming cup.
“Yeah well I’m the director last time I checked. And don’t go accusing me of meddling Gibbs. Secnav says jump, I ask how high.” shrugged Vance. “look, I’ve found you a replacement, If you don’t like him by the time the task force is over with, ill give you Mcgee back. Ok?”
The elevator doors slid open and Jethro Gibbs stepped out onto the squadroom floor.
“How high Mr director?” he called back as he left Leon Vance standing in the elevator.
“Are you actually working?” Ziva David asked casually as she slid up behind Anthony Dinozzo’s chair. Jumping, Tony slapped the screen’s power button and turned to glare at his college.
“Actually I was looking through pet suppliers to find you a collar with a bell” He replied smiling sweetly.
“Rawr.” Ziva purred and made a playful claw motion towards Tony.
“Come on to Dinozzo in your own time Ziva.” Gibbs said appearing around the corner.
“I was not.” Replied Ziva indignantly, crossing her arms. Poking her in the ribs Dinozzo grinned. “Do you think we can get one in Gibbs’ size?” he stage whispered.
Smirking, Ziva approached Gibbs’ desk.
“Ah, Gibbs, I have that file on the Petty Officer Martinez case….” She began hesitantly, slipping the file onto her boss’s desk. He was in an especially bad mood this morning.
“Give it to Thomas, We pick up a new case when the probie arrives.”
“Ziva looked confused, and retrieved the file before heading out of the team’s office space to find Agent Thomas, exchanging a confused glance with Tony on her way out. He didn’t seem to understand either…
“You’ve never called Mcgeek Probie before Boss…” Tony asked curiously.
“And I haven’t started.” muttered Gibbs, not taking his eyes off the file he was reading.
“We’re getting a new probie?” asked Tony slowly. “Why?”
“The Director sent him to do his computer thing…” replied Gibbs, looking up from the folder. “And we have a replacement Probationary Agent for the meanwhile.” He sighed taking off his glasses. “Who I fully intend to pass on to another team once we get Mcgee back from DC.”
“When are we getting them?” Tony asked curiously. “Any fun facts about this one? You haven’t given me much time to prepare… I’ll need all new material after Mcgeek…”
“Any time now I guess.”
Dinozzo turned and found a young agent looking at him with an apologetic smile.
“Probationary Agent Samson… I was told to report here by the Director?”
Agent Samson was a small man, and the term man fitted about as well as his cheap suit Dinozzo noted. He had a very slight build, fine features, and his straw blonde hair was tied back in a low ponytail. There was something intriguing about his appearance that Tony couldn’t put a finger on.
“You been issued a weapon yet?” Gibbs asked without looking up.
“I… ah, no? I thought probationary agents were unarmed?” Samson stammered wondering if he had made a mistake.
“Ziva.” Gibbs called, somehow sensing the Israeli was stood by back of the team office area. “Take Agent Samson down to the armoury and get him issued up.”
Looking up, Gibbs regarded the young agent. “Nobody goes unarmed on my team, if you don’t have the right tools, don’t attempt the job…”
“Gibbs rule number 22” Ziva whispered as she led Samson out of the office. “He has… These rules that we all work by… you will learn them, I am sure….” She smiled pressing the elevator call button.
Stepping into the lift, she leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms, looking at Agent Samson. “I’m Ziva David.” She said, extending a hand.
“Agent Samson.” Mumbled the new boy quietly.
“Do you have a first name?” Ziva asked, cocking her head slightly and shooting Agent Samson a enquiring look.
“Toby.” He shrugged. “Can I ask a question?”
“Firstly, you appear to be working with us for some time. So here are the rules.” Ziva began, raising the fingers on her hand to tick off as she went.
“Firstly, Gibbs is ‘Gibbs’ maybe Agent Gibbs till he says otherwise, but definitely not Sir. Secondly, his word is law, follow it and you shall survive. Also, ignore Tony, He will try to bully you as the probie, but he means well.” She smiled lowing her last finger.
“Oh, and never spill Gibbs’ coffee…” she stated seriously.
“His coffee?” Toby asked, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer.
“It may happen at some point, from what I have heard, its inevitable, Just… try not to...” She grimaced, turning to face the door as the lift came to a halt.
“Hey Boss.” Tony began, moving over to Gibbs desk, “Did you ok this guy with Vance?”
“Orders are orders Tony.” Gibbs sighed. “And play nice.”
“Now I’m always nice boss… Tony smirked. “Timmy turned out sweet as punch.”
“That’s exactly my worry.” Began Gibbs, You try to actually teach him something, He’s not here forever.”
“Come on boss…Mcgee looks more dangerous than this guy… What did his record say?”
“First in his class from Michigan State… majored in… Criminology and history.” Gibbs replied checking the file. “His fitness is good, and he has a list of martial arts on his file, Good initial training grades. Not a bad agent.”
“But he’s green boss… Come on… Who does the Director think we are? Baby sitters?
“Apparently.” Replied Gibbs, draining his 3rd Coffee cup before sending it to join its brothers and sisters in the trash. “Either way, I’ll need you and Ziva to pick up the slack, just for a while.”
Tony nodded. “Sure boss.”
Toby handled the Sig Sauer p228 he had been issued in the elevator ride back up to the squad room. He had waited for this… He was a federal agent, with a gun and a badge… finally heading towards his dream job. Well part of it.
Ziva lead the way back to the office area. Agent Samson would be using the vacated desk that had belonged to Agent Mcgee. Toby felt like he was treading in someone else’s shadow, but at least according to Ziva’s story of her arrival; his shadow was still moving. Sitting at the desk, he looked around the small enclosed space that made up their office. All the other Probationary agents in his class had talked about Agent Gibbs… Gibbs and his team… Toby couldn’t wait to tell his friends Agents Amy Marlin and Hannah Swift, that he had been put into THE Gibbs’s team…
“Grab your gear.” Gibbs growled as he strode into the office space, grabbing his sidearm from his desk draw and vanishing just as quickly again towards the elevator. With a scramble Toby followed the other agents making it to the closing doors in time to just slip through…
“What is it boss?” Tony asked jogging to keep up with Gibb’s rapid stride.
“Navy Lieutenant found dead in Norfolk.” Gibbs replied as they made their way into the parking lot to pick up an agency car.
“Interesting circumstances too.” He said quietly, almost to himself.
Arriving at the scene after a lengthy freeway journey, the team pulled up by a side street in downtown Norfolk.
The four agents made their way across to the cordon as the ME’s van arrived. Flashing their badges, they entered the service alley. Tony flicked his camera on and began to document the scene, and Ziva moved off to speak with a local Leo. Gibbs knelt by the body; Toby could see he was concentrating hard, looking at the young woman before them with intense concentration. She was pretty; a tall young woman with short spiky hair and fine elfin features. She was wearing her Navy dress uniform; the blouse drenched in blood from a cruel gash in her throat.
“What do you see?” Gibbs asked Toby without looking round.
Toby studied the body intently, trying to remember his training. “She was attacked standing up, by the blood pattern.”
Gibbs nodded, not taking his eyes off the body. “Anything else?”
“She was moved.” Toby almost smiled, realising he had noticed, despite the guilt he felt at his happiness. “There is no blood pooling around the body, she was killed elsewhere and dumped… ah, sorry, I cant see anything else.”
“She was redressed. Here….” Gibbs muttered, pointing to a mark of residue on her chest above the open top buttons of the blouse. Toby leaned forward and noticed the tape residue; nearly swamped by the blood flow he had missed it.
“This is what now Tony? You’re third?” Ziva chimed from across the alley.
“Why are you keeping score?” Dinozzo replied incredulously.
“What?” Toby asked Innocently. “His 3rd what?”
“Transsexual.” Ziva answered smiling. Tony does not like them.” bending to continue sifting through some trash.
“Not a word probie.” Tony growled and carried on measuring.
Wait, what? This is a woman isn’t it?” he asked slowly, turning to look at the victim again.
“His Navy ID is for a Lieutenant Daniel Braskin.” Ziva answered without looking up. “The photograph matches, somewhat, and we checked….” She finished looking over at Toby. “Are you having a problem Like Agent Dinozzo?”
Toby shook his head firmly. “I was just surprised, she’s so pretty.”
“Indeed.” Ziva smiled sadly. “It could also provide motive for their death.”
Toby had a thought, and made his way to the body, now on a gurney before being loaded onto the van and unzipped the body bag.
“What are you looking for?” The Elderly ME, a Doctor Mallard asked curiously. “Can I undo the buttons on the blouse?” Toby asked, and on receiving a permitting nod, unbuttoned the blouse.
Looking around the young woman’s breasts, he noticed more of the residue, but nowhere else. He rebuttoned the blouse out of respect for the dead young woman, much to Doctor Mallard’s approval.
“What were you looking for?” he asked the young probationary agent curiously.
“The tape Agent Gibbs mentioned… part of why we suspected she had been redressed after being bound… its not… well it is, but not how he thinks….”
“Go on.” Doctor mallard prompted, wondering where the young agent was heading.
“Well, she was transgender right? And had Male ID… Serving US navy… So she clearly hid herself when she was on duty… The tape was from where she bound her breasts… to pass as a male… So I don’t think she was redressed, Plus the blood flow is too extensive for someone who was cut and dropped, before being moved, redressed and dumped… I’m not as experienced as agent Gibbs, but that, coupled with the blood on her hands suggests she walked after the incident, her hands trying to stem the flow… There may be another crime scene…”
“Good.” Gibbs said, appearing behind Agent Samson. “You can help Tony search for any blood trail.” sending the Probie off with the more experienced Agent.
“He’s good.” Duckie mused as the two watched Agent Samson and Dinozzo begin searching.
“Uhuh.” grunted Gibbs casually.
“You’re still angry about the Director taking Timothy away?” The doctor asked his friend.
“He’s the boss,” Gibbs replied curtly. “But you’re right; At least he’s got more street sense than Mcgee had when he started.
Duckie Nodded, and patting his colleague on the back, proceeded to climb into the Van to begin the journey back to headquarters.
Back in the office, Toby was running through the Lieutenant’s life, trying to map out their last 3 days to place them at the scene.
He felt so sorry for the woman. She had been secretly living her own life…. Balancing the job she loved with the person she was. He had found a photograph of the girl with her family in her purse; as a girl. Toby had offered to be the bearer of bad news; a task all too willingly given. The team’s comments he had overheard here and there suggested they would put their foot in it, intentionally or not at the worst possible moment… Her parents didn’t need that.
“What have you got?” called Agent Gibbs by way of greeting to the team.
Leaping to his feet like a puppy greeting its master, Tony launched into his theories….
“Well boss, we found the original scene, It was near a side entrance of a gay bar over on Williamson, CCTV placed the Lieutenant leaving at around 1, and talking to several people before moving off alone towards where the incident took place. We found the knife in some dumpsters behind the bar; it’s with Abbi…. He managed to get as far as where we found the body before he bought it, There were several pooling where he stopped enroute, explaining the lack of blood at the secondary scene.” He said smugly.
Gibbs nodded briskly before turning his gaze on Ziva, who proceeded to detail the Lieutenant’s naval life and associates, none of whom thought anything out of order about him.
Before he knew it, Toby felt the team’s eyes on him.
“I, ah, Called the bar, she was a regular, Used the name Sharon, bartender couldn’t give me a last… Came in every night around 8; stayed till 11 and left alone; almost like clockwork. Nothing exciting in her life, kept a low profile, no sign of a lover, but had been known to date, I got a few descriptions of guys she was seen with at the bar, its ah, Transgender bar, not a gay bar.” He finished quietly, glancing at Tony.
“At least someone works around here.” announced Gibbs taking a sip from his coffee cup. “Ziva, get on to Abbi, see if she has any prints from the knife, Tony get down to the bar and ask around about him, see if you can find any friends…”
“Ah, Sir, sorry, Agent Gibbs…” Toby began, realising he probably shouldn’t interrupt.
Gibbs stopped mid sentence and looked questioningly at Toby as if he really ought to have a good reason.
“Regardless of Tony’s feelings to the victim, He really should say She and her, use female pronouns, if you go into that place like… you talk here, you will get nowhere.”
“Look probie, I know how to conduct an investigation… I’ve been doing this, oh, 6 years?”
“Dinozzo, the only good communication you’ve had with a transsesexual was when you stuck your tongue down their throat, Listen to Agent Samson, be nice to them, and they will talk to you… You go in there like yourself and you won’t even get the time…”
Dinozzo looked like he was going to say something but simply nodded instead before grabbing his things and making for the elevator.
Ziva gave Toby a curious glance before returning to her computer screen.
“You can sit down now Samson.” Gibbs muttered without looking up.
Blushing, Toby returned to his desk and carried on profiling the victim.
Toby stood by the sink in the men’s room washing his hands when the door opened, and banged closed again. He looked up when he heard no footfalls on the tiled floor; Officer David was leaning back against the closed door, arms crossed with that same look of amused curiosity.
“What are you doing in here?” he squeaked indignantly.
“Maybe I could ask the same question?” she purred, stepping forwards purposefully. “Some things do not add up Toby Samson, I mean no err, malice? Is that the word? But I have what people call an inquiring mind.” She continued, stopping quite close to Toby.
Ziva regarded him for a second, and flashed a quick grin before speaking again:
“This case is more than a job to you I think?”
“No, I don’t know her.” Toby answered quickly, knowing his nervousness showed. “I just don’t like seeing people hurt for something they cant help, I was bullied a lot in high school…” he answered hoping she took the bone.
However Ziva was not thrown; “You have yet to slip in pronouns; even Gibbs has by accident. You were particularly upset when you found out her identity, and since Tony’s reactions you’ve rather disliked him, yes?
“He was a bigoted arsehole.” snapped Toby with a look of distain.
Ziva reached out and gently touched Toby’s forearm, “You’re personally involved in this case Toby.” She stated flatly. “Why?”
“I said…” He replied stepping back till his backside contacted the row of sinks. “Its really not a big deal Ziva, I just never expected to find this sort of thing coming up… here, or how id deal with it.”
“Please do not be insulted if I am far off the wall here,” she said shaking her head, “ No… Ball! Yes. This is not your first contact with transgender people? You seem aware of how our Lieutenant bound her breasts… from an intimate perspective too… and you knew that they would clamp down if Tony had used his normal methods. “Why?”
“I, ah.” Toby stammered helplessly.
Ziva looked at the young agent; in his flustered state, it showed more, he was having trouble maintaining the mask he used. Her years reading people had told her he was hiding something significant from the moment she met him. A faint aura of falsehood around his behaviour and the very precise wording of someone thinking about what they are saying carefully… there had been cracks, but she would not have connected the dots if it had not been for this case…
“You are transgender, yes?” she asked softly.
Toby looked for some way out of the cul-de-sac he had backed into, but there was nothing.
“Please don’t tell anyone.” He whispered quietly, looking anywhere but into her eyes.
Ziva pulled the young agent to her and hugged him tightly as he sobbed. She had expected something, but not quite this. Now she knew why the case was effecting him so…
Toby let himself into his apartment, dumping his case and coat by the door. He wandered into the kitchen and opened a bottle of white wine that was cooling in the refrigerator. Pouring himself a glass, he took a sip of the chilled liquid as he padded through to his bedroom, enjoying the taste and the feeling of relaxation it gave him.
Placing the glass on the dresser, he slipped the clothes from his body and stepped into the shower in his adjoining bathroom. As the warmth of the water soothed his aching muscles, Toby began to cry quietly to himself. He hadn’t told another living soul about himself, and through all of his effort and ability, she had seen through him. Why had they gotten that case? Why couldn’t he bottle it up for one lousy investigation? Thinking back to when he spoke to the girl’s parents, he was so jealous of her, and so sorry for her parents. They had only just got to know their daughter, and she had been brutally taken from them. Toby resolved to solve this case. Not to impress Gibbs, or anyone, but he owed it to the girl… and herself.
Wrapping a towel around her body, Juliet Samson stepped carefully from the shower, hooking an errant lock of sodden blonde hair behind her ear. Wiping the steam from the bathroom mirror, she studied her reflection in the steamy glass. She was never going to win Miss Virginia, but she had a pleasant enough appearance. Juliet had always loved her face, It made her feel more like the girl she felt she was, despite other biological factors to the contrary. Sighing, she smudged the reflection with a damp hand and left the bathroom. Patting her body dry, she selected a bra and panties from her drawer and slipped them on, the bra cupping her small breasts the heavy suit disguised. Pulling on an oversized tee shirt, she slumped down at the dressing table and started up her laptop computer while taking another sip from the wineglass.
Checking her emails, she began to search the net for local transgender support groups. It had been something she had avoided, partly due to her career, and things she heard…
Flicking through the listings, she found a meeting in Downtown Norfolk at a bar called Sally’s, it was 5 blocks over from the scene, and she was sure there would be a great deal of gossip… and it was meeting tonight.
It took a moment of soul searching to convince herself to do it, but she knew that her life had changed irreversibly. She couldn’t hide anymore, and she had to do this, for herself, and for the young lieutenant. Of course, her source of any information and method of obtaining it would remain her secret…Gibbs would understand that? Right?
Pulling her tee-shirt off, she began ransacking her wardrobe for something suitable. Beyond dressing up at home, she had never really been brave enough to go out as herself, and as such, most of her wardrobe ended up on the floor in the search for that perfect outfit.
After much searching, she found a pretty knit white sweaterdress that ended mid thigh, she threw it onto the bed, and after ransacking her drawers, found the perfect black stretch belt and patterned tights to accompany it. Rolling up the tights, she slipped the dress over her head, and flipped her now dry hair from the collar and fastened the belt around her narrow waist, accentuating it further. After a light application of makeup, she sat on the bed, bag in hand, wondering if she could really do it. Sipping the wine, she nervously slipped her foot along the carpeted floor, feeling the sensation of the material against her foot. She felt ok, she looked ok… but what if someone thought she was a man in a dress? No, she had to do this, it was important. Checking her watch, she saw she had barely enough time to reach the bar. Slipping on her tan ugg boots, she slipped out of her apartment and down to the parking garage.
Soon she was zipping down the freeway that connected DC to the Virginia coast. It felt liberating to be out, existing as herself. She thought back to what Ziva had said in the restroom. Was it that obvious? She wondered whether that was a bad thing in itself. Checking the clock on the dash, she noticed she was cutting it fine to arrive with enough time to scope the place out properly. In her nervousness, her foot inched down on the pedal a little further…
The blue flashing lights stopped Juliet’s heart for a moment. What was she going to do? She was a federal agent, in drag, caught speeding? Gibbs would hear of this, she knew. She was so busted…
What if? Well it was partly true… no, it was all true…. Pulling over to the shoulder, she stopped the car and waited for the officer to approach.
Opening her window as the officer approached, she tried to remain calm and composed.
“Evening ma’am.” Smiled the officer, giving Juliet the once over. Do you know how fast you were going?”
“Over the limit, but I have good reason.” She answered confidently.
“Oh, what’s that then?” smiled the young highway patrolman, taking a chance to peek at Juliet’s legs through the open window.
“I’m an undercover NCIS agent.” She responded looking at the officer.
“Huh? What’s NCIS?” The patrolman asked with a puzzled expression.
“I’m going for my badge ok?” She asked reaching into her purse on the passenger seat and retrieving her ID wallet. “Here.” She said handing it to him.
The man looked at the ID card for a moment. “Step out of the Car ma’am.”
Stepping out of the vehicle she placed her hands against the bodywork, “What’s wrong? She asked indignantly.
“You expect me to believe this is your ID?” asked the officer with a hint of annoyance. “That you are Agent Toby Samson?”
“Yes…” replied Juliet with a bored expression. “Did you miss the part where I said I was undercover?”
“Huh? You’re a dude?” asked the Officer dumbly.
“Do you want me to phone my superiors and report you for jeopardising a federal investigation?” she asked, turning around to face the officer and fixing him with a serious expression. “You have seen my Identification, and received explanation for my appearance; do you want me to get my sig Sauer out of my purse to show you?” she asked, tilting her head to one side and raising her eyebrows questioningly, stepping towards the officer.
“Ah, no ma’am, ah, I mean Sir, sorry.” The officer stumbled before turning to return to his patrol car. Juliet stood and watched him return to the cruiser, hand on her hip. The officer turned and looked back at her with a look of confusion, shaking his head, before finally getting into the car and pulling away. As she slumped down into the seat, the wave of relief flashed over her. That had been too close…. The highway patrolman’s reaction was surprising for her. Did she really look that female? That convincing? The thought made her feel happy, yet worried at the same time. The Israeli agent Ziva had worked it out… how long before others?
Thanks to her lead foot, Juliet arrived at Sally’s bar with five minutes to spare. It was all wrong…. She should have been here much earlier… going in without a good recon was dangerous, she knew, but it was only a transgender bar? What harm could it really do?
Getting out of her car, she slowly walked over to the main entrance of the bar. Stepping inside, she was greeted by a pleasantly quiet atmosphere. Soft music was playing, and there were small groups of people sat around chatting.
Juliet approached the bar and waited while the barmaid served another customer.
“Hey, what can I getcha darling’ The barmaid asked cheerily taking Juliet’s attention from a rather gaudily dressed man in what appeared to be a Vegas showgirl outfit drinking a beer.
“Oh, ah, a white wine please, dry if you have it.” She asked, “Uh, I don’t suppose you know where I ought to go for the meeting tonight? This is my first time…”
“Sure honey, back room marked private, near the ladies room.” She smiled handing Juliet the drink. Slipping the barmaid a 10, Juliet thanked her and made her way towards the rear of the bar. Finding the door as described, she waited for a moment, wondering if she ought to knock….
“Just go in hon. We don’t bite.” Smiled an older woman in a pink dress that had appeared behind her from the restroom.
Juliet pushed the door open and entered the room; it was a small but comfortable place, like a large lounge… sofas and chairs made a rough circle, and there were small clusters of people chatting amongst themselves.
Despite the fact she clearly belonged here… Juliet felt extremely awkward. She was by far the youngest present by 10 years at least…. The others all seemed to be engrossed in their conversations, and she really didn’t want to approach anyone…
“Hi there.”
Juliet turned to see a middle-aged woman in a cardigan and ankle length skirt, wavy auburn hair cascading down to her shoulders and tiny rimless glasses.
“My name is Hillary, and I’m the group coordinator. “Your first time here?” she smiled warmly.
Hillary was clearly transgender, her large frame and dark shadow marring her otherwise feminine appearance.
“Ah, yes,” she blushed. “I saw your group advertised online… I hope its ok I came?”
“Sure sweetie, we always welcome new members… Do you have a name you’d prefer we use?”
“Juliet.” She answered. Hilary looked confused for a moment then smiled broadly. “Why don’t you take a seat over here and we’ll get started huh?” she smiled gesturing to a sofa.
“Ok everyone, lets get started.” She announced loudly clapping her hands for attention.
Once the group was seated, they began going around, giving their names, how old they were, and why they had come. A lot were cross dressers Juliet found out.
Finally, it came to her turn. Taking a deep gulp from her wine to calm her nerves, Juliet stood.
“Hi, my name is Juliet, and I’m 23, and I…. ah, I guess I’m here because I’m transsexual.” She blushed, rushing to sit down again.
“Hey don’t be nervous sweetie.” rumbled the one woman mountain to her left, “Tell us some more about you.”
Smiling sheepishly, she continued. “Well, uh, I guess I felt different from a young age…. I know it’s a cliché.” She continued, rolling her eyes, “But I guess I always felt that way, like my body was wrong, you know?”
Most of the group smiled and nodded in agreement.
“I went to college at Michigan state…. I’ve been working for the….” At the last moment, it struck her that the truth may not be a good idea. “A law firm in DC, I’m a legal secretary.” She improvised. “I guess I want to start being me, like, all the time, and I didn’t really know where to begin… she continued sheepishly. “I mean not this.” She gestured plucking at her dress, “But like, properly, surgery and stuff.”
“Well I’m glad you came along Juliet.” smiled Hilary warmly. “Would you like to tell the group why you feel you’re a man? We really don’t get many female to male transsexual people here.”
Juliet stared for a moment. “Female to male?” she stammered, “Nooo, I want to be a girl!”
Realisation dawned in Hillary’s eyes, along with several others in the group. “You mean you’re ah, physically a boy?” Hillary continued slowly, as if trying to wrap her head around the idea.
Juliet nodded sadly. “This is like the first time I ever came out dressed as me.” She answered quietly.
“Well you sure are pretty hon, you got us all thinking you were a Genetic gal.” intoned a fairly pretty woman in her mid 30s who looked as if she had come straight from the office.
The realisation of what the group had thought made Juliet blush deeply again. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She mumbled quietly.
“Don’t be hon, you’re lucky.” Hillary smiled. “We can talk more in the smaller group work,” she said smiling at the next person in the circle to say their piece.
Later that evening, Juliet was sat in a booth with 6 others from the group having a drink. She had switched to coke after the one glass, not wanting to drink and drive. The meeting had been interesting, but not a word said about the murder…. Juliet knew the community was very tight nit… they would all know… she just had to bring it up.
“I’m sorta scared to do this.” She said sorrowfully to the group, “After hearing about that transsexual woman’s murder, I sort of don’t feel save.”
“Oh, poor Sharon Braskin? That was awful.” Agreed Stacey, one of the cross dressers at the meeting. “Between her and the others, this place aint safe no more.”
“Others?” asked Juliet, her heart skipping a beat. “There have been more? Here?”
“Uhuh.” nodded Stacey taking a swig from her beer. “Five in the last 3 months, it’s like open season on transwomen…”
“Why haven’t the police been searching for anyone? I mean… five is a lot… the guy has got to have left clues….”
“One guy? Hon, the cases were all different, it’s just people hate us… and hate turns to violence, girls get discovered and attacked a lot.” Marie added. “Beatings, stabbings, shootings, drownings, plus a few more accidents… I don’t know… it’s awful suspicious.”
“Hah, you hear about the cop that was in Rainbow yesterday? Crystal giggled. “He was Soooooo embaraced to be in there…. I swear he was terrified we’d all come onto him and infect him with trannyitis…. He was askin’ about Sharon, and who knew her, but nobody talked… asshole cops do no good…. They won’t now… they just make a show of tryin’ to help when all they are doin’ is marking us out to abuse us themselves…. All cops are fucking bigots.” She sneered.
Juliet was shocked by the attitudes towards the law enforcement community… but she didn’t exactly think it was unfounded… There was a long history of bad blood between the transgender community and police. Either way... the news shocked her. So many deaths in a short period were not coincidence, such thing didn’t exist… at least so Gibbs said… one of his rules… Juliet forgot which…. She had to get the office and work on what she had found out…. Storing the information in her mind, she went back to the topics at hand, the makeup, the fashion, the special girl world that just oozed pink like a weeping sore…
Saying her goodbyes, Juliet left the final remnants of the meeting, drinking their night away in Sally’s, and began the drive back to DC. At least 5 more murders in the area… along with several more suspicious deaths and ‘accidents’. It wasn’t hard to connect the dots…. In College, they had studied the theory of serial killers… Sure, the psychopaths, and fetish driven killers got the media, but it was the driven ones that caused the most damage. The quiet, calculating ones… Whoever was behind this, was not stupid, a phenomenon of the forensic TV shows was the changing MO…. Killers watched shows like CSI and realised their patterns gave them away… and soon. The intelligent ones started adapting… varying their methods and habits to avoid detection for longer….
Hitting speed dial on her cell, she slipped the earpiece into her ear and waited….
“Hello?”
“Hi, Ziva, it’s ah, Toby. Can you spare a moment?”
“Mm, sure,” she answered cautiously, “What’s on your mind?”
“I think I hit a breakthrough in the case… I need some help…” He replied.
“Oh? Ah, Sure… You sound like you’re driving…. Why don’t you come straight over to my apartment? We can talk… its better than over the phone…”
Juliet’s heart jumped. “Ah, Ziva, I can’t…. I’m…. I… I ought to go home and change first.”
“Why?” She asked curiously.
“I’m just coming back from the transgender bar in Norfolk… one of them… I was sort of doing some investigation…. Ah, undercover… or not I guess… Don’t tell Gibbs please…”
“Ah,” she sighed, “I understand. Don’t be silly, its only clothes, come on over anyway I’m sure you look cute.”
Blushing to her roots, Juliet agreed, and entered the proffered address into the car’s satnav.
Juliet pulled the car into a space on the street outside Ziva’s building. It was in a fairly nice part of DC, on a street lined with similar mid market apartments and cafes. Getting out, she made her way up the steps and pressed the buzzer for Ziva David’s apartment.
“Yes?” came the tinny response.
“Ah, Hi, Ziva, it’s me….”
“Me who?
“Ju, ah, Toby.” She said trying to be quiet; to avoid people overhearing her using that name… dressed as she was.
“Ooh, ok, come on up.”
Juliet climbed up to the second floor and knocked on Ziva’s door. After a moment, the Israeli opened her door. Juliet could see she had not interrupted any serious plans… judging by the bare feet, sweatpants, and university tee-shirt.
“Hel….” She began, as her eyes fell on Juliet. “Oh wow, you weren’t kidding…” she trailed off. “Come in.”
Juliet walked into the apartment; she could feel Ziva’s eyes all over her as she hung her coat on the stand. The apartment was small but cosy, the personal touches giving the place a very homely feel.
“I just can’t get over how….like a woman you look…” Ziva murmured thoughtfully. “I mean I knew you would look better than Tony but… I did not expect this….
“Ok, I feel really comfortable now.” Juliet scowled.
“I am sorry.” Ziva smiled apologetically. “I knew… but you… yeah… I mean… you do look like a woman…. A very pretty woman.” She added, raising her eyebrows in punctuation.
Juliet blushed, “Thanks I guess, still, you can’t tell anyone you know… or anything…” she pleaded. “It would kill my career.”
“Nonsense.” Ziva said shaking her head. “The United states is not so backward I think…. Especially a federal agency… But it is your life….” She shrugged, making her way into the kitchen. “Would you like a glass of wine before we get down to work?”
Juliet thought about the two she had consumed tonight… and whether she should…. Blocking the thought from her mind, she accepted; she had earned it tonight….
Sitting down in the living room, she told Ziva everything that she had learned that evening. Ziva looked thoughtful.
“You are right…..” she mused. “This is all too coincidental, we will get the records of all of these deaths tomorrow… and try and find a pattern, or something…. It has to be connected.”
Juliet sipped her second glass, “How do we explain to Gibbs how I found all this out? He’s not stupid…. And he will know how Tony got on… why would I fair any better? The newbie?”
“We tell him the truth of course… Well, a modified form….
Juliet looked at Ziva with a forlorn expression. “What’s that then? I accidentally, totally not my fault, slipped and fell into a dress and makeup that was perilously left lying around and accidentally forgot to notice?
“It was my idea.” Ziva grinned. “I convinced you to dress in some of my clothes, and go to the bar… we are the same size mostly…. So it works…. I stayed in contact with you, and we sent you in… undercover… we knew they would talk to one of their own… we had a hunch… Gibbs likes it when we take the initiative….”
As much as she hated to admit it, it might actually work…
“And tomorrow, we can use it again….”
“Yeah, ok, that might work.” Juliet mumbled to herself, “Wait… WHAT? Tomorrow? Noooooo” she pleaded desperately. “No way can I do this in front of them….”
“Sure you can.” Ziva grinned. We need to investigate this angle further…. And they will open up more to two women…. Or… at least a woman they think is one of them…”
“Tony is going to hate me.” Juliet sighed dejectedly. “And Gibbs will think I’m a fairy.”
“Well you are not, and he is not so closed minded I think.” She smiled reassuringly. “That man is more than most understand.”
“Well you are no man, so you can stop complaining…” Ziva grinned.
Juliet smiled sarcastically. “You aren’t the one this means everything to… its not some game…”
“I know Motek (Sweetie, Hebrew) she whispered softly, a caring look in her eyes. “Believe me when I say I do not want to hurt you, or see you laughed at… I do want to help you, And if anything, this may open their eyes to you as a female….plant the suggestion in their minds that this is more normal than the old you… lets be honest, he was not much of a Tony….
Juliet giggled. Ziva was right, she sucked at being a man, why bother trying? If she could weasel some time at work in as herself, I would be a dream moment she could savour… even if it didn’t last…
“Ok, I’ll do it.” She smiled, bunching up her resolve.
“That’s the spirit.” Ziva smiled. “But we will need a name for you…..”
“Well I used Juliet Stone at the meeting…. Plus Juliet is the name I think of as mine….” She answered blushing.
Ziva regarded her for a moment, “It suits you.” She smiled. “Anyway, I think it is time to call this a night, it’s an early start for us. I’d offer to drive you home… but I think neither of us is in a state to drive, yes?”
Ziva’s comment flipped a switch in Juliet’s head, she suddenly realised how much she had drunk…
“You can share with me…” Ziva offered. “My sofa… it is not the most comfortable…” she shrugged sheepishly.
“Oh thank you, but ill take the sofa.” Juliet replied, “I really don’t mind.”
Ziva cocked her head, “What do you think of Tony? Apart from when he opens his mouth? She smirked.
Juliet thought for a moment. “He’s gorgeous…. Funny, well dressed, sexy…” she sighed wistfully “Till he opens his mouth.” She giggled.
Ziva nodded, and removed her tee-shirt, standing there in bra and sweatpants. “What about this, me? Physically I mean?” she gestured at herself.
Blushing, Juliet just shrugged. “You’re pretty? You clearly work out….I dunno?” she replied.
Ziva nodded grinning. “My point exactly, you will share with me… and I will hear no more arguments. Ok?”
Juliet shrugged, conceding the point.
Flipping off the lights, Ziva lead Juliet into her room and the two washed up before getting ready for bed.
“Ah, Ziva?” Juliet called from the bathroom. “I don’t have anything to wear?”
“Just wear your bra and panties.” She called back. “It’s not like I haven’t seen any before.”
Shrugging, Juliet returned from the bathroom, her dress and tights in hand.
Ziva was brushing her hair on the bed when she entered, the boggle eye expression returned…
“What?” she asked defensively, wondering if something was amiss….
“You have breasts…. “Ziva replied flatly, her eyes never leaving Juliet’s chest.
“Sure, doesn’t every girl?” Smirked Juliet, pleased to finally have the upper hand in something.
“But you…. I thought…. Arg! I’m confused!” Ziva cried with mock sorrow.
“Hormone pills.” Juliet shrugged. “I’ve been getting them online for like, 8 months now.”
Ziva’s eyes flashed in understanding, before she broke out in giggles. “Well we had best find something that covers them tomorrow…. We do not need questions on your speedy puberty I think…”
Descending into adolescent silliness, the pair chatted for a short while before finally falling asleep.
Juliet felt happier than she had ever before in her life…
Alyssa
“Tobias, I need a favour,” Gibbs asked on hearing the phone pick up.
“Hello to you too, Jethro.”
“I need to you pick up a case from your agency's end, My team has been running it for the past few weeks.”
“Ah,” chuckled Fornell “Who’s toes have you been pissing on this time?”
“Yours,” And you are less likely to throw a punch over it, Tobias.”
Agent Fornell sighed. “Fine, what is it?”
“Maybe I could ask the same question?” she purred.'
/
'Flicking through the listings, Juliet found a meeting in Downtown Norfolk at a bar called Sally’s, it was five blocks over from the scene, and she was sure there would be a great deal of gossip… and it was meeting tonight.
It took a moment of soul searching to convince herself to do it, but she knew that her life had changed irreversibly. She couldn’t hide anymore, and she had to do this, for herself, and for the young lieutenant. Of course, her source of any information and method of obtaining it would remain her secret–Gibbs would understand that? Right?'
The Conclusion....
The next morning, Juliet dug deeper into her pillow as the alarm clock began screeching… It seemed aweful early… ugh, she didn’t want to leave the bed. Something felt odd–there was a warm presence in the bed beside her. What had she done?
“Murfph,” she mumbled.
“It’s 0400–it’s when I get up,” mumbled Ziva sleepily from beside her.
The sound of her friend’s voice brought the entire night swimming back to Juliet, the fear subsided somewhat, only to be replaced with a pressing need for the bathroom. Slipping her feet off the bed, she sat up and stretched in a catlike manner, yawning deeply. Then she made her way to the bathroom and relieved herself. As she was washing up, Ziva followed her in and dropped her shorts with complete indifference. Juliet began to blush furiously again.
“Pop in the shower, and I’ll find something breakfasty…. I usually eat on the way to work.” Ziva announced, flushing the loo. “Then we can get you sorted out, and into the office, yes?”
“I’m not sure.” Juliet began taking the offered towel. “What reason do we have for my being there? I mean… like this?” she shrugged, gesturing at her bra and panties.
“Well I would hope you are not going to the office in that–” Ziva chuckled, “Tony may not be able to function.”
“Ugh, you know what I mean…” Juliet scowled. “How do we explain it?”
“I was thinking…last night…” Ziva called as she slipped back into her bedroom. “This is your first time doing this. Well no, second… Either way, you are not expected to be natural I think? Perhaps practice is a good reason? Yes?” she replied sticking her head around the door. “Trust me.” She grinned before vanishing again. Juliet stepped into the shower, she wondered if trusting someone who killed for a living was a good idea…..
Juliet made her way back into the bedroom wrapped in the towel Ziva had given her. A set of clothes lay on the bed with a Post-it note on the top.
‘Juliet, wear this.’
Shrugging, she removed the note and held up the first item, it was a angora sweater in a deep merlot, that had a wide shallow boat neck that reached nearly from shoulder to shoulder. Juliet rubbed the fabric between her fingers, it felt gorgeous… Placing the sweater down, she picked up the skirt bellow. It was knee length and charcoal grey with a short slit on the right hand side that stopped a few inches above the hem. A skirt… great… She could see Ziva’s logic, a skirt would help with the supposed ‘getting in character’ charade, but she didn’t like the idea of it… not around work…
With resignation, she let the towel drop, and slipped on her underwear, followed by the clothes, and the unopened packet of opaque pantyhose beside them. Ziva clearly wasn’t a skirts girl… Happy that everything fitted, she retrieved her purse, and applied a light foundation and a spot of liner and mascara in the bathroom mirror, before making her way into the kitchen to find Ziva.
“It all fitted ok?” Ziva asked without looking up from the stove.
“Yeah.” Replied Juliet absentmindedly, slipping onto one of the breakfast bar stools. “You really wanted me in at the deep end didn’t you?”
“Well I thought it would reinforce things…” She shrugged, finally turning around. “Ah, you did your makeup… good.” She grinned, munching on a slice of toast. “We can pretend I did it…” She smiled, sliding a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of Juliet, before leaving the kitchen to get dressed herself.
Juliet ate quietly, she wasn’t hungry–she was too nervous–but she knew it would be a long day; it always was in NCIS. She couldn’t remember a day since the academy when she had been able to eat at regular times, a habitual breakfast-skipper during college, she had fast learned to change her routine. At first, Ziva had seemed quite closed; a very independent person who rarely let her guard down, but Juliet had seen another side: she actually cared about people, she was funny, a good listener, and sensitive, despite her protestations otherwise. A very different woman to the one he had heard referred to as ‘Gibbs’ attack dog’.
“You ok?” Ziva asked, appearing at Juliet’s shoulder.
Juliet nodded, pushing her plate away from herself. “It was delicious, thank you. We ready to go?”
Ziva nodded and handed her a bag with her dress and boots in. “Wear these.” She said, handing Juliet a pair of flat court shoes. “If Gibbs sees you in those furry things he will know something is missing, no, amiss, yes… id never be seen dead in them…” she laughed.
“I like my Ugg boots,” she replied defensively, pouting like someone had taken away her favourite doll.
Following Ziva out of the house, she left the bag in her own car, before joining Ziva in hers for the drive to work. According to her, it would allow the pretence more depth, and she didn’t know how the marines on gate guard would deal with her presentation and ID.
Pulling into the gates of the navy yard, Juliet felt a pang of fear: Marines didn’t tend to be the most open minded and sensitive types. At least not the ones she had met; what if they made a scene? Arrested her?
Pulling up to the guard station, Ziva rolled down her window and flashed her ID badge, and through they rolled. A cursory flash of her ID badge at the security guard on the main door of the NCIS building and she was in the lift up to the squad room with Ziva.
“Any other day, I’d be concerned about the lax security.” Juliet Sighed with relief as the doors closed.
“Its not lax.” Replied Ziva Calmly. “They recognise you… and you’re with me.” She shrugged.
“Recognise me? What the hell?” replied Juliet with a hint of fear. “What if they tell someone?”
“Relax little one.” Ziva chuckled. “They see that long blonde haired agent that is working with Special Agent Gibbs’ team. People really don’t look so closely in an organisation this size….
Anthony Dinozzo strolled into the squad room at six am, still half asleep. Although walking past Agent Felton using the photocopier had soon dealt with that. Damn, federal agents just kept getting hotter he mused to himself as he slung his briefcase on the shelf behind his desk and dumped himself into his chair. Ziva was chatting to an attractive blonde he hadn’t seen around before, the two of them were sat at her desk, talking quietly together. Tony knew he really ought to mind his own business, but the childish desire to know what Ziva was upto was too much, and a chance to talk to the little nymph wouldn’t go a miss…. It was early, but he liked to get a good workout before breakfast…
Slipping out of his chair, he smoothed his jacket before approaching the pair.
“So.” He announced, making his presence known. “How is my favourite Israeli National this fine November morning?” He beamed broadly as he craned his neck in an attempt to catch sight of the computer screen.
“Nothing Tony.” Ziva replied calmly, “Just the case.” She replied with a sly grin, catching her companion’s eyes.
“Who’s this?” Tony beamed, turning to the other woman. “Special Agent Anthony Dinozzo… I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”
The blonde blushed shyly and before she could open her mouth Ziva interjected;
“Tony, This is Detective Benson from Norfolk PD, she’s helping me with some investigations.”
The attractive little thing was a cop? Now he was interested…
Juliet looked at Tony for a moment, he genuinely didn’t see it was her… or him… whatever…
“Juliet Benson.” She smiled, offering her hand. “I’m working with Officer David on your current case. We have reason to suspect that it is not isolated. And after speaking with NPD, we want NCIS to take the case… We’re snowed under.” She shrugged apologetically.
Of course, they had spoken to the head of homicide over at NPD, but the little ruse was becoming more amusing by the moment, and Juliet found herself liking the way Tony looked at her.
Tony smiled. “How so?”
“Well we found a number of other murders of transgendered individuals in the area, different MOs, locations, but it’s all too coincidental. Your Officer David and another… Agent Samson? Spotted this link and phoned us this morning.” Juliet continued with all seriousness, while Ziva found herself struggling to not laugh.
“Well if you like, we could discuss the case over dinner tonight?” Tony beamed, oozing sugar. “Say about 9? At your place?”
“I ah, Sorry.” Juliet mumbled. Tony was trying to pick her up? Was this how much of a manwhore he really was? “I’m busy.” She shrugged. “Another time.”
Unwilling to let it go, Tony was about to open his mouth when the elevator chimed, announcing its arrival. Gibbs strode into the squadroom, his drug of choice in hand, just like any other morning…
With a scowl, Tony vanished back to his desk.
“David, Samson.” He called, “What was the urgent voicemail on my machine about?”
“You have a machine Boss?” Tony asked incredulously.
Ziva bounced to her feet and approached Gibbs’ desk. “Sir, we had a breakthrough in the case… We did some legwork and we think this case is bigger than originally thought… We called NPD, and they signed over a number of other cases to us, that we think, is the same guy…. Twelve to be exact…”
“You had better have a good explanation for keeping us on this till Christmas David…” And what’s my probie doing in your clothes?”
“Undercover Boss, we sent him in and got what To… ah, we couldn’t before…”
Tony didn’t quite hear right… Gibbs was talking as if the squirt was in the office… now. Ziva’s clothes….? No….. He couldn’t…. Tony swung around and looked at Detective Benson. No….
“Probie?” he asked with uncertainty.
Juliet blushed fiercely and looked at the floor, unable to say anything. Oh no… He was never going to live this down. A third strike… and with their own probie… FUCK!
“I sure as hell hope someone is going to explain this to me….” He moaned, rubbing his temples, his head down on his desk.
“Agent Samson Agreed to do that? Why is he still wearing them?” Gibbs asked, looking over Juliet.
“Well we figured that they would open up to one of their own…” Juliet began. And Ziva convinced me it would work… so… we’re about the same size…” She trailed off.
Gibbs cast his gaze over the Israeli Agent. “And he’s in your clothes still because….”
“Ah, well we need to use this direction further… and we agreed that he needed more practice… so… yes.” Ziva answered.
“Fine,” Gibbs muttered through a mouthful of coffee.
Juliet looked at Ziva with an expression of utter relief. They were partly out of the woods…. Casting a furtive eye at Tony’s desk, she returned to her own and began running through some of the case files.
Tony couldn’t stop staring at the Probie…. He knew he was a guy, but damn, it was had to see that. He had really never looked at the agent before he realised, that odd feeling he had felt on first meeting them was explained… She, he, it… looked like a pretty girl…. No wonder he felt weird vibes. The guy was probably getting off on wearing ziva’s clothes he thought to himself as he opened his email.
By lunchtime, Ziva and Juliet had compiled what they had found, and presented it to the rest of the team. They had identified 9 of the unsolved cases as possibles. The other 3, two of which were accidents didn’t fit the pattern, one was a multiple beating, and two… well, they were definitely accidents on further investigation. Mapping the 10 cases they had, gave them a startling pattern that any investigator would have missed had they not known the cases linked. All were centred around Sally’s bar in downtown Norfolk, all had been in the bar on the night of their death, and all were pretty and young… the most worrying feature that had been utterly missed, was all had been members of the same support group… The one Juliet had just joined.
As they finished, Juliet felt the eyes of the entire team on her. Not only had she made the break on her first case, but she was pretty sure she was the one that would solve it…
“Here’s what we will do.” Gibbs announced slowly. “Samson will return to the bar, each night after work, Ziva will shadow you when you leave, Tony will be nearby in a car, for fast response. We’re going to dangle you… and hope he bites. The guy isn’t stupid.” He growled. “So you….” He nodded at Ziva, “On your best misbehaviour.”
The Israeli Nodded curtly.
As much as this seems a strange idea, If you’re willing Toby, we need Ziva to… enhance… your appearance…” The bait needs to be enticing.” Gibbs said slowly, watching the probationary agent’s expression closely.
“So you want me to spend between now and whenever, as a woman… and get things done to me? So I’m more attractive?” Juliet asked quietly…. Hoping she added as much uncertainty as possible.
“If you’re willing.” Gibbs nodded. And if this pays off, I’ll personally recommend to the Director you’re taken off probationary Agent status pending completion of this case…”
“Ah,” Juliet mumbled uncertainly. “Ok, I’ll do it.”
Gibbs nodded his thanks. “You…. Take him… her… Go deal with this…” Gibbs gestured embarrassedly at Ziva and got up to leave. “I’m going to go OK some budget malleability with the Director. Don’t go TOO wild on the card.” He said, tossing the Agency credit card to Ziva with just the slightest faint crease of a smile.
As Gibbs left the room, Tony slipped over to Juliet’s desk.
“Look man, I’m sorry about before ok? Can we pretend that didn’t happen?” he asked quietly, colour coming to his cheeks.
Juliet regarded the man, “Ok,” she replied. Its not like I want to do this really… but… I won’t be a probie… It sounds worth it…”
Tony nodded. “Yeah, it’s the fast track out of the dumps for sure, but man, you’ve got more balls than I have to do this….”
Ziva patted Tony on the shoulder making him jump.
“I’m surprised you did not volunteer for this assignment Tony.” She smirked. “I thought you loved getting inside women’s pants?”
Dinozzo rose to his full height and stared down at Ziva. “Only if you’re still in them.” Tony grinned, and turned to leave.
“Probie… I want Full details of your girly afternoon with Ziva… or I’ll make your life living hell… Probie or not…” he grinned, before returning to his work.
“Let’s go.” Ziva said, rolling her eyes. “Before he asks you to take photographs also.”
Ziva lead Juliet to the elevator and hit one of the lowest buttons.
“Where are we going?” Juliet asked, they were heading down to the Evidence garage and forensics…
“We need a little assistance.” Ziva smiled. “I’m afraid we need extra assistance… Our Forensics tech, Abbi… she is… ah, better at this than me…”
Juliet shrugged and waited for the lift to arrive.
As they entered the Forensics lab, Juliet was greeted by the sight of a dancing goth in a white lab coat.
Slightly taken aback, she hesitated by the door. The goth spun on her 4 inch thick boots and regarded her for a moment. “Who are you?” She asked curiously.
“I ah….” Juliet began, looking at Ziva for help.
“This is Agent Samson, she smiled. A new face.”
“Really?” replied the goth curiously, furrowing her brow. “Aren’t you meant to be a guy?”
Juliet blushed more than she thought physically possible.
The tall goth looked at her for a moment. “Ooh.”
“Abbi, this is Juliet Samson, She is assigned to our team for the time being.”
“Am I missing something? I may not have had enough caffeine today but there is so definitely something absent in this explanation…. Abbi asked, wagging a finger at Ziva. “Does Gibbs know about this?”
Ziva smiled before proceeding to fill the girl in on the entire sordid plan, with selective levels of truth in certain areas.
Abbi looked at the young agent that was quietly looking over her machines as Ziva talked. Was this some big joke on her? Was this Tony? There was no way this was a guy… and no way it was reluctant or the first time….
“Wow.” She breathed. “So Gibbs gave you the card and carte blanche? Can I come?”
“We had hoped so Abbi.” Ziva smiled. “You are more the expert I think. Just…. Try to remember she has to be a federal agent afterwards….” Ziva grinned.
Abbi pouted, “At least one tattoo right?” And ill go easy on the piercings….”
Juliet looked shock for a moment till she realised that the woman was joking, and the three burst out laughing. Stripping off her lab coat, Abbi joined the two as they left the headquarters building to make their way into DC to begin their unusual mission…
Several hours later, A very different young woman walked through the foyer of the NCIS building. Between the three of them, they had eaten a decent sized chunk into the NCIS annual budget in the name of justice. Juliet had acquired a wardrobe suitable for a young legal secretary, as her cover dictated, and her appearance was flawless: Her hair had been trimmed and she had been given undeniably feminine bangs that split above her left eye, the majority of which was tucked behind her diamond studded ears. Her eyebrows were delicate feminine arches, and her nails were the envy of any DC professional woman. The Tailored pantsuit and leather boots finished an image that would stop a man at 10 paces more effectively than a 9mm bullet.
“Ma’am, you’re going to have to sign in.” The desk clerk called as they made their way towards the elevator.
Juliet turned to look at Ziva questioningly, unsure whether to admit that she worked there…
“She is on Special Agent Gibb’s Team Markus, a probie. Her ID is not ready yet.” Ziva waved dismissively to the security guard, collecting a visitor’s pass from the bowl on the desk. “I will drop this off later.” She called waving the badge over her shoulder as she returned to the others.
“You know, if you are going to be a federal agent, you really must learn to be more assertive.” She mentioned, as they stepped into the lift car.
“I want to.” Juliet admitted weakly. “But I’m terrified that they will laugh at me…. Think I’m some sort of freak.” She explained, screwing up her face at the thought.
“Come on sweetie.” Abbi admonished. “Looking like that, nobody’s gonna think you’re a freak, I doubt anyone will recognise you…. I wish Ziva had let me get you that other tattoo….” She replied sadly, pouting at Ziva.
“One was quite enough Abbi.” smirked the Israeli as the lift doors slid open, sounding like a death knell to Juliet’s ears.
“Gibbs!” Abbi yelled as she caught sight of the lead investigator descending the stairs from Mtac. Before he had reached the bottom of the stairs, she had flung her arms around him, and began bouncing like a puppy in her platform boots. “Gibbs, you gotta see this, look what we did.” She beamed gesturing at Juliet. “Isn’t this awesome or what?”
Gibbs regarded Juliet for a moment. She could feel his eyes scanning her body, head to foot as she stood there.
“Good.” He nodded, before returning to fending off a jabbering Abbi as he made his way back to his desk.
Juliet just stood transfixed to the spot. ‘good’? that was it? Her whole afternoon. The worry, the doubt, and all he can say is good?
Juliet scowled, but turned quickly as she heard Ziva chuckle beside her.
“Get used to it.” She chuckled. “They rarely ever compliment you properly unless they want something.”
Juliet nodded ruefully. “I wonder if they will forget I was a guy.” She sighed.
“Were you even a guy to start with?” asked Dinozzo from behind her with a curious grin. “I’m beginning to wonder if you were a woman all along, and this is some big joke.”
Pushing Dinozzo, Ziva glared at him. “You can always trade places if you want Tony, I’m sure you’d make a more convincing transsexual.”
Before Juliet could catch his expression, the agent had vanished back to his desk and was furiously typing away.
“What If I am too convincing for this?” She asked Ziva cautiously. “What if this is all just useless?”
“Looking at the victim profiles, you fit perfectly.” Gibbs reasoned. “You make some friends in the community, become known as transsexual, and hopefully he will bite.” Gibbs replied calmly, appearing from nowhere. “Don’t worry.” He added in a softer tone than his reputation allowed. “We will keep you safe.”
“Any sign tonight?” called Tony tiredly over the radio to Ziva, who was lurking in the shadows of the parking lot opposite Sally’s bar. It was the eleventh night of their under cover operation, and there had been no bites as yet. Juliet had been accepted by the community as one of their own, and frequented Sally’s bar on a nightly basis. The date of the second support group meeting was approaching, and the team had stepped up surveillance.
“Nothing.” Ziva replied quietly. “She is drinking at the bar with two people, two men have attempted to chat her up, both unsuccessful.”
“Don’t you think he’s fallen into that role far too easily?” Tony asked, clicking off the radio button to await Ziva’s response.
She paused for a second before replying; “He is a good Agent, he is doing his job.” She answered vaguely.
“Do you think after we net this guy he will be just one of the guys? You’ve got to see this has become more than an act…. How do you even let him use the ladies room at the office?”
“Would you rather he use the men’s room looking like that?” She replied tersely. Dinozzo’s attitudes would get him in trouble one day….
Juliet sipped the coke she had ordered slowly. The past fortnight had been strange…. Nearly everyone at work had begun to accept her as just another woman, of course, the ones that knew…. The rest had simply taken her at face value. She truly wondered if she would have to return to being male after the case was over. She prayed that she didn’t. The behaviours and mannerisms that she now used had been so deeply engrained in her psyche that she felt awkward behaving any differently.
Gibbs and Ziva had given her special classes in the gym to teach her advanced hand to hand combat, highly supplementary to the agency standard training, but few probationary agents ever ended up in this position she thought. Gibbs hadn’t batted an eyelid when she had turned up to training in a sports bra, shorts and vest, like Ziva, her cleavage far from hidden. The senior agent had seemingly accepted her as much as the others. Perhaps her former maleness was simply out of sight and mind?
“Can’t I get you anything stronger?” offered Marie, the bargirl, resting her chin on her palm. “You really look like you could use it.”
Juliet shook her head softly. “No thank you, I have to drive.” She replied softly, still deep in thought. “I’m sort of looking forward to next Monday.” She thought aloud. “I could really do with that meeting again.”
Marie nodded as she wiped the bar surface. “It’s a good group, they do a lot of good.” She agreed. “Not many of you pretty things around or this place would be crawlin with men looking to score.”
“There are guys who like… girls like me?” Juliet asked curiously. “Aren’t we just like normal girls though?”
Marie shook her head, “No, you aint honey, you got that thing between your legs with drags all the closet fags out to come sniffin around wanting a bit of deniable cock.” She chuckled. “You pretty young naive things are the worst, pretending to be all innocent and pure when really you bring those guys on.” She almost growled, shocking Juliet. Marie’s expression flashed back to pleasant once more. “You are into guys aintcha hon?”
“I…. Yeah, I think so.” Juliet mused quietly. “But only a guy who saw me as a girl, not what you said…”
Marie nodded, returning to her work.
Juliet said her goodbyes, and made her way out of the bar. The woman’s reaction had been strange. The things she had said about girls like her resonated in her mind over and over. Pretty girls like her, leading guys on? Something for the morning she mused as she slipped into her car and buckled up.
Arriving back at her apartment, Juliet let herself in and slumped down on the Sofa, these long days were killing her. She was working 16 hour days thanks to this case, although the overtime was nice, she barely saw her apartment. The changes that had taken place there were astounding though. Her bedroom was covered in girls clothes, her few items of male clothing were at the back of a wardrobe somewhere, she wasn’t even sure anymore. Little touches had crept around the place from her life as a working woman, The makeup in the bathroom, the coats on the rack by the door, her handbag on the kitchen counter, the magazines all over the coffee table. She wasn’t sure if she would be able to give this up…
Slipping into her room, she unbuttoned her blouse and let it slip from her shoulders as she padded through to the bathroom to do her business. Returning, she added her skirt and hose to the pile on her bed and slipped into a pastel pink cotton cami and a pair of grey sweatpants. Being out of the restrictive clothing felt nice. Slumping down on her sofa she began to unwind in front of the TV.
The knock at her door roused her from her light slumber. Stretching, she looked at the clock, it was 10 pm… she must have dozed off almost immediately. The second knock roused her to her feet, remembering her purpose.
Peering through the spy hole, she saw Tony Dinozzo stood outside the door. “Come on probie, let me in.” he called. “I’m not in a mood to huff and puff.” he called, holding a six pack up to the spy hole, “I come bearing gifts.” He sang playfully.
Juliet shrugged and opened the door. And before she could reply, Tony had walked straight in plopping the beer into her hands.
“You need some guy time Probie.” He said as way of greeting, “I bring beer, ordered pizza, and there’s football on.” He grinned
The grin fell from his face almost immediately as his eyes drifted from Juliet’s shocked expression to the cleavage peeking from the top of her camisole, just above the beer she was holding.
“Are those real?” He asked slowly, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Why are you still dressed like a chick dude?”
“I ah, I…” Juliet mumbled incoherently. “Because I like it.” She sighed heavily. “Ok?” she asked, gaining confidence. “I like being like this, It makes me happy, and I feel more like a god damn human being than some mindless robot living someone else’s life. For the first time in my life I’m happy, and I don’t need any shit from you for it.” She snapped.
Tony stood speechless, gawping at Juliet. “But you’re a guy….” He replied slowly. “You’re…. You have tits… are they fake?” he asked.
Juliet shook her head. “All mine.” She replied, “And I’m not a guy.” She asserted. “I may have been born one, but I’m not, ok?” Tony looked confused for a moment before nodding his head.
Sighing, Juliet shoved the beers into Tony’s hands before pulling one from the pack and pulling the ring pull on the can. “I think I need one of these before I try and explain any more.” She sighed.
Tony followed her mechanically towards the sitting room and stood holding the beer while Juliet slumped down onto one of the sofas. “You don’t have to stand there you know.” She grinned weakly at her colleague. “I don’t bite just because I have breasts.”
“This is a bit…. Different.” Tony admitted sheepishly his usual cockiness notably absent as he pushed aside an issue of Cosmo to set the beer on the coffee table. “You seem so…. Normal…” he shrugged gesturing with his hands and raising his eyebrows. “I mean I’ve really only known you as a girl, but I know you’re a guy… it’s sort of confusing,” he admitted.
Juliet sipped her beer for a moment without replying. Placing it down, she looked at Agent Dinozzo for a second then spoke slowly:
“Why don’t we pretend I’m not? Never was, never will be? The idea of me being a guy makes us both uncomfortable, I feel exactly like you…. So lets both pretend I was born Juliet, and start over?”
Tony looked at her for a moment, as if digesting her words; “You don’t like this? Why do it?”
“Because I didn’t choose this…” She sighed, “I was born this way, I had no choice in this matter ever… Anyway no guy would want to be a girl…. But I never was one ok?… does that make sense?”
Dinozzo cocked his head to one side and stared at her as if thinking. “Yeah, that does actually.” He answered with a slight grin.
“So you’re just my colleague Agent Juliet Samson, and we are just hanging out in your apartment, having a guys, ah, a night in….” he chuckled. “Should I be in here without having bought you dinner first?” he replied grinning cheekily.
“I guess I can make an exception since you at least bought me a drink.” She smiled broadly, raising the can to Tony. “Anyway,” she giggled, “Its not like I don’t enjoy staying in with friends to watch a game. Since when was football appreciation only guy thing?” She laughed with mock indignation.
The two chatted and drank, and ate Pizza while the game played out, but their discussion had made the game seem mundane. Juliet felt Tony was less of an asshole, and that he genuinely could learn to think of her as a girl. And he wasn’t exactly a bad guy when he opened his mouth… not all the time… The pizza and beer dried up, and the party wound down. Around midnight, Tony left Juliet to her bed. There was an awkward moment at the door, but she took the incentive and hugged him goodbye. After a while, the statue hugged her back, and left. It had been a strange but nice evening, and it had added another ally to her fold; better than facing the legal side of things alone…. But that was a while to come she reasoned. For now, there was a job to do.
Coffee in hand, Juliet rode the elevator into the office the next morning with a new vigour. Her heart to heart with Tony had cured her of her only real worry with regards to the team; being able to just fit in. The doors rolled open and she stepped out into the squad room. Another day, another dollar…
“Sir, I want to run a profile on the bartender at Sally’s….” Juliet announced hesitantly as she passed Gibbs’ desk. The Senior agent looked up from the report he was reading, and nodded at her before continuing. She was curious that he didn’t seem to lead her like the other Probies in her class experienced, The man seemed to watch her make her own headway and let her find dead ends and progress. Weather he agreed with her idea or not, she knew he would let her explore it. Maybe he already had this wrapped up? Slipping into her desk Juliet searched Employment tax records for Sally’s bar. Finding the information she wanted, she scanned the list for a Marie.
Finding the right name, she ran the name through every database she could find, credit, tax, education, criminal, DMV to find a picture of the woman that had caught her attention the night before.
Slowly, a picture built up, and it was not what Juliet had wanted. The woman had been married 5 years previously, and divorced 8 months ago, about a month before the first deaths. They had divorced on the grounds of adultery. It didn’t get more specific.
Pushing back her chair, Juliet sighed and ran her hands through her hair. This was leading somewhere, but she had run into another brick wall…
“Ah, Si… Gibbs?” she asked, approaching her boss’s desk. “Is there any way to find a reason for a divorce that isn’t stated without questioning the subject?”
“Ask the attorney. And if they don’t play ball, ask them with a warrant.” He muttered, without looking up from a document he was reading.
Juliet looked over at Ziva and raised her eyebrows. The Israeli had been watching the exchange and just shrugged before reaching for her handbag and grabbing her coat.
“What are you thinking?” Ziva asked as they pulled out of the Navy yard’s main gate.
“I don’t know.” Juliet murmured softly as she waited for a gap in the lunchtime traffic. “But I’m doing what Gibbs said… following my gut.”
Ziva nodded to herself before looking sideways at Juliet, “What is your gut telling you?” she enquired.
“That Marie Svenson left her husband for some reason related to these victims, my gut tells me, he had an affair with a young transgender woman, Marie associates all young transwomen with her husbands lover, and that has built up into what is now, a killing compulsion.. I’m not a physiological expert, but jealousy seems to fit here… and the way she said to me last night that I brought male attention on myself, on purpose, that I was actively seducing seemed to be a slip in her mask… the subject is very tender to her. I want to see if I can get anything off the attorney that filed the case as to why, or what caused it, see if it confirms my suspicions.”
She sighed. “This seems too logical to be this easy…. But I wan t to try.” She admitted, looking over at Ziva with a worried expression. “I really want to stay with you guys, if I solve this, Gibbs might let me stay.” She whispered softly.
Pulling into the parking lot outside the office building in downtown Norfolk, The two Agents made their way into the building and approached the front desk.
“Can I help you ladies?” beamed the pretty receptionist. “We are with NCIS, federal agents.” Ziva began, flashing her badge. “We were wondering if we could speak with one of your attorneys… a Mr Frank Gulf.”
The receptionist looked shocked for a moment, then beamed broadly in an attempt to recover and pressed an intercom button on her desk.
‘Yes?’
“Mr Gulf sir, I have two federal agents here that wish to speak with you, should I send them straight up?” she bubbled.
‘Sure, send them up’ came the slightly tinny reply.
“12th floor, suite 219.” Beamed the receptionist, gesturing towards the elevator.
Ziva followed Juliet into the glistening glass and panelled cube and the two began their climb towards the 12th floor.
“I wonder if secretaries get special effervescence training?” Muttered Juliet.
Ziva chuckled.
Arriving at the 12th floor, the two agents made their way though the building to suite 219. Entering a waiting room, Ziva approached the secretary and coughed to get the woman’s attention, as she was consumed by the dictation she was typing up.
“Officer David, and Agent Samson, we are here to see Mr Gulf?” she asked politely.
“Oh he said to go straight in.” Smiled the woman, returning to her work.
Knocking on the door, Ziva and Juliet entered the office beyond, and approached the desk situated before a beautiful view out over the river.
“Hello ladies, how can I help the federal government today?” Grinned Mr Gulf, rising to shake the agents’ hands.
Looking at Ziva for permission, Juliet cut straight to the point. “We are here about a case of yours, 8 months ago, February 18th, a Woman named Marie Svenson?”
Mr Gulf looked thoughtful for a moment, before grinning broadly, “Yes, I remember the case, Divorce… But I’m sure you brought me a warrant for anything not on public file?” beamed Mr Gulf with more teeth than a dental convention.
“I know.” Juliet sighed, lowering her head and looking at the man through her lashes. “We know the specifics of the case, we just wanted to corroborate Ms Svenson’s reason for the Divorce. We know it was Adultery, but can you tell us anything about Mr Anderson’s lover? That is the reason they split isn’t it? And of course, I don’t think Mr Anderson was your client, or his lover…” She smiled sweetly, brushing her hair out of her eyes, her hand hovering over her breast momentarily, her back slightly arched forwards.
“Quite true.” Grinned the lawyer leaning back in his chair, his eyes not leaving Juliet. “The guy was a bit of a strange one, Gay I guess. He was seeing a tranny… hot little thing. It kind of surprised me.” Chuckled Mr Gulf. “It was at the hearing, I remember he got a bit hot and heavy with it after the divorce was completed…. Guess it takes allsorts huh?”
“So it seems.” Juliet replied hotly. “Thank you for your time Mr Gulf.”
Ziva stood and made her way towards the door, and the two Agents began to leave.
“Wait, Agent Samson, you know… I could remember more over dinner maybe?” He smirked playfully.
“No thank you Mr Gulf, I don’t date bigots.” She replied, whipping her hair around as she swept out of the room leaving the attorney in a daze.
"Where did that come from?” Ziva asked as they were walking back to the car.
“I don’t know.” grinned Juliet. “I guess I just wanted to see if it worked, and I figured I had a supreme slimeball to test it on…”
“You learn fast little one.” Ziva Chuckled. “It seems your gut was correct. We may have another Gibbs on our hands soon…”
“Id like to think I have more hair and a better sense of style.” Grinned Juliet as she ducked into the driver’s seat.
“So what do we tell the Boss?” Juliet asked as she navigated the DC rush-hour traffic.
“Exactly what we know.” Ziva answered. “We tell him we have a suspect, Its likely that suspect will strike soon, and she has locked onto you as a potential target. You fit her profile, you have spoken with her, That puts you quite high on their list of potential victims. Especially since you are new… your innocence already angered this woman once, we test it again tonight, hopefully with more support.” Ziva concluded. “If nothing else, We will bring her in for questioning.”
Juliet felt truly worried for the first time since the case had begun. Tonight was her proving ground. Biting her lip, she forced her self to concentrate on the snarling traffic.
Gibbs put the phone down in the cradle on his desk and reached for his coffee cup. Empty… “Damn.” He sighed.
“Dinozzo.” He barked. “Get me a refill.” He called shaking the empty cup before throwing it in the trash. “And ask Duckie to come up here please.” He sighed as he walked out of the office, leaving a bemused Dinozzo behind.
As usual, Gibbs didn’t knock when he marched through the Director’s waiting room and straight into Director Vance’s office.
“Jethro,” Smiled Vance sarcastically. “You know we invented doors so that people could knock.”
Gibbs ignored the dig and glared at the director. “The Dead lieutenant case that blew up, we have a distinct possibility of it going down tonight. I want your permission to involve the FBI and HRT.”
“To the point as usual.” Smiled Vance rocking back on his leather chair. “I’ll call the director, grease some wheels, Isn’t HRT a bit excessive for one person? Surely force is the FBI’s to apply where appropriate… surely we should….”
“No.” Gibbs cut him off with a growl. “I have my probationary agent undercover. They are the perfect victim for this character, I’m not taking chances with a member of my team. You took away Mcgee, you owe me Leon….”
Director Vance sighed. “Fine Jethro, just don’t come complaining to me when you have whichever agent they send nipping at your heels again over Jurisdictional control.”
Before the sentence had finished, Gibbs had left. As he left the office, past the secretary that had given up trying to stop him many months ago, he pulled out his cell and hit the speed dial for Special Agent Tobias Fornell.
“Tobias. I need a favour.” Gibbs asked on hearing the phone pick up.
“Hello to you too Jethro.”
“I need to you pick up a case from your agencies end, My team has been running it for the past few weeks.”
“Ah,” chuckled Fornell “Who’s toes have you been pissing on this time?”
“Yours,” And you are less likely to throw a punch over it Tobias.”
Agent Fornell sighed. “Fine, what is it?”
Juliet Unlocked the door to her apartment and let herself and Ziva in. There was no point heading back to the office just to come back. Ziva had rung Agent Gibbs and hopefully things were happening at his end.
“Do we have any earwigs?” Juliet called as she entered her bedroom and began to undress. “I’d really like some sort of communication with everyone else tonight.”
“I will ask Gibbs To bring some when they come down.” Ziva replied from the sitting room. “They are mobilising back at headquarters.”
Juliet decided vulnerable was the order of play tonight… Anything to encourage Marie Svenson to act… if they were right. Finding the perfect pale blue dress, she laid it on the bed, before selecting some opaque hose, she set about changing her underwear. It was a silly idea, but she figured that if she were to be killed tonight, it would most likely happen in dirty clothes…. Plus she couldn’t bear the thought of being found dead in mismatched undies… Sods law said clean matching underwear was most likely to keep her alive.
Pulling the hose up her legs, she shimmied into the dress. It was a silk sheath dress with thin spaghetti straps, and a low back, A party going affair… The material was printed with Chinese characters and koi. On any other night, she might have appreciated the beauty of the garment, but tonight however, all she needed to do was fit the perfect victim profile. Any buttons she could push wouldn’t hurt… Sitting down at her vanity, she applied her makeup and tousled her hair. Satisfied with her appearance, she collected a white knit jacket from her wardrobe, and transferring the contents of her bag to something more appropriate for a night out. Juliet picked up her sig sauer off the bed. Well there really wasn’t space in the dress…. No… she wouldn’t carry it, it would blow her cover and would be too difficult to hide easily. God men had it easy…
Returning the firearm to its holster, she slipped it into the desk draw and made her way back into the lounge where Ziva was sat reading a magazine on her couch.
“Think this looks ok?” she asked Ziva, doing a little spin for her Colleague’s benefit.
“It looks… perfect.” The woman nodded. “You are not carrying.” She observed.
“How did you know it wasn’t in my bag?” Juliet asked astounded.
“The weight was not dragging it down, you learn these things….” She chuckled. “Its probably best anyway, but I know some agents who would feel naked without a firearm. Take this.” She offered, slipping the tiny snubnosed revolver from her ankle holster.
“Put this in your bag, Pray you do not have to thank me for it.” She shrugged, handing the pistol to Juliet.
The two left Juliet’s apartment, and made their way down to the car.
“Are you sure you can do this?” Ziva asked.
Juliet shrugged, “I think so. Its just… well it’s the first time this all seamed real… you know?”
Ziva nodded and smiled, “I remember one of my first cases with NCIS. I was undercover with Tony, we were posing as married assassins.” She recalled. “The worst part was the waiting, Once things went… noisy, as it were, I knew what to do, it was my element. But the waiting I was not so good at… Even now, the waiting involved in undercover work is what gets to me most, you will do alright Motek, What is it you Americans do? Ah yes, I will buy you a drink when this is over, ok?” she grinned, patting Juliet on the back.
"So explain to me again why you felt it was a good idea not to inform the FBI about a serial murder case that was OUR jurisdiction?” Fornell asked, rubbing his temples. “Do you just like pissing off my director?”
Gibbs chuckled and sipped his coffee as they stood in the warehouse the FBI had commandeered two blocks from the bar. “You know as well as me that your guys would have trampled all over this one and written it off.”
“True.” Agent Fornell agreed, sipping his coffee. The two agents were stood watching the video feed from several cameras FBI agents had set up around the bar. Needless to say, the agency had been annoyed that they had been left out of the loop, but were in no place to dictate things as NCIS had the thing nearly wrapped up.
“So what’s the deal with your agent Jethro?” Fornell asked, “Is that really a guy? How did you get him to do it?”
Gibbs took a gulp of coffee and looked across the warehouse at Ziva fitting a microphone and earpiece to Agent Samson.
“The Jury is out.” Gibbs muttered.
Fornell glanced at his friend. “Pardon?”
“I assumed so when we got him, but I don’t think so anymore.” Gibbs replied.
“So he’s really a transsexual?” Fornell asked curiously. “you think doing this undercover work as one has got to him?”
“No.” Gibbs said. “I think she was a female before she joined NCIS, this just let her show it.”
“I don’t get that stuff.” Shrugged Fornell, I’m glad it’s your Agent, not mine, I don’t think I’d know where to begin.”
“I guess we will see once this ends.” replied Gibbs trashing his coffee cup and walking across the warehouse towards his team members.
“Ok, that will do it.” Ziva said, taping the mike to the bottom of Juliet’s bra. “let me zip you back up.” She asked, turning the girl around to close her dress. Without a suitably private place, Ziva had managed to keep most of Juliet’s modesty intact as they fixed the wire in place.
“I guess I’d better get over there.” Juliet mumbled quietly, collecting her jacket and bag. “God I feel nervous.”
“You know this part sweetie.” Ziva soothed. “Just follow the book, you’ll have me, Tony, and Gibbs looking out for you… and those nice men from HRT in case things go apple shaped… no?”
“It’s pear shaped.” Tony replied, walking over. “How can you be worried with me and the Israeli terrier watching out for you?”
“ruff.” Ziva barked, making Juliet smile for the first time since they arrived in Norfolk.
“Are you ready?” Gibbs asked, appearing from nowhere.
“Yes sir.” Juliet mumbled.
“I’ll let that slide tonight.” Gibbs replied. “You two get in position.” He said, looking at Ziva and Tony. Both of the agents scurried off and left Gibbs with Juliet. Walking towards the door of the warehouse, and her car, Juliet put her hand on the door handle only to have Gibbs place his hand on hers.
“Are you ok?” he asked. This was not the man she had gotten to know over the last few weeks… and not his reputation…
Juliet smiled weakly. “I guess.” She sighed. “Just nerves. I want to do this right.”
“Well either way this goes down. You’re on my team now, for good.” Gibbs replied quietly. “So forget trying to impress me, just do your job, and make it back ok?
Juliet nodded. “I will si… boss.”
Gibbs chuckled and patted her on the shoulder. “Get out of here before I reconsider things.”
Juliet slipped into the car seat. She sat for a moment, her hands griping the wheel before she had the nerve to start the car and pull out of the lot.
Circling around, she travelled Northwards before turning back and approaching the bar from her usual direction. Pulling into the lot, she turned off the engine and stepped out of the car before she could give herself reason not to. The chilly night air gripped at her and she pulled her jacket around herself more tightly.
The door to the bar seemed like it was glowing red hot when she reached out for it, mentally slapping herself, she pulled the door open and stepped into the warm environment of the bar. The music and chatter assaulted her ears as she stepped through the foyer and into the bar proper.
There was a different woman working the bar when she approached. A jolt of fear made Juliet wonder if this had been for nothing.
“What can I get you?” grinned the bargirl.
“Just a coke please.” Juliet mumbled. “God is cold out there.”
“Uhuh,” muttered the bargirl passing her the drink. “You GGs never seem to wear enough.” She chuckled.
“GG?” Juliet asked curiously.
“Genetic girls honey.” Smiled the bargirl. “We transwomen don’t have to wear next to nothing to attract men that aint interested.” She chuckled.
Juliet let it slide, she was not really sure she wanted to correct the woman. “Is the meeting still in back?” she asked. “Uhuh.” Replied the bargirl giving Juliet a curious look, then shaking her head and returning to some glasses that needed washing.
Juliet approached the meeting room and pushed the door open without the hesitancy she had the first time, she might as well get it over…
The meeting progressed with an unhealthy tedium for Juliet. Any other night, she might have been interested in the topics at hand. But for the sake of the wire, and god knows who was listening, she kept it to the point and vague. After what seemed like an eternity, the meeting came to an end and Juliet joined the other women for a drink. She waited for as long as possible, but there was no sign of Marie Svenson anywhere. Perhaps they had messed up? Or she had been spooked by Juliet? What if she had found out who she really was? Shrugging on her jacket, she made her excuses, and walked to the door. Taking a last look at the bar, she slipped out into the night. With a sigh, Juliet slipped her phone from her bag and flipped down the list for Gibbs number as she walked across the lot to her car.
Out of nowhere, a hand smacked the phone from her palm and pushed her into the car opposite. Winded, Juliet looked around to catch sight of her attacker. Marie Svenson was stood between her and the bar, wearing a bulky hooded jacket, and jeans.
“You freaks don’t know what’s good for you.” She growled. “you need locking up in mental hospitals where you can get treated for your freak disease and queerness…” she spat. “You’re all the same, you’re home wrecking pretty little freaks.” She hissed lunging at Juliet with what appeared to be a flip knife.
Juliet stumbled back, losing her balance and falling to the asphalt. Marie came forwards, but the angle was wrong and as she stooped to stab Juliet, she kicked her feet up, launching Marie over her into a patch of weeds beside the lot.
“Help!” Juliet screamed into the microphone between her breasts. “Help me for god’s sake. She’s trying to kill me.”
“Oh that wont help you freak.” Marie growled regaining her feet. Juliet slipped her hand between her breasts and pulled out the snub-nosed revolver Ziva had secreted between the cups.
Raising the revolver towards Marie she regained some composure. “Drop the weapon, Federal agent.” She shouted.
“Oh bull shit honey, you don’t know how often I heard that line…” Marie sneered reaching into her jacket and extracting a pistol. “Pity, I wanted to make this look like a mugging, but you force my hand sweetie. I bet its not even loaded.” She chuckled aiming at Juliet.
“Maybe not, but this is.” Hissed Ziva slipping out of the darkness and pressing her Sig to the back of Marie’s head. “Drop the weapon. And she is a federal agent.”
Marie dropped the weapon in surprise and glared accusingly at Juliet. “Fucking freak.” She spat before Ziva buried her head in the hood of a parked car and cuffed her…
Gibbs walked over to Juliet, who was sat in the open door of an FBI suburban.
“Good work Samson.” He said, handing her a cup of coffee. Juliet cupped the warm liquid between her hands and gave Gibbs a smile in thanks. “I thought she wasn’t going to be there boss, I let my guard down.” She admitted.
“Doesn’t matter.” Gibbs shrugged. “We got her, and you wont do it again.” He stated flatly, knowing full well that the experience would prevent her ever doing the same again.
“What now?” she asked, looking up at Gibbs. “Our job is done. The FBI want this one, and im all too happy to let them have the paperwork.” He admitted. “Why don’t you get changed out of those clothes and we can get back to the office?” Gibbs probed.
The horrified look on Juliet’s face was all he needed to see. “I didn’t think so he chuckled walking off.
“What now boss?” Tony called as he and Ziva walked over to join the two by the truck.
“Why don’t we find a bar? Go get a drink?” Gibbs asked innocently.
Tony, Juliet and Ziva groaned theatrically and the 4 burst out laughing.
Note from the Author:Thanks for waiting guys, i had some problems but here it is as (re)promised! i hope you like it... i MAY have plans to do more episodes... it depends on how much you like this conclusion... thanks
Alyssa
Oh PS: With plot assistance from Otterylexa, CEO and Chief Pixie of Evil muses inc. She has been invaluable ironing out plot fubar's on the BCTS chatroom! come visit us!
by Alyssa Plant
Nightstalkers
Born to save a world she never knew existed...
The heavy bass was thumping; Danny found it hard to follow the conversation at their table in the club just off campus. It might have helped if his mind had been in it. As he slowly sipped his beer, he couldn’t quite focus on his friends and their discussion of some trivial team or sport. All he could focus on was what his parents would do when they found out he had failed the year at college.
Most were out celebrating this evening, but an unfortunate few had failed to meet the grade, and Danny was drowning his sorrows till he had the courage to confront his mother and father with the news.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried… the break-up with Mary… the constant tiredness… an empty feeling inside that he couldn’t quite place. College was the last thing he needed right now…
“Another beer man?”
Danny snapped out of his lamentation to see Mike starting questioningly at him across the table, half out of his seat.
“Uh, sure.” Danny shrugged dismissively. As Mike made his way through the crowd towards the bar, Danny’s eyes were drawn to three girls by the edge of the dance floor.
They seemed so totally out of place here, in this student dive. The three were goddesses…. Dark, gothic, goddesses…
As if she had sensed Danny’s eyes, the tall raven haired beauty in the centre of the trio locked eyes with him and smiled.
Danny didn’t quite know how to respond, Just as he found the courage in him to smile back, his view of the trio was blocked by Mike returning with a handful of beer bottles.
“Here man.” He yelled over the thud of the music handing Danny a bottle.
“Mike you see those three behind you? Near the floor?” Danny yelled back, gesturing in the direction of the trio.
Mike swivelled around to look, before flashing a grin at Danny and disappearing towards the trio.
A little voice inside Danny told him that this night was going to be interesting.
Danny absentmindedly sipped his beer as he watched Mike reach the trio, and begin a very careful, nuclear bomb he called flirting.
He didn’t get slapped, and they didn’t leave, instead, mike returned across the club with the 3 girls. Danny was surprised that mike had the necessary charisma to pull off such a miracle, but made a mental note to thank the man anyway.
“Hi, I’m Vanessa.” smiled the goddess with the slightest hint of a Parisian accent. Looking at her, Danny found it hard to look away. The girl was beautiful, way out of his league.
“Ah, Danny.” He stumbled
Danny noticed her two friends getting acquainted with his friends and slid up on the sofa to make room for Vanessa to sit.
“You got to college here then?” he yelled over the beat.
Vanessa shook her head, her rod straight black hair shimmering as it moved. “I’m sort of new in town.” She shouted back. “Well, all three of us are.”
“We can show you girls the best sights.” Yelled Tony grabbing his crotch.
“Ignore him.” Danny yelled at Vanessa while kicking Tony under the table. “He left his manners back in the dorm tonight.”
Vanessa simply smiled at Danny and ran her fingers along his forearm gently.
Danny began to wonder what he was in store for that evening...
“Hey, you girls want to come back to ours for a nightcap?” asked Mike as he wrapped his arm around the waist of a dreadlocked blonde.
“Sounds good to me…” Vanessa smiled looking at Danny.
The group left the club, and Danny was transfixed by Vanessa’s beauty.
Her dark straight hair cascaded over her shoulders liked liquid silk. Her pale complexion highlighted her fine delicate features. The girl was a goddess… She couldn’t have been more than 22, but she carried herself like no other girl Danny knew… she had a worldly wisdom and grace that surpassed her nubile form.
Perhaps there was a god after all….
As the group walked slowly back through the campus grounds, Danny and Vanessa chatted about themselves now they could be heard bellow a shout. She had grown up in a small town south of Paris, and her parents had moved to the states for work.
She was curiously vague about her age and work, just that she was not a student. Danny felt too lucky to press further at this time.
As the group reached their dorm, the couples made their way towards the elevator. As they squeezed into the metal box, Danny felt Vanessa pressed against him, her face upturned and her dark lips smiling at him. Reaching down he pressed his lips against hers in a kiss that almost stopped his heart.
As they broke the kiss, Vanessa snaked her arms around Danny’s waist and purred. “How about we forget that drink?” she whispered sultrily.
Danny couldn’t agree fast enough.
Somehow, Danny managed to make it from the elevator to his room, and let them in with his lips locked to Vanessa’s.
Collapsing onto his bed, the two necked and made out for what seemed like an eternity. Danny was in the process of working out Vanessa’s bra catch when a scream echoed down the corridor.
“What the fuck was that?” he asked with a worried expression.
“Nothing baby, probably just some drunk students.” Vanessa purred before slipping down Danny’s body towards his pants.
Any thoughts he had of pursuing the source of the scream was quickly forgotten as Vanessa sent him to cloud 9.
As Vanessa slid back up, she nibbled her way up his torso to his neck.
“You’re amazing… AAAAHHHHH,” Danny gasped as a searing pain ripped through his shoulder and neck.
The last thing Danny remembered was a warm wet feeling and Vanessa’s bloody lips mashed against his.
Wait bloody?
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The world swam back into focus slowly; Danny had a raging hangover. Rolling over in bed Danny tried to cover his head with a pillow.
For some reason, it was different to usual.
Pushing himself up in bed Danny looked down to see what he had been lying on that hurt his chest… what he found made him recoil in shock. Scrambling backwards he fell off the end of the bed and wound up flat on his back staring up at the ceiling.
Gingerly, he lifted an arm to touch the swellings on his chest. They looked like breasts… They felt like breasts… why the fuck did he have breasts?
Danny let his head flop back to the floor and let out a sigh, a very high pitched feminine sounding sigh. This had to be some funky dream… Last night with that girl Vanessa had been interesting… we must still be asleep he thought hopefully.
“You’re not asleep little one.” Purred Vanessa from the opposite corner of the room where she sat on her haunches with her head cocked to one side and a curious grin on her lips.
“What?” Danny asked dumbly, suddenly shocked at how high his voice was.
“This was certainly interesting.” Smiled Vanessa. “I never expected this.”
“What have you done to me?” croaked Danny quietly.
“Well…” began Vanessa, “Drink this, then we will talk baby.” She purred getting to her feet with catlike grace before handing a mug to Danny.
Carefully he took the mug before sniffing sceptically. “What is it?” he asked eyeing the dark liquid suspiciously.
“Just a special hangover cure I use, trust me, it will make you feel better.” Smiled Vanessa stroking Danny’s bare knee.
Shrugging, Danny tipped the mug back and gulped some of the liquid down.
As the first drops hit his tongue, he knew what it was. The liquid had a coppery taste that was all too familiar, yet at the same time, he couldn’t quite stop himself drinking it down.
Danny emptied the mug in one go before setting it down beside him.
“Why the hell did you make me drink blood?” he asked Vanessa with uncertainty not at her motives, but at his own desire to down the liquid.
“Because I knew it would make you feel better… you need it now.” The goddess smiled knowingly.
“You make it sound like I’m some sort of vampire?” Danny laughed. The smirk on Vanessa’s dark lips stopped him dead.
“You have got to be kidding….” He began, “And why the hell am I like this?” he squeaked gesturing at his body. “I have boobs like a girl.” He whispered mournfully.
“Oh I’m quite serious.” Vanessa answered sternly as if talking to a petulant child. “But the being female part sort of confused me too.”
Danny gawped, and started to really look at his body as he sat on the bed. She was right. “What he fuck?” he whispered almost to himself.
“Look, when I turned you, my DNA blended with yours, adding my vampirism gene to your DNA and rebuilding you from scratch. Normally, it rebuilds a person to their peak… to the full potential of their DNA… I mean… you never see fat or ugly vampires do you?” she smirked.
“Yeah, you’re right.” Danny smirked, “I don’t see any at all! You have got to be fucking kidding!”
Vanessa shook her head slowly. “No honey, I’m not. Welcome to the real world.”
A cold sweat enveloped Danny. “So why am I… wait, I’m a girl?”
Vanessa looked Danny up and down. “Yeah, If I had to put money on it, id say so.”
“I’ve got to be dreaming.” Danny sighed hugging his knees to his chest.
“The only way I can think this might happen, is if you had female dna? shrugged Vanessa.
“HOW? screamed Danny. “I’m… I was a man!”
“Look honey. We need to get you up and dressed, you can’t sit around here nude all day.”
Nodding silently, Danny accepted the offered hand and pulled himself, or herself? to his feet.
Walking over to his mirror, Danny stood before the glass staring at his reflection. But try as he might, he could think of himself as a he anymore. There was no trace of male in what he saw.
The first thing his eyes noticed, was his breasts…. Or her breasts? They appeared firm and prominent. The curve of his waist, the swell of his hips, and obvious lack of penis and balls between his legs made him feel momentarily sad.
Everything was different… from the long shapely legs ending in delicate feet to his thin long small fingers and delicate features. Danny’s hair was Blonde as before, but now hung down past his shoulders in a gentle wave.
“I’m a girl” Danny croaked.
As she touched her face, she withdrew her fingers as if burned. It was all too much for her. This was no dream. If it had been a dream, he would be fucking this body, not being it.
Slumping down onto the end of her bed, she began to cry.
Vanessa who had remained silent during the whole process of realisation silently wrapped a blanket around Danny’s shoulders and hugged her while she cried.
Unlike all the men she had turned, Danny was different. His reaction to the turning was most curious. Something she would have to run by Geistler… Perhaps the prophecy was true? Perhaps he was the one?
All she knew now, was she had a frightened girl to look after and tutor.
If learning the world wasn’t as it seemed wasn’t bad enough, Danny would have to learn how to be herself too…
In truth, she was sorry she had needed to turn him. She wouldn’t wish what was to come on anyone…
Chapter 2 — Bedtime stories
Danny sat on the bed in his room wearing a tee-shirt that could have been a nightgown to her new form.
“Tell me about the world please?” she asked looking at Vanessa. “Right now, I feel like I don’t even know which way is up.”
The dark goddess looked ruffled. Her sultry exterior was cracked. Danny could see a very different woman inside.
“Just explain things to me please.” She pleaded. Danny sighed and stared out into space before balling up some invisible courage and opening her lips, “I want to… but I don’t.. I… can’t blame you for this.”
Vanessa looked at Danny, her eyes searching for any sign that the words were a lie.
“I’m sorry.” She said quietly. “I can see how much this has done to you, I never expected this… the others I turned learned about the world as it is, and lived their new lives, but I’ve broken yours, I feel so responsible.”
Danny looked at Vanessa; he felt no lust for her, no desire, just, a woman; another woman now… the one person he could talk to, she almost seemed a parent to him now…
“Please, I need someone to guide me… teach me what to do…I feel like a little kid…”
“I’ll talk to the council.” Vanessa resolved. “If they agree, and due to the circumstances, I think they will, I’d like to adopt you… you need someone… a mother its pretty much the role I would have by any other name…”
“But I already have one?” Danny asked curiously.
“Honey, do you think you can ever live that life again?
Danny looked dejected. It didn’t hurt as much as he expected it to. “But you’re the same age as me?” seemed to be the only opposition she could form to the idea.
Vanessa shook her head. “I’m going to be 322 in November.” She smiled.
“Huh?…. I think you had better start explaining this whole reality thing to me... Danny replied with resignation. “And yes, somehow, I dunno, I think I’d like that.”
Vanessa cocked her head at Danny, “Like what?”
“To be your… um, daughter?” Danny mumbled awkwardly. “I guess I have to accept a few changes.” As weird as it felt to be saying it, It almost felt comforting to Danny, This was weird… Why was he so accepting of this fate? Was it something else that changed?
Vanessa leaned forwards and kissed Danny on the forehead. “First thing, you need a new name. As I never expected to be a mother thanks to this… way we are… I’d be so happy if you would let me pick my child’s name?” she asked cautiously.
“I’d like that.” smiled Danny.
“Nataliya.” She announced smiling; “It was my mother’s name, my real mother. We can call you Natalie for simplicity.”
Natalie smiled, she liked the name, it was still an internal struggle for her to accept that she was now a girl, but the name now seemed to add some final reality to it. In a way, the name allowed her to feel at home in a role she wasn’t used to. A tiny part of her mind felt detached now. She wasn’t Danny the girl, she was a girl called Nataliya… not herself or himself.
“So, tell me about life then mother.” smirked Natalie.
“Come here and I’ll tell you.” Vanessa whispered affectionately opening her arms to her new daughter. Natalie looked hesitant for a moment before allowing herself to lean into her Vanessa’s side.
“Vampires exist.” She began, “Many centuries ago, humanity split, Homo sapiens grew on as normal, but Homo nocturnus branched off. The first was similar to a condition still present in Homo sapiens today. A deficiency in the blood caused them to need to drink blood for the haemoglobin they required to bond and carry oxygen and nutrients around the body. As time went by, and the first reproduced, this trait was carried over, somewhere along the line, homo nocturnus evolved; many of the old myths are somewhat true. Silver is poisonous to us, the same way arsenic and cyanide are poisonous to Homo sapiens. Crosses are utterly folklore…” she smirked lifting a chain tipped with a gold cross from her cleavage.
“Garlic is nasty, vampire or not, but harmless none the less… Mirrors, great myth used in vampire movies and books, utterly untrue. I mean, it defies logic that something could be present but not reflect?” she giggled. “There is an element of truth to the superhuman strength stories, we can run faster, longer, jump higher, and survive a lot more than a human, but you are not invulnerable, a high enough fall will kill you, and enough bullets in the right place will probably kill you… Sunlight, the biggest myth of all, while it does not turn one to ash as most depictions show, but our skin contains no pigment, so it burns you really badly if you are in direct sunlight for more than a few moments, exposure over an hour will kill you.” Vanessa explained as she stroked Natalie’s hair softly.
“So what about my teeth?” Natalie asked curiously as she touched her pronounced canines. “Were they just another evolution that made feeding easier?”
Vanessa nodded. “I’m not sure when that happened, but it certainly makes piercing skin easier.”
“What about turning? How does that work?” Natalie pressed, her curiosity growing.
“When I feed on someone, and I allow them to drink my blood, that passes the vampire gene in to their blood stream, it replicates and regenerates as you know. As for your case my child, we will have to talk to one of the council elders who knows the most about the process, Elder Geistler.”
“I fed on you?” Natalie asked wide eyed sitting up away from Vanessa. “When? I don’t remember?”
Vanessa nodded. “You were lost in the heat of passion, you probably don’t remember.” She mumbled almost looking sheepish.
Natalie giggled, “My last girlfriend liked it when I was rough, sorry.”
Vanessa smirked, before continuing with her story.
“The society is a mirror of humanity in a way. We have the high council, made up of the oldest and wisest of our species, they rule benevolently, doing what is best to maintain the survival of the species, and harmony with human kind. There are quotas for killing, and most feeding requires the victim left alive and unaware of what happened to them. Turnings are rarer still. These days, nothing more than for special cases, such as yourself.”
“What do you mean?” Natalie asked sitting up and looking into Vanessa’s eyes, “What is so special about me?”
“You are the one that was written about in early vampire lore. Your name, where we would find you, it was said that once turned, you would lead us to victory, and save us from a war of destruction. It’s a heavy weight I know my dear, but it is your destiny.”
Natalie was stunned. She was supposed to save a species she never knew about until today. “From who?” she blurted out, although the answer was trivial, any opponent would eat her alive.
Vanessa looked worried. “In the mid 1300s, a sect broke away from the vampire race, they had no regard for our laws, and our way of life, over time, they evolved too…” she trailed off.
“What did they become?” Natalie asked, without wanting to know the answer.
“Our predators.” Replied Vanessa in a half whisper. “They feed on vampires and they cannot be stopped till you came. You’re blood holds the key to stopping these nightmare creatures.”
Natalie was stunned, she wasn’t sure what to think or how to comprehend that she would be the end of a centuries old conflict between equally nightmarish creatures in her view, regardless of the fact that she now belonged to one of those species.
“I think that’s enough for one day.” sighed Vanessa. “There is such thing as information overload my dear.”
Natalie nodded mutely.
“Perhaps we should work on getting you dressed so I don’t have to take you home naked later?”
“I don’t have any clothes that will fit…” Natalie began plucking at the tee-shirt she wore.
“I’ll deal with that.” smiled Vanessa, “I want you to go take a shower. By the time you return, ill have something sorted my dear.”
Not quite sure as to how she would accomplish that, Natalie followed orders and made her way blindly into the bathroom.
Sliding the lock on the door, she stripped the tee-shirt over her head. That had once been tight on her, and it now reached almost to her knees.
Natalie studied her form as she stepped into the shower.
She ran her hands over her body. The breasts… her breasts felt strange, soft but firm, and touching the dark nipples made her feel funny in her tummy, it was more pleasurable than she had ever experienced before. Her body was hairless except for a small patch where her legs ended. That area was still strictly off mental limits. She might have accepted that she was female, but she was not touching it yet.
Her skin had a creamy whiteness to it, not ghostly, but untouched by the ravages of the sun. The texture of her skin was something else to Natalie’s mind. A softness she had never expected to feel on herself.
Turning the shower on, she slipped down to sit in the bottom of the shower and hugged her knees to her chest.
Closing her eyes she half wanted to wake up as Danny, but a part of her loved how she felt. A part felt at home.
As the hot water poured over her body, she plucked up the courage to confirm what she knew.
Slowly, she slipped a hand between her thighs and gently touched the folds that lay within.
She had a vagina. She had expected some shock, sadness, or sense of loss, but felt nothing, she felt normal… Withdrawing her hand, she clambered to her feet and began soaping herself and washing, this was too freaky to dwell on…
Stepping from the shower, she wrapped a towel around her waist before remembering and covering her breasts with the fluffy cotton.
Stepping from the bathroom, she made her way back into her room and sat on the edge of the bed to dry herself.
There was a knock at the door as she was rubbing her hair with the towel.
After making sure she was covered, she slowly approached the door and opened it expecting Vanessa to have returned.
“Hey, is Danny in there cutie?” asked her classmate Paul while staring at her chest.
‘I wonder if Vanessa, well mom would mind if I just killed one insignificant human?’ she thought to herself.
Chapter 3 — The belly of the beast.
Slamming the door in the guy’s face, she slid down against the door. Why was she having these thoughts? Until today, she WAS an insignificant human…. What the hell was wrong with her mind?
Why had she accepted this so fast? Why had she given up on her life so quickly?
Walking over to the window, she pulled the curtains back to leave a gap of several inches. She ran her hand through the beam of sunlight.
She felt nothing but the warmth of the sun on her skin… Was this all a joke? As she lamented, she felt the warmth grow rapidly to an unbearable level before jerking her hand away.
Dragging the curtain closed, she rubbed her tender hand. Dreams don’t burn.
There was another knock on the door.
“GO AWAY.” She screamed in frustration; not even caring to get up.
“I’ll come back later then.” came Vanessa’s voice from the other side of the door.
Pulling herself to her feet, Nataliya unlocked the door and allowed Vanessa to enter. “sorry.” She mumbled. “A guy I used to know came looking for me and I felt really weird about seeing him…”
“Vanessa dumped a small bundle on the bed. “You will now, they are your food.”
“It feels weird.” complained Natalie making a face. “ I still feel like one of them but I want them…”
Nodding, Vanessa unravelled the bundle. “It’s curious how careless people are with their drying laundry here.” She smirked. “This might not be perfect, but it will have to do till we get you back ok?” she said, handing the clothing to Natalie.
Plucking a bra from the pile, Natalie handled it as if a poisonous reptile. “How does this work?” she asked looking at Vanessa with the underwear held gingerly between two fingers.
Chuckling softly, Vanessa took the bra from Natalie and ordered her to her feet.
Slowly, she showed the girl how to adjust and fit the item before making her do it herself.
The thing felt weird to Natalie. Constricting yet relieving. Awkwardness over, Natalie slipped the panties up her legs, followed by a pair of plain, unassuming jeans that fit much better than anything she would have had.
Finally a College sweater completed her outfit. Within a day of being female, Natalie looked exactly like 90% of her new peers.
Feeling her hair itching her neck, she flicked it out of the collar of the sweater and gave her head a shake.
The long hair was taking the most getting used to. In her entire life, Danny had never grown his hair past his ears. The blonde tresses that now hung down his back were annoying at best.
Sitting down on her bed, Natalie almost felt like she had returned to normal. Atleast she was getting used to the body, strange, considering it had only been a few hour since she had developed it.
A light knocking at the door caught her attention.
Vanessa opened the door, revealing her two friends from the night before; the dreadlocked blonde, and the Asian girl.
Both walked into the room with curious expressions on their faces, and eyes fixed on Natalie.
“I don’t believe it.” Breathed the Blonde. “You fucked up big time Ness.” She smirked with a heavy Russian accent.
“How’d she fuck up Anna?” piped up the Asian girl, “She was told to turn him, not what to expect when it happened.”
“He, um, she is here you know?” Natalie grumbled.
“Sorry.” mumbled Anna looking apologetic. “I’m Annastasya Romanov, and this…” she announced gesturing at the stony-faced Asian girl. “Is Jan Lee.”
Natalie couldn’t help herself, and giggled. “Romanov? You mean to tell me you are THE Annastasya Romanov that went missing after the revolution in 1920?”
Anna Nodded. “Da. But your history books have somewhat incorrect.”
Natalie raised her eyebrows questioningly as the Blonde eased herself into the vacant desk chair, elegantly crossing her slender legs.
“Untill the year 1920, the Russian motherland was run by the Romanov family. We were vampires; the strongest clan in all of mother Russia.” She smiled proudly. “When the revolution came, we were exposed and slaughtered, I barely escaped. The man History pegs as my mother’s lover and advisor, Rasputin was nothing of the sorts.” She scowled venomously. “He stole me away from the bloodbath to turn a Romanov to his disgusting half-breed.” She growled.
“No wonder he was so hard to Kill.” muttered Natalie with surprise. “Was anything in history as I knew it?”
“Most things.” piped up Jan. “A few notable exceptions, but nothing quite as dramatic as Anna’s favourite story. Most of us.” She emphasised. “Keep a relatively low profile.” She smirked glaring at Anna.
“Will you two knock it off for one moment?” growled Vanessa returning from the bathroom. “You’re scaring the newbie.”
“Excuse me, but I’m not exactly a little kid, no matter what has happened.” shouted Natalie. “I might not know what the fuck has happened to me, but I’m not stupid, and I’m not some baby you can talk over.” She seethed.
Natalie was pleased to see the three mistresses of the night recoil at her anger.
“You’re right,” Vanessa began. “This is just new to us too.” She whispered. “Look… I’m sorry I had to do this, but it had to be done sweetie… I just… It has just been something we talked about and theorised over for so long, being here, doing it now is so strange… I promise to include you from here forwards. You deserve that much.”
“Well you can start by getting us to the same page, what are we going to do now?” Natalie asked impatiently.
“We wait for nightfall, and then you get to enter our world properly.” announced Vanessa. “I’d take you now… but I don’t look good with a tan.” She smirked.
Later that evening, the group left the dorm and made their way out into the rapidly approaching dusk.
The cool evening air felt good on Natalie’s skin. She wasn’t sure what to expect as they made their way silently between the buildings and quads of the campus. All she had been told was that they would be ‘picked up’ at some prearranged spot that Vanessa had spoken of.
Rounding the edge of a tall windowless building, Natalie found the group heading out through the bleachers onto the football field.
Danny had never been much of a sports fan, and as such had never strayed down towards the Jockatropalis that was the athletics department.
Staring in fascination she looked around her as they stood on the moonlit turf; it was quiet, but the world was going on around them… Natalie watched the arcing spotlights on the students union building in the distance swing backwards and forwards in the sky… the floodlit Astroturf pitches with groups of students in the opposite direction; the Interstate roaring along three hundred yards away beyond that.
Vanessa stood away from her and the others talking on a phone. Where were they getting picked up? They were near no roads…. How would…..
Natalie’s train of thought was cut off by the sound of Vanessa’s phone snapping shut.
“They are here.” She stated flatly.
Before Natalie could open her lips, she became aware of a distant thud of rotors.
Helicopter? What sort of organisation did these people… ah, creatures, belong to?
The thud became a roar as a sleek black shape slipped from the darkness buffeting Natalie with its downwash.
The side door slid open and Natalie followed the others as they approached the belly of the beast.
As her hand wrapped around the metal step, she looked back.
Could she leave this behind?
Shaking her head, she clambered aboard and sat down.
As the helicopter lifted off, she stared out of the window at the retreating Stadium. The decision was long past…. She had made it the night before…
A little voice inside Danny told him that this night was going to be interesting.
Most were out celebrating this evening, but an unfortunate few had failed to meet the grade, and Danny was drowning his sorrows till he had the courage to confront his mother and father with the news.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried… the break-up with Mary… the constant tiredness… an empty feeling inside that he couldn’t quite place. College was the last thing he needed right now…
“Another beer man?”
Danny snapped out of his lamentation to see Mike starting questioningly at him across the table, half out of his seat.
“Uh, sure.” Danny shrugged dismissively. As Mike made his way through the crowd towards the bar, Danny’s eyes were drawn to three girls by the edge of the dance floor.
They seemed so totally out of place here, in this student dive. The three were goddesses…. Dark, gothic, goddesses…
As if she had sensed Danny’s eyes, the tall raven haired beauty in the centre of the trio locked eyes with him and smiled.
Danny didn’t quite know how to respond, Just as he found the courage in him to smile back, his view of the trio was blocked by Mike returning with a handful of beer bottles.
“Here man.” He yelled over the thud of the music handing Danny a bottle.
“Mike you see those three behind you? Near the floor?” Danny yelled back, gesturing in the direction of the trio.
Mike swivelled around to look, before flashing a grin at Danny and disappearing towards the trio.
A little voice inside Danny told him that this night was going to be interesting.
“Hi, I’m Vanessa.” smiled the Raven goddess with the slightest hint of a Parisian accent. Somehow, Mike had convinced the three to join them, and The Dark beauty that Danny had locked eyes with, now repeated the act 20m closer.
Danny noticed her two friends getting acquainted with his friends and slid up on the sofa to make room for Vanessa to sit.
“You got to college here then?” he yelled over the beat.
Vanessa shook her head, her rod straight black hair shimmering as it moved. “I’m sort of new in town.” She shouted back. “Well, all three of us are.”
“We can show you girls the best sights.” Yelled Tony grabbing his crotch.
“Ignore him.” Danny yelled at Vanessa kicking Tony under the table. “He left his manners back in the dorm tonight.”
Vanessa simply smiled at Danny and ran her fingers along his forearm gently.
Danny began to wonder what he was in store for that evening...
“Hey, you girls want to come back to ours for a nightcap?” asked Mike as he wrapped his arm around the waist of a dreadlocked blonde.
“Sounds good to me…. If you want to…” Vanessa smiled looking at Danny.
The group left the club, and Danny was transfixed by Vanessa’s beauty.
Her dark straight hair cascaded over her shoulders liked liquid silk. Her pale complexion highlighted her fine delicate features. The girl was a goddess… She couldn’t have been more than 22, but she carried herself like no other girl Danny knew… she had a worldly wisdom and grace that surpassed her nubile form.
Perhaps there was a god after all….
As the group walked slowly back through the campus grounds, Danny and Vanessa chatted about themselves now they could be heard bellow a shout. She had grown up in a small town south of Paris, and her parents had moved to the states for work.
She was curiously vague about her age and work, just that she was not a student. Danny felt too lucky to press further at this time.
As the group reached their dorm, the couples made their way towards the elevator. As they squeezed into the metal box, Danny felt Vanessa pressed against him, her face upturned and her dark lips smiling at him. Reaching down he pressed his lips against hers in a kiss that almost stopped his heart.
As they broke the kiss, Vanessa snaked her arms around Danny’s waist and purred. “How about we forget that drink?” she whispered sultrily.
Danny couldn’t agree fast enough.
Somehow, Danny managed to make it from the elevator to his room, and let them in with his lips locked to Vanessa’s.
Collapsing onto his bed, the two necked and made out for what seemed like an eternity. Danny was in the process of working out Vanessa’s bra catch when a scream echoed down the corridor.
“What the fuck was that?” he asked with a worried expression.
“Nothing baby, probably just some drunk students.” Vanessa purred before slipping down Danny’s body towards his pants.
Any thoughts he had of pursuing the source of the scream was quickly forgotten as Vanessa sent him to cloud 9.
As Vanessa slid back up, she nibbled her way up his torso to his neck.
“You’re amazing… AAAAHHHHH,” Danny gasped as a searing pain ripped through his shoulder and neck.
The last thing Danny remembered was a warm wet feeling and Vanessa’s bloody lips mashed against his.
Wait bloody?
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The world swam back into focus slowly; Danny had a raging hangover. Rolling over in bed Danny tried to cover his head with a pillow.
For some reason, it was different to usual.
Pushing himself up in bed Danny looked down to see what he had been lying on that hurt his chest… what he found made him recoil in shock. Scrambling backwards he fell off the end of the bed and wound up flat on his back staring up at the ceiling.
Gingerly, he lifted an arm to touch the swellings on his chest. They looked like breasts… They felt like breasts… why the fuck did he have breasts?
Danny let his head flop back to the floor and let out a sigh, a very high pitched feminine sounding sigh. This had to be some funky dream… Last night with that girl Vanessa had been interesting… we must still be asleep he thought hopefully.
“You’re not asleep little one.” Purred Vanessa from the opposite corner of the room where she sat on her haunches with her head cocked to one side and a curious grin on her lips.
“What?” Danny asked dumbly, suddenly shocked at how high his voice was.
“This was certainly interesting.” Smiled Vanessa. “I never expected this.”
“What have you done to me?” croaked Danny quietly.
“Well…” began Vanessa, “Drink this, then we will talk baby.” She purred getting to her feet with catlike grace before handing a mug to Danny.
Carefully he took the mug before sniffing sceptically. “What is it?” he asked eyeing the dark liquid suspiciously.
“Just a special hangover cure I use, trust me, it will make you feel better.” Smiled Vanessa stroking Danny’s bare knee.
Shrugging, Danny tipped the mug back and gulped some of the liquid down.
As the first drops hit his tongue, he knew what it was. The liquid had a coppery taste that was all too familiar, yet at the same time, he couldn’t quite stop himself drinking it down.
Danny emptied the mug in one go before setting it down beside him.
“Why the hell did you make me drink blood?” he asked Vanessa with uncertainty not at her motives, but at his own desire to down the liquid.
“Because I knew it would make you feel better… you need it now.” The goddess smiled knowingly.
“You make it sound like I’m some sort of vampire?” Danny laughed. The smirk on Vanessa’s dark lips stopped him dead.
“You have got to be kidding….” He began, “And why the hell am I like this?” he squeaked gesturing at his body. “I look like a girl.” He whispered mournfully.
“Oh I’m quite serious.” Vanessa answered sternly as if talking to a petulant child. “But the being female part sort of confused me too.”
“Look, when I turned you, my DNA blended with yours, adding my vampirism gene to your DNA and rebuilding you from scratch. Normally, it rebuilds a person to their peak… to the full potential of their DNA… I mean… you never see fat or ugly vampires do you?” she smirked.
“Yeah, you’re right.” Danny smirked, “I don’t see any at all! You have got to be fucking kidding!”
Vanessa shook her head slowly. “No honey, I’m not. Welcome to the real world.”
A cold sweat enveloped Danny. “So why am I... wait, I’m a girl?”
Vanessa looked Danny up and down. “Yeah, If I had to put money on it, id say so.”
“I’ve got to be dreaming.” Danny sighed hugging his knees to his chest.
“The only way I can think this might happen, is if you had female dna? shrugged Vanessa.
“HOW? screamed Danny. “I’m… I was a man!”
“Look honey. We need to get you up and dressed, you cant sit around here nude all day.”
Nodding silently, Danny accepted the offered hand and pulled himself, or herself? to his feet.
Walking over to his mirror, Danny stood before the glass staring at his reflection. But try as he might, he could think of himself as a he anymore. There was no trace of male in what he saw.
The first thing Danny saw, was his breasts…. Or her breasts? They appeared firm and prominent. The curve of his waist, the swell of his hips, and obvious lack of penis and balls between his legs made him feel momentarily sad.
Everything was different… from the long shapely legs ending in delicate feet to his thin long small fingers and delicate features. Danny’s hair was Blonde as before, but now hung down past his shoulders in a gentle wave.
“I’m a girl” Danny croaked.
As she touched her face, she withdrew her fingers as if burned. It was all too much for Danny. This was no dream. If it had been a dream, he would be fucking this body, not being in it.
Slumping down onto the end of her bed, she began to cry.
Vanessa who had remained silent during the whole process of realisation silently wrapped a blanket around Danny’s shoulders and hugged her while she cried.
Unlike all the men she had turned, Danny was different. His reaction to the turning was most curious. Something she would have to run by Geistler… Perhaps the prophecy was true? Perhaps he was the one?
All she knew now, was she had a frightened girl to look after and tutor.
If learning the world wasn’t as it seemed wasn’t bad enough, Danny would have to learn how to be herself too…
In truth, she was sorry she had needed to turn him. She wouldn’t wish what was to come on anyone…
“Wow….I think you had better start explaining this whole reality thing to me... Danny replied. “And yes, I’d like that.”
Vanessa cocked her head at Danny, “Like what?”
“To be your… um, daughter?” Danny mumbled awkwardly. “I guess I have to accept a few changes.”
Vanessa leaned forwards and kissed Danny on the forehead. “First thing, you need is a new name. As I never expected to be a mother thanks to this… the way we are… I’d be so happy if you would let me pick my child’s name?” she asked cautiously.
Danny sat on the bed in his room wearing a tee-shirt that could have been a nightgown to her new form.
“Tell me about the world please?” she asked looking at Vanessa. “Right now, I feel like I don’t even know which way is up.”
The dark goddess looked ruffled. Her sultry exterior was cracked. Danny could see a very different woman inside.
“Just explain things to me please.” She pleaded. Danny sighed and stared out into space before balling up some invisible courage and opening her lips, “I don’t blame you for this.”
Vanessa looked at Danny, her eyes searching for any sign that the words were a lie.
“I’m sorry.” She said quietly. “I can see how much this has done to you, I never expected this… the others I turned learned about the world as it is, and lived their new lives, but I’ve broken yours, I feel so responsible.”
Danny looked at Vanessa; he felt no lust for her, no desire, just, a friend now… the one person he could talk to, she almost seemed a parent to him now…
“Please, I need someone to guide me… teach me what to do… I feel like an orphan…”
“I’ll talk to the council.” Vanessa resolved. “If they agree, and due to the circumstances, I think they will, Id like to adopt you… you need a mother… its pretty much the role I would have by any other name…”
“But you’re nearly the same age as me?” Danny asked curiously.
Vanessa shook her head. “I’m going to be 322 in November.” She smiled.
“Wow….I think you had better start explaining this whole reality thing to me... Danny replied. “And yes, I’d like that.”
Vanessa cocked her head at Danny, “Like what?”
“To be your… um, daughter?” Danny mumbled awkwardly. “I guess I have to accept a few changes.”
Vanessa leaned forwards and kissed Danny on the forehead. “First thing, you need is a new name. As I never expected to be a mother thanks to this… the way we are… I’d be so happy if you would let me pick my child’s name?” she asked cautiously.
“I’d like that.” smiled Danny.
“Nataliya.” She announced smiling; “It was my mother’s name, my real mother. We can call you Natalie for simplicity.”
Natalie smiled, she liked the name, it was still an internal struggle for her to accept that she was now a girl, but the name now seemed to add some final reality to it.
“So, tell me about life then mother.” smirked Natalie.
“Come here and I’ll tell you.” Vanessa whispered affectionately opening her arms to her new daughter. Natalie smiled and snuggled into her mother’s side.
“Vampires exist.” She began, “Many centuries ago, humanity split, Homo sapiens grew on as normal, but Homo nocturnus branched off. The first was similar to a condition still present in Homo sapiens today. A deficiency in the blood caused them to need to drink blood for the haemoglobin they required to bond and carry oxygen and nutrients around the body. As time went by, and the first reproduced, this trait was carried over, somewhere along the line, homo nocturnus evolved; many of the old myths are somewhat true. Silver is poisonous to us, the same way arsenic and cyanide are poisonous to Homo sapiens. Crosses are utterly folklore…” she smirked lifting a chain tipped with a gold cross from her cleavage.
“Garlic is nasty, vampire or not, but harmless none the less… Mirrors, great myth used in vampire movies and books, utterly untrue. I mean, it defies logic that something could be present but not reflect?” she giggled. “There is an element of truth to the superhuman strength stories, we can run faster, longer, jump higher, and survive a lot more than a human, but you are not invulnerable, a high enough fall will kill you, and enough bullets in the right place will probably kill you… Sunlight, the biggest myth of all, while it does not turn one to ash as most depictions show, but our skin contains no pigment, so it burns you really badly if you are in direct sunlight for more than a few moments, exposure over an hour will kill you.” Vanessa explained as she stroked Natalie’s hair softly.
“So what about my teeth?” Natalie asked curiously as she touched her pronounced canines. “Were they just another evolution that made feeding easier?”
Vanessa nodded. “I’m not sure when that happened, but it certainly makes piercing skin easier.”
“What about turning? How does that work?” Natalie pressed, her curiosity growing.
“When I feed on someone, and I allow them to drink my blood, that passes the vampire gene in to their blood stream, it replicates and regenerates as you know. As for your case my child, we will have to talk to one of the council elders who knows the most about the process, Elder Geistler.”
“The society is a mirror of humanity in a way. We have the high council, made up of the oldest and wisest of our species, they rule benevolently, doing what is best to maintain the survival of the species, and harmony with human kind. There are quotas for killing, and most feeding requires the victim left alive and unaware of what happened to them. Turnings are rarer still. These days, nothing more than for special cases, such as yourself.”
“What do you mean?” Natalie asked sitting up and looking into Vanessa’s eyes, “What is so special about me?”
“You are the one that was written about in early vampire lore. Your name, where we would find you, it was said that once turned, you would lead us to victory, and save us from a war of destruction. It’s a heavy weight I know my dear, but it is your destiny.”
Natalie was stunned. She was supposed to save a species she never knew about until today. “From who?” she blurted out, although the answer was trivial, any opponent would eat her alive.
Vanessa looked worried. “In the mid 1300s, a sect broke away from the vampire race, they had no regard for our laws, and our way of life, over time, they evolved too…” she trailed off.
“What did they become?” Natalie asked, without wanting to know the answer.
“Our predators.” Replied Vanessa in a half whisper. “They feed on vampires and humans alike, they cannot be stopped till you came. You’re blood holds the key to stopping these nightmare creatures.”
Natalie was stunned, she wasn’t sure what to think or how to comprehend that she would be the end of a centuries old conflict between equally nightmarish creatures in her view, regardless of the fact that she now belonged to one of those species.
“I think that’s enough for one day.” Sighed Vanessa. “There is such thing as information overload my dear.”
Natalie nodded mutely.
“Perhaps we should work on getting you dressed so I don’t have to take you home naked later?”
“I don’t have any clothes that will fit…” Natalie began plucking at the tee-shirt she wore.
“I’ll deal with that.” Smiled Vanessa, “I want you to go take a shower. By the time you return, ill have something sorted my dear.”
Not quite sure as to how she would accomplish that, Natalie followed orders and made her way blindly into the bathroom.
Sliding the lock on the door, she stripped the tee-shirt over her head. That had once been tight on her, and it now reached almost to her knees.
Natalie studied her form as she stepped into the shower.
She ran her hands over her body. The breasts… her breasts felt strange, soft but firm, and touching the dark nipples made her feel funny in her tummy, it was more pleasurable than she had ever experienced before. Her body was hairless except for a small patch where her legs ended. That area was still strictly off mental limits. She might have accepted that she was female, but she was not touching it yet.
Her skin had a creamy whiteness to it, not ghostly, but untouched by the ravages of the sun. The texture of her skin was something else to Natalie’s mind. A softness she had never expected to feel on herself.
Turning the shower on, she slipped down to sit in the bottom of the shower and hugged her knees to her chest.
Closing her eyes she half wanted to wake up as Danny, but a part of her loved how she felt. A part felt at home.
As the hot water poured over her body, she plucked up the courage to confirm what she knew.
Slowly, she slipped a hand between her thighs and gently touched the folds that lay within.
She had a vagina. She had expected some shock, sadness, or sense of loss, but felt nothing, she felt normal… Withdrawing her hand, she clambered to her feet and began soaping herself and washing, this was too freaky to dwell on…
Stepping from the shower, she wrapped a towel around her waist before remembering and covering her breasts with the fluffy cotton.
Stepping from the bathroom, she made her way back into her room and sat on the edge of the bed to dry herself.
There was a knock at the door as she was rubbing her hair with the towel.
After making sure she was covered, she slowly approached the door and opened it expecting Vanessa to have returned.
“Hey, is Danny in there cutie?” asked her classmate Paul while staring at her chest.
‘I wonder if Vanessa, well mom would mind if I just killed one insignificant human?’ she thought to herself.
A young athlete retires mysteriously at the peak of her career. Her reasons why are a private pain.
Bikepark Leogang, Austria
Thumping music and a cheering crowd echoed around the forest canopy. There’s rarely a more wild and happy atmosphere in the world than a Downhill Mountain Bike race in full swing. There’s music, fast riders, crashes, alcohol and food. You could say that it’s a party where a race breaks out.
No amount of music could lift Alex Carter’s spirits. The chime of bells or the revving of chainsaw engines used to fill her with such joy and vitality. They were the sounds of her passion; her world cheering her on as she gave her everything to that one run down the hill. One single terrifying run that counted for everything. From the top to the finish line at the bottom, through an evolving course that seemed to shift with each rider down, it was exhilarating. The cameras, the crowds and the exotic locations truly made it an amazing world to be a part of.
It felt so very different to be sitting trackside watching the race rather than blasting past inside the tape. She’d been to races before as a spectator of course. She had partied with friends at local events and regionals, even the pro races before she had gotten her own shot. The party atmosphere seemed to flow around her like she was a rock in a stream, her own little spot of dirt was an island free of joy, just regret. Leaning against a tree, hanging back from the crowd while they clamored to cheer on the next rider down felt so very isolated.
Why had she fallen in love with this sport? She could have been happy just riding her bike, enjoying the trails, and being perfectly content. She would have been untouched, unmolested by hate and misunderstanding. It was a strange beast, a sport that people competed in for different reasons. For many, it was the joy of competition that empowered them to be their best selves. The companionship and camaraderie of the event gave them joy to find something in themselves and others that they had only dreamed existed. For others, it was to challenge themselves and prove their mettle. To take on the greatest and prove that they deserved to be called the very best.
For Alex, it had given her a sense of belonging. She had worked with the other girls, trained with them and they had enjoyed challenging each other. They battled one another to set faster and faster times, finding new lines, and shaving off tenths of seconds. It was a different atmosphere to the men's field. Amongst the women, they were competitive sure, all of them wanted to win. To be a winner, to be the champion was everything, but it was different. First and foremost, they were in this together. They were riding for their passion of all things two-wheeled. They were pushing each other onward and no matter who finished where, they were friends.
“You look miserable.”
Alex glanced up to see a young blonde woman in sponsored race gear grinning at her. “You miss it don’t you?” she asked, her French accent strong.
Alex nodded wordlessly, a sad quirk of her lip conveying her feelings.
The woman slipped down to sit beside her and shoulder-bumped her as she stared out into the back of the oblivious crowd. “When you announced you were retiring, the girls were a bit surprised to be honest. We’ve all come back from worse injuries and continued. Was it really that bad that you couldn’t race?”
Alex rolled her shoulder where her separated collarbone had taken her out of the last few rounds of the previous season. “It’s better now,” she admitted begrudgingly. “I’m back riding again, but it won’t ever be this.”
Amélie Dumont gave a Gaelic shrug of dismissal and eyed Alex carefully, “So why quit? You could be running again this season It might even have been your shot.”
Alex sighed and glanced away. “It was for the best, there’s less drama this way. I slip away on a medical excuse and nobody asks any questions; easy.”
Dumont raised an eyebrow and looked at her friend curiously. Alex glanced at the crowd and shook her head before pulling herself to her feet. Gesturing at the Frenchwoman to follow, she picked her way through the undergrowth and deeper into the forest. The light filtered down through the dense canopy, dappling the forest floor below them as they walked in silence for a few minutes until the race was a dull blur in the background behind them.
Turning to face her former rival, a girl who had nearly always beaten her, Alex smiled ruefully and wiped a tear from her before explaining what she couldn’t say in public. “Amélie, I had to retire, because they banned me from competing.”
“Merde! For what reason?” the Frenchwoman exclaimed with a snarl, “You’ve never done anything worthy of it.”
Alex shifted awkwardly and glanced away to focus her thoughts. “Amélie, they banned me from competing with the women because I wasn’t born as one.”
“That trans thing the UCI pushed a few months ago? Wait, you’re… one of… you’re that?”
Alex nodded sadly and blushed, unable to meet the woman’s gaze, “yes.”
The two stood in silence for several moments before Alex felt an arm on her own. Glancing up, she met Dumont’s gaze and flushed pink. “I’m sorry,” she muttered quietly. “You must feel like I deceived you.”
“Whatever for ma chérie? You are apologizing for being yourself? You have harmed no one at all. Non, no, Alex, I do not hate you. Am I surprised? Oui, you are a pretty girl. I would never have guessed it.” Amélie smiled and hugged the young woman.
Separating from the hug, Alex wiped her eyes and sat down heavily on a nearby log. She felt no guilt at living in stealth, keeping this part of herself from others. Truly, it didn’t matter to them. This was her story, her existence and her right to be taken as what she had always known she was. It wasn’t their business, and she was comfortable with that. The relief she felt now was different. She felt relief that she could now share her pain at the organizing body’s decision. That another person she knew could understand why had done what she did. She waited for her friend to join her before she began to explain her story.
“I transitioned back when I was a teenager, ten years ago when I was Fifteen,” she admitted. “I came out to my parents and I saw psychiatrists, all that stuff. I was able to graduate high school as a girl and I had surgery on my eighteenth birthday. I’ve only ever competed on the pro circuit as a girl. Hell, I only ever rode a mountain bike since I transitioned. Now? I can’t compete at all.”
“They said you can race in the open class… but we don’t have that category for downhill do we?” Amélie grimaced as she realized the technicality. “It would be ridiculous to have you racing against the men. They would destroy you, they destroy even my times.”
“I couldn’t do it, even if I could keep up with them Amé, it would be humiliating. Everyone would know about me; I’d be a joke.” Alex sighed. “Amélie, I don’t have the size, or muscle to compete with the men. I don’t even have an advantage over the other girls. You, Marie, Sarah, and Jo beat the crap out of me on power and endurance most times out. The assholes out there that hate us claim with no medical experience whatsoever that I’ve got bigger and stronger bones than you, that my muscle is just… better.”
Amélie chuckled, “You might be slower, but you are a rabbit when it comes to technique, it makes up I think.”
Alex grinned, a sliver of happiness showing through her sadness for a brief time at the woman’s respect.
“They say it’s all in the name of fairness for women’s sports. According to them, it’s not fair that I compete with you because of some arbitrary fact that some people might have an advantage. That some person might decide to compete with the boys for years then just drop of the hat switch to our series and kick our asses.”
Amélie looked at her friend sitting beside her. Alex stood close to her own five foot six and her trim athletic figure was plain to see through her shorts and tank top. The girl looked almost exactly the same as she did when she wasn’t wearing armor under her shorts and jersey. “It seems unfair to treat it as a blanket ban. To force you to race openly if you want a chance at all is cruel. I should think this is your business and nobody else's.” Amélie thought about Alex’s last words and chuckled, “You said come in and kick our asses.”
Alex shrugged, “Yeah, it’s our series, I can’t think of myself as anything but female these days.”
Amélie nodded and smiled, “Even now Chére, I don’t see you otherwise.”
“You’re not mad that I never told you?”
Amélie shook her head. “Non, no Alex, I am not. This is your private business and not mine. All I see before me is a pretty lady and a bitch to try and beat down the hill. You’re clearly not into this to sneak a look at my boobies if that boy toy of yours is anything to go by.” she chuckled. “He knows, yes?”
Alex nodded, “yeah, he’s known since we met. I was very lucky to find someone so understanding. He's my everything.”
“Then why not continue to race and screw them? They don’t have to know.”
“UCI know,” Alex sighed. “They had to, even though it was the past. They know from drug tests, and they know because I told them. It used to be fine, I was more than fine… I passed their requirements and they left it there. The media never had anything to go on and it was all just so much a fact of my past. This stupid ruling meant that if it did come to light, that I was forced to run another category, or it got out into the press it would destroy Mathew, I couldn’t allow that to happen to him.”
“I can understand that,” Amélie nodded grimly. “You give up your passion to protect him from this. That is love.”
Alex nodded sadly, “selfishly, myself too. You see what they do to people like me.”
Amélie shook her head and placed her hand on Alex’s arm. “A person like you is a beautiful, kind, funny happy girl. Nothing more, nothing less. You earned your spot amongst us, you proved you belong here. I have seen you ride, I have seen you train, and I have seen the kind of woman you are. There is no man here with us,” Amélie insisted, " no man here at all.”
“Tell them that.” Alex spat, kicking a twig. “Tell them that I’m a human being who deserves dignity and respect. I’m a person that has feelings and hopes, dreams and passion. Tell them Amélie, because they took mine without blinking an eye and forced me into this situation, they forced it on any of us competing at every level from pro to amateur… why? Because none of us are seriously going to become pariahs and compete as a third category. That is, even if there was enough of us to do so.”
“They are so obsessed with what is a woman,” Amélie snorted. “The American politicians, they talk the same way in France also. They say what is a woman? Then they make it all about our uterus and periods; having babies and things like that. It is funny, no? To them, all we are is a baby factory on legs. No uterus? Useless, why even be a woman if you cannot do all we are good for non?”
Alex smiled sadly at the idea. “While I wish I had a uterus of my own for selfish reasons, you are right; they don’t see us as people. They do not see that we are capable of everything they are. Women can be doctors or police officers. Academics, scientists, astronauts. We can be athletes or mothers, artists or architects… a woman is whatever she wants to be.”
“Bon, you get it, and that’s what makes you a woman Alex.” Amélie smiled. “It is not like I was born a woman. I was a girl, you were not. We both grew up and became women because of what we experienced. We learned, lived, loved, and fought for it. It was different perhaps,” she shrugged. “The path we took, but we both got there in the end. We got there because we both earned it.”
“I’ll still come to the races you know,” Alex offered looking over at a woman she had called both a friend and rival. “It’s just going to be hard to get over my regrets.”
Amélie smiled as she ran her hand through her hair. “Ma Chérie, it is impossible to live life without regrets. We won’t get everything right that we wanted. But our regrets, those things we wish were different go on to shape what we do in the future. They go on to fuel our success.”
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From the Author:
This book originally started life as Angels High, which I wrote back in 2010... wow! I returned to it this year and decided it deserved to be finished. It outgrew its novella intentions and became a novel in its own right. Now ENTIRELY rewritten from start to finish (It is completed) I present... The Angel On Her Wing. She deserved a new title because she's an entirely new book; one that young me could never have written. I hope you enjoy it.
Chapter One - Bandits Twelve O’Clock
There was nothing quite as beautiful as a late summer morning in the English countryside. The day had not yet found its fire as Pilot Officer Brian Campbell stretched lazily on his deckchair by the Squadron hut. It was pleasantly warm as the mid-morning sun played lazily over the grassy expanse of The Royal Air Force’s Biggin Hill Aerodrome. Behind him, the Supermarine Spitfires of the Forty-Thrird Fighter Squadron lay waiting for their crews and the day’s inevitable call to action. All around him, his fellow pilots sat, trying to occupy their time before they were called to fight. Some read the newspaper, others slept, and most sat conversing quietly amongst themselves. The tranquility of the scene belied the reality of a momentary break in the savagery of modern warfare.
It was often said by the men of the Royal Air Force that August of 1940 would have been a glorious time had someone mentioned to Mister Hitler that it was cricket season. Every day the men and planes of Fighter Command took to the skies above England to fend off the swarms of Nazi warplanes that plagued land like gnats to a horse. The Battle of Britain was in full swing as they fought the German Luftwaffe for control of their home island.
Drawing on his third cigarette that morning he allowed his eyes to drift up to the sky above, watching the clouds roll past in a lazy procession. This damned war; for all its danger and uncertainty it had certainly given his life some meaning.
Brian had always been the preverbal black sheep of the well-regarded Campbell family. While his school grades had always been good and he had never sullied the family name, he was never able to truly find favor with his strict father. His older brothers were ideal sons; successful sportsmen at school, academically successful, and with a string of girlfriends, they were perfect in their father’s eye. Both had joined the Army before the outbreak of war and now served distinguished careers.
Brian had always been encouraged to follow in their footsteps for the good of the family but seemed to always fall far short of expectations. His father’s career in finance seemed dull and meaningless to him, and as for sports; he simply wasn’t cut from the same cloth as his far larger siblings. Briand had always taken after his mother. He shared her fair hair and short stature; something his father seemed to greatly lament.
Leaving school at eighteen, he had attended university as a way of avoiding his parents’ repeated insistence that he find a job, find a girl, and settle down. Of course, he had made all the correct noises about advancing his life and career without ever holding any real convictions on the subject; nothing had ever felt right to him. His studies were interrupted by the outbreak of war in Europe had provided him with a chance to escape his father’s mournful disappointment. It had given him the chance to fulfill the niggling feeling that he should make a man of himself. It was good for that much at least.
War was a grand distraction for Brian. It helped him to shove aside his malaise at life and focus instead on something far larger than himself. Nobody could protest his putting off his life decisions when there was a war afoot. The Royal Air Force had only seemed logical; His uncle had been with the Royal Flying Corps in the Great War. During childhood, Brian had spent many a happy summer on his Uncle’s farm in Kent learning to fly in his little Dehaviland Puss Moth.
When the RAF had learned his family name, he had been quickly accepted and entered the pilot training program. Early experience in the war and the poor progress of the British Expeditionary Force in France had changed his career trajectory when command had needed more fighter pilots. Brian hadn’t minded; for once he had found something that he was good at.
The shrill ring of the telephone in the squadron hut snapped him from his thoughts as it did every single man on the flight line. The seconds ticked by slowly as the call was answered; almost always it was a scramble. Of course, there were the occasional false alarms and admin phone calls that got the pilots on edge as they waited for the next frantic burst of action but today was not to be that day. Sergeant Tomlinson’s appearance at the doorway to the hut was enough clarification for Brian and the others in the duty section that this was no false alarm. The pilots were halfway to their aircraft before they heard him call the official order: The boys of Forty-Three Squadron were the best in the whole Royal Air Force.
Jumping into the cockpit of his Spitfire, Brian ran through the startup sequence for his aircraft’s mighty engine with one hand while he used the other to fasten his flight harness about his torso. Checking the straps were secure, save for those at his crotch, he checked over the vibrating cockpit instruments as the Spitfire roared to life. All along the line of aircraft, clouds of smoke and bursts of noise signaled that the squadron was roaring to life. A crewman slammed his door closed and latched it before clapping him on the shoulder as they hopped off the wing. Brian gave the man a salute before opening the throttle a crack and releasing the brakes.
The aircraft began to roll forwards across the grass as he made his final instrument checks and lined up for takeoff alongside his wingmen. He wasn’t sure why he always made sure that he left the parachute straps loose, but it had become almost a personal preflight ritual. He remembered during training, one of his instructors had joked to the group about keeping them too tight for too long was a sure way to see off fatherhood. Like the other young and inexperienced trainee pilots, he’d burned the advice into his memory.
The Spitfire’s engine growled as Brian throttled up for takeoff, the power forcing him back into his seat as he began to accelerate across the airfield. The mighty Rolls Royce Merlin engine’s torque was so powerful that he had to give the aircraft right stick to avoid it winging over and digging into the grass as the tail lifted. Within seconds, the aircraft was pulling itself up into the air and away from the green and pleasant lands of England down below.
“Ascot three, airborne.” He called over his radio transmitter as the heavy metallic sounds of the landing gear tucking themselves into the wings of his fighter reverberated around the thin airframe. Testing the response of the controls with a quick wiggle, he settled into a steep intercept climb alongside his comrades.
“Roger that Three; form up at angels one eight with section, Ascot One out.”
Ascot flight grouped up in tight formation at the designated altitude and cruised south from Biggin Hill towards the channel coast.
The radio crackled in Brian’s flying helmet. “Hello Skipper, Ascot two, what’s on the menu today sir?”
“What have I told you about calling me Sir, Jenkins? For god’s sake stick to radio protocol.” Squadron Commander Barton replied sharply over the radio from the front of the echelon.
Brian smiled as he listened to the sweet sound of someone else suffering the Commanding Officer’s ire.
“Twenty bandits at angels one five; approaching from the southeast… Just bombers lads.” Barton advised. “Don’t get bloody sloppy on me, there might be fighters lurking above them that Radar can’t see so I don’t want anyone showing off, copy?”
Responses from all aircraft signaled their understanding as Ascot flight climbed above the incoming bombers and waited to spring their trap. Masked from view by the cloudy coastal skies, the German aircrews never saw the fighters until it was far too late. The agile aircraft descended on the lumbering Heinkel bombers with the gusto of lurking predators.
The battle was swift and brutal as the fighters darted amongst the German aircraft. Despite their tactical advantage, their training had only barely prepared them for the reality of aerial combat. Tracer fire arced through the sky from the guns of the bombers who desperately maintained their close-packed formation to ward off the marauding aircraft. The g-forces slammed Brian around his cockpit as he ducked and weaved avoiding the vicious streams that lanced towards him.
Every time he depressed the trigger on his control grip, the entire aircraft shuddered violently with the recoil of the .303 machine guns mounted in his wings. The battle was a violent medley of sight, sound, and sensation as they fought to down the German aircraft before they could release their deadly cargo on their targets down below. One by one, the Luftwaffe bombers plummeted from the sky, their broken forms enveloped in smoke and fire, the white dots of parachutes littering the sky.
“One more in the bag, I think that’s the last of ‘em boys. Jolly good work,” Barton announced triumphantly as he climbed back to join the formation after trailing the fiery plummet of a stricken bomber down towards the British countryside.
The radio crackled in Brian’s headset as he heard the voice of his friend Andy Gold. “Ascot Four to Ascot lead, we’ve got two limping away at low altitude. Do I have permission to pursue over?”
Audibly sighing over the radio, Barton reluctantly agreed. “Roger that Four, Three will go with you, and don’t drop your guard, over.”
“Wilco sir, Four out.”
“Tallyho Brian.” Gold called before diving down after the disappearing jerry bombers. Brian shook his head and smirked as he rolled his Spitfire over and dove to follow his wingman.
The two spitfires dropped down and began to trail the enemy bombers as they attempted to flee back towards the channel. Safely out of kicking range of the German aircraft’s guns, they closed the distance. Brian slipped his Spitfire into an attack position off the lower quarter of the damaged aircraft, it was best to stay away from directly astern of the Jerry bomber. As he began to line up the kill, the Heinkel’s starboard engine began trailing a thick black pall of smoke that obscured his view.
“No good Andy, I can’t get a clean shot through the smoke, take a pop at the Bosh and I’ll cover you.” He offered, deferring the kill to his wingman off to his right.
“Roger that Brian, I’ll save you the other one,” Gold chuckled, maneuvering his fighter in for the kill.
As the aircraft got closer, the Heinkel’s final engine spluttered and died spraying thick black engine oil out into its wake. Lining his guns up on the sedate target, Flying Officer Andy Gold never saw it coming as the thick black oil smothered his windshield.
“Blast it Brian I can’t see a bloody thing, I’m pulling out!” He called breaking off from the attack. Brian was in the process of lamenting the difficulty of downing two limping Jerry bombers when he saw his wingman’s fatal error and felt the sickening grip of dread. Instead of diving away to safety, his wingman and friend pulled back on his controls for fear of the low altitude and brought his Spitfire directly into the dorsal gunner’s sights. Yanking his aircraft sharply to port, Brian barely missed being hit by the burning wreckage of Gold’s Spitfire as it was torn to pieces by the hail of German bullets.
“Andy!” Brian screamed in futility as fragments of Gold’s aircraft clattered off his fuselage. “You damn fool, you damn fool…”
With a heavy heart, he centered his crosshairs on the bomber’s port engine and jabbed angrily at the trigger. He felt the airframe shudder as the Spitfire’s eight .303 guns rained down on the German aircraft. With a lurch, the bomber began to come apart before rolling over and diving into the ocean. “That one’s for Andy,” Brian muttered to himself as he lined up on the healthier of the two enemy bombers which was now diving and twisting in erratic evasive maneuvers in a desperate attempt to escape.
Taking a breath, he focused his attention on the final bomber as it dove into a fog bank low above the water. Staying on top of the fog, Brian waited for the German to resurface. He could see the edge of the fog bank coming up quickly and was ready on his trigger to send the bomber to join its wingman once he reappeared.
Without warning, the German bomber speared up out of the fog and shot across his nose. Brian reacted quickly, pulling the trigger as he rolled to port to avoid a collision, his rounds raking the belly of the German beast as it screamed past. His aircraft rattled and shuddered as a bust of fire from the German’s dorsal gunner ripped into his belly.
Circling around again, Brian took stock of his aircraft after the surprise encounter. His instrument panel was smoking and sparking, although for the moment, all seemed to be well with his engine. Feeling his legs and torso, he found no injuries. Craning his neck, Brian looked around desperately as he tried to spot the lone enemy aircraft in the swirling clouds, but it had vanished once again. Dropping down, he dove down under the cloud layer and skimmed the surface fog in a vain attempt to find the marauder as it tried to slither back to its own lines.
The world between the clouds was bright and eerie, a world of mist and shifting shapes. The sun’s light penetrated unevenly through the upper layer, casting warping shadows onto the sea fog below. Out of the corner of his eye, Brian spotted a moving shape a distance off to his starboard. Moving closer to get a better look, he recognized the shadow cast by the German bomber as it was silhouetted by the sun above. The bomber was hiding in the upper layer of cloud, attempting to sneak back to friendly skies.
Brian used the shadow as a guide and eased himself into position to the rear of where the German aircraft would be as he flew alone through the strange in-between world in the clouds. Once he judged himself close enough, he eased back on the controls and began to climb slowly towards the aircraft like a shark rising from the deep. The world became grey around him as he climbed into the clouds, relying entirely on his instruments. Keeping his bearings, he rose until eventually, he could just make out the tail of the German bomber through the soup. Smiling darkly to himself, he depressed the trigger and opened up with all of his guns.
The bomber burst into flames as the bullets ripped through its engines and fuel tanks, lighting the clouds around it in iridescent color. The aircraft seemed to falter and sway before it dove spiraling down into the fog, never to be seen again.
Gritting his teeth, Brian resisted the urge to celebrate the kill. Methodically, he eased back on the controls and began his climb up and out of the clouds to find clear air once more. Keying his radio, he called the boss. “Ascot Three to Ascot Leader, Jerries down, but… sir, Ascot Four bought it, over.”
Hearing no reply Brian tapped his transmitter switch and tried again, greeted only by the cold tone of static. “Ascot Three to any aircraft, do you read me over?” He tried again, cycling through the radio’s channels, hoping that for some simple reason, things would work again. He shook his head and unclipped his mask before muttering a curse under his breath; another repair to add to the list for the ground crew back home.
However, at that moment in time, his blinkered pursuit of the German bomber left him entirely unaware of where home exactly was.
Checking through his instruments, Brian began to spot damage throughout the aircraft. His fuel gauge, compass, and radio all seemed to have faults, holes, or damage. The German gunner’s rounds had done a number on his poor spitfire; heaven knows, looking out at his wings showed that he had been utterly peppered. Gentle tests of his flight controls showed them to be working as well as he could hope under the circumstances. It was a small mercy, he supposed. More worrying was the fact that he now found himself high above the channel, low on fuel, and utterly clueless as to his exact location.
Dropping down below the clouds left him a narrow corridor of several hundred feet above the dirty gray waves of the English Channel. He had three hundred and sixty choices to make and while two hundred and seventy of them would result in reaching land at some point, the remaining ninety could fly him out into the open Atlantic without hope of survival. Crossing his fingers on the control grip, he banked left and took a chance. Sailing had been one of the few interests he had shared with his father. That memory of childhood brought one fact to the forefront of his brain at that moment however: In the morning, winds predominantly blew out from or into the channel, bound either for, or coming in from the Atlantic Ocean with the tides, and judging by the wave patterns, he could estimate broadly which direction that was. Completing the turn, he leveled off flying parallel to the waves below praying that his fuel load held out long enough for him to reach dry land.
Within fifteen minutes of his decision, Brian’s gamble appeared to have paid off; he began to make out the dark mass of land through his propeller’s blur. Heartened by his discovery, Brian opened the throttle to a fighting speed, unsure which coast he was approaching: He didn’t very well want to go strolling over the French coast and become a leisurely target to the anti-aircraft guns the Jerries lined the cliffs with since the fall of France.
Dropping down to the wave tops. He pushed onwards, hoping his gamble would land him on friendly soil. By his estimation his fuel load had to be dropping dangerously low; any port in a storm suited him just fine at that moment.
Racing up over the beach and headland, he sped inland encountering no immediate resistance. It wasn’t a part of England he recognized, but there was no anti-aircraft fire. Flying low over a coast road, his heart sank; traffic was passing by on the wrong side of the road and to make matters worse, it was all dull grey German military traffic.
Brian’s heart rate quickened and he yanked back on the controls, urging his aircraft up and away from potential ground fire. He was flying alone over occupied France with extremely low fuel and a damaged kite. He knew that his chances of making a return trip to England successfully were slim. At between twenty and forty miles in width, depending on the portion of the coast he was over, he estimated that he would need to swim a good distance of the way home at the very best. His other options were less inviting still; bail out now, attempt a crash landing when he ran out of fuel, or wait for a Jerry fighter to turn up and deal with his wounded aircraft.
It was the first time since he had joined the RAF that Brian had been required to decide his own fate with more than just guns and guts: It was not a pleasant feeling to realize one would either die or spend the rest of this sordid affair in a prisoner of war camp. That morning his biggest decision had been whether or not he wanted eggs with his breakfast. He was still pondering his fate when the chatter of guns behind him told him unequivocally that the decision had already been made by a higher power than himself.
Brian cursed and yanked at the controls throwing the fighter into a steep turn up and away from the tracer fire streaking past his cockpit. He worked to evade the German fighter that had so successfully stalked its prey until it was well within striking distance. Diving steeply he barely dodged a second burst as he used what he expected to be the last of his fuel in this fruitless dance. He jerked his head around quickly from side to side trying to catch sight of the aircraft behind him. The German stayed close and remained glued to his tail regardless of the maneuvers he pulled off. That fact alone worried him greatly: For a Jerry pilot to be able to match a Spitfire in their older and less maneuverable Messerschmitt he would have to be quite the aviator.
Brian shook himself mentally and cleared his head. He couldn’t let the German pilot win before the battle was even over. The man clearly knew what he was doing, and what to expect. He was probably a veteran aviator, meaning he’d seen a great deal of spitfires if he was able to keep with one. What Brian needed, was something the man hadn’t seen yet. As he ducked and weaved, dodging short sharp bursts from the German’s guns, he had an idea and it hadn’t come from his RAF training.
Flying with his uncle reminded him of how the little monoplane he owned would buck and pop up when they deployed its flaps, boosting the little aircraft up on short takeoffs. Brian considered the act for a moment. He needed to turn the tables on the German with an unconventional move the pilot wouldn’t expect; It was risky but offered greater odds than the certain death that waited should he keep up this fruitless game of cat and mouse. He didn’t know what it would do to his damaged aircraft, but he had little choice. Using what he knew of the German attacker’s weaknesses, he opened the throttle wide and began to accelerate away from his pursuer. At first, the slower German aircraft lagged behind but soon began to eat away at the gap as it built momentum. As the plane got bigger and bigger behind him in his mirror, Brian cut the throttle and dropped the spitfire’s landing flaps as he hauled back on the controls with all his strength. With a stomach-churning lurch that forced him down into his seat, the fighter creaked and complained as it lept upwards losing significant airspeed. Unable to react in time, the 109 still fighting to match the speed of its faster prey shot beneath Brian’s aircraft. Closing his flaps Brian nosed down and took advantage of the change in positions by opening fire with the browning machine guns mounted within the leading edge of his wings. The German fighter began to smoke as Brian’s bullets raked across it. His guns clicking dry, Brian could only watch as the fighter began to spiral downwards into its death throws. The canopy popped off and he saw the pilot bail out, his white chute popping against the green of the landscape down below.
Banking around, Brian circled the German pilot as he descended under silk towards the French countryside. He knew that he too would soon join the man. Passing the man one final time, he cut his opponent a jaunty salute like a knight acknowledging his defeated opponent. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to see if the man returned the gesture.
As Brian rolled away to find a location to set the crippled aircraft down, the stresses of the fight and the existing damage caught up to the Spitfire suddenly and violently. With a sickening tear, the port wing ripped away at its root causing the aircraft to roll upside down and begin a vicious spiral towards the ground.
Fighting the g-forces, Brian desperately tried to lift his arms to release his harness. The few seconds it took felt like minutes as the aircraft plummeted closer to the ground. As his fingers reached the catch and released the straps, he was slammed against the sidewall of the cockpit knocking the wind from his chest.
Adrenaline pulsed through his veins he grasped for the canopy handle above his head and fought to find purchase on the release. Fingers finally closed around the handle and he yanked at the catch as hard as he could. The catch slipped free and the canopy was ripped backward by the wind that suddenly enveloped the cockpit. Struggling to breathe in the strong airflow Brian forced his complaining muscles to comply and lift him upwards and toward salvation, his body straining against the crushing forces. With a monumental effort, he dragged his torso upwards and out of the cockpit. Gasping for air as it sped past, he forced his legs to lift him into the buffeting wind. Feeling drained by the simple act of climbing out of the cockpit he lifted himself a fraction higher till the wind caught his body and dragged him from the stricken craft.
As he was yanked by the slipstream, he felt his harness catch momentarily as he tumbled away from the aircraft. Opening his arms as he was taught, he fought to stabilize himself as his Spitfire hurtled past him towards the ground. Tugging at his harness with his gloved hands he checked for damage; His waist strap was flapping in the wind but everything else seemed in order. Ensuring he had a strong grip on his shoulder harness he yanked at the ripcord and waited for the jolt that would follow. It felt as though it took minutes for the tiny drogue chute to pull his main clear but suddenly the parachute unfurled with a deafening crack as it caught the wind, slamming him into his harness as his terminal plummet was brought to an immediate halt. He was, however, barely aware of this as bright white pain flooded his entire body and darkness claimed him.
Brian’s vision swam slowly back into focus as sharp pain coursed through his body. He could hear the rustle and creak of the wind in his parachute and felt the weight of his body against the harness straps that held him aloft. When his mind cleared enough to focus, he began to groggily search for where the bullet had hit him. Finding no blood, he realized the pain was radiating out from his crotch. The damn loose jump straps he realized: His harness was so comfortable in the cockpit and he hadn’t the time to even think about tightening them when it had come time to leave the aircraft. As the parachute had deployed the damaged waist strap had allowed the full weight of his body to slam down into the harness with enough force to make him black out.
Brian fought the pain to stay conscious as he drifted down toward the ground. Each gust of wind that caught the parachute felt as though a knife was being twisted in an open wound. The French countryside rushed up towards him as he hung below the billowing white silk. Brian grimaced through the blinding pain as he attempted to brace for a parachute landing the way the instructors had taught him, but before he was ready, he slammed into the damp morning grass and the world turned black.
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From the Author:
Note, the references to Spitfires were changed to Hurricanes to better reflect 43 Squadron's actual aircraft.
Chapter Two - The Future
To this day, there is a great deal that we do not understand about the human mind. We can often theorise how it works and how it processes our emotions but many elements are as alien to us as the surfaces of distant worlds. Our dreams often serve as a sorting yard for our waking sensations. They are a world in which we can subconsciously file away our emotions and feelings into more recognizable and more digestible elements that allow our lives to go on in as unhindered a fashion as possible.
Brian’s dreams were filled with violence and fire. He did not replay his final waking moments in order, but rather a journey of more general sensation as his troubled subconscious attempted to process the sheer volume of signals and sensations that had rushed through it in the moments before the darkness claimed him. For a human being to feel so much, so very much while under such extreme stress was and is still poorly understood.
Flashes of gunfire and burning wreckage flashed through his mind as he relived his fraught and terrifying battle to survive. The adrenaline-fueled horror of combat warped and demonised the Nazi aircraft into strange and horrifying visions of evil. Cannon fire shook his aircraft as blood and oil clouded his eyes. The aircraft shook, jolting his body violently. Fire and terror gripped him as his eyes snapped open suddenly, searching for the eldritch horrors that pursued him. Instead of fire and violence, the sky above him was a beautiful blue. The blood rushing through his ears began to subside, only to be replaced by the growling rumble of a truck engine.
It took his foggy mind a moment to comprehend where he was and what had happened. No longer lying in a French field, he felt the hardness of wooden boards beneath him and the vibration of a truck engine. The trees lining the roadway flashed by between the bars that secured the canvas cover to the body. His eyes wandered slowly over the people seated around him. German Field grey uniforms and helmets lined the benches on either side. It took him a surprisingly long time to realise that they were looking at him.
“Du bist aus England, ja?” Asked a man kneeling to his left, seeing that Brian was awake. “You are Englisch, English pilot, RAF yes?”
Brian nodded weakly, raising his hand to his head. “Yes, I am English,” he groaned quietly, apprehensive of the response his admission would receive from what he now realised was his German captors.
The Soldier nodded as if he had suspected as much. “You lie still Englisch. You are hurt. We take to Field Hospital. You are prisoner now.”
Brian nodded but remained silent. A Prisoner of War camp was his future from now on and there was little point resisting his fate in his current state. His best chance of escape, it was said, was during the first few hours after capture; however, in his current condition, he was in no shape to fight back. His body was a canvas of different painful sensations and he wasn’t even sure he could stand. He had done his job, he’d fought and killed and it was over. With a calm acceptance of his fate, he allowed the pain in his head to reclaim his consciousness.
When Brian woke up again, he was lying on a bed under a gently rotating ceiling fan. There was a strong smell of disinfectant in the air and the unmistakable tang of blood that told him unequivocally that he was in a hospital. Looking around, he could see nurses attending to rows of occupied beds similar to his own. He wasn’t sure if they were all Germans or fellow prisoners like himself.. Besides medical staff, he could see no guards watching over him. Raising his hand slowly and carefully, he confirmed his suspicions; he was handcuffed firmly to the metal frame of the bed.
Upon hearing the rattle of the cuff, a dark-haired nurse in a smart white uniform turned away from a chart she had been reading and approached his bed.
“Hello, can you tell me your name?” she asked politely in German-accented English. “We need it for our records.” She shrugged apologetically. “I am not here to interrogate you, but it would help us ensure you are recorded as captured, not dead,” she offered as Brian hesitated.
“Brian Campbell,” he offered simply, not quite certain of who he could trust at present, military or otherwise.
“Ok Mister Campbell,” the nurse smiled. “You are in a Military Hospital in Valognes, a patrol found you and brought you in after your aircraft crashed not too far from here.”
“How long have I been here?” Brian asked quietly, closing his eyes and grimacing as a jab of pain shot through his body once more. “Do you know what happened to me?”
The nurse smiled sympathetically and lowered herself into the plain chair beside Brian’s bed. “You were brought in two days ago as far as I know. I was not working at the time, but it must have been then. As for what is wrong with you, I can tell you that you needed surgery to repair a bleed. Beyond that, you will need to ask the doctor about the specifics when he comes around. I know that at this time you are at no risk though, your charts show you are recovering well. Your vitals are good and you seem coherent enough for a head injury, so things are not so grim yes?” she smiled, touching Brian’s arm.
“Aside from being in an enemy military hospital, I’d be inclined to agree with you.” Brian murmured softly, “thank you, nurse.”
Squeezing his arm with a polite smile, the nurse stood and left him to attend to another patient in the ward.
Brian lowered his head back to the pillow and tried to focus on the ceiling fan above him. He wasn’t sure about anything anymore. His body hurt, and he wasn’t in a position to examine himself as he lay cuffed to the bed. He’d never been this seriously injured before in his life, even as a child, so his expectations of hospitals in general were limited.
His body hurt, though where specifically was hard to place as he was on relatively strong pain medication, drip-fed into him by the German medical staff. He remembered the pain he felt when his parachute opened and how it had sliced through his body like a hot poker. He could move his legs and hips, although painfully, so he assumed that he hadn’t somehow shattered his pelvis in the accident.
The fate of the German pilot he had battled with over the French countryside also clawed at the back of his mind. The man had been good, he knew that. The very fact he had survived almost felt like a miracle. By rights, the more experienced aviator should have torn him to shreds. He felt almost guilty having won the duel. He hoped the man had survived their encounter.
Later that afternoon, Brian was woken by a stern-looking older man with a thin moustache and round wireframed spectacles hovering above his bed. The man’s white coat was indicative of his career, even if the stethoscope around his neck had not given the game away.
“Doctor?” he asked groggily attempting to move himself up into a sitting position.
The doctor frowned absent-mindedly and waved a hand at Brian to remain where he was. “You are awake I see? Good. I wish to make you aware that you were injured by your parachute landing and there were complications, but you are recovering well. I have been instructed by the Luftwaffe to attend to your immediate medical concerns and then turn you over to them for transfer to a Prisoner of War camp when I deem you healthy enough to travel,” he replied stiffly.
“What complications?” Brian asked, concern edging his voice.
“Those… I am not permitted to comment on that at this time,” the doctor replied firmly. His mask of indifference slipped slightly to one of mild discomfort as he spoke. “You must wait for the Luftwaffe Officer who is coming to explain this to you.”
“Hey, I have a right to know what’s bloody wrong with me,” Brian shot back. “Am I your patient or the Luftwaffe’s?”
The doctor frowned deeply. “You are not my patient by choice, Englishman; I treat you because I must, as a doctor, not because I like you.”
“Surely a medical issue is just… it’s right that you tell me?”
The man hesitated, almost as though he was considering telling Brian the truth. Instead, he turned and left briskly without further word.
Brian was frustrated by the German physician’s attitude, but shrugged it off; he was, after all, an enemy combatant. There was no reason to expect flowers and chocolates at his bedside. He was more concerned however by the reference the doctor made to ‘complications’. It seemed at odds with his reportedly good health. The man’s apparent discomfort certainly made him uneasy.
That the doctor would not tell him the truth was frightening. What could be so horrific that he didn’t want to tell him? Brian tried to dig through the muddy pain and narcotic haze that he felt to locate the source of his injuries but failed. Nothing seemed quite clear. With a mix of apprehension and frustration, he drifted off to a fitful sleep.
The next morning, Brian awoke to find a German officer seated by the foot of his bed. The man was quietly reading what appeared to be a paperback novel and was in no hurry for him to awaken. Every once in a while, his eyes would drift back to where Brian lay before returning to the pages of his book. Brian watched the German carefully for a moment before the man realised that he was awake.
The man smiled broadly and closed his novel after meticulously marking his place with a leather bookmark. “Good morning Heir Campbell, my name is Hauptman Markus Bergmann,” the man announced formally as he reached over and offered Brian his hand. Brian accepted the greeting with caution and confusion.
“As you can see, I am not in a fighting state at the moment myself,” he grinned nodding towards a wooden crutch leaning against the window sill. “I desired greatly to meet with the English pilot that has awarded me this brief respite from the tireless pursuit of your brethren.”
“You were the pilot I shot down?” Brian asked with trepidation as he lifted himself into a sitting position in the bed.
“I am indeed,” beamed Bergmann. The man leaned forwards conspiratorially and lowered his voice. “I was speaking with your doctor just now. Between you and I, he is an awfully dour fellow. He mentioned that you were well enough to perhaps take a brief constitutional. Would you care to join me for some fresh air? Perhaps we could talk more about… our common experiences away from the formality of this place.” He added nodding in the direction of the doctor, who Brian could see was hovering just out of earshot.
Brian smiled. “I’d take you up on that offer Hauptman, but I am somewhat at a loss to personally agree,” he mentioned raising his shackled wrist and shaking the chain.
Hauptman Bergmann shook his head sadly and waved over a nurse. After a brief conversation she disappeared off and promptly returned carrying a set of keys. Leaning down, she unlocked the cuff around his wrist and stepped back. Freed, Brian rubbed his naked wrist, encouraging the circulation to flow once more.
“Thank you,” he offered, looking over at the German officer. “Although what’s to stop me doing a runner?”
Bergmann chuckled. “Oh, you could try, although like myself at present I believe you are no flight risk, as they say.”
Brian glanced down to the man’s lower limbs that had been previously hidden by the bed. Bergmann’s left leg was in a cast.
Brian pulled the woollen dressing gown about his shoulders as the two walked slowly through the small garden within the hospital grounds. Before the start of the war it had been a town clinic of some form and a few merciful vestiges of that civilian life still remained. The garden itself was surrounded on three sides by the Hospital; A quiet area of flower beds, paved pathways, and seating areas to allow the convalescing somewhere tranquil to get away from the hospital itself. The garden could have been anywhere in England if it had not been for the drab military signs on the walls in German text that proclaimed it property of the German Army.
Tugging the dressing gown tighter, Brian walked slowly and uneasily alongside the German officer in silence. He felt cold, despite the summer sunshine that bathed the courtyard; he wasn’t sure if it was the doctor’s words, his predicament, or his proximity to the enemy. His body felt stiff and unfamiliar after his time in the hospital bed. There was still pain, but it was far less focused now.
Stopping by a small bench, Bergmann gestured for them to sit before opening a silver cigarette case and offered it to Brian wordlessly. Gratefully accepting the cigarette, he held it to his lips as the German gave him a light before tending to his own; the two smoked for a moment in silence savouring a brief moment of peace. Whatever Brian had expected of life as a prisoner of war, smoking in a French hospital garden with the German pilot that he had shot down was not on that list.
He looked over at the German Captain and regarded him for a moment. The man was about his age or perhaps slightly older. Much taller than Brian’s five foot six, Markus Bergmann was almost the poster child for the Aryan movement; Tall, broad, and blonde-haired. His dress uniform was immaculate save the cast covering his left foot.
Bergmann caught his look and smiled. “You were flying before the war?”
“With my uncle, nothing particularly exciting, but I could fly. I only joined the Royal Air Force as war broke out,” Brian admitted. “Sort of a patriotic duty to serve I suppose.”
“I have been flying all my life,” explained Bergmann with a sheepish grin revealing his deeper feelings on the subject. “My father, he taught me when I was but thirteen. For most of my youth I would fly for pleasure; for any reason I could find. I almost wished I would never have to return to the land.”
“You joined the Luftwaffe before the war then?” Brian asked.
Bergman shook his head. “No, not at first. I was a naval officer of all things,” he chuckled. “My father was a Fregattenkapitän, ah, sorry, Commander? in the Kriegsmarine, our navy. I had wanted to possibly fly seaplanes, although I never did like the idea of being shot from a battleship into the air.”
“So dodging bullets was preferable?” Brian asked with amusement, a crease of a smirk on his lips.
“What is it you English say? I traded one frying pan for a fire,” Bergmann smiled sardonically. “But either way, I defend the Germany of my family and future generations. Regardless of the politics.” The Pilot said with a dismissive wave.
“So you’re not one for the goose-stepping about then?” Brian asked teasingly, feeling more comfortable in the other pilot’s presence as the man opened up to him.
Bergmann shook his head. “Why we fight, I do not wish to discuss, but fight we do. I do my duty; It is my job as a soldier. I follow the orders of those above me as an Officer should.”
“But what about Hitler and his thing with rounding up the Jews and others? I’m not sure I could willingly stomach that on my watch.” Brian offered. “There’s fighting because we must, and then there’s willing ignorance.”
Bergmann lowered his head. “That there is, but we are both airmen yes? Tell me this… Can you tell me of one time when you have flown a mission that was not a response to enemy action? We intercept, we escort, we reconnoitre, we attack, but all of it is a direct response to conflict, not politics. Our jobs are far removed from the desks. We fight because we must, not because we want to…. Politics.” Bergmann shrugged. “It is largely irrelevant once the shooting starts no?”
Brian nodded more to himself than in agreement. “True enough,” he offered softly. “True enough.”
Bergman chuckled. “On the subject of shooting, I had wanted to speak with you about the manoeuvre you used when we fought, where did you learn to fly in such a way?” the German airman asked with a hint of awe, “It is not a standard tactic I think.”
“Tricks of the trade,” Brian smiled, tapping his nose with his index finger. “I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you.”
Markus Bergman Laughed heartily. “I am not so sure it would be a complete loss if you did.” He grinned. “Rarely do I come up against pilots that understand the limitations of their own aircraft, never mind that of their enemies also. The way you forced me to commit to a chase before you sprang your trap…. It was truly a delight. I will not make the same mistake again.”
Brian blushed. “I think you give me too much credit,” He smiled weakly, “I could tell you were an experienced pilot and that I wouldn’t have much chance. I was low on fuel so I tried something absurd to try and rattle you and keep my behind out of your gun sight.”
Bergmann nodded, “That it did, I was not prepared for such an action.”
The conversation wore on, experiences were shared, the shop talk that aviators amongst their own kind engaged in. Eventually, things began to wind down and the pair sat in silence. Brian, however, desperately wanted to raise a subject that had been evading him since his arrival at the hospital. Stubbing out his cigarette, he turned on the bench to face the German officer.
“Look,” Brian began, getting Bergman’s attention. “I’d like you to be straight with me here, flyer to flyer. That bloody excuse for a doctor in there won’t tell me what’s wrong with me,” Brian frowned, nodding towards the hospital. “Has he told you anything? I hate being left out of the loop like this. It's obviously bad, so just spit it out.” He said with mounting frustration.
Markus Bergmann’s expression fell and the man frowned. “I suppose you should be told…” he mused. “However, I was not quite prepared to tell you so soon.”
“I’m going to die,” Brian stated flatly, as an unusual calm washed over his body.
Bergmann shook his head. “No, nothing like that. Actually, you are healthy; at least physically.” He began, choosing his words carefully. “It is more, well, the doctors were forced to operate on you when you were brought in,” he explained. “Your…” he gestured towards his trousers. “Hoden, ah, testicles. They were damaged, you were bleeding and…” He trailed off. Placing a hand on Brian’s shoulder, the man smiled sympathetically. “They had to remove them, I’m very sorry Herr Campbell.”
Brian sat quietly for a moment, unsure of how he should feel at such news. “Oh,” he finally responded quietly, “I see.”
“I expected you to take this news more, badly?” Bergmann said tentatively. “You are not angry, upset? You would have the right.”
Brian considered this for a moment before responding. “I’m really not sure what to think,” he admitted looking out over the garden. “I suppose in a way it’s my own fault for not fastening my harness properly and expecting to live forever. That and bad luck I suppose. Hadn’t really considered myself the family sort really. I would rather be alive than dead after all. I am a little annoyed that the doctor wouldn’t tell me though, Numb? of course. Though I don’t feel angry. I’m alive right?”
“You have every right to Heir Campbell.”
“My name is Brian,” he said flatly, looking at the German opposite him. “I think after dropping a bombshell like that one on me I would have thought we would be beyond formalities,” he chuckled nervously.
“Brian it is,” Bergmann nodded, “I am Marcus.”
“What’s to become of me Marcus?” Brian asked, tentatively changing the topic. He looked up at the German officer with a more nervous expression on his face. “What comes next for me?”.
Bergmann interlaced his fingers and sighed. “You will be transferred to a Prisoner of War camp soon. Well, as soon as you are fit to be transported. I am sorry; these are the rules of the game we play. You will be treated fairly, we are not monsters.”
Brian laughed. “No need to be sorry, I’m the dolt that had the bad luck to come down in your back garden. It’s the rules of the game.”
“You English have strange ways of coping with bad news,” Bergmann added before offering his hand to the English pilot. “I think perhaps we could share a drink after the war is over. We could learn much from each other.”
“Yes,” Brian agreed softly, grasping the man’s hand in return. “Yes, I suppose we could.”
Comments are the lifeblood of authors. Please leave a comment with your thoughts/feelings and I'll answer! Let me know what you think!
From the Author:
Note, the references to Spitfires were changed to Hurricanes to better reflect 43 Squadron's actual aircraft.
Chapter Three - New Kid On the Block
The lorry rumbled slowly along an uneven dirt track somewhere deep inside the heart of Germany. It had been nearly two weeks since Brian Campbell’s aircraft had gone down over Northern France and the young airman couldn’t begin to imagine where exactly he now found himself. The more lost he felt, the more he realised that was most likely part of their plan.
They had left France by train and traveled deep into the heart of the German Reich before transferring him to an Opel Blitz lorry for the final leg of his journey. The Luftwaffe guards assigned to him were a professional group and had treated him surprisingly well during his journey further and further away from his homeland. Quite certain that not all German troops behaved this way with Prisoners, Brian suspected it was his status as an officer and a pilot amongst the air force soldiers that was a deciding factor in their generally fair treatment of him. Honour and warfare; strange bedfellows that were rapidly tiring of one another’s company in these uncertain modern times.
He had been cooped up in the swelteringly hot rear of the German cargo lorry for at least four hours. They had traveled through two towns before they had turned off onto the bumpy track he now found himself traveling along. WIth diversions and ever present military traffic, their journey across Europe had taken four days to complete.
The Doctor in France had signed him off as fit to travel only three days after Herr Bergmann’s visit which meant that while he was healthy enough to travel, his injuries were far from healed. For Brian, the train had been tolerable, but the lorry was bordering on agonising as they bumped along the roadway. Thankfully the Germans, not blind to his discomfort, had given him the opportunity to stretch and ease his aching body whenever they stopped.
Brian felt the truck shudder as the engine note changed denoted their driver dropping down the gears. He felt them slow and turn before rolling to a jolting halt with a squeal of brakes. He could hear the doors of the cab open and close as multiple German voices exchanged words just out of view. His escort guards rose and began to open the rear flap of the truck. Sunlight streamed into the dull interior, momentarily disorientating him as he was ordered out into the daylight.
Lowering himself carefully down to the ground Brian looked around, blinking in the bright sunlight as he began to take in his immediate surroundings. They were in a forest clearing surrounded by tall ancient pine trees that towered over them. The truck had driven along a rutted dirt track cut tightly between the trees.
Set within the tall dense foliage of the pine forest, the camp was a large wire-fenced compound. Row upon row of long wooden huts filled the interior, smoke lazily rising from small chimneys along their roof. Brian could see guards manning towers along the perimeter fence, with others patrolling the exterior of the fence. Outside the tall barbed wire-topped fence, more wooden buildings made up the administration and guard facilities, very little different to those of the prisoners. Above the entrance to the camp, an arched wooden sign in stark gothic letters proclaimed ‘Stalag Luft IX’ This, Brian realised dejectedly, was his new home for the foreseeable future.
The guards escorted him across the parking area to a long wooden building just outside the main camp gate which he discovered was an administrative building. Inside, German personnel worked away, barely paying him any attention as he was led across the room. He was escorted to the desk of a portly middle-aged German officer who at the time, was focused on his writing rather than Brian.
“Your name?” the man asked tersely, without looking up.
“Pilot Officer Brian R Campbell,” he offered simply.
“If I had asked for your rank, I would have said so,” the man remarked tersely, his head still focused on the page. “Pilot Officer.” the man muttered as he filled in the next box on the form he held.
“Your service number is what?” He asked, resting his pen.
“588403,” Brian repeated from memory, forcing himself to remain aware of the questions he was being asked.
“Your date of birth?” The German asked, looking up at him.
“You have my name, rank, and serial number,” Brian replied with a brief smile. “That’s all you get and you know it.”
The German frowned and looked up, “Insolence is not tolerated here, Pilot Officer Campbell. Give me your date of birth for our records.”
Brian, feeling a momentary flash of bravado grinned and shook his head, “nope.”
The man’s lip curled but he said nothing for a moment as he wrote something in the book before closing it and glancing back at Brian. “A Guard will escort you through to speak with the Komandant of the camp before you are taken through, please leave now.”
Brian resisted the urge to childishly stick his tongue out at the chubby bureaucrat. With a casual salute, he turned on his heels and followed his escorts deeper into the building.
His expectations having been somewhat eroded by the snide administration officer were rapidly repaired on entering the camp Komandant’s office. The man was in his late forties or early fifties with short grey hair covering his broad head. His large aquiline nose and tanned skin fitted his tall slim frame well. He held himself with a rigid posture that oozed command and authority as he sat writing behind his desk.
Coming to attention, Brian saluted the Komandant without hesitation; “Pilot Officer Brian Campbell, sir,” he offered, awaiting the man’s consideration.
Looking up from his desk, the Komandant rose and returned Brian’s salute with a subtle nod of appreciation. “Welcome to Stalag Luft Nine Pilot Officer Campbell. Please forgive my bluntness but we will skip to the matter of business,” the man replied curtly. Stepping out from behind his desk and approaching the window overlooking the camp itself, he turned to Brian and addressed him.
“I run my camp with four very simple and firm rules: Follow them, and your time with us will be as pleasant as is possible under the circumstances. If you break them I will do my very best to make this a deeply unpleasant experience for you,” he said firmly, his eyes fixed on the young airman.
“Escape attempts will be punished by stays of increasing length in Isolation, you may be shot also, so be warned.”
Brian nodded his understanding and smiled sheepishly at the Komandant’s last remark.
“Secondly,” The older officer continued. “You are not to fight with the guards or your fellow prisoners of war. We house English and other European airmen at this location and I will not tolerate violence of any kind within these confines.”
The Kommandant walked across his office before turning to face Brian once more. “The third rule is that you will follow the orders of a Guard to the letter, however, you may report mistreatment through the appropriate channels. I do not tolerate bullying on either side of the wire, Herr Campbell,” the Komandant added, raising his eyebrows. “Do you have any questions?”
“What about the fourth rule?” Brian asked curiously.
The Komandant nodded. “The fourth rule you do not need to know if you follow the first three. However, break any of these consistently, and you will become intimately familiar with it’s contents. Now,” the Officer said bluntly. “You will be escorted through to the camp. Once you are there, you will report to Wing Commander Berkley; he is the ranking prisoner of war and my liaison amongst the other prisoners. Any questions or complaints may be directed through him for my attention. The day-to-day running of the camp and prisoners is his responsibility. He will brief you when you arrive. He is in hut twenty-one,” the Komandant explained. “I hope we do not have to see one another again, Pilot Officer Campbell.”
Brain saluted the German politely and turned to follow the escorting guards back out the way he had come. The man seemed genuine in Brian’s eyes, but he had never been a particularly excellent judge of character. The man’s rules had been strict but fair and Brian had no real intent of breaking them. Quite honestly, he wasn’t the sort to deliberately get in trouble or flaunt authority. The truth was, now that he was captured, he had lost the desire to fight at all.
He had been expecting to be led directly to the large imposing gates of the camp itself, however the guard escorted him around the far side of the Administration Office to a similar wooden structure marked with a large red cross. Even with his atrocious grasp of the German language, he could appreciate that Klinikum meant that his was the camp Clinic.
Inside, Brain found the space cool and calm in comparison to the bureaucratic bustle of the office. The lobby of the clinic was set up as a small waiting area with a long wooden bench and a small wood-burning stove. The guard ordered him to sit and wait while he vanished into one of the adjoining rooms. It initially surprised Brian that the man had left him alone. Then again, he was out in the middle of an unknown forest surrounded by Germans; how far could an already wounded man get?
A few moments later the soldier returned with a doctor wearing a white coat over his Luftwaffe uniform. Unlike the Doctor in France, this man smiled when he looked across at Brian. “You are Pilot Officer Campbell, yes?”
“Yes sir,” Brian answered as he stood uneasily and came to attention.
The doctor clasped his hands together and nodded, “Ah, excellent, we have been expecting you. You can dispense with the formality here, we are a hospital not a parade ground.”
`He looked across at the guard and nodded, “Danke Hermann, Komm später wiedert, ok?”
The guard saluted and left the clinic leaving Brian alone with the Doctor. Turning towards the door he had appeared from, the doctor glanced back at Brian and raised his eyebrow, “are you coming?”
While initially surprised by the man’s informality, Brian complied and followed him into the examination room, stopping just inside the door, uncertain as to what he should do next.
The man took a seat at a desk and slid a pair of glasses up his nose before looking back at Brian with an amused expression. “Are you going to stand there all day, Herr Campbell? Come, close the door and take a seat on the table. I am here to check your health, not interrogate you. You can relax here, there are no tricks to make you reveal military secrets.”
Closing the door behind himself slowly, Brian eased over and took a seat on the edge of the examination table, the furthest point in the room from the German Doctor and waited patiently for the man to proceed.
The doctor briefly checked through a file on his desk before turning to face Brian. “My name is Doctor Muller, I am the camp physician here at Stalag Luft Nine. Your records here indicate you were injured in your parachute landing, how are you feeling?”
Brian shifted awkwardly. “I’m healing sir, given the circumstances I feel alright I suppose.”
“Quite dramatic surgery performed; they note here several small-scale pelvic fractures and a bilateral Orchiectomy after irreparable damage to the tissue and some internal bleeding, mein gott.” the doctor muttered as he read the notes before glancing up at Brian. “This is a great deal to go through, any pain?”
“Sore, stiff, bit achy I suppose,” Brian admitted. “The journey here was quite rough I’ll admit.”
“I can imagine,” The doctor agreed, standing up and placing his stethoscope in his ears, “lift your shirt please.”
Brian did as he was asked and followed the German doctor’s instructions as he examined him thoroughly. Unlike the brusk doctor in France, this man was far kinder and more professional. At each stage, he answered questions and explained what he was doing and why. It almost felt like seeing a normal doctor back at home.
“Were you a doctor before the war?” Brian asked while the man wrote down the results of his physical.
Muller looked over and nodded, “Yes, I work for twenty years at a clinic outside of Frankfurt, why?”
“You don’t have the cold detachment of military doctors. Our lot are like yours I think.” Brian admitted with a smirk. “Ours treat you like a piece of meat. You remind me of my family doctor at home growing up.”
“That was once my job,” Muller admitted, walking back over to Brian. “And one I hope to return to again after the war.
“I hope you can.”
Muller looked sentimental for a moment before he smiled and shook his head. “All for another time Herr Campbell. Now as embarrassing as this may be, I need to ask you to remove your trousers and lie back on the table for me. I must check your injury site and ensure there is no infection or other concern that might affect your healing.”
Brian hesitated for a moment before complying with the doctor’s request. He was ashamed of his injury, but in a way, he was still processing the reality of what had occurred. Thankfully the German doctor made the examination as quick and painless as he could. Before long Brian was redressing, his cheeks bright red after the humiliating experience.
“Things are healing nicely, Herr Campbell,” the man smiled reassuringly. “No signs of infection and I believe no problems has occurred from your journey here to us. I should be able to remove the stitches in a week or two and you will make a full recovery… other than the obvious.”
“What does this mean for me going forward doctor?” Brian asked uncertainty, “The doctor in France, he wouldn’t tell me anything. He wouldn’t even tell me what they had done to me.”
Muller seemed briefly irritated at Brian’s story before clearing his expression. “What has essentially happened, if my interpretation of your records is accurate, is that your parachute harness failed in such a way that your body slammed down into it. This led to stress fractures and internal bleeding around your pelvis. Your testicles were crushed and their remains had to be removed surgically when they went in to stop your bleeding.”
“So I… what does that mean?” Brian asked nervously.
“The human body once it enters puberty is directed by chemicals we call hormones. These are testosterone in males and oestrogen in females. These hormones cause us to develop secondary sexual characteristics and also control and regulate our sexual drive and our health as we live into adulthood, do you follow?”
Brian nodded.
“You are in a precarious position thanks to your accident. While you will recover physically in general terms, you will no longer produce testosterone. This means that any further development you might have experienced as you grow will now cease at this point. I am also afraid that you will never father children.” Muller explained as gently as he could.
“I see,” Brian murmured. “I don’t really know how to take that.”
Muller nodded, “It is a difficult situation, and you may find life a little different going forward. You will not grow taller or grow more hair on your face or body and you will have difficulty maintaining muscle mass. Most notably you will experience sexual dysfunction I am afraid.”
Brian chuckled and the doctor raised his eyebrow.
“I never even really got to experience sexual function, so that’s a bit of a bum deal.”
The doctor frowned sadly and reached over to pat Brian on the shoulder. “I am sorry young man.” he offered quietly. “I wish there was something I could do for you, but I am afraid, unable to. Please do know that during your stay here I will ensure you remain as healthy as can be under the circumstances. I am a doctor first and a soldier second; you are my patient as much as any German here. As such, if you ever need to talk about what has happened, please ask a Guard to arrange for you to see me.”
Brian smiled, “Thank you doctor, that means more than you can imagine.”
Muller stood and inclined his head as he led the way back towards the waiting room. “There is no war inside my clinic, Herr Campbell, there are no sides.”
Brian was still thinking about what Doctor Muller had told him when the guard escorting him stopped in front of the main camp gate. The gates formed a tunnel between two sets that crossed the wire divide into the camp. Ensuring that at all times, one set was closed while people were entering and exiting the camp.
“You will go through now.” The man ordered, before pushing Brian by his shoulder through the inner gate and into the camp itself.
Locking the gates behind him, the German retreated back to the outside world, leaving Brian unsure of what to do next.
Well, He supposed. He had a bloody long time to work it out.
Eventually, those within the camp began to notice the young pilot standing alone by the interior gate. He hadn’t moved since the guard had led him inside ten minutes earlier. He wasn’t sure if it was fear or the stark realisation that he was now officially a prisoner of war that kept him rooted to the spot. Even though he had been a captive since his time in the hospital in Valognes and during the long journey to the camp, it had all been merely a theoretical state of existence. He had been a prisoner, but he wasn’t yet in a prison. Now, here in the camp, it struck him like a bucket of ice water. The dark reality that he was now a prisoner of war finally sank in. Here, he would spend the remainder of the war until they won or lost, but he would have no further part in it.
“Just hit you ain't it Sir?” asked a large flame haired Scotsman as he sauntered over towards the young airman. “Aye, I recognize that look meself. If you’ll excuse the observation Sir, you’re finally realisin’ that you’re a prisoner and that it’s over. Took me a wee while to come to terms with it too,” the Scot admitted, shoving his hands into his pockets and grimacing.
“I suppose so,” Brian admitted uncertainly, smiling weakly at the man.
“Like being an animal at the zoo really. The name’s Graham Moorfield.” The big man grinned extending shovel sized hand. “Fifty-seven squadron, Wellington Navigator.”
“P, Pilot Officer Brian Campbell, Hurricanes with Forty-Three Squadron,” he offered, resisting the urge to wince as the big man vigorously shook his entire arm. “I don’t suppose you know where I’d find a Wing Commander Berkley do you? The head Jerry outside told me to report to him when I got in here,” Brian asked tentatively, hoping the Scot would release his hand while he still possessed one.
The Scotsman grinned again, looking for all the world as though he was enjoying a night in the pub. “Aye nae problem at all. Now mind you follow me sir.”
The highland bear led Brian through the camp, stopping on the way to introduce him to other prisoners as they passed. While he struggled to remember names and squadrons, ranks and positions, that all seemed friendly enough. Brian was very aware of the stares he drew as the new boy. Moorfield led him up to a hut on the far side of the camp and rapped on the door before standing back. A few moments later, a middle-aged man with dark hair and thin glasses opened the door and raised his eyebrows. “Yes Graham?”
Moorfield saluted, followed shortly after by Brian. “Sir, Pilot Officer Campbell here sir. He just got in; new today sir.”
“Very well Moorfield,” the man smiled before turning to Brian. “Come in then Campbell, come in,” he added beckoning Brian to follow him. Nodding his thanks to the large Scotsman, Brian followed the Wing Commander into his hut.
Walking inside, Brian gazed around the space slowly while waiting for the man to seat himself at the rough-hewn wooden desk that filled one-half of the room. The building was spartan but cosy, with a small wood-burning fire going to the right, and a single bunk to the far left. Do sit old chap,” Wing Commander Berkley offered with a hint of amused exasperation. “We don’t stand around on ceremony here.”
Brian walked forwards and lowered himself into one of the chairs in front of the Wing Commander’s desk. “Sir, the camp Komandant told me to report to you once I’d arrived.”
Berkley leaned back in his chair and regarded Brian for a moment over his spectacles. “Yes, I would imagine he did,” the man said dismissively. “All new prisoners are to report to me on their arrival. It’s a little ‘settling in’ activity we do; lets people work out the lay of the land faster so to speak.”
“So what’s the deal here?” Brian asked plainly, without looking away from the Wing Commander. “Are things as black and white as the Komandant’s four simple rules or are they a little more grey?”
Berkley looked at Brian for a moment before leaning forwards and propping his forearms on the desk. “As you know Campbell, there is currently a war on,” he said, stating the obvious in Brian’s view. “To follow the German’s rules would be a dereliction of our duties as the King’s fighting men.” He said more forcefully, slapping his palm down on the desk. “We have the duty to escape, and cause as much mayhem for Jerry as possible in the process; we simply must. As such, all efforts in this camp are put into subterfuge, covert action, and active escape attempts. You will be a part of this now you are under my command.”
“Of course Sir,” Brian replied noncommittally. “I will do my duty.”
“Very good,” Berkley nodded slowly. “I suppose I ought to fill you in on the more mediocre aspects of life here lad.” The man said standing and walking over to a wood-burning stove in the corner and checking a kettle. “Spot of tea?”
“Thank you sir,” Brian agreed readily. “I’ve not had a cup since the morning I went down. The Jerry coffee isn’t bad but it’s not tea, sir.”
“That it' is not,” Berkley agreed as he filled two mugs with steaming liquid. “Sorry, you’ll have to take it black, no civil niceties like milk and sugar at the moment.”
“That’s fine sir.” Brian agreed, taking the proffered mug. “So how do things run around here? Aside from all the secret squirrel antics?”
Berkley lent against a window frame and sipped his tea. “Like one would expect a prison camp to be run, probably the same way we do back home to be honest. We get up in the mornings, some groups on a rota perform maintenance and go on work parties. There’s football, gardening, some of the more worldly types teach classes and there is a chapel. We have a kitchen rota for meals and such. All in all, it’s not too bad, but it's not England.”
Brian nodded. “The Jerries seem to take good care of us.” He observed from behind his mug. “Anything dodgy happened yet?”
Berkley paused, before shaking his head. “The odd fight with a guard, the odd failed escape, typical animosities, but mostly Jerry leaves us alone and we leave them alone till we want out.”
“Is there any communication with the outside world?” Brian asked curiously, “Red Cross, or a wireless perhaps?”
Berkley shook his head sadly. “The Red Cross deliver packages via the Germans, but it's all vetted and sanitised, nothing slips by and they would never let us have a wireless.”
“Worth a thought.” Brian shrugged. “How long have you been here sir?”
Berkley sighed. “About three months I believe; Captured when my Gladiator went down in Norway during the retreat. No flack, No air support; we were so undermanned,” he sighed. “We lost so many good men. So did I…. Jerry picked me up off the side of some god-forsaken Norwegian mountain and packaged me off here with the other fliers they were collecting.”
“You’ve been a prisoner since then? Brian asked with surprise. “Why it’s mid-August now sir. And you have no news? Sir, Italy joined the war alongside Germany and France fell.”
Visibly paling, Berkeley sat in silence for a moment. “Bloody hell.” He whispered to himself. “Not a good show… Tell me.” He almost pleaded, the middle-aged man showing true signs of age in his weariness. “How are we doing back home?”
Brian raised his palms. “It’s hard to tell, sir. The Germans bomb us daily, our airfields, now our cities, we’ve bombed them back and we’re struggling in the air. There’s word Hitler might try to invade England soon sir.”
Berkley shook his head. “This damned bloody war.”
“I know sir,” Brian added after a moment’s awkward silence.
Wing Commander Berkley shook himself and stood. “Never mind eh?” He said with false optimism. “Not much we can do about it from in here…”
Berkeley placed his mug down on the desk and moved around towards the door. As he placed his hand on the handle he turned and regarded Brian again, his body language suddenly seeming slightly tense.
“Say, now, I’m not accusing you of anything here, but rather I suppose I… tell most of the chaps this when they get here.”
Brian furrowed his brow at the Wing Commander’s stumbling. “Sir?”
Berkeley shuffled awkwardly. “Look, It’s a prison, see? And It’s all chaps, tensions run high and frustrations of a sort… There are certain types that one might avoid in polite society that end up being a little more open about their lifestyles and perversions.”
Brian suddenly realised what Berkeley was getting on about. “I’m not queer sir, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“No, no, gosh no.” The man spluttered, waving his hands. “No, rather just, you’re a smaller chap, some of them might show an interest, just a warning perhaps. Look, forget I said anything; let's get you billeted and we can begin to fight Jerry again tomorrow.”
Wing Commander Berkley grinned sheepishly and held the door open before guiding Brian back out into the afternoon sunshine.
As Berkeley escorted him to his new home, Brian wondered just what the man had meant by his warning. He wasn’t a homosexual nor had he ever really had any issue with them. The man seemed to suggest that Brian was the sort they might show interest in; what he meant by that was hard to wrap his head around.
As Berkeley escorted him through the camp, Brian was overawed by the variety of uniforms he saw before him; English, Polish, Dutch, Norwegian, and other nations aviators were represented amongst the camp’s population. He saw members of his own branch as well as aviators from both the Army and Royal Navy. While they appeared in relatively good health, their uniforms looked tired and dusty.
As they navigated the camp, the Wing Commander gave Brian a brief overview of its facilities and important locations. The place appeared more like a small town than a prison once he was within its walls. The Germans, it seemed, gave them a lot of latitude as long as they behaved themselves. Before long, Berkeley was stopped by a group of prisoners with a grievance to air, and as such, the Senior Officer sent Brian on his way with directions to his new abode.
After several wrong turns, Brian checked the number on the hut in front of him. Hut Twelve; this would be his home for the foreseeable future. Whether he liked it or not, he was going to have to get on with its occupants and fit in to an entirely new society.
Knocking, Brian pushed the door open and stepped inside the long wooden structure. The interior was dark in comparison to the bright summer sunshine, but as his eyes adjusted to the gloom he began to pick out the differences with the Wing Commander’s own. Rather than an office area, it was lined with rows of bunk beds, a small table and wood burning stove. Slowly walking further into the room, he took time to look to see which bunks appeared to be already occupied. From the state of them, the room seemed at least half occupied with four of the ten bunks appearing to have owners at present.
Finding an unoccupied bunk, Brian eased himself down onto the thin mattress and sat staring off into the distance. While he could hear the world outside the hut as the camp went about it’s daily business, it was mercifully quiet in comparison to his life for the past few weeks. Had it really been this long since he had truly been alone?
With a sigh, he swung his legs up onto the bunk. He laid back and stared up at the slats of the bunk above him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he wept silently, his body finally releasing the stress and tension of the ordeal he had experienced. Since his capture he had struggled to find time to process what had occurred since that fateful day; his crash, his injuries and the experiences of combat rushed through his mind in the silence of the hut. It was impossible for a human being to go through what he had and just shrug it off. The pain, the fear, the recovery and now his incarceration in a foreign land. A foreign land that under normal circumstances wanted him dead. He had no idea what the future held for him, but he felt powerless to effect it.
The physical pain he felt was healing, and he knew in time it would pass. His future was a significant question mark in his mind; the German Doctor had been kind to him, but even his answer had been evasive. The man simply didn’t know what would happen to him; for all Brian knew, it might kill him. It was with this knowledge that Brian drifted off into a fitful sleep.
The thump of the hut door and the footfall of heavy boots roused Brian from his fitful sleep. He wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep, but it hadn’t felt like anywhere near enough. Raising himself up on his elbows he forced his exhausted eyes to focus on the sound that had awoken him. Three men had entered the hut and were stood by the door on the far side of the room, apparently as surprised by the new arrival as he was by them.
Sitting up, he quickly, he hauled himself painfully up from the bunk. “Ah, Hello,” He went to offer the men a handshake but changed his mind and turned it into an anaemic wave instead. “I’m Pilot Officer Campbell, ah, Brian; I was sent here by Wing Commander Berkeley. I mean, I just got here today, he told me I’m bunking here, if that’s ok?”
The men seemed to relax at the explanation and began to move about the room as they had originally intended. “Warrant Officer Second Class Arthur Hamley,” offered a wide-set Irishman thrusting a spade-sized hand at Brian, “And these chaps are Lieutenant Daniel Maddox, and Michael Down.”
“Hey there partner,” Down drawled in an exotic American accent as he tossed Brian a casual salute. “Sorry buddy, we just got off work detail; we’re a bit spicy,” he grinned, running his hand through his damp hair.”
“Oh that’s not a problem. I just took one of these empty bunks; that’s alright isn’t it?” he asked cautiously, feeling like a new boy at school. “Nobody was around and I sorely needed some shut-eye,” he shrugged apologetically.
“Aye, it’s no problem,” Hamley replied, stripping out of his work shirt. “Those empty ones are all free till we get more people in, so it’s all grand.”
“So what outfit are you with?” Maddox asked, turning to join the conversation. “I’m a Navy chap myself.”
“Forty-Three Squadron, Royal Air Force, in Hurricanes,” Brian offered. “Came down over France a few weeks ago.”
“Ah a fighter ace, guys,” chuckled the American. “Watch your women and your whiskey.”
Blushing at the comment, Brian didn’t reply immediately. “So I take it none of you are fighter pilots?” he asked, changing the subject.
Maddox shook his head, “Hamley over there was a Wellington Bomb Aimerand I flew Walrus reconnaissance planes. Our Yankie friend here is a civilian. Actually Mike, Why don’t you explain your cock and bull story yourself?” he added grinning.
Mike Down slumped down on the edge of his bunk and rubbed his hair a second time. “Well I’m not one to boast, but it was a pretty hairy one.”
“Aye we know you are but tell the story so,” laughed Hamley.
Throwing his shirt at the Irishman, the American made a rude gesture before continuing his tale. “It’s like this, right? I was a commercial pilot before the war and flew clippers for Pan American. When the war started, we started working with the government to fly over time-sensitive cargoes that convoys couldn’t handle.”
“Get to the point Down,” Maddox replied drearily, stripping down to his shorts and picking up a towel. “I want a shower before those cads in thirty-two use up all the water again.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Down waved dismissively. “So anyway I get knocked a little off course right? This burns up a lot of Juice and my bird is running pretty low with a full belly… I want to have water under my hull pretty soon. So I get myself back on track, and I head for the shore, I spot this port and it’s got a seaplane terminal…I think what the heck,” he shrugged. “So down I go… Turns out, I overshot a little bit.” He grinned sheepishly. “It was Norway, and a German Naval base that I landed in! Brash as you like I get out of my cockpit and light up on the jetty. Only to get planted face down and have guns pointed at me before I realise my mistake.” The man smiled ruefully, holding his hands up. “Not sure who was more surprised to see who.”
Brian laughed warmly. “I ended up getting lost over France so don’t feel so down about it.”
“Ah see?” Mike grinned looking at the other men. “I’m not the only one that can’t read a map.”
The three men finished stripping out of their outer clothing and made their way down a corridor to what Brian presumed to be the ablutions block of the huts. From what he had seen so far, he could have been billeted with far worse men. They seemed friendly enough and at least none of them were Army.
Ten minutes later, the men returned from their ablutions, chatting happily amongst themselves. Brian remained in his bunk while the men moved about the room dressing and conversing amongst themselves. He didn’t feel comfortable involving himself in what appeared to be a well-established friendship.
Daniel Maddox was a tall, athletic man with floppy dark hair that seemed to fly off at angles of its own choosing. He had a kind face with dark and considerate eyes. The American Down was almost his exact opposite; shorter and blonde, he had a scrappy build that made him look like a lightweight boxer. Unlike the other two, Arthur Hamley the Irish Warrant Officer was a bear of a man; at over six foot four, he was by far the largest of the group. The man was older, in his late forties by Brian’s estimation; his face was lined but showed a fatherly kindness.
“You going to come with us for chow?” Down called to Brian as he dressed, snapping Brian from his thoughts.
“I don’t even know how meals work here,” Brian admitted. “Wing Berkley was more focused on his escape plans than anything that useful.”
Daniel Maddox rolled his eyes. “Sounds like Bloody Berkeley alright. That one’s got a bloody head full of plans and no idea how to tie his shoelaces. You’re better off ignoring the old fart and keeping your head down Campbell, he means well but he’s a bit single-minded.”
“Aye,” Hamley added. “It’s real simple, we eat at seven, one and six each day. Food isn’t fantastic but it’s better than slop. Don’t go expecting any wine or cigars but it will fill a hole sure it will.”
“I’m not that kind of officer,” Brian admitted with a sly smile. “I’ll eat anything as long as it’s hot.”
“Hot you will get,” Maddox chuckled, “Anything else is a toss-up I’m afraid.”
Once dressed, the men made their way out of the hut and followed the stream of prisoners toward the mess hall. The hall itself was a longer and wider version of their own accommodation, a single story wooden building raised up a foot off the ground with a low angled roof. Inside, it seated the camp population at long wooden benches.
The camp, Brian was beginning to realise, was like starting at school all over again: He was with a new group of people learning a new set of rules all wrapped up within an entirely new social network. He would have to learn fast or sink back into isolation once more. The very fact that like school, it was an all-male environment felt awkwardly familiar to Brian. School for him had been a torturous and lonely experience at best. In part, it was the pressure of living up to his father’s expectations and the culture of the English public school system. Expectations forged unchecked in an environment of raw testosterone that seemed to define what made an Englishman.
Brian had been bright enough when it came to his school work but had struggled to find the same competitive drive when it came to the more athletic aspects of his education. He hadn’t disliked it, but hadn’t particularly been successful in the same way his larger peers had been. Boarding school had been the only world he had known for many years and it had often been uncomfortable and unpleasant for him. He had always assumed that it was the nature of the beast for all students; an exercise in character building. He had however, never entirely worked out what that character was meant to be. Between the public school system and the RAF’s officer training he’d just gotten along with things; as far as he knew, that was simply how life was.
The group made their way into the mess hall and joined the queue of men who passed in front of the kitchen hatch at the far end of the building. The air inside was humid and close and was filled with the sounds and smells of food. Brian felt his stomach growl; it had been most of the day since he had eaten anything at all. As the group wound its way towards the front, Brian watched the room. It certainly looked like school all over again; men divided themselves into cliques and groups as a defense mechanism against the system. The only difference was that here, rather than teachers, they had guards. In the end, the result was the same; overgrown schoolboys returning to what they knew best.
Brian’s thoughts were interrupted when a tall, well built man in a Navy pilot’s uniform slipped into the queue alongside them, much to the consternation of a few of the men behind them. The man was around Maddox’s height, but unlike the other aviator’s more foppish looks, Matheson’s dark hair was shorter and swept back from a strong square face. He wore a solid mustache on his upper lip and his cheeks were dusted with light stubble.
“Evening chaps, everything peachy?”
“Grand, Andrew,” Hamley replied, turning to the newcomer. “Jerry does like to keep us occupied.”
Hamley turned to Brian, placing a hand on his shoulder he nodded his head towards the grinning newcomer. “This lad is Andrew Matheson, one of our hut; he’s Navy like Maddox.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Matheson grinned, extending a hand as he regarded Brian’s uniform. “RAF eh?”
“That would be me,” admitted Brian sheepishly, shaking the man’s offered hand. “Brian Campbell.”
“Joined our motley bunch of sods here then eh?” the man smiled. I’m sure you’ll settle in fine. Not that we hope to hang around too long of course,” he grinned. “So Campbell is it? How are you settling in? Just get here today, yes?”
“Still pretty green,” he admitted. “It feels like I'm back in the seventh form again. I guess it's still hitting me; where exactly I am now.” Brian replied softly, unable to properly meet the eyes of the other man.
Matheson rubbed his mustache thoughtfully and nodded. “Well I guess it’s our lot for now,” he admitted. “We do what we can, because we must, I suppose.”
The line finally ended and the group received a bowl of simple stew and a hunk of bread from the kitchen before retreating to one of the unoccupied wooden benches. Brian sat in silence, slowly eating his stew as the others talked and laughed around him. In a sea of people, he still managed to feel quite alone. It wasn’t that he was new; he understood that and knew it would change with time. It was more that he knew that no matter how welcome he was made to feel by the group, that he would never really be one of them. Since his accident, he knew that the separation he had felt from his peers was a gulf that would only widen. At one time, he had hoped that with time, he would eventually look and feel like he belonged amongst them. Now, his future was as uncertain as his place within it.
“You’re the first new face in here since Norway you know,” Matheson offered, pointing his spoon at Brian. “I think the Jerries are up to something you know.”
Brian paused, his own spoon halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean?” he asked, knitting his brow.
“Well, surely there have been more airmen down since Operation Domino and such,” Andrew posited aloud. “Mike here was the last to join us and he arrived shortly after the British evacuated. What you told Old Berkley has gone around the camp like wildfire. We’ve had nobody new since then and it seems a little strange, considering there’s still plenty of space. Why you? Why now?” He pushed, looking at Brian with a confused expression.
“I can’t answer that,” Brian admitted with a shrug. “We lose a lot of boys, perhaps other camps were full?”
“No,” Matheson shook his head. “Jerry’s up to something,” he muttered impaling a lump of potato in his bowl. “Almost as if they are keeping news out of camps by separating airmen from different campaigns. It would make sense, It’s what I’d do, but that doesn’t explain you, does it?”
“I don’t know what to say,” Brian admitted, feeling the weight of every eye at the table. “I don’t know why they sent me here,” Brian muttered sheepishly.
The next few days were a blur to Brian. As the first fresh face to arrive in months, he became an instant celebrity in the camp. The men came to him for news of loved ones and friends or, to simply hear about the war in general. It seemed everyone wanted to know something about the world outside. He was just disappointed that he couldn’t answer them all very well.
Camp life was difficult to adjust to after the freedom of the outside world before his captivity. True to the Komandant’s word, the guards were fair but strict and did not outwardly mistreat them. Brian was careful to walk the line between remaining on their good side and to do his duty to his comrades. Although he had begun to feel more comfortable with the men that he shared his billet with, he wasn’t sure they qualified as friends yet by any stretch.
He still felt pain from his injuries. The others in the hut had certainly seen his stiff movement and discomfort but didn’t outwardly ask him about it. He was grateful for their tact in that matter. He knew it wasn’t uncommon for men to arrive wounded and it seemed, at least, as though they didn’t want to make a big deal of it. While still humiliating, it was a great deal easier for Brian to adapt to his new environment without undue attention.
For his entire adolescence, Brian had been guided towards a hypothetical ideal of manhood. The person he should be according to society was quite simple; big, strong and hairy; exactly what his two brothers embodied. He had never quite developed the same way and it had never particularly bothered him besides a sense of guilt at his deficiencies. He had always been told that he was a late bloomer; that one day, his time would come and he would be just like his big brothers. The reality now with his wounds was that it was no longer a matter of when, but a matter of never.
When he looked past the embarrassment, the truth of the matter was that this new state of affairs seemed to calm him more than it upset him. He was at a loss to explain why. It was a feeling he attributed to a change in expectations; he was no longer waiting for puberty to catch up with him and make him like his brothers. He felt relief that regardless of the outcome, the wait was over.
The world here in the camp however, was not a place to be weak. Weakness was exactly what this now made him and he had to remain vigilant of that fact. For someone who had never particularly fitted the masculine archetype, this wasn’t an ideal situation. He would work hard to be one of the boys of hut twelve and ingratiate himself with the men. His hope was that with time, he would be as invisible as he had been in school.
The days began to turn into weeks at Stalag Luft IX as the last vestiges of summer gave way to the autumnal grasp of October. A strange normality began to settle into camp life for Brian as he became more accustomed to life as a prisoner of war. Life in the hut with the others was a great deal more like school than he could have imagined, although with far fewer of the bad parts. Unlike his classmates, the men of hut twelve treated him fairly and with respect.
The conditions were hard on the men and food was monotonous when it was not scarce. What little they were given was supplemented by a vegetable garden that the Germans allowed them to tend within the camp grounds. Regularly groups would leave the camp under escort on various work details. The Geneva Conventions might have required enlisted prisoners to complete work duties, but officers however were not required to. While these work details were technically entirely voluntary, they rewarded the men with additional rations and comforts; things the men could scarcely live without.
Prisoners within the camp settled into various groups based on their talents and personal interests. Sports like football and rugby were played on an open pitch area and there were a number of clubs and hobby activities that were permitted by the guards. Admittedly, none of these involved anything sharp, but it certainly kept the prisoners occupied. Even classes were held in the mess hall by academically inclined prisoners who passed on their knowledge of language, literature and sciences to the others.
As his physical pain subsided, Brian began working regularly in the camp vegetable garden. Whatever fresh fruit and vegetables they were able to produce went to supplement the prisoner’s meagre diets. It was rewarding work for him that helped to take his mind off his body and his troubles. At Matheson’s suggestion, he had taken to attending a German class that was taught by an older Dutch Captain in the mess. The chap had been a professor before the war and took great pleasure in returning to the classroom. The Camp guards actually encouraged this endeavour and would sometimes help the Captain with his lessons. In their mind, it made their jobs handling the prisoners far easier.
Just like his time in school, Brian found that the Guards ruled their lives through routine. In the morning, they would parade for the Camp Kommandant before getting breakfast and going about their day’s labour. They would parade again after dinner and have a few hours to themselves before lights out. Unlike school, the Germans didn’t care if they were awake past lights out, just that they were tucked up in their huts. It was these times, often by candlelight that Brian truly grew to know the men he shared hut twelve with.
“You know, when I get home I’m going to eat and drink myself into a damn coma,” Hamley mused aloud in the dimly lit interior of hut twelve. “I’ll travel the whole way from Dublin to Cork visiting every pub along the way.”
Maddox leant up on his elbow and regarded the Irishman in the dim light of the wood stove in the centre of the hut. “I don’t think the Irish economy will survive that big man.”
Hamley chuckled in the darkness and his bunk creaked as he stretched out, “that’s fine by me.”
“Some of the Dutch guys in fourteen have set themselves up some kinda makeshift still,” Down offered. Ain’t no Kentucky Bourbon but it’s something for sure. darn thing is some backwoods Appalachian engineering.”
Brian twisted around in his bunk and looked over at the American. “Tell me about America Mike, What it’s really like; Is it like the pictures?”
“What, like cowboys and Indians?” Down chuckled from his bunk. “No not at all. I mean where I’m from in Texas there’s plenty of cowboys but that’s just a way of life; ranching. Honestly it's like a world of its own. We have mountains and deserts, forests and cities so big you’d think they covered the world.”
“I’d love to visit one day,” Brian mused. “I always wanted to see California and the Rocky Mountains.”
“It’s truly beautiful,” Mike agreed. “I used to fly out of San Francisco before the war, that’s in California north of Los Angeles. Lord it was stunning to fly over the Golden Gate Bridge at sunset out into the wide open Pacific Ocean.”
“Sounds like a glamorous life; flying passenger airplanes all around the world.”
Down laughed. “Sure we get to visit some great places, but man, ain’t nothing glamorous up front in the cockpit. That is hours upon hours of flying and maintenance on the aircraft because half the time we don’t have a maintenance base to use. It’s loud, bumpy and cramped and physically demanding. Though you do end up with arms like these.” He grinned flexing his sizable biceps.
Brian’s smile faded, “perhaps I’ll stick to my Hurricane.”
“What about you Brian? What was life before all this?” Matheson asked from the shadows across the hut.
“My life was awfully dull I’m afraid; boarding school, university then the war. I’m the middle child of four, two older brothers, one younger sister and not a great deal to tell.” Brian admitted to the bunk above him.
“No sweetheart? Girlfriend?”
Brian hesitated. A lump caught in his throat at the thought that he would never actually get to experience that now. “No.”
Matheson seemed to sense the reluctance and backed off. “I have a sister myself, She’s Signals with the Wrens.”
“Your sister is a right cookie.” Maddox leered in the darkness. Brian chuckled in the darkness as he heard something metallic clang followed by a yelp.
The evenings in the hut were one of the few times Brian felt truly comfortable with his situation. The others there didn’t judge him for his smaller size or his appearance; they treated him like a comrade and a friend.
It was far more than he could say for the rest of the camp, however. Outside of his immediate group, the glamour of the new arrival had swiftly worn off. Once they had gotten what news they could from him he was only the sum of himself. To them, he was just a scrawny fine-featured lad who would never amount to much. He had seen some of the looks he had received from others, they made comments and jokes behind his back and some of them looked at him in other ways; ways he didn’t like at all. It concerned him that perhaps Berkeley had been onto something.
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Brian shuffled slowly through to the ablutions block as he stifled a yawn. It was early in the morning of his second month in the camp. The block was shared between six huts and connected to each by a long common corridor. In the chill of November, it was a welcome alternative to going outside in the middle of the night.
Stretching, he rolled his head from side to side to work a kink from his neck. The bunks were not completely uncomfortable but he never slept particularly well. Hanging his Red Cross towel on a nail, he began to strip out of his clothing. The chill was more effective than the bitter German coffee at waking him and he quickly slipped into the shower room and turned on the faucet. Once the water had risen above room temperature he stepped in and began to wash.
Brian leaned against the wall for a moment and allowed the water to rain down over his head. The early mornings were hard on him but he always preferred to shower first so that he could be alone. He had always been particularly shy when it came to nudity; he had hated sharing the communal showers at school where he had often been the smallest and weakest. Now, that discomfort was joined by not only the fear that the others might learn of what he lacked but also by what that loss had done to him in the months since his accident. Brian had begun to notice changes happening to his body after only a couple of weeks. Now, after two months in captivity, he could barely conceal them anymore.
Never a boy particularly blessed by muscles or body hair, he had now found that both had set sail for warmer climes. The wiry muscle that he had possessed had smoothed out leaving his skinny frame to now appear more frail than it once had. This was made markedly worse by the little fat still remaining on his body sticking stubbornly to his buttocks, hips, and chest. In all, the Brian Campbell that he now resembled seemed somehow younger and more juvenile, his soft skinny body feeling further and further from the masculine ideal that he was told he should represent.
What confounded him the greatest, was that the changes themselves didn’t seem to upset him as much as he believed they should. It was concerning of course; any change was, but the truth of the matter was that he felt more calm and serene than he had before in his entire life. What really made him nervous was what people would think of him and how they would treat him if they knew the full truth.
It reminded him of when the German pilot Bergmann had sat with him and revealed the truth of his injuries to him. It had only been a few months, but it felt like a lifetime ago to Brian. The man had felt bad for him; that he had suffered somehow a fate worse than death in his eyes. It was as though he was now somehow less and that was something to be pitied.
The sound of the shower block door creaking open roused Brian from his thoughts. He jumped at the sound, hurriedly turning to face the wall as he began scrubbing his body.
“Morning,” yawned a wild-haired Andrew as he stumbled stark naked into the bathroom. Slinging his towel over the waist-high wall, the pilot collected his wash kit and stepped into the shower.
“Sleep alright?” he called cheerily.
“Ah, yes thank you,” Brian replied hesitantly, trying to keep his back turned to the man.
“First time I’ve seen you in here,” Matheson observed as he turned on the faucet. “You’re a bloody early riser old boy.”
“I don’t like the hot water running out” Brian offered weakly without looking over at the man.
“Not my place to say this,” Matheson said looking over at the other officer as he slowly soaped his hair, “but you seem very shy around everyone; is this the same deal some schoolboy worry?”
Brian felt a jolt of fear, “No, no, it’s nothing.”
“I don’t think so.” Matheson disagreed, “No, the way you behave is exactly how I did back in my school days: You make yourself invisible and hope to go unnoticed. You don’t feel like one of the normal guys so you just try to exist.”
“Believe it or not,” the Navy pilot admitted. “I was one of the small lads back in school, I got treated pretty badly.”
Brian turned his head to look at the Navy pilot incredulously. Andrew Matheson was a broad man who stood nearly six feet four inches tall. He had a physique that would make any rugby player insanely jealous, even after their less-than-stellar diet. Nothing Brian could see lent any credence to the man’s story. Brian realised he was staring at the naked man in the showers and looked away quickly to hide his violent blush.
Matheson chuckled at Brian’s surprise. “Oh I know it’s pretty hard to believe if you look at me now but I hit a bit of a late growth spurt and it all went away. I shot up like a beanstalk as my old mum would say,” he laughed as he turned off the shower and reached for his towel.
“Don’t worry old chap, It will hit you soon enough. What are you? Nineteen, maybe Twenty? Give it a couple of years and you’ll be fighting off the ladies,” he chuckled warmly as he patted Brian on the shoulder.
Brian flinched at the touch and bit his lip. So far, nobody knew about the truth of his situation. A great part of him wanted to remain that way, to hide this from the world and hope it went away. Another more desperate part needed someone to know; someone that could share it and help him handle the reality within which he now resided. Working his jaw, he made a decision.
“No Andy, I won’t,” he admitted with a sigh, “ and I never will.”
“Ah that’s not true Bri,” Matheson replied as he towelled his hair, “You absolutely will. It just takes some chaps a bit longer, that’s all.”
Brian turned off the water but kept his body turned away from the man he might call a friend. “I can’t Andrew, no hair, no muscles, no growth spurt: I will never become the man you think I will because I physically can’t. If anything, my body is trying to go the other way.”
Matheson shook his head and wrapped the towel around his waist before he sat down on a slatted wooden bench and unfolded his wash roll. “Every man does Brian.”
“No,” Brian interjected with more force than he intended. He glanced at Matheson before lowering his voice to barely above a whisper. “I haven’t told anyone this; it’s incredibly embarrassing,” he added trailing off. Brian shook his head, wrapped his towel around his waist, and pulled on his shirt before turning to face his friend. “Andrew, I don’t have any balls; they’re gone.”
Matheson was silent for a moment, a look of surprise and confusion painted on his face. Brian slowly walked over and sat at the far end of the bench from his friend and looked over at the man. “When I went down in France, there was an accident with my parachute harness. It, well… they had to operate and they couldn’t save them. I… I can’t be what you said I’ll be; no amount of time will make a man out of me.”
Brian looked away from his friend and hung his head. “You are right though; I will change and I already am. It just won’t be the way you think,” he said quietly, shaking with silent tears.
Matheson put his wash roll down and moved over until he could put his arm around the shoulder of his sobbing comrade. “It’s alright,” he offered quietly. “Nobody’s going to think any less of you Brian. Accidents happen; A lot of rubbish has happened in this war. It doesn’t make you any less of a man to have suffered an injury in combat. I’ve seen chaps loose legs or arms and be burned beyond recognition. Others lose their faces, their sight and so many other things; those are injuries that will change your life. I don't mean to diminish what happened to you but you’re still here and you have every chance of a full and happy life.” He chuckled darkly, “our present circumstances excepted of course.”
Brian sighed and shook his head. “That’s just it Andy,” he whispered. “I never really felt like I ever belonged for my entire life. I was waiting for puberty to kick in and make me like my brothers and classmates. I was waiting for something magical to happen where I would suddenly feel like I belonged in this world, that it was right and normal. Now, I sit here wondering what I even am. If it won’t ever make a man of me, what even am I?”
Andrew Matheson was quiet for a moment. The revelations of the past few moments had made him regard the young officer in an entirely new light. Brian was right; he wasn’t much of a man; barely more than a boy in truth. He could pat him on the shoulder and tell him it would be all be alright but that wouldn’t change the facts.
Brian was fine-featured, smaller, and more slight than anyone else in the camp. He had heard comments from some of the less evolved types but had always dismissed it as typical schoolyard rubbish. He couldn’t imagine what was going through the poor boy’s head. He couldn’t change his path, but he would be there for Brian.
“This war has done some terrible things to people, Bri. Families have been torn apart and lives lost. Give yourself time and you’ll find out who you are. You will be alright, I promise. You might not find who you are inside these walls, hell, we’re all just in a holding pattern. We survive from day to day just so we might dream of being home again. Promise me one thing: Promise me you won’t hold this sort of thing back from me and the guys in the hut, alright? I don’t give a monkeys about anyone else but you’re one of us and we look after our mates.”
Brian nodded weakly without looking up. “Thank you,” he replied weakly, “I’m sorry.”
“Ah, don’t be,” Matheson shrugged and smiled reassuringly. “I’d have felt awful telling me too.”
Brian had found it difficult to interact normally with Andrew after their talk that morning in the ablutions block. The man now knew his deepest, darkest secret and his most private feelings on the matter. Despite his poor ability to articulate those feelings, he had still revealed far more than he was comfortable with. While he followed Matheson’s advice and allowed himself to be more open with the others in the hut, he still kept the truth of his humiliation from them. These men treated him like an equal for the first time in his life and he had no desire to ruin that.
The changes he had noticed over the past few months didn’t slow in their progress, but his attitude to them did. He wasn’t sure if it was Matheson’s awareness or his new attitude but he began to accept them as a fact of his body. This reality became his new normal, and it was far easier to process that way.
Their incarceration was a holding pattern from the real world. Here in the camp, this was simply how he was and it seemed somehow disconnected from his life back at home. Unlike his time in school, he had friends who didn’t judge him. They saw him for who he was, and they had his back. He knew that for the first time in his life, no matter what had happened, they were going to get through this together.
Wing Commander Berkeley had organised several escape attempts in the run-up to December. They had a varying level of success with some men getting further than others. Unfortunately for them, none made it further than the nearest villages. It seemed as though the Germans almost expected it; their own little private war within the confines of the camp fence. They attempted to escape and the Germans punished them when they were caught. Brian supposed it at least kept everyone entertained.
Matheson had become their de facto leader within the hut with the other men all deferring to him on their involvement with camp politics. Berkeley was nominally in charge of the contingent of allied prisoners; a throwback to their military lives on the outside. The other men all had their individual skills and specialties that contributed to the group collective. While Berkeley was their leader, Brian was positive that Matheson had his own plans to depart their current residence. He would see his friend plotting and observing the Germans while they worked and he could see the cogs turning inside his mind.
Hut Twelve eventually began to plot more openly amongst themselves. Arthur Hamley the Navigator was an astronomer and spent many an evening attempting to fix their position within Germany by the stars, a process hampered somewhat by their lack of good maps. Eventually, he had them narrowed down to the southeastern corner of the country with reasonable certainty once Down had managed to steal maps. He had discovered the grizzly and somewhat intimidating Irishman Hamley was a friendly honest man with an interest in American Jazz music, a wife, and two young children back in England.
The American’s contribution had been exactly that; thievery. Mike had proved quite capable of relieving the German guards of personal effects without their awareness. He rarely returned to the hut without extra cigarettes or currency that the group stashed away for a later date. For all his flash bravado, the Yank, Mike Down, was a simple Texas boy and was quietly intelligent in his own way. He had a street savvy and practical adaptability that made up for his lack of formal education; the man was a born survivor and a talented addition to their group.
Maddox spoke reasonable German as did Matheson and the two practised regularly together. They eventually started to include Brian as his lessons with the Dutch Captain progressed to a point of competent conversation. The group knew that any escape attempt would rely entirely on their actions outside the wire, not simply those leaving it. Knowing how to speak the language, and speak it like a native might save their lives.
Matheson and Maddox were both stereotypical Royal Navy airmen: Public school, First Fifteen rugby players; true old boys. Matheson was the most educated of the group, holding a bachelor's degree in ancient history. He had been planning to continue with his education when war broke out and instead joined the Navy. His education was something the men seemed to enjoy mocking him about but the tall, dark-haired Navy pilot was forever jovial about the subject. Brian could see that the man’s passion lay in creativity, not destruction. This war would truly be the undoing of them all.
Andrew was the closest friend Brian had made in the camp during his time there and possibly one of the few he had ever had. It surprised him to realise that he did indeed consider the man to be a friend; it was not a mantle he had needed to use often in the past. Matheson treated him like a human being and not like the runt he knew he probably appeared to be in the eyes of most. It had taken him time, but with Matheson’s help, Brian had become more of a member of the hut than a guest. He finally felt capable of opening up to the others and joining in with their jokes and camaraderie. The men treated him as an equal and even defended him when they could. The wire and the Jerries aside, Brian Campbell felt more at home now than he ever had even in England.
Brian approached the guard standing beside the main gate of the camp. The man seemed relaxed, his rifle slung easily over his shoulder and his hands in the pockets of his greatcoat. From his brief interactions over the past few months, he knew he spoke some English.
“Entschuldigung?”
The man turned to him and raised an eyebrow, “What you want?”
“I would like to… uh, can I see the doctor? Artz Muller, Bitte?”
The guard looked him up and down, “You do not seem sick.”
“I uh, it’s… an ongoing thing, Doctor Muller asked me to come and see him.”
The man seemed to consider this before shrugging and gesturing for Brian to follow him.
“Against the fence please.” The man indicated, “I search you.”
Brian complied and placed his hands against the wire of the fence while the man casually patted the pockets of his uniform down. He knew the searches were to prevent them from sneaking things in and out of the camp, but It was all Brian could do to not flinch to the man’s touch. Once he was done, the guard escorted him through the double main gates and out into the administration area of the camp.
Brian wasn’t looking forward to seeing the German Doctor again but he realised that he had to understand more about what was happening to him. He had only seen Muller twice since his arrival back at the end of July and he was afraid of what the man would see when he examined him. Both visits had been at the start of his incarceration and before he had changed significantly. The truth was, he was terrified to find out what it all meant.
Doctor Muller walked into the examination room and smiled at Brian. “How are we doing today Herr Campbell?”
“I’m ok, no pain Doctor.”
“Excellent,” Muller grinned as he sat down at his desk. “What can I do for you?”
Brian gripped the edge of the examination table tightly and licked his dry lips. “I ah…I’ve noticed some slight changes in my body since we last spoke.”
Muller furrowed his brow, “We did mention that you would struggle to maintain muscle mass with your situation, is this what you are describing?”
Brian shook his head and blushed. “Well, a little, but It’s more than that. My… nipples have been hurting too.”
Muller stood and crossed the room towards Brian and raised his eyebrows. “Well then, enough of the embarrassment. I am here to help ok? Take off your shirt and let me have a look.”
Brian unbuttoned his shirt and removed it before reluctantly shrugging out of his undershirt. He kept his gaze fixed on the far wall, he followed the Doctor’s instructions while he examined his torso. Brian knew what he looked like, and while he had almost adjusted to his new self, he was still extremely embarrassed to be seen by someone else.
“This is unusual,” Muller murmured as he palpated the puffy skin around Brian’s left nipple. “What does this feel like?”
“Ow,” Brian jumped slightly, flinching away from Muller’s touch. “That really hurt.”
Muller’s eyebrows raised. “Most unusual, but also not…. Very strange.”
“What do you mean?”
Muller glanced at Brian and looked mildly perplexed. “If I did not know better, I would think you were a young girl entering puberty. What you are feeling, the irritation is development of your… well, breasts.”
“Breasts?”
Muller nodded. “I realise this is embarrassing, but I would like you to take off your trousers too. I will be as quick as possible then you can dress and we shall talk about this further, ok herr Campbell?”
Brian was in a daze as he stripped out of his remaining clothes. He had breasts, breasts that were growing. The very concept seemed alien to him but it certainly matched what he had denied to himself for some time. The human mind is capable of ignoring anything it wants if it ‘s sufficiently motivated.
Muller was true to his word and made the examination as painless as possible. Brian was still deeply humiliated by the experience as the man measured and prodded him in great detail. Eventually satisfied, he was allowed to redress as the Doctor retreated to his desk to write furiously in a notebook.
Once he was done, Muller beckoned Brian over to the chair beside his desk and bade him sit.
“Well, you have made my day far more interesting, Herr Campbell.” Muller smiled disarmingly. “I will start with the most important first; you are not in ill health. As far as I can tell you are perfectly healthy.”
“But?”
Muller looked mildly uncertain for a moment. “Herr Campbell. I realise saying words like ‘breasts’ and ‘puberty’ can be alarming, but the human body is a complex system and we still do not fully understand it.”
Muller grimaced and looked uncomfortable, “Many books and subject matter experts in the field of sexology in Germany are no longer… welcome in our society. This makes deeper investigation much harder, and as a prisoner of war, I am limited in what resources I can utilise to treat you.”
“What is happening to me?”
Muller seemed to consider the question for a moment before he answered. “What I think… and please, bear in mind that I am hypothesising here Herr Campbell, is that the lack of testosterone in your body after your accident has exposed a comorbid condition; that is, something occurring at the same time but not related.”
“I was lucky enough to attend a lecture by the Sexologist Magnus Hirschfeld in 1931 before… all that book business. His studies showed that the male sex hormone was quite strong. That it could and did overpower the female equivalent. What I believe has occurred in your case, considering your condition when you arrived is that its absence has allowed a higher-than-normal level of oestrogen in your body to flourish.”
“So, I'm a girl?”
Muller shook his head. “I do not believe so, but perhaps you have a higher than-normal level of oestrogen, I cannot say why. What I can say is that your body has begun to behave more akin to that of a pubescent girl; your breast tissue is developing, body fat is predominantly around the hip, buttocks and chest and your skin is far softer. It is quite fascinating really.”
“I don’t really care to be fascinating Doctor Muller,” Brian frowned. “I’d rather be normal.”
Muller sighed and removed his glasses. He looked at Brian with a mixture of compassion and concern in his tired eyes. “You may find your normal has to shift somewhat young man. I will do what I can for you, I promise you that much.”
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A high school senior heads to Boston to visit his sister for Halloween. A twist of fate reveals something they would never have admited alone... and it proves to be the one thing that may keep them alive when the best laid plans of a group of college students are lain waste by a force of terrible evil and corruption that has thrived for centuries... Can Charlie Kane be strong enough to live? or will the River of Shadows claim yet another victim...?
A high school senior heads to Boston to visit his sister for Halloween. A twist of fate reveals something they would never have admited alone... and it proves to be the one thing that may keep them alive when the best laid plans of a group of college students are lain waste by a force of terrible evil and corruption that has thrived for centuries... Can Charlie Kane be strong enough to live? or will the River of Shadows claim yet another victim...?
I looked out of the train window as we drew into Boston: True to form, I could see little beyond the rain lashing against the glass, mercifully obscuring my view of South Boston’s crumbling industrial cadavers that lined the tracks. It always seemed to rain when I came to this city…
Stretching after the lengthy journey, I began, slowly, to collect my belongings as the train began to slow for Boston South Station. I was in town visiting my big sister for the weekend, and an excuse to party college style… I, Charlie Kane, was seventeen, and in my senior year of high school back home in Fairfield, Connecticut; I was roughly five and a half feet of scrawny geek stereotype with long dark hair that I refused to cut as if it may hide the scrawniness and make me look cooler… somehow. My sister Hannah, three years my senior, was a sophomore at the University of Massachusetts. Hannah was, I suppose, quite pretty; she was relatively slim and stood a statuesque five foot nine inches tall with her Sandy blonde hair falling down to her shoulder blades. We were polar opposites…
Stepping down onto the platform I took my first lungful of cold, fresh air in nearly ten hours. Navigating my way through the crowds, I made my way towards the main hall of the station where I would collect my suitcase and meet Hannah. The crowd swirling around me, I clutched the strap of my pack tighter as the bustling mass jostled me too and fro. Finally emerging into the bright expansive main hall of the station the crowds seemed to dilute somewhat in the vast atrium; I began my search for the baggage collection carousels.
Before long, I found them located in an area off the main hall of the station. Reaching the rotating conveyor belts, I scanned the electronic board for the one belonging to my train. Spotting it over to my left, I walked over and began searching the circling luggage for my case.
I heard my phone ring as I was scanning the passing cases. Flipping it open, I recognised my sister’s name on the screen and answered.
“Hello Hannah.” I answered with a smile. “I’m here; just collecting my case.”
“Finally!” Hannah sighed in mock frustration. “I’ve been waiting for that train for ages! Where are you?”
“At the baggage lounge, next to the check in desks.” I replied, “See you in five?”
“Sure,” Hannah replied before hanging up.
I was still searching five minutes later when my sister arrived. The first clue I had of her presence was a pair of arms encircling me, making me jump with fright; her trademark.
“Hey there baby brother.” She giggled squeezing me tight. “It’s been too long.”
“Good to see you Hannah,” I smiled turning to face my sister. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” she shrugged non comittally, “Class’s a drag, but this weekend’s gonna be a blast,” she grinned.
“What exactly do you have planned?” I asked curiously, acutely aware of the lack of information I’d been privy to.
“Nothing much.” She grinned sheepishly. “Just a small party with some friends: You brought a costume like I asked right?” she asked cocking her head to one side.
Rolling my eyes I nodded. “It’s in my case, if it ever arrives.”
Hannah frowned, “Not come off yet? They don’t seem to be sending any more out.” She added nodding at the conveyor with 5 remaining bags circling waiting for their owners.
“Ugh, just what I need.” I moaned, “Mom’s gonna kill me if I’ve lost my stuff.”
Turning, I sought out the bored looking attendant.
“Excuse me.” I asked approaching the desk. “I was on the 1800 Train… My bag isn’t here.” I informed the disinterested woman.
Without responding, she tapped on her computer keyboard for a moment before looking up finally. “All the bags from that train were unloaded sir,” she droned mechanically. “If it’s not on the carousel, someone must have taken it,” she offered unhelpfully.
“Yeah thanks.” I muttered feeling a pang of disappointment, as I turned and walked away. It was a bummer really… I had my changes of clothes and my costume in that bag… thankfully all the important stuff like my laptop and my Ipod had been in my rucksack on the train itself… small mercies I suppose.
I walked back over to Hannah with my hands in my pockets. “What did she say?” Hannah asked expectantly.
I shrugged, “Nothing helpful. What am I gonna do for clothes and stuff this weekend?”
Hannah looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well you’re good for tonight right? We can stop off at a drugstore and grab you a toothbrush and whatever… we’ll go shopping in the morning for some stuff ok? We’ll need to get you a new costume,” she chuckled, “You aren’t getting off that easily.”
We walked out of the station and found Hannah’s old beaten up hatchback before joining the rush-hour traffic and making our way back to her apartment. She lived in a very student orientated part of town just off the campus, It was relatively nice to my inexperienced eye, and clearly quite popular. Making a quick dive into a drug store round the corner from her place, I followed my sister up to her third floor apartment and the final promise of rest.
Retrieving her keys from her bag, Hannah unlocked the door to the apartment and let us in. I hadn’t seen her place since she had moved in over the summer months; I was mildly impressed. The apartment was small but nicely furnished and clean. A modern looking kitchen with a breakfast bar dividing it from the living room made the place feel more spacious despite its size.
I slumped down on the sofa and kicked off my shoes. “It feels good to have finally stopped moving.” I sighed happily.
“How are mom and dad?” Hannah called from the kitchen.
“They’re fine.” I replied absent mindedly, “Dad’s snowed under with that new contract, and mom’s working on another book.”
“That’s good,” Hannah agreed, “I miss them loads.”
She walked back from the kitchen carrying two steaming mugs of hot chocolate which she placed down on the coffee table before joining me on the sofa in typical Hannah fashion; she plopped.
“So this party...” I began slowly. “What’s the plan?” I asked casually sipping the steaming liquid and eyeing her carefully.
Hannah grinned. “Oh it’s totally cool… I mean, I told mom and dad it was like this thing on campus… no alcohol allowed with chaperones right? But its not…” she grinned triumphantly.
“Go on.” I pressed cautious of Hannah’s legendary powers of understatement.
“Well…. My friend Claire’s dad is in real estate right?” She prompted despite my total lack of knowledge of anyone called Claire, never mind their father. “He buys and sells places… fixes them up and sells them on… He got this big old place out of town recently, and he’s agreed to let her use it for a Halloween party.” She finished with an expectant grin.
“So we’re going to be all alone in the middle of nowhere, with alcohol, and a big house…” I muttered to myself letting the idea filter through my brain. I watched Hannah’s expression slowly begin to turn to one of concern before I grinned broadly. “Thank fuck you didn’t tell mom and dad that… they would have chained me to a wall back home to stop me coming.”
“Cool.” Hannah smiled. “I was thinking you were going to be all geeky about it and not want to take part.”
I frowned. “Im not a geek by choice; it’s not very easy to make cool friends when most people pick on you.” I admitted sheepishly. “I’m left with those that can’t find anyone else, and my computer and stuff.”
Hannah reached over and hugged me warmly. “Don’t let em get you down ok?” She whispered into my ear as she squeezed me tight. “High school is just plain evil, anyway, nobody knows you here… so we can have a good time and forget all that clique crap.”
I sniffed and rubbed my eyes to mask the fact I’d shed tears, and grunted non comittally. “Not without a costume I won’t.”
“Ah we’ll sort that out tomorrow.” Hannah snorted waving her hand dismissively. “There’s plenty of fancy dress stores around here… we’re in a college neighbourhood remember?”
“Anyway,” she continued looking at her watch. “Its late, why don’t we grab some takeout and get an early night? Tomorrow’s a long day…”
We ordered pizza, and spent time catching up while we waited for the food to arrive. I missed my big sister; she was always role model of mine… She was popular, strong, confident… The things I wanted to be.
The doorbell rang as we were yelling each other down about music genres. Hannah pulled herself to her feet and walked over to answer the door. A snippet of muffled conversation and she closed it again, and returned bearing the fruit of our wait…
Diving into the boxes on the table, we returned to our catching up.
“So you got a girlfriend yet little brother?” Hannah asked conspiratorially while reaching for another slice. “Or are you still pure and innocent?”
I looked away for a moment and felt myself blushing. “Not really, no.” I admitted in a small voice. “I’ve never really known what to do.”
Hannah looked at me with concern as she chewed her pizza. “I’m sorry Charlie.” She frowned. “I didn’t mean to pry… I was just interested… I mean… sorry,” she added.
I shrugged for want of a suitable verbal response. I really trusted my sister, but it was a subject I had never really fully admitted to myself or anyone…
Hannah placed her hand on my arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. “What’s up?” she asked breaking my concentration. “You look awful thoughtful in there…”
I looked up at my sister, without bothering to hide the wetness in my eyes. “I guess I was.” I admitted quietly.
Hannah lent forwards and hugged me tightly for several moments, rocking us back and forth while I cried quietly to myself. Why couldn’t I toughen up? Why was a guy crying because he couldn’t get a date, and having to be consoled by his sister? It felt wrong somehow… Although for once I didn’t care.
From the Author:
Hey Folks... This is part one of my Halloween Horror thing entry. Its one of 8 parts, and I'll be releasing them every few days from now on. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope you dont get too scared when this reaches that point... I'm going to pull no punches... She wanted Terror... you will get it :)
Lots of Love
Alyssa
A high school senior heads to Boston to visit his sister for Halloween. A twist of fate reveals something they would never have admited alone... and it proves to be the one thing that may keep them alive when the best laid plans of a group of college students are lain waste by a force of terrible evil and corruption that has thrived for centuries... Can Charlie Kane be strong enough to live? or will the River of Shadows claim yet another victim...?
The next morning I woke around seven am. It was just getting light outside the window. I could hear my sister snoring softly. It made me smile in my sleep clouded state; it brought back fond memories of our bunk bed sharing childhood.
I rolled off the air mattress and tiptoed quietly out of the room into the dark corridor. Locating the bathroom, I did my business, and began to brush my teeth. I caught my reflection in the mirror over the sink and mentally rolled my eyes at the image reflected. My rubber band had gotten lost in the night, and my slept in hair went in every direction. My main concern was the fact my face was still smooth… It was silly expecting to have gone from baby face smooth to stubbly man overnight, but some part of me almost expected it to happen. I finished up and left the bathroom in search of morning sustenance; my stomach called.
I was fixing myself a pot of coffee and toast when I heard a noise behind me. As I turned, I came face to face with a red haired girl around my height. She looked as sleepy as I felt.
“Um, hi,” she said curiously, “I’m Heather.” She added with a lopsided grin. “You must be Hannah’s… friend? That’s coming up this weekend?”
I was stunned momentarily. “Mm, she’s my sister… I’m Charlie.” I replied awkwardly. “I didn’t wake you did I? I tried to be quiet…”
Heather shook her head. “Oh no,” she admitted with a coy smile, “The smell of coffee wakes me from the deepest of slumbers… no better way to wake up… I thought Hannah was up for a moment till I saw you in here…”
I turned back to the coffee maker and pulled the pot off the boil before filling two cups with the dark liquid. “Here.” I offered handing her one. “So you’re Hannah’s housemate?” I asked trying to fill the awkward silence that had descended.
“Yep,” nodded Heather as she sipped the steaming coffee, “sophomore majoring in American Literature… What about you?”
“Uh, I’m in my senior year of high school back home.”
Heather’s eyebrows rose, “High school?” she asked with surprise, “I mean, you are a bit… skinny.” She added looking me up and down, “But I had you pegged for at least a freshman…
I blushed, “uh, thanks.”
“So are you coming tonight?” Heather continued, getting more animated as the level of coffee in her mug lowered. “I’m going as a vampire princess.” She grinned. “I borrowed this corset off my friend Amy who’s a goth… it’s totally sexy.” She admitted conspiratorially. “It doesn’t half make my boobs itch after though.” She added with a chuckle.
I turned red and muttered something incoherent in response.
“What are you going to wear?” she asked curiously.
“Uh, I was going to go as a Vampire too.” I admitted sheepishly, realising it was probably a massive Halloween cliché. “But I lost my case at the station… so I’m going to get something else today when I get clothes and stuff.” I added.
“Oh you poor thing!” Heather sympathised. “I hate it when that happens… and they never want to help.”
“I know.” I agreed, “It’s like they just don’t give a shit once you pay for your ticket and get off the train… Still… I don’t know what to go as now… It seems like you’re all very into this.” I smiled.
“Oh we are.” Heather nodded. “It’s an excuse to have fun, and with the location we have…. It’s going to rock! She laughed. “Mm, I think there’s a place down on Adams that has some neat costumes… What were you thinking?”
I sipped my coffee and thought for a moment… original…. Something original…. “Well I guess I could go as something undead?” I offered lamely.
Heather scrunched up her face and shook her head. “Nah, that’s a bit lame… anyway it will look all icky… this isn’t that sort of party… a whooole different sort of ‘good looking costume.” She giggled. “Okay… Lets go get dressed, and we can go down to the store and see what we can sort you out with huh?” she offered with a smile. “Your sister doesn’t like to wake up before mid day… and this isn’t going to be a quick job.” She chuckled playfully. “Hey, you got anything to wear since you lost your case?”
I shrugged. “Uh, I hadn’t thought about that really.” I admitted.
“It’s ok.” Heather smiled, “I’m sure I’ve got something you can wear, we’re about the same size. Well… Almost…” she grinned hefting her considerable bosom.
It was about then when the penny finally dropped and I realised what she had been thinking all along… I was sat here… in one of Hannah’s old sleep shirts… admittedly, a plain one, I had hairless legs… I didn’t shave… I had long hair… She thought I was a girl!
“I’m a boy.” I blurted quickly.
Heather cocked her head to one side and looked at me for a moment. “You are?” she asked with something approaching surprise. Then her hands flew to her mouth in shock.
“Oh my god!” She breathed. “I’m so sorry.” “I… I don’t know what got into my head… and I mean… I should have… but you …. I mean… I’m sorry.” She added a second time. “Well I guess that explains why you’re flat up top.” She chuckled softly. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.” She added again, “I’m such a dolt; I guess I was tired, then I didn’t really look harder… “She trailed off before looking down at her lap.
I sat for a moment confused. I didn’t look like a girl… I thought… But apparently I did? It was a strange thought. The even stranger thought rattling around in my head was that it wasn’t such a bad thing… or was it? Should I be ashamed? I wasn’t sure… But an odd idea was kicking around in my head that refused to leave. It would sure be funny… That she had thought I was a girl was oddly not offensive in my mind…. Did that mean I? I mean, we had talked… like equals… I’d enjoyed that… was this what it was like being popular? Having friends? Would she still like me if I was a guy? What was I thinking? Of course I was a guy… I… It was really the first time I’d thought about it frankly. And Thinking back, I couldn’t really think of any reason I liked it… Being a guy I mean… I’d always been so… safe… so cautious about everything… A part of me wanted to run from something I didn’t think was normal… yet another part was saying what’s to loose? I couldn’t describe it…
“Heather?” I asked snapping out of my inner monologue. She looked up with a questioning expression on her face.
“The costume for tonight?” I prompted slowly, “Well… what if I was to go as a girl?”
She looked confused for a moment, but a sly grin crept onto her lips. “You’re serious?” she asked slowly. “Well I guess it would be one hell of a costume… I guess you could pull it off? But why? I mean… you’re a boy…”
It was my turn to stare at my lap before I could form the words. “Well… I… Before… Thinking about it, I sort of liked that you thought I was a girl, I think.” I admitted sheepishly. “And… I guess… I was wondering what it was like?”
She was quiet for a moment; eventually I picked up the courage to look at her. She didn’t seem mad…
“You’re serious.” She said quietly. “I don’t mean to pry… she began. “I mean… are you? I mean… would you like to be a girl?” she asked cautiously.
I sat for a long moment wondering what my answer was. “I don’t know.” I said so softly it was almost a whisper. “I…. Maybe.”
Heather got down from the kitchen stool she was sat on and walked over to me and placing a hand on my chin, tilted my face till I was looking in hers. “Have you told Hannah any of this?” she asked softly.
I shook my head and felt my eyes getting moist again. Heather frowned sympathetically and hugged me gently. “Well why don’t we find out before you do huh?” she offered gently.
“I was going to lend you some of my stuff so we could go look for a costume… well… It still stands.” She added looking me in the eyes. “Lets go find you a costume.” She smiled.
Why I agreed to her idea, and why I even said the things I did in the first place… I won’t ever know… Something made me feel like trusting her, even before I trusted myself. Was this what having a friend was like?
I followed Heather back to her bedroom, and we sat down on her bed. It was a little tense at first, but she gave me a quick hug and bounced to her feet.
“Right.” She announced in a business like manner. “What do you want to start with? Uh, It’s like… Not too cold out… how about a skirt, a sweater and leggings? Something simple and not too frilly…”
I shrugged non comittally, “I guess so.” I offered. “I haven’t really thought about it.”
Heather turned to her dresser, and started going through drawers. “Here.” She announced handing me a handful of silk and lace. “Scoot on over to the bathroom and put these on, then we can get to work.” She grinned.
I looked down at my hands and blushed at the pair of panties I was holding. “Is this necessary?” I asked cautiously.
“Sure it is,” she smiled, “If you want to test something, you do it right… now git.” She giggled pushing me out of the door and across the hallway.
Closing the bathroom door behind me, I looked at the panties in my hand. They were pink silk and lace… so very feminine… I frowned to myself. Why had I said that? Why was I here now about to do this? I wasn’t sure of the answer, and I was more sure that I didn’t really want to know right now. With a shrug, I dropped my boxer shorts, and pulled the panties up my legs and let the sleep shirt drop back down again.
I stood for a second wondering if I was supposed to feel anything… I didn’t… they just felt like softer briefs… luxuriously soft… I shook my head and unlocked the door before tiptoeing back across the hallway to Heather’s room.
I knocked softly on the open door to get her attention. I was blushing something aweful, “Ok.” I offered by way of confirmation. “I’m done.”
Heather chuckled. “Well I’d have thought so… its not rocket science. Come on in here and take off that shirt.”
Closing the door, I stepped into the room and gripped the hem of the shirt. After a second or two’s pause, I lifted the shirt over my head and stood clutching it to my chest, nervous at being semi nude.
Heather cocked her head to one side and smiled slightly. “You behave like a girl you know.”
I frowned, “How do you mean?”
“Well…” she began, “you’re more embarrassed about being topless than you are about me seeing you in pink panties.” She giggled.
I blushed a deeper shade than I thought possible. “Uh.” I added intelligently.
Heather smiled warmly. “It’s ok sweetie,” she cooed softly, “now come on, pop that shirt down and let me put this on you.” She said dangling a bra from her finger.
“Won’t that be a bit big for me?” I asked cautiously looking between the bra and her expansive chest.
Heather shook her head and grinned. “Well, I guess it’s ok to tell you that I got a boob job in my freshman year…” she explained, blushing herself. “I was quite small, I never developed much… up top.” She gestured, “It caused me a lot of issues… and my parents paid for me to get the surgery so I could be more self-confident.”
“Oh, I see.” I replied looking intently at my toes.
“So… This is one of the ones I had before…” she continued, “I didn’t get round to throwing them out, and I was sort of attached to a few.” She added. “Come here.” She gestured.
Slowly I stepped over towards her and tossed the tee shirt on the bed. Lifting my arms as instructed, she talked me through putting the bra on. It was one of those experiences I had never expected to have in my lifetime.
Once she had fitted the bra, she began pulling tissues from a box on her vanity and started to gently stuff them into the cups. Before long, I was surprised to see two small mounds protruding from my chest. I felt a very odd flutter in my stomach at that moment.
Heather stepped back to survey her work. Her eyebrows shot up.
“What’s wrong?” I asked nervously. Wondering how much weird I must have looked at that moment.
“Nothing.” She replied shaking her head. “I’m just surprised that I can’t actually tell that you aren’t a girl anymore. Still a skinny bitch thought.” She chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.
I looked at my feet again; I wasn’t sure if I was upset or pleased by her words. It was a very odd time indeed.
Heather broke the silence by handing me a pair of black leggings that she told me, went on like pants, and sitting on the bed, I pulled them up my legs, and seated them around my waist. They ended half way down my calves, and seemed to make my legs look thinner and longer. Standing up, I stepped into the skirt she handed me. It was short and denim, like a pair of jeans cut off just bellow the crotch… it was quite short, but I was adequately covered… I hoped. I pulled on the Umass sweater that Heather handed me and put my hands behind my head to pull my hair out of the top. I earned myself another funny look from Heather.
“What?” I asked self-consciously.
Heather shook her head, “nothing.” She replied. “It just looks like you’ve been doing that all your life.”
I rolled my eyes and wrapped my finger around my hair, “I have.” I grinned sarcastically.
“Oh you know what I mean.” She snapped back with a frustrated grin. “I guess I was right this morning.”
I frowned again, unsure of her meaning.
“When I thought you were a girl.” She added. “It’s just your movements and actions are all so… natural.”
I blushed, wondering where all the spare blood I had for it came from. Sitting down on the bed heavily I rested my head in my hands and sighed. “I don’t know Heather.” I admitted. “Before today, I really hadn’t thought about this… It’s… I…” I clammed up before I could finish. The words and feelings were too strong. Before I knew it, Heather had wrapped her arms around me and was squeezing me gently. It was reassuring.
“Just take it as it comes.” She advised. “Don’t think, just live… ok? We’re going to have a busy day, and an awesome night… so think about all this shit tomorrow ok?”
I nodded weakly and gave her a quick squeeze before slipping my feet into the sandals she had offered me and stood up.
I walked over to the mirror on her wall and looked at my reflection. I don’t know what I had expected to see… But it wasn’t me… at least not the me I had seen so often… aside from two bumps… the only real difference was the waist down, but the whole image… I… I saw a young girl staring back at me… I never realised just how like my sister I really looked. We were different in our ways, but we shared a common genetics, and it showed. I wanted to hate to admit it, but I liked what I saw…
Heather brushed my hair, and added a touch of makeup… I wasn’t sure what it was… to my eyelashes and lips before pronouncing me ready. The girl I saw looking back at me in the hallway mirror was pretty… she looked like any other girl I might see in the street. She was dressed casually, a student… but she was me. I tried to feel some sort of guilt… or embarrassment, but the only thing I felt, was calm…
Heather let us out of the apartment and locked the door behind us. A part of me wanted to run… wanted to hide… I must be mad…
From the author:
Part deux of The River of Shadows... Sure... I admit, this is pretty standard fair, for now... please bear with me... it will all make sense eventually.
Please keep commenting... The ones on the last part were quite helpful, and I love to hear your views and opinions... I write for you guys... the reader, not for me...
many autumnal thanks
Alyssa P(rincess of darkness)
A high school senior heads to Boston to visit his sister for Halloween. A twist of fate reveals something they would never have admited alone... and it proves to be the one thing that may keep them alive when the best laid plans of a group of college students are lain waste by a force of terrible evil and corruption that has thrived for centuries... Can Charlie Kane be strong enough to live? or will the River of Shadows claim yet another victim...?
It turned out the costume store was around three blocks away from the apartment building. I can safely say that it was the longest three blocks of my life: I walked quietly by Heather’s side for the duration, unable to fully lift my head to see where I was going. Part of me expected people to point and laugh, or to stare… But I knew they wouldn’t when faced with the girl in the mirror… my mind still told me I ought to look like a football player in his girlfriend’s prom dress, and that people must see the truth… That I ought to be ashamed
“We’re here.” Heather said quietly as we abruptly drew to a halt in the middle of the busy street. “Come on, let’s go inside.” She urged gently pushing me towards the door. As we entered, the chime of a bell made me jump slightly, I was so on edge that I could have snapped at the slightest thing. The store was warm, not hot, but pleasantly warm after the cool fall air of the street outside. The interior was lined with bright costumes, accessories, glitter and balloons; typical costume store…
Heather turned to me and smiled. “That wasn’t so hard was it?” she grinned impishly.
I shrugged. “Not for you… But I was terrified.” I admitted, rubbing my hands together. “I expected everyone to laugh.” I added quietly.
Heather sighed quietly. “Now come on you…” she said with a stern look, “This morning, you managed it without trying, and here, you look a whole lot better… nobody will know, I know… and I can’t tell.” She urged softly. “Come on, lets get you sorted out.” She offered taking my hand and dragging me into the store proper.
“Hello Ladies, how can I help?” called the middle aged man behind the counter merrily. “Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?”
I clammed up for a second, unsure how to respond; thankfully Heather wasn’t so vacant.
“Hey there... my friend here’s looking for a costume for a Halloween party tonight. What do you have?”
The man looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well it’s a little late…I think I sold out most of my stuff…” he offered with an apologetic shrug, “I’m sure we have something left.” He offered brightly. “Come with me.” He gestured walking back into the aisles of costumes.
Stopping in front of a row of costumes, he turned to me and spoke, “So Miss, what are you looking for? Anything in particular?”
I swallowed hard and fought back the urge to run. “I… um, something for a party tonight.” I offered weakly. “Uh, but not too cheesy.”
The man looked thoughtful for a moment and began thumbing through the rack of costumes muttering to himself. With the look of an epiphany, he unhooked a garment bag and slipped it off the shelf.
“Here we go.” He announced like a proud father, “This will suit you down to the ground.” He smiled removing the costume from the bag and displaying it for me.
The dress was brief, but elegant. Black translucent fabric hung over a black silky off the shoulder sweater dress.
“I like it.” I murmured quietly without realising that I’d spoken. “Uh, what’s it meant to be?” I asked cautiously.
“It’s for a vampire princess.” Smiled the owner, “it’s pretty much all I have left in your size.” He smiled apologetically.
“That won’t do,” piped in Heather, “I’m going as a vampire princess… unless…” she murmured looking around the store. “Hang on.” She added wandering off.
I looked at the owner and grinned sheepishly, “Can I try it on?” I asked cautiously, the dress drew my eye quite strangely. I wanted to feel it on me…
“Sure, come with me,” smiled the owner leading the way back towards a changing booth at the rear of the store. “Just pop in there and give me a call if you need anything.” He added handing me the dress.
I pulled the curtain closed and stood looking at the dress for a moment. It was inviting… it was so feminine and different that I was overawed for a moment. Despite my current apparel I still felt unworthy.
Raising my arms, I pulled the sweater off and began to unbutton my skirt before slipping it from my hips and folding both carefully to one side. Rolling down the leggings, I stood before the dress in just my bra and panties. My self consciousness returned. I felt ridiculous stood there in girls’ underwear, and a flash of embarrassment swept across me.
I shook my head clearing the negativity from my mind. For the very first time in my life, I was doing something because I wanted to… no other reason, and not for anyone else… Standing there in that changing room in my bra and panties, I had an enlightening moment: For the first time in my life I was standing up for myself; even if I was the aggressor in this case too. For once, I cared about who I was, and what I did with my life… a slow smile spread across my lips and without embarrassment, I reached up and removed the hanger from the dress, before slipping it over my head.
I settled the dress about my hips and ran my hands over the fabric, smoothing it out. The dress was clingy in places, but also had an airiness that took away a little of my skinniness without making me frumpy looking. I chuckled to myself that I’d been dressing as a girl for at most, two hours, and I was already trying to avoid looking fat…
I turned to face the mirror in the corner of the booth and looked at myself. The airy billowing sleeves that tapered up to being fitted on my upper arms, and the exposure of my shoulders was an interesting sight. The skirt settled roughly around my mid thigh, and the material was loose and slightly poofy: The overall impression would not have looked out of place in the wardrobe of an evil sexy princess… Fluffing my hair into a more unruly and vampy style that I’d seen girls do, I pulled back the curtain and peered outside.
Heather was stood talking to the shop owner when I stepped out of the changing booth. Both of them turned to look at me when they heard movement.
“Wow.” Heather breathed quietly. “Not bad.” She added with raised eyebrows. The shop owner just smiled knowingly and nodded; I could see the dollar signs in his eyes.
“It looks good on you.” Heather said approaching me and circling around like a clothing vulture. “It’s very you,” she chuckled. “I had some ideas.” She added holding up a few items she had been obviously unearthing for my costume. One, was a pointed witches hat.
I looked at her and grinned. “I’m not wearing that.” I said firmly. “I’m not six.”
“Oh come on” she pleaded, “It would suit you.”
“I suppose I get a black cat and a broomstick too?” I added with a smile, “What happened to your ‘good looking’ concept?”
Heather shrugged. “Well how else can we say you’re a witch? I mean… it’s just a gothic black dress as it is… not that it doesn’t look awesome,” she added with a sly grin.
I was silent for a moment before I took the hat from her hands and placed it on my head: I’d never seen myself in fancy dress before and been happy about it… I twisted the hat till it sat at a more rakish angle and examined my reflection in the mirror; I actually thought I looked cute… I shook my head slowly and turned to Heather. “Okay,” I said slowly, “Witch it is.”
Heather nodded to herself, as if knowing what I’d say. “I took the liberty of acquiring some …. Extras,” she offered with a grin holding out a pair of spidery fishnet stockings, and a pentagram necklace.
I shook my head to myself before throwing the hat at her, which she narrowly avoided with an indignant squeak before sticking her tongue out at me in retaliation.
I changed back to my street clothes, and paid the extortionate bill before we left the store, my precious costume in hand.
“Told you it wasn’t hard.” Heather announced to nobody in particular as we walked.
“I guess.” I admitted, surprising myself more than anyone else, “I guess it’s almost begun to feel a bit less weird.”
Heather looked over at me as we moved through the now busy streets. “You do look a little more relaxed,” she observed.
“So who’s going tonight?” I asked her, hoping to extract the key secrets to the evening’s sordid plans from someone that wasn’t my cunning sister.
Heather shrugged. “Some friends of ours, a few classmates, and some guys that me and Hannah know from hockey.” She said ticking off fingers on her hand.
“Jocks…” I muttered mournfully, “Why does there always have to be jocks?”
“Aw come on you spoil sport,” chided Hannah playfully, “They’re cute… and funny, and a lot of them are single…” she grinned wiggling her eyebrows at me in a way that shouldn’t be humanly possible.
I frowned, “Perhaps you’ve forgotten, but to date, my experience with Jocks has been very different to yours.” I replied quietly, looking away.
Hannah sighed, realising her mistake and slipped her hand into mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sorry Charlie…” she offered biting her lip, “It’s hard to imagine that… but it must have been aweful…” she said softly.
We walked on in silence for several moments before I squeezed Heather’s hand back. “It wasn’t fun… but it was life… is life…” I admitted, correcting myself. “I go back to it on Monday, back to being mister invisible.”
“You need to talk to Hannah.” Heather said quietly, telling me what I already knew. It was strange… such a short space of time, and such a dramatic change in my life had made me so much happier. I still couldn’t believe I’d agreed to this…Hadn’t I suggested it?
Before long, we reached the apartment building, and made our way back up to their place. We were talking with such animation that I’d forgotten how I was dressed… It didn’t last long…
Heather opened the door to the apartment, and the pair of us continued our conversation as we walked in and put our bags down. It was then I caught sight of my sister sat cross legged on the sofa in her pyjamas, halfway through a bowl of cereal: She was frozen with the spoon midway to her mouth.
“Uh, hi,” I offered sheepishly.
Hannah managed to complete her spoon to mouth action and sat munching quietly for a moment, her eyes never leaving me. “That’s a different look little brother,” she observed.
“Uh, I can explain….” I began sheepishly.
“He had no clothes to wear… and we wanted to go get him a costume.” Heather spoke up coming to my defence. “You always get up late… I figured we’d go get something before they sold out.”
“You realise that’s my brother? not my sister right?” Hannah added cocking an eyebrow in Heather’s direction.
“Yes, but…” Heather began opening her mouth to continue, but closing it again at the look she got from Hannah.
“So whose idea was this…?” she asked slowly, her eyes flicking between the two of us.
After the longest time, I found my voice, “I…”
Heather cut me off abruptly putting her hand out, “It was my idea Hannah.” She said with a defiant expression that worried me.
“Was this your idea of a joke?” Hannah asked with a hint of venom. “Or did you just want a little fuck toy that satisfies all your needs in one?”
A high school senior heads to Boston to visit his sister for Halloween. A twist of fate reveals something they would never have admited alone... and it proves to be the one thing that may keep them alive when the best laid plans of a group of college students are lain waste by a force of terrible evil and corruption that has thrived for centuries... Can Charlie Kane be strong enough to live? or will the River of Shadows claim yet another victim...?
“A fuck toy?” repeated Heather in surprise. “You ignorant bitch.” She said slowly, a look of scorn spreading across her face.
Hannah placed her cereal bowl down on the table top and stood up. “You’re using my brother,” she hissed, “We’re meant to be friends…”
“We are!” screamed Heather, “For fucks sake Hannah, I’m doing nothing… And it wasn’t like that.” she added faltering.
I swallowed to stop the bile from rising in my throat… It hadn’t been my number one choice of times… but after what Heather had done for me… She didn’t deserve this…
“Hannah.” I called as they reached a lull in their verbal jousting.
“Stay out of this Charlie.” Hannah snapped back without even turning to face me.
“NO.” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on in your head Hannah, but Heather didn’t have anything to do with this… It was MY idea… Mine alone…” I continued drawing breath. “I asked her to help, and it was my idea.”
Hannah’s mouth hung open as if she’d been forming the words to answer me back; instead she stood silent at my revelation.
“Hannah,” I implored, “I never fitted in, and I always felt different, Heather didn’t choose any of this, and whatever you think of her, this was all on me. She’s been nothing but a friend.”
Hannah looked at me for a long moment; her brain seemed to be processing what I said.
“This was your idea…” she repeated, not quite a question. “Why?” she asked softly.
“I don’t know.” I admitted with a sigh. “I guess…. I guess something feels right about this… I like it.” I added quietly, unable to look my sister in the eye.
I felt fingers touch my chin and lift my face. I slowly lifted my eyes and looked into my sister’s. “I’m sorry Hannah.” I said quietly “I guess I could have phrased that better.”
“Hush.” She whispered pulling me into her arms. “I’m the one that’s sorry… to you and Heather.” She whispered looking over at her roommate that still stood looking forlorn by the door.
“It’s not me you ought to be apologising to.” I murmured softly enough for only her to hear. I gently pushed away from my sister and stepped back.
Hannah shook her head as if clearing cobwebs and turned to her roommate.
“Heather…” she began apologetically, “I… I don’t know why I snapped… I’m so sorry… I guess it was a total surprise, and I’ve been feeling so off these past few days… perhaps I’m coming on, I don’t know,” she admitted with an exasperated sigh. “I was totally out of order, can you forgive me?” she asked imploringly.
Heather looked resistant for a moment before the tension seemed to leave her body. “It’s ok,” she muttered without looking at my sister. I was surprised… something of a rift had appeared so suddenly… I didn’t know what to think…
I could understand my sister being angry, but it was where it had been directed that bothered me… Was Heather using me? Despite Hannah’s apologies, the seed was well and truly planted in my mind.
Hannah sat down on the sofa next to me and placed her arm on my back. “You want to tell me what this is all about little brother?” she asked quietly.
I proceeded to tell her the same things I’d told Heather, my feelings, thoughts, confusions, my life in school, the torment, the pain.
Before long, the strange fight between the girls seemed a thing of the past. Hannah and Heather had banded together as I had opened my heart.
“I never even thought…” Hannah whispered quietly. “You poor thing.” She sighed hugging me tightly.
“I… I don’t know why this surfaced now.” I explained. “It was sort of a shock at first; then it seemed to feel so right… such a good idea.”
Hannah smiled strangely. “It seems to suit you,” she offered quietly. “Perhaps I really do have a sister?”
I shrugged. “Maybe,” I began, “It’s all so muggy right now: Perhaps I’ll feel different tomorrow, or later, but for now, I just want to stay this way; it feels easier.”
“Easier huh?” Heather giggled. “Just you wait till we’re getting ready for tonight and you’ll see how much harder it is!”
I rolled my eyes and grinned, “Perhaps.”
Before long, Hannah was pestering us to see the costume, and what began as a simple show and tell exercise, turned into a violent whirlwind of costumes and fancy dress paraphernalia. We spent a great deal of time just talking, trying different things, styles and looks, trying to get the costumes perfect. It was a little surreal for me to be part of such a female experience, but it didn’t feel wrong. Not in the slightest. I enjoyed every moment of the talking and chatting and modelling we did. By four pm, the apartment seemed like the aftermath of a bomb in a costume store.
I had dressed, and the girls had helped me with my makeup. For a seventeen year old, I looked surprisingly mature… Hannah did some magic with hairspray and a comb, and my normally mildly wavy hair had taken on a wild sleepy look. Not messy… but stylish… Heather called it the ‘just fucked’ look… I wasn’t sure if that was an image I wanted to project… The fishnet stockings looked quite incredible on my legs, and the black knee high boots Heather had lent me were perilously high in my view. The whole image was worth it though. Staring back at me through the mirror was a different person. This girl looked confident and happy; contented… she was pretty… It was the first time in fancy dress I liked how I looked: Part of me wished she was real.
Between the two of us, we had helped Heather into her corset; her impressive assets were quite proudly perched atop the black satin creation. If she moved to rapidly, I was afraid she was going to burst out. She quickly applied her own makeup, and I marvelled at the speed with which she did it; a practiced hand that I didn’t have.
Hannah returned from her room while Heather was finishing up.
“Tada!” She announced with a flourish of hands as she appeared through the doorway.
Hannah was dressed in a short white toga and a crown of laurels in her hair. She looked every inch the Grecian princess from her leather sandals to the emblem that hung around her neck.
“What do you guys think?” she beamed. “Awesome when its all together no?”
“I like it.” I admitted. “It’s very cute.”
Hannah pouted and crossed her arms. “Shit! Where are my scissors? This hem is going up a few more inches, I was going for sexy not cute!” she announced with a huff.
My eyes boggled for a moment before the pair of girls broke into laughter.
“You can’t complain,” Hannah grinned at me, “you’re allowed to hear this stuff for now!” she admonished wagging a finger at me. “I was only joking anyway,” she added with a sardonic smile. “With the guys that are going tonight, I’d want a longer skirt.”
“What are you two getting me into?” I moaned quietly.
“Well it’s your fault.” Heather grinned. “This was all your idea.”
I sat back and looked at the pair of them with an innocent expression and twirled a strand of hair around my finger. “Me?” I asked slowly.
The pair burst out laughing. “You’re far too good at that.” Hannah smiled. “Don’t do that to any of the guys tonight or you’re going to have to fend off a hoard.”
“It’s a bit of a bitch when your brother is cuter than you no?” Heather snickered.
Hannah spun around and pointed a finger at Heather, “Don’t go there missy… thin ice!” she mock scolded. “Come on, lets get out of here before we’re late.”
“The party isn’t till like Nine Hannah,” called Heather while she picked a handbag. “Why so early?”
“Well it’s about twenty minutes on the T, then change at South , and get on another train to the town where the place is, which is about a hour.” Hannah explained. “And we need to get there fairly early, we can claim a bedroom to ourselves, and I want to chat to the guys before it gets noisy…” she admitted.
Heather grinned. “Always ulterior motives with you, but hey? Why not? You ready hon?” she asked turning to me.
“Uh, sure, I guess.” I offered feeling slightly less comfortable as the time flowed by.
The three of us left the apartment, wrapped up in coats to protect us from the cold November evening.
We chatted away about nothing and everything on the short hop over on the MBTA into Boston South station. I was acutely aware of how I was dressed, although the fear of that morning was no longer present. I felt… proud? confident? I wasn’t sure… I felt a strange pride in myself; a part of me felt that I’d stand up for myself now if anyone tried to hurt me. I cared about myself for once in my life, and if anyone tried to bully me again…. I felt a powerful anger surge inside myself at the thought. It took a moment to calm myself down. Hannah turned to see my knuckles gripping the seat in front tightly.
“Are you scared?” she asked in a whisper.
I shook my head, unsure of what it was. “No, just nervous.” I offered quickly. “It’s nothing.”
Hannah nodded. “Look, don’t drink much tonight ok? I don’t want you to get drunk and make out with some guy… and… him find out…” she trailed off biting her lip. “You could get hurt.”
I rested my head on Hannah’s shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “I don’t even want to go near any boys.” I admitted. “Not yet.”
Hannah looked at me and raised her eyebrows. I rolled my eyes and shook my head. The one thing I loved about my relationship with Hannah, was thanks to our closeness growing up, we didn’t need to talk to understand one another.
We transferred from the T to a commuter train heading out of Boston into the wilds of rural Massachusetts bound for a town called Gardner.
The train rattled along as we sped out of Boston, leaving the city further behind us with each passing moment. We chatted about inconsequential things; class, music, and interests for a while, but as things do, silence descended as we watched the countryside blur past in the darkness.
Hannah broke the silence by announcing that she was going to the restroom. When she was out of earshot, I turned to Heather with questions on my mind.
“What did Hannah mean earlier today about me satisfying all your needs in one?” I asked with an air of innocence.
Heather looked uncomfortable. “It’s ah, noting.” She muttered. “It was a misunderstanding.”
“It’s ok,” I sympathised resting my hand on hers, “I’m not going to tell: I’m just curious.”
Heather looked up and studied the overhead locker for a moment. “I’m bisexual,” she offered with a sigh, meeting my eyes. “You look like a girl, and behave like one… but you…. You’re a boy…” she added blushing. I guess Hannah thought I’d like someone in your position more…. I don’t know.” She admitted sheepishly.
I looked at her for a moment. “Being bisexual isn’t that big a deal is it?” I asked rhetorically. “I mean, I guess Hannah was just upset, or shocked?”
Heather nodded. “Well it’s not.” She agreed. “It was just the whole you thing that embarrassed me… I… have dated girls and boys.” She admitted. “I went through a phase where I thought I was a lesbian, it turned out I still liked boys too… I mean, well, It’s just… confusing, ok?” she sighed.
I nodded. “I think I feel something like that at the moment.” I offered. “Not really sure what I am, or what matters… Would I be your ideal date?” I added with a grin to lighten the mood. “I mean, im the best of both worlds apparently! I added with a laugh.
Heather just blushed. “Not really any different I suppose.” She replied. “I know… you’re a boy, but I can’t seem to believe you are one.” She added looking nervous. “I mean, all I see is a girl… you walk, talk, act and think like a girl.” She pressed reinforcing her point. “I know the truth, but it doesn’t feel like a truth to me.”
I looked out of the window for a long moment. Her words ought to cut deep into a man, or even confuse me. The strange reality was they pleased me. “I think you’re right.” I said quietly.
Heather looked at me with a confused expression. “Right about what?”
“That I’m a girl.” I said softly. “The more and more I think about it… the more it seems right. It just feels normal,” I offered, “I, feel normal.”
Heather smiled and squeezed my hand.
Before long, Hannah returned, plopping down into her seat with the grace of a beanbag.
“What I miss?” she asked cheerily.
I looked at Heather, and the pair of us broke out laughing.
Hannah looked cross for a second. “No fair.” She grinned. I don’t like in jokes.”
“Well it was nothing really,” Heather began, before she continued, I artfully changed the subject. Reaching over, I lifted the pendant on my sister’s neck and examined it. “Where did you get this from?” I asked with genuine curiosity; it didn’t look like it had come from a Costume store.
The pendant was on a thick silver chain, threaded through a hole in the surface of a small disk, the size of a coaster. The disk was made from a old looking metal, with an inlay of what looked like onyx. There was writing in a language I didn’t understand.
“I got it at a yard sale on campus.” She shrugged. “Cost me twenty dollars,” she beamed happily. “It looked perfect to go with the whole Greek thing.” She added plucking her toga.
“It’s nice,” Heather agreed. “But it would have looked better on my costume.”
Hannah was about to reply when her cell rang. Flipping it open, she held it to her ear. A grin spread across her lips and after a brief conversation, she hung up. “They’re on this train.” She smiled happily.
“Who?” I asked perplexed.
“Kyle, Andy and Dominic,” she offered with an expression that just said ‘duh’.
“Oh.” I said flatly, “Who are they?”
Heather piped up, not to be outdone, “Those three are all on the basketball team at Umass, and Hannah has a HUGE crush on Kyle,” she crooned.
“Do you?” I asked with a grin. “What are they like?” I asked with far more interest than I should.
“Look for yourself in a minute,” grinned Heather leaning out into the isle, “They’re here.”
The carriage door hissed open, and three guys came into view. All three were big…
The three greeted us with a collection of grunts and ‘Hi’s before slumping down at the table on the other side of the isle.
Kyle, my sister’s interest, was not as big as I’d expected; around 6foot tall, he was still tall, but dwarfed by his two friends, Dominic and Andy. His hair was black and short, it was gelled back slick against his head. His face was rugged and quite angular, his square jaw covered with a dusting of black stubble. He’d come dressed as a 1920s gangster, judging by the pinstripe suit and crimson cravat.
Andy was much taller than Kyle. Nearly 6’6, and quite lanky. He had short cropped blonde hair, and a protruding nose, he looked like he was permanently frowning.
Dominic was different, standing roughly 6’3, he was quite handsome, something I should have worried about. He had short cropped dark hair, and his looks were strong and handsome, with the faintest hints of stubble and shadow on his face. I felt a strange sensation when I looked at him, something didn’t feel right.
We talked, and got to know the others, Hannah introduced me as her little sister, Charlie; I was glad some things remained constant. As the train rolled on, the group got louder, and we chatted away openly. The coach we were in was empty, we had no reason to be quiet.
“So what are you supposed to be?” Heather asked Andy, tilting her head to one side, “I can’t work it out.”
“I told you it was stupid idea man,” laughed Kyle, “He’s supposed to be an IRS agent.” He said rolling his eyes… “Cos there’s nothing more terrifying than the tax man!” He said spookily, mocking his friend.
“It’s obscure.” Andy shrugged. It means girls will have to come up to me and ask me what I am… it’s a conversation starter,” he insisted, “With you, they get one look at you and already know you’re a looser.” He laughed back.
“What are you?” I asked over the laughter, catching Dominic’s eye. He was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a sweatshirt, not the most terrifying costume I’d ever seen.
“I didn’t want to wear my costume through town.” He admitted. “It’s a bit, uh, yeah...” He chuckled. “you’ll see later.”
“Oh come on, tell us!” Heather beamed sweetly. “Please?” she added batting her eyelashes.
Nobody spoke for a moment; all we could hear was the change in tone of the train that told us it was slowing down. We’d long passed into the mountains, and we knew there were no stops for at least another ten miles.
“What you recon this is about?” Andy muttered to himself, but vocalising something we were all thinking.
Eventually, the train rolled to a gentle halt; we could still hear the hum of the engines, but we were sat, idling on the track.
Dismissing the unscheduled stop, we continued the conversation and banter for a while. It was curious being on the opposite side of boy girl interaction. Part of me expected these three boys to know… But of course they didn’t. Interacting with them from this side of the fence was an epiphany: I could finally chat to boys, and interact with them without getting beaten for being weird… it was like a jigsaw puzzle in my mind. Things seemed to slot home in the strangest places.
We were stationery for nearly twenty minutes before Kyle got to his feet. “I’m gonna go check with the conductor, see why we’re sat here.” He said, as if explaining that he was going for a coffee. With that, he turned and walked off down the car towards the front of the train.
Roughly ten minutes later, Kyle returned, his face white as a sheet.
“What’s up man?” Andy called catching sight of his friends’ expression. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost dude.” He laughed, “Oh wait, its Halloween, my bad!”
Kyle didn’t respond.
“What is it Kyle?” Hannah asked cautiously. “What did they say?”
“Gone.” Kyle muttered, before snapping out of it and looking alert. “Everyone’s gone.” He said with surprise. “The train; it’s abandoned…”
A high school senior heads to Boston to visit his sister for Halloween. A twist of fate reveals something they would never have admited alone... and it proves to be the one thing that may keep them alive when the best laid plans of a group of college students are lain waste by a force of terrible evil and corruption that has thrived for centuries... Can Charlie Kane be strong enough to live? or will the River of Shadows claim yet another victim...?
“What do you mean ‘Abandoned’?” asked Hannah slowly, “is this some bullshit stunt of yours?” she asked, eying Kyle with suspicion.
“No.” he said flatly, “There’s no one here… I even checked the engine; the driver isn’t there either.” He added raising his hands in exasperation.
“Well where did everyone go?” Andy chipped in, a sceptical expression on his face. “People were on this train… we saw them; people don’t just disappear. Were any doors open?”
Kyle shook his head. “None, and I couldn’t see any light outside, surely we’d have known if there was an evacuation? Right?” he asked, a tinge of doubt clouding his words.
“We should stay here.” Heather said firmly. “Someone will come and find out where the train went, and we will be rescued.”
Dominic spoke up quietly, for the first time in the conversation. “We should get off the train.” He said bluntly. “I for one don’t want to be on this when the next train down this track stumbles upon us, and we aren’t moving.”
His words made eerie sense. What would happen? Did the rail company know we were here? Would other trains? Sure the lights were on, but trains didn’t stop that fast…
I stood up, clutching my bag to my chest, “I’m with Dominic.” I said with an edge of uncertainty, “We might find some place nearby too.” I offered, “ and find people if they got off too…” I added noting the sceptical faces those around me.
“We can go have a look around, perhaps come back here, it is warm…” Heather said testing the water.
Nods of agreement seemed to filter around the group, people became more accustomed to the very real danger of sitting in a train, parked in the middle of nowhere, and no way to call for help.
Wrapped up in the relatively unsuitable clothes, we made our way to the back of the car, and the doors. Andy reached out and turned the handle, pushing the door out into the blackness. “Anyone got a torch?” he asked tentatively, peering out into the blackness.
Kyle returned carrying three large battery operated flashlights..
“Where did you find those?” Andy asked accepting the offered flashlight.
“Under the luggage rack at the back there,” Kyle said pointing in the direction of an emergency locker. “Not much else useful though,” he admitted with a shrug.
Andy aimed the beam of light down at the track before jumping to the gravel track bed. The crunch echoed….
As he raised the torch to get a better view of where we were, the beam reflected off solid stone walls.
“The hell.” He muttered, “We’re in a tunnel.” He added playing the beam up and across the stone roof.
Slowly the rest of us climbed down from the coach, and walked cautiously across the track.
“Where are we?” Heather asked in a small voice, hugging the thin coat to her body.
“Under a mountain somewhere.” Dominic replied slowly, playing his torch down the length of the train.. “It’s a good job we got off. Another train would never have seen us.”
“Yeah, you’re telling me.” Kyle mumbled aloud as he reached out to touch the tunnel wall.
“So what do we do now?” asked Hannah with a note of impatience. “Are we just going to stand here and marvel at the brickwork?”
“No” Kyle replied. “We’re going to find a way out of here.” He added with more resolution. “Andy, you take a quick jog down that end, and check how far we are from the mouth, and I’ll go this way,” he offered pointing the torch beam down the tunnel. “Dom, you cool to look after the girls?” he added with a sly grin.
Without waiting for a reply, the two boys turned and made their way down the track in opposite directions. Before long, they were only discernable by the beams of their flashlights.
“You ok?” I asked Hannah, squeezing her arm. “You look scared.”
Hannah shook her head. “Cold mostly, and pissed off, but what can you do?” she shrugged. “I guess the party’s off huh?” She added with a chuckle.
I grinned, “Might be, but I guess they put on a replacement for us here huh?”
“What? Spooky abandoned train in dark grimy tunnel?” she scoffed. “What’s next? Zombies?”
“Don’t jinx us! Heather added with a faux stern expression. “I really don’t want to meet any zombies.”
Hannah and I rolled our eyes at each other at practically the same moment before bursting out in a fit of giggles.
“What’s so funny?” Dominic asked looking across at the three of us.
“Nothing.” I said quickly shaking my head. “Nervous tension I guess.”
“Yeah, it’s not the best way to begin the weekend is it?” He replied smiling sarcastically.
“Doesn’t this feel weird to you?” Heather asked quietly. “I mean… where is everyone?”
“I guess we will find out at some point, unless they were all eaten.” Dominic shrugged with a straight face.
Heather was about to scold him when lights moving in the tunnel caught our attention.
In short order, Kyle and Andy returned.
“Well what did you find?” Hannah asked rubbing her hands together.
“Nothing.” Kyle admitted looking crestfallen, “Tunnel is a dead end that way, just rock face, there’s some buffers and the track ends.” He shrugged.
“You’re shitting me,” Andy said with surprise. “No way, it can’t be.”
“Can’t what Andy?” Heather asked, flinching slightly.
“This end is bricked up,” he said slowly. “There were no turnings; I figured the same as you.” He said gesturing at Kyle with his flashlight. “It’s just tracks leading out underneath and a solid brick wall…. Really old too… not recent.” He added. “Are you sure you didn’t miss a turning?” he pressed Kyle.
“No, its solid rock pretty much.” Kyle admitted, “Only bits that weren’t were alcoves and a door to a transformer room or something,” he offered with a frown.
“This isn’t an electric line….” Dominic said “Why would there be a transformer anywhere near here? Do you see any lights?” he added sweeping his flashlight over the tunnel walls.
“So what is it then?” I asked feeling somewhat annoyed at the blunt indifference Dominic was displaying… “You seem to know everything, so what the hell is it?”
“I don’t know.” Dominic admitted blankly. “But right now it seems like the only option we have doesn’t it?”
“But how the hell did we get here?” Heather asked. “It’s impossible to have just appeared here…. Where did the people go? How the hell did a train just drive through solid brick?” Heather screamed in frustration. “I’m terrified!”
Hannah squeezed her friend’s hand; “Shhh sweetie, it’s ok,” she soothed. “We’re all scared.”
“I know,” Heather admitted in a whimper, “It doesn’t change the fact though.”
“What are we going to do?” I asked looking at Dominic. So far this evening, he seemed the most calm, the most level headed, and the most mature of us; I wanted to trust him.
“We’ll go check out the door in the tunnel wall.” He stated flatly. “It’s the only option we have short of starving to death in here.”
“I’m with Dominic.” I said resolutely, hoping to sound more confident than I felt. “We have to do something, staying here is futile…. Perhaps everyone on the train went through there….?” I offered with a shrug. “It could be our answer.”
Slowly, the six of us collected up things we wanted from the train. The only things I had were in my handbag, so I waited by the track.
“You’re not like the other two.” Dominic said as he jumped down from the coach door.
I looked around, mouth agape about to respond when he held up a hand to silence me. “You think and reason before you speak, you don’t flap like your friends,” he continued leaning against the bogey the coach sat on. “It’s a refreshing change.” He offered with a sly grin.
“Why is it so different?” I asked, still feeling very aware of my beating heart. “Are girls not allowed to be brave or intelligent?”
“Of course,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It’s not that… It’s something about you is so… relaxed.”
I shrugged a shoulder and looked down at the gravel underfoot. “I’m not…. I’m scared too,” I added looking up at him. “I just grew up having to suppress fear and be strong…. after a while, it becomes force of habit.”
Dominic looked like he was about to respond when the moment was shattered by the sound of Kyle’s boots hitting the gravel bed behind us.
“You guys ready to head out?” he called wrapping his arm around Dominic’s shoulders. “Commando Dom will lead the way!” he laughed before leaving his friend to go call for the others.
“Commando Dom?” I asked raising an eyebrow.
Dominic grinned embarrassedly; “Old nickname from my freshmen and sophomore years,” he admitted. “I was with the RTOC for a while…. Marines.”
My eyes widened. “That’s why you’re mister cool huh?” I smiled, “The natural born leader huh?”
“Don’t you start.” He grinned, “I was just beginning to like you.”
His words ignited a strange feeling within me…. It didn’t feel right…
The six of us began to walk slowly up the tracks, Kyle and Andy leafing the way with their flashlights. Andy led us back to the spot on the wall where he had passed the door.
He had understated somewhat….
Our flashlights lit up a recession in the tunnel wall. Possibly about two foot deep, and about eight foot high. Within, two large steel doors stood immobile, orange rust highlighting the rivets and lines of the metalwork.
“Wow.” I breathed slowly.
“Wow is about right.” Hannah whispered beside me.
“Come here, give me a hand Kyle.” Dominic called approaching the doors.
He felt around the edge of one, and yanked at the large handle on the door before coordinating his pulling efforts with Kyle.
For several moments, the two fought with the door, before it jumped several inches, then began to grind slowly open under their effort. Before long, the door was open and we stood back looking apprehensively into the oppressive darkness before us.
“Who wants to go first?” Andy asked holding out the flashlight in his hand. “Anyone?”
Kyle grinned and shook his head before pushing past his friend and stepping across the threshold.
No thunderbolts or crazy weapons swung down and decapitated Kyle. He just stood inside the doorway, playing the beam of light across the surface of the room.
“What do you see?” Heather asked, her fear masked by curiosity.
“Nothing.” Kyle replied. “It’s empty, but there’s a door through here.” He added stepping forwards.
Slowly, the rest of us walked past the doors, and entered what appeared to be a small atrium.
The room was roughly five meters wide, by ten meters deep, A single set of double doors on the far wall, with two slits either side were the only features on the bare concrete walls of the room.
I stepped forwards into the beams of light focused on the door ahead. I stepped closer to the door, and placed my hand against the metal. I could feel the cold steel, and the texture of the rust flaked paint. I slid my hand down to the handle, and turned. Unlike the outer door, this one had been protected from the damp outside, and the hinges were not as damaged as the previous set. I pulled the door open with a tug, and stood staring at what I saw beyond…. What shouldn’t be here; wherever here was.
It certainly wasn’t a transformer room...
From the Author:
Here we go guys! the marathon race to the end! I'll endevor to post up a chapter a day till closing time.... I WILL finish! RRRAAA!
Alyssa xxx
A high school senior heads to Boston to visit his sister for Halloween. A twist of fate reveals something they would never have admited alone... and it proves to be the one thing that may keep them alive when the best laid plans of a group of college students are lain waste by a force of terrible evil and corruption that has thrived for centuries... Can Charlie Kane be strong enough to live? or will the River of Shadows claim yet another victim...?
The image that lay before me was not one that I could have possibly imagined: Dank service tunnels with dripping pipe laden ceilings, to Aztec temples, but the sight that met my eyes was not one I will easily forget.
Before me lay what looked like an elevator door. They were half open, and somehow… a light still burned inside. I stepped forwards into the narrow corridor leading to the door, drawn by the light.
“Hey Charlie!” Hannah called as I stepped into the gloom. The corridor was dark, but soon I stood in front of the elevator doors at the far end. The light from within radiated outwards, and lit the small area immediately ahead of the door.
There were no markings; not that I would have known what to look for. It seemed like an ordinary elevator door… but it wasn’t. The doors didn’t open to a metal car, or lift shaft, but through to another set of similarly jarred open metal doors. It all seemed eerily alive…
I felt a hand on my shoulder and jumped; turning I came face to face with Kyle,
“Hey, don’t go running off like that.” He said with a pained expression, “You just vanished without a word… really put the shits up me you know?”
I nodded absentmindedly as the others made it to the door.
“What you think this is?” Andy asked kicking the metal door with his foot. The clang one would have expected from an elevator door told us that these were most likely not of that purpose. The solid metal barely made a sound other than the muted curse that left Andy’s lips.
“I Don’t think we should be in here.” Heather whimpered quietly; her inquisitiveness quelled by the expanding weirdness of our new world.
“It looks like blast doors.” Dominic said examining the double doored contraption ahead of us. “Jammed open by the looks of them.” He muttered. “Lights on,…. Someone’s probably home, as the other doors in this way seem like they haven’t been used in a while, its likely there’s another way out.” He added smiling with the last statement.
Light meant activity… activity meant a way out, whether we were allowed to be here or not.
Dominic stepped between the first doors and looked around, as if looking for something, then turned and waved me forwards as he continued on through the second pair.
“What is this place?” I asked uncertainly, ducking under a drooping cable between the sets of doors.
“Don’t know, but could guess.” Dominic said as he glanced around the room on the far side of the door. I passed between the last set of doors and came level with him.
The room before us was strange: A ramp ahead of us led down to a circular area in the centre of the room that was sunken roughly a meter bellow our feet. Taking up the majority of the room, the circular depression contained an emblem on its stone tile floor and corridors branching off in different directions.
Placing my hand on the guard rail at the side of the ramp, I slowly walked down till I was standing by the crest.
It was military, but beyond that I was fairly clueless. It seemed like one of the plethora of regimental badges that armies found interesting and meaningful.
“298th Weapons Division….” Dominic read over my shoulder. “Interesting.”
“Is your ROTC training going to pay off now?” I half teased, “Know anything about this 298th group?” I asked nudging the emblem with my booted foot.
“It’s not a group,” Dominic said to himself, as if lost in thought.
“pardon?”
“It’s a division not a group.” He said again, “I remember mention of the crap we got into during the cold war; each side developing new weird and wonderful crap. 298th was reputedly the name of the US army division that was in charge of US special weapons research. It’s like those bond movies; They made all sorts of stuff.” He said thinking aloud. “It was disbanded in early nineteen eighties rather abruptly before the end of the cold war. It was rather bizarre,” he mused, “The Russian equivalent continued well on into the mid nineteen nineties….”
“You sure know your oranges.” I said to nobody in particular
“Boring facts are the ones you remember.” He replied.
The other guys caught us up and told them what we had found on the floor.
“So this is some sort of secret army bunker?” Kyle asked sceptically. “Isn’t that a bit science fiction?”
“Don’t know what this is for.” Dominic said blankly, “Place looks a bit unused.”
“So why are the lights on?” Paul asked slowly, doubting the question before he asked it.
“Not sure.” Dominic shrugged. “Either someone was here recently, or it’s got a damn big bill from the power company.”
“Where do you think the way out is?” Heather asked, her eyes flitting from hallway to hallway.
“I guess we will have to look around.” Dominic replied frowning. “It would be faster if we split into pairs.”
“But everyone does that in horror movies!” Hannah blurted taking a step back.
“Come on, you don’t believe in that crap do you?” Andy asked with a look of mild distain. “It’s not real… ghosts don’t exist, and we aren’t going to get eaten… nobody’s been here in years.”
“I don’t like it ok?” Hannah replied crossing her arms. “I don’t like being alone.”
“That’s fine.” Andy shot back, “You can go with Kyle.”
“Any real reason why we can’t go together?” Heather asked tentatively.
“None,” Dominic shrugged. “But it will take us three times as long to get out of here.”
“Fair point,” added Kyle. “I want out of here as soon as possible.”
“So who goes with who? And what do we do about getting lost?” Andy asked cautioiusly,
"Pay attention," Dominic replied bluntly. “Remember where you’ve been. And we all meet back here in Thirty minutes… just a quick look around nearby. Kyle, you take Hannah. Andy, you and Heather, and I’ll go with Charlie ok?”
Everyone agreed on the proposed plan, and checking watches, we split off, picking corridors at random.
Dominic’s confidence made me feel good: I felt safe with him. As cheesy as Hannah’s fear was, we were in a strange situation, and having someone so unflappable with me was comforting.
We walked along featureless corridors for a time before reaching a junction.
“Which way?” I asked, looking down the bland corridors.
“Left I guess.” He shrugged. “Seems like a wider corridor… means there’s more important stuff maybe.”
“How do you know all this?” I asked with surprise.
“My old man was in the army,” he admitted. “Stationed on more bases than I can count.”
“Learned to navigate military architecture,” he shrugged.
“Oh,” I admitted. “My Dad’s an Engineer, and my mom is a teacher.” I offered, hoping to spark some conversation to keep things from returning to oppressive silence.
“You go to school here?” Dominic asked trying a door in vain.
“No, High school senior back home.”
Dominic turned to face me, “You’re in high school?” he asked incredulously. “You look a lot older… and act it.” He added shaking his head.
“Thanks… I guess.” I muttered softly.
We walked around another corner in the corridor, and came face to face with a set of double doors.
Pushing one open, Dominic peered inside. “Jackpot,” he murmured stepping inside.
I followed him through the doors and stopped in my tracks.
I stood looking at the large open room. Sloping down towards the front, were desks, computers, screens and tables covered in paper; we had found the command centre… if my rudimentary knowledge of military movies was accurate.
Dominic stepped around a railing and began to walk down the steps looking around himself. I walked further along the top of the room and began to make my way down the second set of steps.
Apart from the dust, the place could have been abandoned the day before…
I stepped over a fallen chair and reached out to steady myself on the table to my right. The table shifted as I placed my weight on it, and I slipped. With a squeal, I landed on my chest next to the table leg. Recovering enough to start to pull myself up, I caught sight of something out of the corner of my eye.
I turned my head slowly to resolve the shape I could vaguely make out.
I screamed and scooted backwards till I was pressed against a guard rail, panting heavily; my eyes fixed on the body under the table.
“Charlie? Charlie are you ok?” Dominic yelled as he jumped down next to me and reached out to grab my hand. “You ok?” he asked a second time.
I shook my head weakly and nodded in the direction of the thing I hadn’t taken my eyes off.
The body was old…. Decayed, but still relatively human looking… the tomblike quality of the place must have slowed decay. The faded dusty uniform looked military. The corpse was stretched out, one arm further forwards as if crawling.
“Jesus.” Dominic breathed. “That must have given you a fright.” He offered squeezing my hand.
“I guess nobody’s around then.” I said quietly, my eyes still fixed on the corpse.
Dominic helped me to my feet, and guided me away from the body beneath the table.
“Why did they leave him here?” I asked looking back as if expecting the remains to come to life once more.
“They left in a hurry.” Dominic said quietly, mirroring my thoughts.
“But what made them leave though?” I asked rhetorically, knowing I’d get no answer.
We searched the command room further, and my decayed friend wasn’t alone. There were five more bodies strewn around the room. We found one body in several pieces towards the bottom. His cause of death was slightly easier to discern.
“Whatever made them leave,” Dominic said remembering my question. “Is a good reason for us to follow suit as quickly as possible.
There was nothing specifically describing the facility’s purpose, or any maps. Either they had been taken, or never existed.
We returned to the meeting point after thirty minutes had passed to wait for the others.
Hannah and Kyle were stood cautiously looking down the various corridors and checking their watches.
“You guys look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Dominic called by way of greeting.
Hannah and Kyle looked at one another before Kyle spoke up. “We found… dead bodies,” he admitted sheepishly, the cockiness gone.
“We did too.” Dominic replied matter of factly.
“They were all lying there….” Hannah added numbly. “Just on the floor…”
I walked over to my sister and hugged her softly. “I know sweetie.” I soothed, “me too… I nearly fell on one.”
“Why?” she asked gazing at me with a look of innocence lost.
“I don’t know Han.” I replied honestly. “I don’t know.”
“Where are Heather and Andy? Dominic asked breaking our emotional moment. “It’s been nearly forty minutes.”
“I don’t know Dom,” Kyle replied with a shrug. “They might be lost?”
“Which way did they go?” Kyle asked looking over at Dominic.
“That way.” He pointed looking down the corridor the two had departed along.
Should we go look for them?” Hannah asked cautiously. “If they are lost… we might find them?”
“That won’t be necessary.” Dominic said, catching everyone’s attention in a heartbeat.
Heather staggered back along the corridor, her arms folded under her breasts. As she stepped out of the shadow at the mouth of the corridor, the harsh strip lighting picked out the blood splatter covering her from head to toe.
“Heather!” Hannah screamed, rushing to her roommate’s side, “What happened? Are you ok? Where’s Andy?”
Heather mouthed wordlessly. The amount of blood on her was astounding… a splattering blood of covered her dress and exposed skin. The shocked girl hadn’t even wiped the droplets from her face.
“Where’s Andy?” Hannah asked again realising the significance of the blood covering Heather.
“It killed him…” she muttered quietly looking at the ground.
“He’s dead?” Kyle asked uncertainly. “What happened?”
“Force…” she muttered absentmindedly. “Dark cloud… he just…. Oh god.” She sobbed pressing her hands to her mouth stifling a cry, “Oh god.”
A high school senior heads to Boston to visit his sister for Halloween. A twist of fate reveals something they would never have admited alone... and it proves to be the one thing that may keep them alive when the best laid plans of a group of college students are lain waste by a force of terrible evil and corruption that has thrived for centuries... Can Charlie Kane be strong enough to live? or will the River of Shadows claim yet another victim...?
Chapter Seven — Bump in the Night.
It took us nearly twenty minutes to calm Heather down and get her to explain what had happened to the two of them. The girl had been in a near catatonic state when she had stumbled back to the rendezvous spot. Hannah was talking quietly to her friend, helping her clean up, while the boys looked awkward and pensive. I could tell they were scared too, even if they didn’t show it.
I never understood that about men… the stoic refusal to show emotion when you can clearly tell they want to talk about their fear… Dominic was standing quietly off to one side, keeping an eye on the whole scene. His steadfastness was a virtue to our ragtag group. Without him to guide and rationalise, we would be in serious trouble. Although I suspect we’d still be here, still in the same problem, it would just have taken twice as long without a clear leader. I suppose that was Dominic’s lot; the calm one. As much as I had gleamed from snippets of conversation with him, I still didn’t know the boy. I found myself wanting to…
When Heather had recovered sufficiently, she began to talk more about what had transpired between herself, Andy, and the mysterious force she spoke of. She and Andy had searched what had turned out to be a level of laboratories and store rooms. The stores were full, and most of the equipment scientific. The laboratories had been where they found the bodies: Scientists, no military uniforms. Dismembered and some appearing untouched.
They had been searching deeper into the laboratories, discovering the cages full of long dead test subjects… primates mostly. Whatever the people here had been doing was likely not legal, or publicised.
The pair had been searching towards the rear of one laboratory when a door had slammed behind them, trapping them in the room. A dark heavy mist had seemed to roll out of the aircon and coalesce on the floor in the far corner of the room. Slowly, the form had risen up and rushed Andy as he knocked Heather to the floor. The force of the impact had covered Heather in blood and sent Andy’s body crashing back into the room. In her adrenaline fuelled state, Heather had fled.
“There was nothing you could do for him honey.” Hannah soothed, stroking the hair out of her friend’s eyes. “You were scared, it was only human.”
“But I left him!” Heather wailed, tears streaming down her cheeks after her tale.
“If it helps, we can go back and check?” Kyle offered softly, looking over at our defacto leader, Dominic.
Dominic nodded. “Sure, we really need to check that way now… “
Hannah looked immediately uncomfortable, “Uh Dom… not to rain on your parade, but what’s the point in going back towards the unstoppable killing force?”
The mention of killing drew a small sob from Heather as they stood in silence looking at Dominic.
His hands on his hips, he looked down at the floor for a moment before raising his head and speaking.
“We are up against something we know nothing about. We found nothing of value but death anywhere else…. The fact this… thing is that direction means its likely guarding something important or the way out…. Either way, we get past it, or we stop it.” He said resolutely. “I don’t know what the fuck this is… but if I can, I’m going to fucking kill it.”
“How?” asked Kyle dumbly. “How do we kill what we don’t understand? Fuck man, I’m just a kid….” He almost whined. “I don’t know where to begin… this thing… it killed Andy in one swoop… what fucking chance do we stand?”
“It’s better than doing nothing at all.” Dominic shot back. “We can either sit here and wait to die, or we get the fuck out of here.”
Dominic’s speech seemed to instil something that had been missing so far. We had direction, even if it was an ominous one.
Slowly, we retraced Andy and Heather’s route through the winding corridors they had explored less than an hour before. There was an uneasy silence between us as we cautiously progressed; nobody wanted to be the first to admit their fear.
We eventually reached the lab rooms where Heather told us the thing had attacked. Cementing his role as our leader, Dominic stepped forwards wordlessly and entered the room.
Within a few short seconds, he came back, his expression masking a look of distaste. “He’s dead.” He said flatly. “At least the bits I can see.”
Heather moaned quietly from Hannah’s shoulder as her friend squeezed her comfortingly. “What next?” Kyle asked raising his eye.
Dominic shifted his weight and looked around the group, “There were huge conduits on the roof in the main corridor. I expect we find something of importance if we follow them.”
“How do you know it’s not the other way?” Kyle asked with a twinge of annoyance. “It might be nothing, or it might be the damn laundry.”
“Unless we can pass through walls, I don’t expect the other direction will help.” Dominic answered. “Whatever it does, draws a large amount of power.” He said pausing for effect, “And what draws a lot of power in a place like this, will hold some form of answer, or exit.”
“Why are you so confident? You’ve been here as many times as we have.” Spat Kyle. “You’re just lucky, and one of these days you’ll be wrong and get us killed.”
“I’m not ordering you; I can’t.” Dominic shrugged. “I’m used to the way military places are set out, and I use my brain for more than scoring girls.” He added raising his eyebrows at Kyle. “You’re free to fuck off if you like.”
Kyle withdrew at Dominic’s challenge. Even at a time like this, it was amusing to see the pack behaviour develop within the group. We bowed to Dominic’s leadership and calm, but Kyle wanted the crown. I wish he’d picked a better time for a power move.
“Let’s get going, I don’t like it here, do you?” Dominic asked pulling open the door to the corridor. Kyle was the first out.
We followed the conduit that Dominic had noticed. It was large and obviously an addition since construction.
The conduit led us deeper into the facility; bland corridor led to bland corridor. I wasn’t sure I could remember the way back.
Eventually we reached a larger area after following the conduit down two levels deeper into the heart of the facility. The corridor around us widened into a large foyer. Towards the end, a flat faceless wall like all the others, but this wall contained a pair of steel doors, much like the ones we had passed through to gain access in the first place.
“A way out?” Heather asked hopefully, seeming to slip back from her near catatonic state. “Do you think it’s a way out?”
Dominic shook his head. “Doubt it.” He said quietly.
A quarter of the cables in the conduit seemed to split off and vanished through the wall above a door off to the side of the widened corridor. Unable to move the heavy steel of the closed main doors, we hoped that our exploration would provide greater insight to the purpose of the sealed room.
The door revealed a set of stairs leading up. Unsure of what we would find at the top, we climbed in silence. A second door marked the top of the flight, and opening the door, we found ourselves in a long curved room with monitors and banks of computers.
The wall to our left was glass, but shuttered with steel on the outside. Whatever the room held, demanded protection.
Most of the monitors in the room were alight, clearly they had never shut down. I lent forwards and examined a bank of switches and lights on the far wall. ‘CONTAINMENT’ ‘BLAST SHUTTERS’ and ‘ACCESS’ Glowed green on the panel.
“Hey Dominic.” I called, not removing my eyes from the panel. “You might want to take a look at this.”
Feeling his presence behind me I pointed at the lit panel. “This might help.”
“You’re right.” He mused quietly. “I think we ought to raise the shutters, see what’s inside first.”
I nodded quietly as he reached past me and lifted a plexi-glass cover over the switch bellow the blast shutter panel. A clanking and whirring sound filled the room as the shuttering over the windows began to lift and cracks of light began to spill into the room drawing our attention to the mystery beyond.
The room came into view slowly as the old mechanism lifted the heavy steel shutters. The room was nearly circular, and its walls rough cut stone; it was more a cavern than a room in actuality.
As foolish as it may have been, we all gravitated towards the glass to gain a better view of the room bellow. The floor was roughly ten meters bellow the room we stood in. Rough rock gave way to ancient stone tile towards the centre of the room where the ground had been excavated. The centre was most perplexing of all.
In the very centre of the cavern was a large circular pit, at least, to my eyes at first, it seemed a pit, but the longer I looked, I began to realise it wasn’t darkness I saw, but the perfect reflectionless still surface of black liquid.
“What’s that?” breathed Hannah quietly almost to herself.
“Fucked if I know,” shrugged Kyle dismissively.
“The river of shadows,” Heather said aloud from behind us.
The group turned to her; she had not moved forwards to the window as we had.
“It’s the River of Shadows,” she repeated with a neutral expression, her lips twitching upward into the hint of a grin at our confusion.
“What the hell are you on about Heather?” Hannah asked looking nervous.
Heather shook her head slowly. “You were half right about hell,” she purred, the twist of a grin spreading across her face in an inhuman way.
“Knock it off Heather, this is a bad joke.” Kyle added stepping forwards and placing his hand on her arm.
Heather looked down at the hand on her skin and slowly traced it back to its owner’s eyes.
A veil of mist seemed to grow around heather as her eyes became blank and hollow.
“Death.” She said calmly, before Kyle was propelled backwards against the glass with enough force to smash the armoured material and leave his broken form to ooze blood on the cavern floor bellow us.
From the Author:
Hey kids! Thankyou to those that voted for me, As promised, i'm continuing to the end on this one, especually to thank those that loved the previous 6 chapters. I'm writing as fast as i can, but with not being in them od often, and my studies takin a lot of time, its hard, but I'll finish for you folks :) (and me, i'dl ike to know the ending too soon )
Alyssa,
The Road to Haifa
Copyright © 2008 Alyssa Plant
All Rights Reserved. |
Chapter 1 - The Break
Corporal David Yakobavitch slowly let out his breath and adjusted his rifle; his breath forming a light mist in the cold morning air. He was high in the mountains that formed the Lebanese border with Israel.
The sentry stood quietly several hundred meters away in the rocky land, quietly watching the wrong direction, blissfully ignorant of David’s presence.
Pulling the trigger, David felt the rifle kick back into his shoulder as the .308 round left his barrel and hurtled towards its destination. Through his scope, David watched the sentry’s head dissolve into a fine red mist and his body slump to the floor, rifle clattering away.
A tear rolled down David’s cheek as he racked the bolt and silently prayed to god for his forgiveness. As much as he was an experienced sniper, David felt great remorse each time he killed a man. Each time he fired his rifle in anger, David was releasing a little of his personal pain onto another, and It only increased his guilt.
“That’s a kill,” whispered Corporal Ari Weismann; David’s spotter and best friend since he had joined the IDF.
“They’re moving in now, our job is done. Pack up!” David replied, efficiently hiding his pain. David swept a lock of hair from his eyes and hooking it over his ear, pushed himself to his knees lifting his rifle with him.
David and Ari had been supporting Special Ops missions for over a year now, and as such had been required to have appearances that blended in somewhat easier than the standard buzcut of the IDF infantry.
The two men began to make their way down the mountainside on the friendlier side of the border. “You were crying again,” Ari stated matter of factly as he scanned the horizon with his Tavor rifle.
“So? It’s a powerful thing shooting people,” David shot back quickly. ”You, of anyone, should know taking a life through a telescopic lens isn’t like regular combat, we see them, so close, so clear, they aren’t shooting back, I pray to god for my sin. Man is man, religion, nationality aside, I don’t want to kill them, but I have to, it’s a job we must do for our country.”
Ari snickered. “You really think about this too much, stop justifying yourself.” He looked around at David. “You okay?”
David nodded weakly and broke eye contact.
The two trudged on down the mountainside before stopping in the cover of some rock formations to rest.
“So when are you going to tell me what’s up David?” Ari said lighting a cigarette and taking a deep drag. He exhaled the smoke and looked at David, fixing him with one of those piercing stares that he was unnervingly good at. "I’m not blind, David,” he half whispered.
Sighing, David lifted his guillie suit hood from his head, and pulled his water bottle from the pouch to avoid replying to his best friend since childhood.
Ari looked at David with an amused expression on his face.
”What?” David asked defensively.
“It really surprises me how you’ve changed since we enlisted.” Ari chuckled. “You know I get asked so often in the mess how I got paired with a female sniper…”
David looked at Ari, unsure as how to respond. ”Um …” he said intelligently.
“Then again, I’m beginning to wonder if they are wrong,” Ari mentioned as he inhaled again.
David blushed. “Pass me a smoke, Ari!” David lamely tried to avoid the topic at hand.
Ari threw the pack to David. ”You know, you really suck at changing the topic.” Ari laughed.
Lighting his cigarette, David looked at the ground, the sky, and then eventually his spotter. “Yeah I know.”
“How long have we been friends David? 3? 4 years?”
“Coming on 5 now.” David recalled, drawing on his cigarette.
”I’d have thought that I would have been one of the few people you could talk to …” David could hear the accusation hanging in Ari's voice.
A tear trickled down David’s cheek as he looked away from Ari for a moment to collect himself. He'd never thought it would be like this. “They aren’t wrong.” David blurted before he had chance to back out.
Ari stopped mid-inhale and looked at David. “Yeah, thought as much.” He said as if nothing had been said.
David looked at his best friend for a moment. “You aren’t mad?” he asked meekly.
“No.” Ari said flatly. "To be honest, we have been best friends years, and if anyone knows you, I do, and you have not been like any of my male friends since we first knew each other.” He laughed, “Somehow, part of me always knew you were a girl.”
“You’re far too emotional to be a guy for one!” Ari chuckled, catching the cigarette pack David launched at him. “Plus, the only people who think you are a man are the ones reading the reports and orders…” Ari laughed again. “You really haven’t looked like a man since we enlisted and had buzz cuts … even then, it was questionable.”
David smiled. For as long as he could remember, he had felt that there was some great injustice. He wasn’t a boy…. He was a girl. It seemed nature had conspired with his parents to bring him into the world as a male child, something that caused David a great deal of pain.
David had been spared most of the effects of puberty that befell his friends. His tanned skin was not cursed by hair, and his fine, feminine features often lead to men making passes at him in bars, something he secretly relished.
Since joining Special Ops, and having the grooming restrictions of the infantry removed in the sake of blending in. David had grown his hair back to its former glory in his teens. His wavy brunette hair fell down to the middle of his back, and glistened in the sun. Worn in a low male ponytail when around superiors, David always wore his hair in a high bun in the field, like other female soldiers did. Something his best friend had clearly noticed.
Both nearing their 21st birthdays, the two had enlisted in the Israeli army at 18, at the wish of their parents; something that had caused David much conflict. Having his hair cut on the first day of training had nearly caused David to kill himself with the grief of receiving such a male haircut.
Ari grinned, “So my friend. It appears we have not been properly introduced. My name … is Corporal Ari Peter Weismann.” He smiled, extending his hand to David. “And you my dear?”
David felt foolish playing around with his friend while they sat wearing full guillie suits and carrying rifles, but he and Ari had never taken things seriously. ”Um, S … Sarah,” David stuttered. “My name is Sarah.” She blushed.
Ari pushed his rifle around his back and approached Sarah, pulling her into a crushing embrace.
It was more than she could take, and the whole situation forgotten, Sarah broke down sobbing. She had told another living soul about her existence. She was free now. The pressure that had built up over the years was too much to bear, and she cried.
Ari held his sobbing friend close as she cried. He had felt this for a long time. Almost as long as he had known her. Something felt right now, an error was corrected in their friendship. The girl he had known all these years had finally admitted it. He felt a strong sense of protectiveness towards his friend. “I’m here for you, you know that, right?” he whispered soothingly to the sobbing girl in his arms.
Sarah looked up at Ari with a deer in the headlights look on her face.
“Nobody will hurt you, you’re my best friend, they have to come through me first.”
Sarah hugged her friend tightly. She still couldn’t quite believe she had told him, but it all felt so right now.
Separating, the two realised they still had a job to do. Getting home…
Sniffing, Sarah looked over at Ari. “Thank you.” She whispered, hooking an errant lock behind her ear.
Looking over at his surprisingly beautiful friend, Ari shook his head smiling. "Nah, thank you … You trusted me. I feel honoured to be the friend of someone so brave … Even if you do cry when shooting Arabs” he laughed and ducked Sarah’s swipe.
Chapter 2 to come…..
Please comment!
Chapter 2 — Revelations
After several hours walk, the two had reached the bottom of the foothills and began making their way out onto the flat scrubland of the valley floor.
Sarah hated this time of day, it was beginning to warm up, and the desert sun beat down relentlessly reflecting off the rocky surface of the desert.
Then again, she mused, guillie suits didn’t help things.
As they reached a bend in a dry river bed, Ari took a knee and turned to Sarah;
“This is the last checkpoint; I’m going to radio our ride, set up an observation point 100m out. That large rock looks good.”
Nodding Sarah climbed the bank of the river, and moved off to set up her OP.
It was unlikely that they would be followed, they were after all, on Israeli soil, but they had not survived this long being careless.
Steadying her rifle on a rock, she waited perfectly still. It felt strange. The whole world almost seemed more colourful today.
Had talking to Ari meant that much to her? She smiled to herself when she realised that she had been referring to herself in the feminine since their talk. Maybe things could work out?
The sunshine in her heart quickly became overcast. This wouldn’t change once she returned to base.
The army wouldn’t let her. Her family and friends wouldn’t all be as understanding as Ari.
Her earpiece crackled to life.
“Bird is 5 miles out, popping smoke, stay alert.” Whispered the digitised voice of Ari over the radio.
He was the rock in their pair. He had always been the strong one. Sarah wondered if she would have ever reached this point without him.
The cloud of green smoke drifted lazily in the slight breeze.
She heard the helicopter before she saw it. And began to move from her hide amongst the rocks.
By the time she reached Ari, the IAF Blackhawk was kicking up a cloud of dust as it came in to land amongst the scrub.
After climbing aboard the aircraft, the two snipers were finally able to relax. No operation was over till you reached home base of course, but being on the bird out was a good start.
Sarah became acutely aware that the crew chief was looking at her.
Not in a nasty way, but in a hungry way that made her feel slightly uncomfortable. Feeling herself going red, she raised her eyebrows and stared back in a universal ‘well what?’ gesture.
The crew chief grinned and laughed. “They never told us we were picking up such a pretty cargo.” He yelled over the sound of the rotors.
“Well I get told that so often.” Ari returned with a perfectly straight face that caused Sarah to dissolve into a fit of giggles.
Flying over the base perimeter was usually when Sarah prayed. But today there was too much on her mind. What was she returning to? Was it all false hope?
They were questions she couldn’t answer, and for now, it was best to suppress herself once more in the way she had learned since she was a child. It was best to bury yourself in your work and forget yourself. Maybe that was why she succeeded at anything she had done to date? Apart from one notable exception she grimaced.
David exited the Blackhawk and the two made their way back towards their area of the base.
The special operations teams were housed and operated from a separate part of the base to normal military personnel. They ate and socialised with the others, due to the nature of their work, most was conducted away from prying eyes.
Once safely back in their room, Sarah began to strip her rifle for cleaning. Like most things in her life, this was something simple she could throw herself into and forget her issues.
Ari looked across at his friend sat on her bed cleaning her baby.
He was surprised that he ever saw her as a male.
Her glossy hair was loose and flowed around her shoulders. The Tel aviv university tee-shirt she wore was several sizes too large, and came down past the shorts she wore. Her smooth tanned legs were so feminine, and womanly that Ari was at a loss as to how anyone saw her as a ‘David’. She looked every inch the type of girl he had dated in University.
“Sarah?” he asked quietly as he mindlessly rubbed the bolt of his rifle.
She looked up as if snapping from a trance. “What?”
“Have you thought about what you’re gonna say to people? Or who?” he mused aloud.
“Um, I hadn’t really thought about it.” She replied biting her bottom lip. “Maybe I’ll talk to the CO later, and then some of the girls first, get some people onside… I just know I can’t go on like this.” She said putting down her rifle parts.
“It’s just so hard now. You opened the flood gates.” She answered, hugging herself and rocking slightly.
“I’m sorry.” Ari said. “I just needed my friend back, and wanted them to be happy. I realise its hard, but you needed to do this. What’s that expression? ‘A problem shared is a problem halved?’” He grinned.
Sarah shook her head and smiled. Ari loved his Americanisms.
She slid her rifle back together and placing it on the rack, dragged on a pair of combat pants and tied her hair in a low ponytail.
“I’m going to do it now before I loose the confidence.” She grimaced. “Wish me luck huh?”
Ari came over to her and hugged her tightly.
”You can do it.” He whispered. “The Colonel will be ok, I have a feeling. Just don’t turn all pink on me ok?”
Punching him lightly on the arm she smiled. “Don’t worry, there is more chance of um, how do you say it? Pigs jumping through hoops?” she replied tentatively.
“Flying, but close” he grinned. “Knock them dead my friend.”
Sarah gave Ari a quizzical look before shaking her head and closing the door.
That spark of confidence she had felt when Ari hugged her had vaporised quickly.
Each step she took closer to their commanding officer’s door.
Before she could go over things in her mind she was there.
Shamira Cohen was at her desk by the door as usual.
Smiling at the Commander’s assistant she walked upto his door and knocked. None of the special operations personnel ever went through official channels.
“Enter” resonated from within.
Steeling herself, she pushed open the door and walked in.
Colonel Mathias was seated behind his large desk, most of which was invisible below a raft of papers and reports.
“Ah Corporal Yakobavitch; Take a seat.” He smiled gesturing at one of the chairs that faced his desk.
Sitting David paused to collect his thoughts, unsure of where to begin.
“I trust this morning went smoothly on your end?” He enquired whilst sifting several piles of papers.
“Um, yes sir, nothing untoward. Um, I’m actually here about something personal. I was wondering if you could spare a few moments?” David asked tentatively.
The colonel stopped what he was doing and looked up.
“Of course. What’s on your mind my boy?”
“Um, I’m sorry, I’m not sure where to start, but I’m having problems and…” David trailed off.
He could feel his heart beating inside his chest. It felt like such a good idea moments ago, but now he wasn’t even sure he could say the words.
“I’m a girl.” She blurted before she could stop herself.
Colonel Mathias stared intently at David. Neither said anything for a moment.
“Well your service record states otherwise. Do you want to elaborate?” The colonel answered with a slightly confused expression on his weathered face.
David took a deep breath and collected his thoughts before beginning;
“As long as I can remember, I’ve felt like I was a girl sir.” He replied carefully. “Almost like I’m not right…. I feel like I’ve lived someone else’s life sir. I… I don’t know… I’m sorry, I just can't go on like this.” David explained as a tear rolled down his cheek.
Colonel Mathias rose and moved around his desk to perch against the top directly in front of David. “Go on.” He urged.
David looked into the face of his commanding officer, trying to read the old man’s thoughts but failed.
“Sir, If I can't be me…” he said slowly, gesturing at himself. “Then I need you to discharge me. I cannot continue as David for much longer. It hurts too much.” He sighed, the tear followed by several relatives.
Mathias looked down at the young soldier before him. The youngster was clearly troubled by these feelings, and very serious. Mathias understood how the boy must feel to come to him like this.
“Am I the first person you’ve talked to about this?” he asked softly.
David looked up whipping a dear from his eye, and shook his head. “No sir, I , ah, I told Ari, I mean Corporal Weismann earlier today sir.”
The colonel nodded. “I see. Well….” He said with a sigh. “You are not the first soldier under my command to have come to me with such a problem. Now admittedly, I was but a young Lieutenant the first time one of my soldiers trusted me with such a secret. I think there is only one way to deal with this. Don’t worry, we shall manage.”
Sarah looked up at her commanding officer with a glimmer of hope in her eyes.
“I don’t want to loose you, um, David… You are one of my best marksmen. Um, markspeople.” The Colonel grinned with an exasperated sigh. “I want you in my unit. Fuck the rest of the army, fuck the politicians. You are staying, and I will make accommodations to keep you as a member of my team.”
Sarah couldn’t hold it in anymore, and she broke down sobbing.
The colonel cracked; he couldn’t remain so professional and distant when one of his people was so distressed. As hard as it was for the grizzled soldier; he pulled the girl to her feet and enveloped her in a fatherly hug, and rubbed her back as she sobbed into his shoulder.
“Hush my dear, it's ok,” he soothed.
Colonel Mathias looked down at the girl in his arms. How had he ever mistaken David for a man? There were more male looking female troops in the unit…
Easing her back into the leather chair, he moved to the door and asked his assistant to fetch a pot of coffee.
Returning to his desk he sat opposite David and crossed a leg and stared at the young soldier.
Looking up she saw the Colonel regarding her intently. “What is it sir?” she asked.
“What do you want?” he simply stated.
“Well.” She started. “I don’t really WANT anything. I just want to continue doing my job, but um, as a girl?” she replied hesitantly.
The colonel looked thoughtful for a moment. “I think” he answered; “that we can do that. I would prefer if you simply eased into things? Allow people time to get used to the idea… And of course tell them…” he suggested.
Sarah nodded. “of course sir, I wasn’t expecting you to let me prance around the base in a sundress.” She giggled.
“Do you have a name?” He asked.
“Sarah,” she answered without hesitation. “It’s what my mother would have named me had I been born, um, a girl.” She said with a single tear rolling down her cheek.
There was a knock on the door and Shamira poked her head in; “Sir, the coffee is here if you want it,” she said quietly.
The colonel nodded; “Thank you Shamira, and please take a seat, we need to discuss something.”
Sarah looked surprised for a moment, but noticed the warm smile on Shamira’s face.
The two had been friends for a long time, but now she felt that might be tested.
”Um, Shamira” Sarah began. “I, uh…” She began but was cut off by Shamira grinning and waving her hand dismissively.
“It's ok honey, I heard through the door, you two weren’t very quiet, and I sorta suspected anyway. I’m just glad you’re going to be officially on our team now!” She smiled rising to hug Sarah.
Sarah couldn’t believe her luck, she seemed to be moving closer to realising her dream, and they weren’t baby steps… full leaps and bounds were being made by the moment it seemed.
“Shamira, can you sort out Sarah’s file for me and leave it on my desk so I can push the forms around? And perhaps you two should spend some time together, take the afternoon, Private Cohen, I’m sure I can make my own coffee for a few hours…” the colonel smiled in his grandfatherly way.
Before the colonel could change his mind, Shamira took Sarah’s hand and dragged her out of the office before she could protest.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into the old man today but be thankful!” Shamira grinned as they crossed the parade ground.
“So you knew?” Sarah half whispered.
“Oh of course” Laughed Shamira. “You look like a girl… You’re the only ‘man’” she gestured quotation marks and giggled. “In the unit, that doesn’t look like a goddamn hard case. You don’t seem gay. It was the logical conclusion. Plus you always seemed to like it when people thought you were a girl.”
“I guess” replied Sarah. “So a lot of people think I’m gay?”
”Most of the guys who know your um, biological sex, think you’re gay, the ones who don’t, think you’re a girl, and most of the girls don’t really mind. You’re whoever you are to us to be honest. Now things are cleared up it’s a whole lot easier!”
“I guess” Replied Sarah, still not entirely convinced. “So where are we going?”
“To my room silly. We got carte blanche to take the afternoon off, we are so going shopping!”
”I ah, should go get some civies then…” Sarah responded.
“Why? I’ve got loads in my room. And we’re the same size.”
“I uh don’t know about that…” replied a startled Sarah.
“Nonsense, I can’t be seen in public with such a shabby tomboy, now be a dear and doll yourself up for Mira?” giggled Shamira.
“Just don’t make me look silly, ok?” grimaced Sarah. “I don’t want to get laughed at…”
”Honey, I'd have to do more than put you in clothes you were destined for to make you look silly… it would take conscious effort on your part…” Smiled Mira putting her arm around Sarah.
When they arrived at Shamira’s Quarters, Sarah was handed a big fluffy white towel, and a collection of shampoos and conditioners, and banished to the bathroom.
As the water washed down her body, she began to wonder if this was really happening. It all seemed to right… Too easy. Life wasn’t meant to be easy was it?
Rinsing her hair she tied the towel around her chest and left the bathroom. Mira was in the process of changing out of her uniform and Sarah began to turn away.
“Oh don’t be so shy! Come in, we’re both girls here.” giggled Mira. Embarrassedly, Sarah came into the room and sat on Mira’s bed while she finished dressing.
After pulling on her jeans and a top, she threw a denim skirt and a spaghetti strapped top at Sarah and ordered her to dress.
Sarah just sat on Mira’s bed holding the items and underwear she had been passed, looking thoughtful.
“Are you going to get dressed, or do I have to do it for you?” Mira scolded jokingly with her hands on her hips.
“Um, I don’t know what to do.” Sarah whispered blushing.
“You haven’t worn women’s clothes before?” asked Mira looking honestly surprised. “I thought you were a girl inside? Don’t you all do that?”
“Um, I never had chance.” Replied Sarah quietly.
“Oh, sorry.” Said Mira; the smile disappearing from her face. “Let me help you then.”
After helping Sarah dress, Mira applied light makeup, and tousled her hair before announcing her project complete. Guiding her friend to a Mirror, She stood back smiling as Sarah stared dumfounded into the glass.
She couldn’t believe how she looked. It was amazing what a difference clothing made. She now realised how everyone saw her. As a her… There was no way someone would see her birth sex. She thanked god that she had been so blessed.
Before long they were walking across the parade ground towards Sarah’s quarters to collect her assault rifle before leaving the base. It was mandatory for Troops to carry their personal weapon when leaving the base during duty hours.
Sarah felt strange, but also a new freedom, she was finally getting a chance to be herself. It was exhilarating. She wondered what Ari would think when she arrived at their room.
She just prayed he wasn’t in.
Her padded bra gave her a tiny bust, which she felt extremely conscious about. Like they were the most visible part of her now. Her entire bodily awareness had been inverted by 4 simple garments.
Arriving at her quarters, she unlocked the door and stepped inside.
Ari was lying on his bed watching TV when she entered. “Wow Sarah, you look amazing!” Ari grinned.
Turning bright red she looked away. “I um, came to get my AR… I’m going into town with Shamira Cohen to do some shopping…. I uh, could you pass it?” She stammered.
Getting up from the bed, Ari walked over with her AR15 in hand still looking at her intently. “You really are beautiful, you know that?” he said handing her the rifle.
Blushing, she quietly muttered a thank you without looking at him. Ari hugged her and grinned “Knock em dead kid.”
She smiled at him and turned to leave and was greeted by Mira grinning like a fool.
”Don’t even say it.” She said as they walked down the corridor and out into the bright sunlight.
“What?” asked Mira in mock outrage.
“He’s like a brother to me, I couldn’t.” Beamed Sarah.
“Ah well more for me then.” Grinned Mira playfully elbowing Sarah.
Laughing like schoolgirls, the two made their way out the main gate and towards the shopping district of the city.
She had almost forgotten to be afraid…
After passing several groups of people on the street, Sarah began to realise that nobody was giving her strange looks, and she began to relax.
Annoyingly, Mira seemed oblivious of her stress.
With a slightly shaking hand, Sarah pulled a cigarette from her bag and lit it.
Inhaling the sweet smoke, she felt the nicotine work its way into her blood stream, calming her nerves slightly.
Why was this such a big deal to her? The countless missions, enemy fire, fear of death didn’t compare to walking down a street in a skirt. Stopping for a moment as she walked to stare off into the distance and take a drag on her cigarette she realised for the first time in her life, this mattered.
The bullets never mattered, the enemy combatants, the bombs, the danger… She was a place keeper then. It wasn’t her life she was living, it was David’s…
Slumping down with her back against the stone wall she sat down on the roadside, pulling her legs upto her chin, and felt her eyes moisten. This was her.
If she was seen through now, it invalidated her. SARAH. Being seen as a man would be like a bullet to the head. She wondered which would hurt more.
“You ok honey?” asked a worried Mira kneeling beside her.
“I’m sorry; I’m just a bit shaky.” Sniffed Sarah. “This is all so new, I’m scared.”
Mira grimaced. “I’m really sorry.” She sighed rubbing Sarah’s shoulder. “I keep forgetting you haven’t done this before. You just seem so….” She frowned searching for the right word. “Normal?”
Sarah shrugged whipping her eyes “I’m not DOING anything….” She sighed. “I’m just being me… no different to how I normally am. That’s what’s making me so nervous…. Like I’m wondering if I’m doing things wrong, and stuff…” she trailed off.
Mira nodded solemnly and pulled herself to her feet, offering Sarah her hand. Once the two were on their feet, she enveloped her friend in a tight hug.
”Nobody on this planet, never mind this dusty back end of nowhere can see anything than my beautiful friend.” She whispered.
Smiling weakly Sarah broke the hug and reaching for Mira’s hand, set off towards the city centre with a new purpose. This could be a mission too… her mission now had purely selfish goals.
Sarah Yakobavitch did not lose.
Reaching the central shopping district of the city, the two began to peruse the shops and boutiques that filled the busy streets.
Initially very awkward, Sarah began to acclimatise to the fact that she was infact, a girl, and as such, allowed to be in the women’s section, and trying on clothes. Each time she saw a mirror, she saw less and less reason to fear discovery.
She was a young woman shopping till she dropped… or till her friend allowed her to drop.
”Here try this.” Beamed Mira in a way that suggested it was an order as opposed to a suggestion.
Sarah eyed the dress cautiously. It was a blue silk dress that covered part of one shoulder, and her upper arms, whilst barely reaching bellow her crotch. It was loose and flowing and was beautiful to the touch.
“Do I leave my skirt on to try this?” She asked curiously. Unsure as to weather it was simply a long top she was being too paranoid about.
“Nonsense girl, get down to your undies and I want you in that pronto.” Announced Mira as she began shooing Sarah back into the changing room.
After stripping down to her underwear, Sarah turned to face her latest objective. Conquer the not quite a…dress…
With a small shrug she slipped it from the hanger and proceeded to step into it and pull it up her legs.
The first thing she noticed was the shock. The silks touch against her skin was an alien feeling. She immediately wanted the dress, no matter how indecent it may prove to be.
After being sure she wasn’t flashing, she stepped outside the changing cubicle to find Mira perusing another rack.
“Mira?” she called quietly.
Mira turned and dropped the top she was holding; “Oh my god, you are getting that.”
Sarah grinned and ran her hands down her body feeling the smooth material.
“This dress feels AMAZING.” She beamed. “Are you sure it’s decent?” she stage whispered.
Mira nodded enthusiastically. “You look amazing.” She grinned.
Smiling, Sarah returned to the changing rooms to admire her image in the mirror.
She couldn’t believe how well the dress fitted her. How had she missed this so long? She didn’t look like a man at all. Even knowing the sad truth, it was hard to believe she wasn’t her own sister.
Back in her original outfit, Sarah hoisted the pile of clothes onto her arm and proceeded to the till to ring up another expensive trip.
“You know we should get some lunch now if you….” Mira started but was cut short by a deep vibration that shook the shop and a deep rumble like thunder.
Both girls looked at each other wordlessly.
“Stay here.” Sarah commanded, and in one motion pulled her magazine from its holder and locked it into the magwell of her carbine.
“STAY HERE MIRA.” She yelled as she made for the door.
As she stepped out onto the street, she saw a mass of confusion. Looking both ways in the mass of human panic she saw smoke rising further down the street.
Her worry was gone; she had switched herself off to personal troubles. Her training kicked in as she moved down the street in the direction of the blast, her carbine shouldered.
As she neared the blast, she saw the entire front of a small shop was missing, black smoke billowing from within. There were security forces around the shop, trying to see past the smoke, clearly awaiting the arrival of the fire services.
Sarah’s eyes immediately noticed the sign above the shop, or lack of… It was a disused building. This made no sense.
Why would the terrorists target an empty building?
It clicked….. Diversion!
Moving through the crowd to the store front Sarah grabbed one of the higher ranking police officers at the scene by the collar dragging him around to face her.
“Miss excu…” he began
“I’m Sayeret Matkal, This isn’t the main attack, the place is empty; your men are in the wrong place.” She barked.
Realisation dawned on the man’s face. Sarah began to sprint back up the street the way she had come. Behind her she heard the thunder of boots following her almost synchronous with the thumping of her heart.
The terrorists were flushing people towards their attack. This wasn’t the normal hit and run cowardice normally employed. This was organised.
She hoped Mira had the piece of mind to remember her job and Contact the headquarters. Sarah realised she would need her comrades; things were beginning to go from bad to worse.
Elbowing her way through the sea of people Sarah fired her carbine into the air, the bark and flash temporarily stunning the panicking civilians around her.
”GET BACK.” She screamed at the surging crowd. Locking eyes with the police officer, she saw him nod and bark at his men, forming a cordon pushing those that could be contained back down the street.
Sarah turned and ran.
As she neared the end of the street she came into a small courtyard surrounded by shops and café’s. A corrale in the city’s narrow winding streets…
As she scanned the area around her, she heard the bark of a Kalashnikov on the far side of the courtyard.
Spinning on her heels, she saw several men wearing Shemaghs and balaclavas firing into the crowd and throwing grenades.
Moving to cover she raised her rifle. She didn’t have a shot; there were too many civilians in the line of fire.
“Shit.” She muttered and vaulted the small wall she had been knelt behind.
Moving down the flank of the courtyard, she was partially covered by market stalls and café fronts from the sight of the gunmen.
Rounding a small Coffee Vender’s cart, she raised her rifle and put several rounds into the scull of the nearest gunman.
He jerked and dropped heavily sideways, his weapon sliding across the cobbled floor.
The other 4 men had not heard the shot or seen their comrade fall.
Sarah switched to semi automatic and carefully adjusted her position.
There were too many civilians, it was a clusterfuck.
She slowly raised her rifle to her eye, and aimed down its sight.
A gunman was in the act of pulling the pin from a hand grenade. Without thinking, Sarah pulled the trigger.
As the puff of red mist sprang from the man’s chest she saw the grenade fall to the floor by his feet.
She watched as the man toppled forwards on top of his own grenade. Absorbing the brunt of the blast, but showering the surrounding area in a bloody shower.
She wanted to cry but she hadn’t the emotion to spare or the time to herself. Mechanically she moved off at a sprint towards the nearest cover.
By the time she reached it, her own volley was accompanied by the pop of more ar15s being fired.
Within seconds, the remaining terrorists had fallen.
Looking around her Sarah saw the olive uniforms of IDF troops and police forces swarming the area.
In a daze she stared around intently; trying to force herself to catch sight of any further threats.
Satisfied that they were safe. She quickly ran towards the fallen civilians and knelt by a young woman in the courtyard who was bleeding from her chest and whimpering quietly.
Tearing the woman’s blouse open she put her hands to the bullet wound bellow the woman’s left breast.
“Hush, it's ok.” she soothed to the young woman.
Sarah felt tears running from her eyes as she looked into the woman’s eyes.
Her hands were covered in blood and her face hot with tears as she attempted to stem the blood flow.
“MEDIC!” She screamed in a half sob.
The woman coughed and gripped her bloody hand. Sarah felt powerless as the woman slowly died.
After what felt like an eternity two paramedics reached her and took over from her attempts to stabilise the woman.
Wiping her eyes, Sarah stood and looked around her at the sea of carnage. There were people screaming and dieing around her and she was powerless to do anything.
Hot tears ran down her cheeks and burnt her skin as her tears blurred her vision.
“Sarah!” she heard the voice before it registered that it was Mira calling her name.
She turned to be enveloped by a hug from her friend.
“Are you ok?” she asked, looking concerned.
Sarah nodded weakly. “I’m fine, I just….” She sobbed
“Hush baby.” Mira cooed. “You did what you could.” She soothed, rubbing her friend’s back.
“I…” Sarah sobbed, trying to calm herself. “I’m fine now.” She said. Not quite sure if she was telling herself or Mira.
“Yakobavitch?” Sarah turned towards the voice calling her name. She came face to face with several of her unit.
“David? What the hell, man?”
Chapter 5 — Strange things.
Sarah felt a trickle of sweat roll down her back.
“Uh.” She said intelligently.
Sgt Goni looked at Sarah with a curious expression. “We knew you were a Noshech Kariyot* David, but this is taking undercover a little far no?”
Sarah just looked blankly at the 4 troopers before her. She had never realised how big they were. She had always felt smaller than them, but not small. Now she was almost looking up at the 4 big men in their body armour and gear.
“I, uh,” She muttered looking away.
“SHE, was shopping with me.” Announced Mara, placing her hand on Sarah’s shoulder.
“Yes we have to talk, but now is neither the time nor the place. And show some fucking respect. You’re talking to the woman that stopped this becoming a bloodbath.” Growled Mira. “She’s not in any shape to talk now; this has been hard on her.”
Peter Shiloh placed his arm on the Sergeant’s shoulder and gently squeezed. “Sergeant; Cohen is right, we have things to do, and David, I mean, um, she doesn’t look up to a grilling.”
Turning to Shamira peter nodded, “Back at the base?”
She nodded. “Thank you.”
“This is going to be worth waiting for.” He smirked before turning and walking off towards a group of police officers.
Turning Sarah, Mira guided her friend away from the carnage in the courtyard and towards the command post set up at the far end.
After she found Sarah a seat, Mira bustled off to find whoever was in charge leaving Sarah alone.
“Are you ok miss?”
Sarah turned to face a young paramedic.
“Uh, yes, I think so, I’m just a little drained.” She sighed.
“Can you walk? Id like to check you over if that’s ok?” The young man insisted.
”I’m Benyamin.” He offered
“Sarah” She replied with a weak smile.
Looking into his face, Sarah noted the concern and compassion in the man’s expression. He cared, and loved his job, but that job hurt him. “Ok.” She whispered.
Helping her to her feet, she was led over to the back of an ambulance where the medic began to poke and prod Sarah, shining lights into her eyes and testing things.
As he held her wrist, testing her pulse, she caught his eyes and smiled.
“So what’s the prognosis? Am I going to live?” She giggled.
“Well that depends really.” He sighed with a straight face.
“Oh? How sad, there was so much I wanted to do.” She sighed.
“Well, if you agree to go to dinner with me, I guess you might live.” He smiled packing the stethoscope away.
”You’re fine medically, that blood isn’t yours, and you are in great physical shape.” He said seriously. “But mentally, I think you’re a little shocked still, I heard what you did. And I’d understand if you want to be alone.” He added.
“Well living will be nice. I guess I can put up with the side effect of the company.” She grinned.
“Do you hit on all your patients?” she grinned, cocking her head to the side.
Ben shook his head and smiled. “Just the cute ones.”
“Ok then. Here’s my number, but I really have to get back now, my friend will be looking for me.” She smiled passing him the piece of paper and climbing off the ambulance’s back step. “Thank you Ben”. She waved and made her way back towards the command post.
”Where the hell were you?” Mira scolded with her hands on her hips. “You worried me.”
“I’m a big girl Mira, I can look after myself.” Sarah smiled.
Mira looked at her closely. “Tell.” She said with a slight grin on her lips.
“Oh a nice paramedic came over and wanted to check me out…. I mean over.” She smiled innocently.
Mira shook her head in disbelief. “You are off to a flying start my girl. Haven’t you heard of walking before you run?”
Sitting down beside Sarah, she handed her one of the coffee cups she had acquired.
“I don’t know Mira, he just looked nice, and he was so kind. I don’t know if I like him like that, but he’s nice, and friendly, and asked me… I thought it would have been rude if I just turned him down.” She shrugged.
“Just be careful honey, your… situation, will cause a possible problem, and try not to get too attached before you tell him ok?”
“I guess” Sarah grimaced. “I don’t even know why I said yes.” She sighed. “I never even considered dating or sex before today. What gives?”
“You’re comfortable.” Stated Mira matter of factly as she took a sip from her cup. “You’re finally you, and you let the act go. The girl you really are is beginning to wake up, and she knows what she likes.”
“I suppose.” Admitted Sarah. “It just feels like things are going too fast. I mean, I hadn’t expected this…. And now I have to tell everyone!” She sobbed.
“Hush baby.” Mira soothed as she hugged her friend. “You have me, Ari, the Colonel… You are officially ok…. Anyway once those macho assholes realise you’re serious then they will just accept it. They can’t have made it into this unit being bigoted unintelligent assholes…. They just act like it because they think it’s cool and manly…” Mira smirked.
“We should get back to base.” Sarah said flatly. “I’ve gone off shopping, and I have a firing squad to attend.”
Grimacing, Mira hugged her friend. “It will be ok honey, I mean; they didn’t blow their tops did they?”
“I guess not. But I still don’t feel good about it.” Sarah admitted, frowning.
Finally, Sarah left the bloodbath behind, and the two returned to the base. It felt good to get out of that place, it had been a traumatic morning, but what was ahead was equally frightening.
Sarah didn’t want to think about what could happen, but her mind wouldn’t allow her that nicety.
When the two arrived back at the base, Sarah told Mira she needed some alone time, and after hugging her friend, disappeared back to the sanctuary of her room.
Once she was safely inside, she shut and locked the door; sliding down against the floor she curled into a ball and began to cry.
As sobs wracked her body, she felt bad. Why was she crying so easily? She had never been this emotional before. Was this what Mira had said? She was ‘comfortable’ now?
Why was this being herself so bloody stressful? She asked herself.
Wiping the tears from her eyes she hugged her knees to her chest. There was no denying it. As stressful as this was; it was right she admitted. All the crap she had gone through to get into this unit was as hard as this. She survived that, she could survive this.
It was all about growing thicker skin. What was it Ari said? Sticks and stones may break my bones but names don’t throw stones in glass houses?
Sarah was sure that wasn’t right, but it sounded ok.
Pulling herself to her feet, she stripped off her top and skirt and walked over to the wash basin.
Looking into the mirror, she saw herself, but it wasn’t her. She wasn’t sure. Looking back was the same face, the same eyes, the same hair, hell, the same arms, hands, legs, but she was different.
While it scared her, she was pleased with what she saw. It seemed, natural; meant to be. Her smooth crotch and small chest in the underwear seemed appropriate for her.
“If I’m going to do this, I may as well do it right.” Sarah muttered to her reflection.
She gathered up her hair into a high ponytail and secured it with a simple black band.
She pulled on her uniform pants and tee-shirt, finally her uniform shirt and fastened her belt.
Looking back at her was a female Idf soldier. Like thousands of others, but this one was her. A tear rolled down her cheek as she looked at her reflection. This is how she should have looked all this time.
Every time she looked at that mirror, she became more comfortable with what she saw. ‘Time to make the others just as comfortable with me looking like this.’ She thought to herself. ‘If I don’t do this, they never will.’
Balling up her confidence, Sarah stepped out of the door to her room and locked it. Slowly she began to walk down the hallway; every footfall requiring mental effort to complete.
Approaching the door of the Mess, she reached out for the handle as if it were a coiled serpent.
Hesitating, she took a deep breath and opened the door…
*Noshech Kariyot - Pillow Biter (Hebrew slang for Gay)
Chapter 6 — Parting the Red Sea.
The door creaked open and Sarah slowly stepped into the mess. As she closed the door behind her, she balled her fists up and walked across the room towards the coke machine.
She could feel eyes burning into her as she walked. It was all the courage she had to continue walking.
As she reached the machine, she fumbled for a coin in her pocket before shakily slotting it into the machine and hammering any button her hand landed on.
Behind her she heard a faint chuckle and some voices.
She crouched and recovered her drink from the vending machine and turned to find Peter Shiloh standing before her quietly.
“Um, Hi David.” He said quietly.
Looking mildly unamused she replied tersely; “It’s Sarah, please.”
“I…oh… sorry.” He blushed. “Um, you want to join us and talk?” he continued.
Sarah simply nodded and followed Peter across the room to a group of sofas that seated six of her unit. Amongst them, she saw Ari.
This made her heart skip; she had one ally at least.
Nervously looking around the group she sat down on one of the sofas to one end of the small seating enclave and tucked her leg under her bottom.
Looking around the group, she slowly opened her coke and took a sip. Pausing to collect her thoughts she spoke; “I guess you guys are wondering what the deal is?” she said hesitantly.
Snickers and nods from the group suggested that was indeed their reason for being present.
Ari caught her eye and smiled reassuringly; urging her on.
“You know me as Corporal David Yakobavitch…” She started
“When I was little, I guess I was a normal quiet kid. I went to Synagogue and helped my parents with chores, my school work, the usual…
Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents, and they love me, but I just never felt I fitted in with the family. Even school, I just felt like I was a spectator … watching it all happen; life pass by.”
Clearing her throat, she continued, not put off by the silence that had befallen the group.
“I guess I realised I was different when I started high school. All the boys and girls began developing and changing, and I felt like I was missing out.”
She laughed darkly. “I know I never went down quite the same path as all of you clearly. But it was enough to make things seem unjust….
I finally realised it when I was about 14. I wasn’t a boy. Sure, I had boy parts down there.” She sighed, gesturing at her crotch.
“But I wasn’t one up here.” She said touching her hand to her head.
“Yeah, I know what you’re thinking….” She grimaced. “It sounds bizarre at best, even deluded. I know what the Torah says. It’s not possible to change sex…. But that’s the thing… I’m not doing.” She almost pleaded as she looked around the sceptical faces.
“I was born a girl; A girl with a birth defect. I had the body of a boy, but I wasn’t. I was always a girl from the moment my mother gave birth to me. At least up here.” She whispered; touching her head once more.
“I feel like a liar.” She continued. “I joined the army when I was conscribed to endure my 3 years service. I didn’t want to. Cutting my hair when I joined nearly broke me. But I grew to love the army; I was good at what I did. I excelled, and most of all, I feel proud to say I am a defender of our nation." she said, for the first time drawing nods from the group, the first reaction of any sort.
“I joined Sayeret Matkal because I could excel, and defend this country more directly and because it allowed me to be more free with my appearance whilst remaining in the army.
Like I said; I feel I need to apologise to all of you now; because I’ve lied to you all for so long.” She sobbed, a tear rolling down her cheek.
“I wish I could have met you all as me… the real me… The me that sits here now. Sarah Yakobavitch. I am the same person, I don’t ask you to treat me any differently you have. I’m still you’re friend. The shell just matches the person you were friends with now.
I have never been a David in anything but name.” she whispered; wiping a tear from her cheek.
She looked around the group, trying to gauge some reaction from her peers
“I never really thought about it that way,” mused Peter, “It’s still a bit sudden though…. I mean, I had no idea.”
Ari broke out in hysterics at that moment causing the group to turn and face him with a mixture of questioning and confused stares.
“Seriously?” he laughed. “How can any of you have considered her one of the guys before today? The only thing she’s changed right now is she’s wearing a bra! How can you tell me that you are SURPRISED?” he shook his head in disbelief.
There were several nods and mutterings of agreement around the group at Ari’s comments.
Sensing he had their favour he continued; “We’re soldiers, and she showed today that she can still fight just as hard, if not better than some of us. As much as we are brothers in arms, I’m perfectly happy to consider her my sister in arms…” he said proudly smiling at Sarah.
Hearing her friend defend her like that lifted her sense of dread as she waited for reactions from the rest.
Her eyes fell on Sergeant Goni. He looked intently thoughtful sitting there with his arms folded and a frown on his face, intently studying his shoe.
The others seemed mostly reserved, while nodding along with Ari’s comments, keeping their own mouths shut.
Peter finally spoke: “I guess we saw what we wanted.” He began hesitantly. “I mean, you were a guy to us, so we saw you as a guy… if that makes sense. But Ari is right. You never really were… its like you were told and we were told that you were a guy, and we all just accepted it without really questioning it.”
Peter looked around the group.
”You have my support Sarah. Man or woman, you are one of my team, and a friend. You aren’t changing who you are, just the covering, um… slightly” He blushed. “Anyone says anything against you, they have to go through me.” He said smiling reassuringly at Sarah.
“That means more than you can imagine Peter, thank you,” gushed Sarah. “And you Ari, just anyone accepting me is more than I could have hoped for.” She said, staring down at her lap.
“Why were you out in town dressed up like that?” Sgt Goni said flatly.
“Like what?” Sarah frowned looking up.
“Like a woman.” The Grizzled sergeant replied. “You’re a soldier of this unit, and you go parading around town in a skirt?”
“So?” replied Sarah; her frown deepening. “Nearly every female soldier in the IDF does it.”
“You are MEANT to be Sayeret Matkal.” Growled the sergeant.
Her hackles raised, Sarah stared at the Sergeant. “Are you just a misogynistic old bastard or are you saying I’m some man in a dress?” whatever it is, fucking spit it out to my face.” She growled getting to her feet.
She stood there with her hands on her hips staring at the sergeant with a ‘well answer me’ expression on her face. She was well aware this was the only time she would look down at him.
The sergeant realised his eyes to meet Sarah’s and chuckled with a shake of his head.
“What’s so fucking funny?” she spat with venom that shocked even herself.
The Sergeant just smiled. “Never mind, I guess I’m just a misogynistic old bastard.” He chuckled.
“You just proved you’re a woman by completely over reacting and miss-interpreting what I was saying. And sit down little one, don’t be under any impression that you look tough or intimidating like that.” He laughed. Something that even made Sarah crack a small grin.
Flopping back into her seat she scowled at the sergeant. “This isn’t an excuse for you to treat me like I’m less.” She sneered.
“keep dropping ragheads, and I don’t care if you fight in a bloody tutu.” He replied with the hint of a smile.
“Just don’t let this affect your work.”
“Far from it.” Sarah replied.
“I ‘m going to go out on a limb here and speak for everyone,” said Mark, the SAW gunner as he looked around the group. “You watch our backs on missions, and its time we did the same for you. David or Sarah, man or woman, you are a human being in our eyes, and in god’s… Anyone gives you shit, talk to me.”
There were emphatic nods from around the group. Sarah finally relaxed in the seat, taking only the second sip from her coke that had been untouched since the discussion began.
“Just make sure to tell us when you start wearing your combats like the other girls, so we can move you from sniper to point.” He grinned stupidly.
“Men!” Sarah sighed with comic exasperation.
With that the group broke down into silliness. The uncertainty cleared and the bond between warriors reformed.
Sarah was glad that her friends had so far been supportive. But she was not naive enough to believe it would be the same in every case. The religious hardliners could be vicious.
As she sat with her team-mates and friends, her phone bleeped, bringing her back to reality.
Flipping the cell open, she opened the new message. It was from Ben;
‘Are we still on for tonight? B’
Chapter 7 — Babysitter’s club
It felt strangely satisfying to Sarah to just sit amongst her team-mates and friends. She wasn’t really doing anything different, and she didn’t really look any different; but it was definitely, definitely, different she thought.
A rather good different…
“So are you going to come for some beers with us tonight then? Or are you too good for us now?” Peter mentioned over his paper.
“Um, I would guys, but I’m going out tonight…” Sarah muttered non comittally.
“You do realise that you and Shamira can over do the whole ‘girly girl’ thing?” He laughed. “We like our Sarah just the way she is… and our Sarah comes out for beers on a Thursday.” He said matter of factly shuffling his paper.
“God Cohen is one piece of ass id like to tap.” leered David Zeis, the team’s demolitions expert.
”Err? Excuse me?” exclaimed Sarah, with a look of indignant disgust on her face. “That’s my friend you’re talking about.”
“Have you seen her naked?” grinned David. “Isn’t that what girls do? Walk around naked with each other?”
Sarah looked at David for a moment regarding weather the man was serious or not. Shaking her head slowly she cracked a small grin. “Yes David, we all hang around naked and have lesbian sex with each other to pass time.” She replied seriously.
David looked at her with a squint, clearly unsure of her seriousness.
Bursting out laughing, Sarah threw a TV remote at David. “Stop being such a troll… Why don’t you fuck off and play with some C4? I’m sure you’ve got more body parts your dying to loose.”
“Nah I was serious, what’s it like? Do any of them fancy me?” He begged.
”What does it take to get into your thick, cordite clogged brain Zeis?” Sighed Sarah.
Contra to popular belief, women are just like men, except maybe with better hygiene and slightly more brain cells.” she answered wrinkling up her nose.
“When you are quite done.” Came a quiet voice behind the group.
Startled, Sarah snapped around quickly to face one of the Majors from the Unit, although her momentum had other ideas, and with a squeak and a thump she fell off the sofa.
Lying on the floor of the mess she looked at her team-mates with a serious expression before bursting out in a fit of giggles; their laughter wasn’t far behind.
The group’s adolescent silliness was reaffirmed.
*COUGH*
The group stopped immediately and faced the Major who didn’t look in the slightest bit amused.
”Briefing room at 1600 Bravo Squad. You’re weekend leave is cancelled.” He said dryly. With a disgusted look in Sarah’s direction, the Major turned and left.
There were many groans and profanities from the group as the pulled themselves together.
“Did he just give me a look?” Sarah asked the sergeant.
“Yup.” Agreed Goni
Sighing, Sarah pulled herself to her feet. “I sort of expected a little more than distain, so I should be thankful I guess.”
Putting his hand on her shoulder the Sergeant looked at Sarah for a moment, reading her eyes. “You remember what we said, and what Mathias said. The fuckers can only bitch and moan amongst themselves or give you the odd dirty look. It’s petty and childish. Remember that huh?” He said softly, so that the rest of the group didn’t hear. Patting Sarah on her shoulder he turned and spoke to some of the other troopers before heading out of the room.
“What was that about?” Ari asked.
“Huh? Oh, nothing.” She sighed. “Lets go get to the briefing shall we?”
With that, the two left the mess and made their way to the briefing room across the far side of their force’s compound.
Walking into the briefing room, Sarah and Ari found seats with their squad and waited for the brief to begin.
The quiet muttering that filled the room stopped as Colonel Mathias entered with several other officers.
“I’ll cut straight through the bullshit.” Mathias began standing behind a small podium at the head of the room.
“The Primeminister is taking his annual vacation starting tomorrow. Due to recent events, he does not wish for his normal security staff to be present on the Yacht while he is away, it’s too predictable. This squad will be taking on the close protection duty for the week’s vacation, undercover, naturally.”
The colonel paused for a moment to allow the information to sink in.
”Major Thesik will be heading up the operation, and he will be operating as the Premier’s chef, apparently, he is a rather good cook.” The colonel said with a wry grin. “Meaning you are all on rations for the week.” He slipped in before the Major could protest.
“Goni, Yakobavitch, and Thomas will be on the Premier at all times, you are going cover as guests of the premier and his family. This lets you follow them around without arousing suspicion. Zeis, Weismann and Silverberg will be operating as ships crew in various capacities.”
Nodding at the 3 men, he continued, “You 3 will leave today in 2 hours with Major Thesik to Haifa and the Yacht tonight. And Those acting as guests, will leave for Jerusalem in a hour.”
After going over the finer details of the operation, Bravo Squad were dismissed to their personal admin.
It was a frantic Sarah that knocked on Mira’s door shortly thereafter.
Opening her door, Mira was confronted by a verbal barrage from a distressed looking Sarah.
“Slow down child, what’s wrong?” She asked while standing aside to allow Sarah entry.
”We’regoingonamissionanditsplainclothesandidonthaveanythingtoWEAR!” She garbled.
“Whoah girl slow it down for me? I don’t speak bimbo.” She grinned.
Taking a deep breath, Sarah paused before replying; “Right, we have to go away, and its plain clothes… and the thing is, I don’t have anything but what we bought in town…. And I have this dinner thing tonight…. Can you help me?” She pleaded
“Are you sure you’re ready?” Mira asked.
“I have to be.” Grimaced Sarah, “Its going to be more obvious that something is up if I dress as a guy isn’t it? Anyway we will be at sea for most of it, so its ok I guess. But I have to attend a dinner tonight at the Premier’s residency in Jerusalem… can I borrow a dress for tonight? And some bits for the mission? We didn’t really plan for me going away so soon…
Just under 2 hours later, Sarah stood with the sergeant and corporal Thomas on the landing pad outside the Premier’s official Jerusalem residential compound.
“I’m really looking forward to the trip with Thesik.” Sarah stage whispered to Specialist Thomas as they made their way into the Premier’s residence. “I think id rather dance naked past the wailing wall.” She grimaced
“Heh, I know what you mean, Still, he’s stuck playing chef, we get to relax for the week. How bad can it be?” he grinned.
“Pity we aren’t taking any serious toys.” He sighed, “I fell really out of place in this suit.”
“How do you think I feel?” Sarah complained. “There’s making progress, then there is me in this getup going to a formal dinner! And a week with people I have to not only appear normal to, but also do my job 24/7!”
Thomas stopped and looked at Sarah. “You do know nobody is going to think anything? You don’t remotely look like a guy. So chill the fuck out babe.”
The two started walking again. “Anyway, you look a lot better in that dress than you would in a suit.” He grinned.
“Mathew Thomas, are you hitting on me?” Sarah mock scolded with a broad grin on her face. His words had truly made her feel good.
“Nah, I don’t fuck co-workers.” He shrugged. “Ill have to work out a way to get you kicked out.” He shot as they reached the entrance, curtailing any retaliation from Sarah.
“I will get you later.” She hissed through a broad smile as they entered the primeminister’s home.
The 3 soldiers stood apprehensively in the entrance hall while a security agent disappeared to announce their arrival.
“We thought up an excuse for Combat Barbie here?” muttered Goni.
Sarah looked at him blankly, completely lost.
“There aren’t any women Combatants in our unit?” Goni prompted with a sigh.
“Tell them it’s a cunning disguise?” Shrugged Thomas. “Tell him she’s going undercover at a Palestinian knitting circle.”
Unable to resist this latest jibe, Sarah elbowed Thomas in the ribs.
“I’m all for physical violence, but isn’t it better directed at our enemies?”
Looking down the length of the room, Sarah locked eyes with the Primeminister of Israel, a curiously amused expression on his lips.
Whoops.
Chapter 8 — A series of discrepancies.
“I’m so sorry sir, it won’t happen again.” Sarah said snapping to attention.
“Nonsense child, I don’t expect you to stand so rigidly to protocol during this trip, you are all after all, attending as ‘guests’. The Premier smiled. “Now I expect no more of that silly saluting or ill throw you off my boat.” The old man chuckled.
Relaxing, the three soldiers waited for Prime Minister Zimann to speak.
Sarah studied the old man’s face; it was warm and kind, grandfatherly… He somehow didn’t seem the hard faced old soldier that led their country so strongly. Being in his presence made her feel warm and relaxed; almost protected... Did he have this effect on his political compatriots?
“Now I insist that you call me Ben, ok? Any of this ‘Prime Minister’ Rubbish and I shall be cross ok?” Mr Zimann smiled.
“Yes sir, I mean Ben.” Replied Sgt Goni curtly. “Where would you like us to stow our gear?”
”One of the security men will show you to your rooms, and I would much appreciate it if you could join me for dinner shortly?”
Thanking the Premier, the 3 troopers left the grandfatherly statesman and made their way upstairs behind their security service guide.
Once they had refreshed themselves, the 3 met outside their rooms before heading downstairs. All three felt strange about they were being treated; as if they actually were guests, not bodyguards. This didn’t fit with how they normally operated undercover; it was almost as if they WERE going on holiday with the Prime Minister. Despite this, all 3 carried their service weapons on their person.
It felt strangest of all for Sarah. She was still getting used to having her sidearm in the black Gucci bag of Mira’s over her shoulder, the dress she wore left her no space for a throwaway, and her knife was also in the bag. Vulnerable didn’t begin to describe it.
Entering the dining room of the residence, the soldiers joined the Premier, his wife, and his teenage children. Once the entrée was served, the awkward silence of the room was broken by the Premier’s wife.
Sharon Zimann was a short elegant woman; her body language suggested that she had grown up in the higher circles of Israel. Her appearance was immaculate; her brunette hair in a perfect short bob and simple rimless glasses framing her lightly made up eyes, she oozed class without trying.
“I’m frightfully sorry, my dear.” she said, looking at Sarah. “I had been told that the three soldiers they were sending were all men. I had made arrangements for you to all bunk together on the yacht…” She continued, with a mixed air of question and apology.
“Mrs Zimann, it's not a problem, they are my friends, bunking with them shall not be a problem. There was a recent, ah, change of plan, to the personnel list…” Sarah trailed off.
“Corporal Yakobavitch is used to operating with male soldiers in the field ma’am. We are…. Housebroken?” chuckled Sgt Goni.
“Nonsense, unless she protests it specifically, I’d like to make arrangements for you to share a berth with my daughter, Corporal. She usually turns the other bed into a horizontal wardrobe, I’m sure she will cope with some company. I won’t have a woman inconvenienced by ogling male eyes, intentional or not, I know your sex, Sergeant…” smiled Mrs Zimann wagging a finger playfully.
Half choking on a slice of cucumber, Sarah regained her composure and replied; “Ma’am that’s not necessary, honestly, I don’t want to intrude.”
“Hush dear; I’m sure Maritza would love some company near her age? Wouldn’t you dear? She can’t hang around with her mother all this time, I’ll cramp her style.” Mrs Zimann chuckled.
Smiling politely, Maritza nodded before returning to her salad. Sarah got the idea that her mother regularly dropped such situations on the teen. This might be a long trip after all she sighed inwardly.
“If I recall correctly, Ben Zimann mused, there was another Corporal Yakobavitch listed on the original troop manifest. Or am I confused in my old age?”
Sarah turned red. This might get ugly she realised, bracing herself for imminent outing.
“Her brother Sir,” Thomas answered through a mouth full of prawn. Swallowing, he continued; “Her brother got sick, and he couldn’t go, she was available and took his place on the team, we had considered that maybe nobody would notice the manifest change…. “
”Brother and sister both members of Sayeret Matkal?” exclaimed the Premier; his eyebrows rising. “Your parents must be proud my dear, especially their beautiful daughter serving her country along side some of the finest men in our army.”
“Ah, um, yeah, I guess they are.” muttered Sarah, suddenly very interested in her wine.
“That’s not true Sir,” Piped up Thomas once more, “Her brother is the better looking one.”
Forgetting her company Sarah kicked Mathew’s shin under the table; an action that was not missed by the Premier’s son.
“Hey dad why can she get away with it? You ground me if I kick Maritza!”
”Mark, I will have none of this now…. We have company.” hissed the Premier. Sighing, he drained his wine glass. “It will be nice to have more children around the place.” a sly grin on his lips.
“Sir I’m sorry, I forgot myself. It was unprofessional.” Sarah apologised.
“What have I said about calling me sir? It makes me feel old.” Ben chuckled. “Anyway, would you not kick him out of my presence?”
Sarah’s blush answered his question. “You are here as guests, acting like those boring old farts in my secret service will only alert people to your presence. Being living members of your unit tells me that you can do your jobs…. Anyway, friendly violence never hurt anyone.”
”Yeah, tell that to my shin.” grimaced Thomas.
After their meal, the group retired to the patio outside the residence. Whilst the Premier and his wife continued to drink the fine wine that appeared practically on tap, the 3 troopers refused further alcohol out of professional duty, despite being in the safest place in Israel outside of Colonel Mathias’ underwear.
Sarah’s mind drifted off to the image of performing a threat assessment of Benyamin the paramedic’s underwear, a thought that caused her to blush furiously.
Looking up, she caught the eyes of the Premier’s wife, renewing her blush.
As the discussion turned to military matters, Mrs Zimann sighed and rose. Looking across at Sarah, she smiled;
“Would you walk with me my dear?” She announced, “I think I need a break from all this testosterone.”
“Yes ma’am.” Replied Sarah curtly, clutching her bag tightly.
As the left the group behind, the Premier’s wife removed a pack of cigarettes from her own bag, and lit one, offering the pack to Sarah. After a moment’s hesitation, she smiled and took the offered cigarette and lighter.
”Thank you ma’am.” she mumbled.
”My dear, honestly, you military types and your programming does vex me so. Please, call me Eva.”
”Yes ma’a…. sorry, Eva.” blushed Sarah.
“What’s your first name child?” enquired Mrs Zimann.
“Sarah.”
“Well Sarah, what thought turned you so scarlet before?” grinned Mrs Zimann knowingly.
“I uh, it was nothing ma’, um Eva. Uh, how long have you and Mr Zi… uh Ben been married?” She asked desperate to change the subject.
“You really can’t fool me that easily child. It was a young man, no?”
Sarah’s blush told her everything she needed to know.
“See? I’m not so old and out of touch with these things, no matter what my daughter thinks," smiled Eva. “Is he your lover?”
“Uh, no, um, not really, we only just met today.” Sarah sighed taking a drag on her cigarette.
“I met him on the job actually, both of ours.” She smiled, after exhaling a plume of smoke into the night air. “Did you see the news of the bombing today?”
“Yes I di….” Started Eva, she fixed Sarah with a puzzled expression for a moment. “You were the girl spoken of by the bystanders no?”
”I uh don’t know what you’re talking about….” Sarah muttered shyly.
”I don’t suspect there are many females in your unit, but I am right. That was you? Wasn’t it?”
Sarah nodded slightly, avoiding Eva Zimann’s eyes.
”You know the papers are asking who the mystery soldier girl was?” Eva asked, with full knowledge that Sarah did not know.
Looking at Sarah’s face, Eva could see the horror on the young girl’s face. “Not fond of the spotlight?” she enquired.
“I’d rather not talk about it.” muttered Sarah into her cigarette.
As the two neared a large pond in the grounds, Eva directed Sarah towards a row of stone seats beside the water.
“How long have you been a girl dear?”
Sarah looked at Eva Zimann with a look of horror and surprise on her face; “I uh, I, um, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stammered, knowing full well that would be convincing nobody. Dejected and resigned, Sarah sighed, and slumped forwards in her seat. “What was it?” she asked, looking over at Eva.
“No one thing dear, a series of discrepancies, that’s all.” Eva smiled and took Sarah’s hand. “Don’t worry child, I wont tell anyone.
Sarah looked up from her resignation; “Why? You have ever right to RTU me, request another operative.”
“Yes, I could.” Mused Eva, “But I see nothing wrong with the current one.”
A tear rolled down Sarah’s cheek as she sat quietly pondering the Mrs Zimann’s words.
“I hate to sound like a fraud, but, what gave me away?” Sarah asked meekly.
Handing Sarah a handkerchief, Mrs Zimann shook her head slowly and purposefully. “Nothing in particular dear, it was mostly guesswork till you confirmed my suspicion. And believe me, it was not your looks.”
“When you first arrived, you looked beyond nervous. A seasoned operator of your background shouldn’t have looked so scared witless. Secondly, you are unsure in your heels dear; no young woman of your age would be wobbling around on her heels like a young teen,” she giggled.
“You got me there. It’s the first time I’ve worn the darn things.” sighed Sarah. “I can’t stand them.” She grinned with an exasperated laugh.
“How long have you been transitioning child?” asked Mrs Zimann softly. “I must say, you are very beautiful. The hormones have been kind to you.”
“I uh, this is sort of my first full day I guess.”
Mrs Zimann looked incredulously at Sarah. “You mean to tell me you lived as a boy before today?” How did you hide the effects of the hormones?”
”I didn’t Eva. I, what hormones?” asked Sarah, looking puzzled.
“You have been taking hormone therapy no? You realise that is very dangerous without a doctor?”
”I’ve not taken a thing Ma’am, um Eva.” Sarah replied quickly looking worried.
“My god, child, you are truly blessed,” smiled Mrs Zimann. “You simply must talk to this Doctor friend of mine. I'll give you his card later. He supplies my HRT, keeps me looking young.” She grinned conspiratorially. “I’m sure I could make an arrangement for him to see to your needs, it’s a crime that a girl of your beauty be forced to endure testosterone.”
“I, um, I don’t know how to thank you Eva, this is just all so sudden, but it’s so right. I can’t explain how I feel. I’ve just felt this way since I was small, that I was not the person I appeared. But I know so little.” Sarah sighed looking at her painted toenails in the black leather heels.
”I mean, I’ve sort of fallen into all of this so quickly, I’ve picked up a few little things, but I’m winging most of it, terrified I'll be discovered.” She sobbed.
“Hush child, hush” soothed Mrs Zimann. “I think only someone in my position could have known dear, the military specifics of your unit were the most telling hint. I had been campaigning to allow female soldiers to try out for your unit with the women’s rights forum I chair. If a woman had joined, I’d have known about it. So you can see; your appearance was quite a surprise.”
Sarah Let herself relax finally. It wasn’t anything she had done. That little fact made her feel somehow more secure.
”Well you have your wish Eva.” She giggled. “This is one girl who is staying in Sayeret Matkal.”
“Of that, I am glad.” smiled Mrs Zimann. “We should return to the men before they forget something important like breathing.” She giggled. Rising, the two women began to walk back towards the house and the others.
Sarah was glad that this day was drawing to an end. It had contained far too much even for her; ESPECIALLY for her.
A short Helicopter flight and a limousine journey later, the three Sayeret Matkal troops stood with the Premier and his family on the dockside in the navy yard in Haifa.
Sarah and the others were maintaining a less than convincing cover as guests, they knew till the yacht was out of the harbour, they were at most risk. The safety of the Premier and his family was more important than that cover for now.
Sarah plucked uncomfortably at her blouse; it was growing damp in the prickly heat. Such a dark garment was really stupid in this sun she mused. Then again, the figure hugging body armour she wore beneath it didn’t help in the slightest.
She looked across at Sergeant Goni; he looked most comfortable and relaxed in his grizzly old way. She knew the man was as on edge as she was. But his nature stopped him showing it. She almost wished for her guillie suit instead of this nasty armour.
Somehow she considered that a bush would look most out of place here in the perfect dockyard.
‘I wonder if a suitcase could make a good urban guillie?’ she giggled to herself.
As the group approached the yacht, the military guard on the gangplank stood to attention.
Once boarded, the crew made ready in rehearsed precision, and in no time, the yacht was beginning to move off from the dockside.
It was only as the luxury yacht motored lazily out of the harbour, that Sarah began to relax. “I’m going bellow to change Sergeant. I can't stand this vest.” Sarah grumbled she stood with Sergeant Goni at the stern of the Yacht.
It was a curious vessel; the sort of sleek pristine white luxury yacht that wouldn’t look out of place in the marina’s of Monaco, yet packed with more military hardware and armour than the average fighter jet. Cruises NEVER deviated from plan aboard this tub.
Heading below decks, Sarah located her cabin, and after swiping her ID card in the reader, waited for it to swish aside smoothly. All these gismos would take some getting used to, she chuckled. The base back home was circa 1970, and NOTHING was automated. She would have to make sure she could at least get coffee before having to operate anything complicated like a door.
Inside the cabin, The Prime Minister’s daughter Maritza was sat cross-legged on her bed. After looking up on Sarah’s entry, she returned to staring blankly out the window.
“Hi.” Sarah braved, wondering if the girl intended to ignore her for the whole trip.
With a shrug, she went over to her case and removed a spaghetti strap vest and shorts that she had bought in town the previous day. Slipping into the bathroom shyly, Sarah stripped the nasty armour and blouse from her boiled body and allowed her skin a moment to rest from the torture. Slipping her shorts on, she stepped out of the bathroom and went to her bed to retrieve her Glock from the handbag it currently occupied.
Slipping her firearm and its fobus holster back onto her belt in the small of her back made Sarah feel better. She felt more prepared now; less vulnerable.
“You’ve got the boobs of a 12 year old.” Maritza stated blandly.
Half dressed, Sarah turned around towards the voice, with her arms pinned above her head by the damn top she was wrestling on. “Huh?”
“You’re really flat.” Maritza repeated. “Unlucky.”
Pulling her top the rest of the way down Sarah flopped down on her bed heavily. “Yeah, so? It’s sorta a good thing, you know.”
Maritza cocked her head. “Why?”
After a moment, Sarah replied; “Well, I can wear body armour easier, it doesn’t hurt when I run as much, and I run a lot.”
“I guess, but I still like mine.” She sighed, prodding a breast lazily. “I dunno… Sorta makes me feel mature and sexy. Don’t you miss that?”
”Uh, I never really thought about it.” Sarah lied.
“Sure.” replied Maritza slowly with a frown. Sighing, the girl turned away from the window. “Look, I’m sorry I’m a bit blunt and cranky today. It's just several bad things coming together at once. Mum and Dad and this stupid fucking holiday aren’t helping either.” she grimaced.
Sarah was shocked to hear the younger girl using such language in regular communication, but she wasn’t exactly innocent herself. Maybe it’s the mother in me? She thought.
“I know what you mean Maritza. I’ve had a rough few days myself. It's…. Ah, complicated.” She sighed, “Maybe sharing your problems would help?” Sarah asked hopefully, any sort of dialogue between her and the girl would make the trip much easier on both of them.
“You actually give a shit?” Maritza asked looking surprised. “Most of Dad’s usual security people just treat me like an inconvenience.” She sighed, looking quite upset by that fact.
Sensing the girls barriers were down, Sarah pressed on; “Sure, well I’m not your dad’s regular security am I? I know in your shoes, I'd want help, but I'd just be too stubborn to ask for it.” Sarah grinned. “I bottle things up, and I hide things, thinking I can deal with it. Well someone showed me that was wrong recently. So I’m going to do the same for you.”
Moving across the cabin Sarah approached Maritza’s bed. “May I?” she asked nodding towards the bed.
“Sure, knock yourself out.” mumbled Maritza through her hair as she sat hugging her knees.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Sarah reached out a hand to Maritza’s knee. Feeling the girl flinch momentarily, she wondered if she was doing the right thing; but when a pair of eyes rose above the knees, she smiled. “Tell me?” she asked softly.
“Well it’s a lot of stuff really.” sighed Maritza. "My boyfriend just left for his conscription and broke up with me.” Looking at Sarah’s raised eyebrows, she smiled weakly. “Yeah I know, it's only a year difference, but Dad would still kill me.” She moaned. “I’m sort of glad we broke up, that way Dad won't ever have to know.” She sighed. “And it’s the summer holidays! All my friends are out celebrating and partying, and I’m stuck on this fucking boat.” She grumbled.
“As if things couldn’t be worse, I came on today, too. I think someone upstairs really hates me.” She sighed.
“You came on?” Sarah asked puzzled.
”Yeah, you know…. My period?” replied Maritza with one of those American teen movie ‘Duh’ expressions.
“Oh, right.” muttered Sarah blushing. “I always just called them the time of the month.”
“You know.” Maritza said pushing herself to a free sitting position on the bed. “I think you’re right.”
”Huh?”
“Well you said talking helps. And it has, I realised I was worrying about things I can't control, and in a context that doesn’t really apply….”
”I don’t follow.” Sarah replied slowly.
“Well, I’m not exactly alone this week like I had thought. And there are plenty of cute soldiers on this boat.” Smiled Maritza.
“That’s the spirit.” grinned Sarah, pulling the younger girl into a hug. “I told you that facing things is often easier than avoiding them.”
“But alas, we have one serious matter left.” Sarah whispered conspiratorially.
“What’s that?” Maritza asked coking her head to one side. “Your period, dummy!” Giggled Sarah, I guess I won't go and get you a hot water bottle and some painkillers after all, you don’t seem to mind it.”
“Nooooo!!! PLEASE!!!!!! I hadn’t forgotten” Whined Maritza before dissolving into giggles. Maritza pulled her puppy dog eyes expression out on Sarah, finally cracking the girl’s false cold front.
Smiling, Sarah rose from the bed and headed towards the door. “I guess I could then.” She grinned, grabbing a flannel shirt from her suitcase. “Back in 10” and she darted out the door.
As she walked down the passageway she silently thanked Ari for his treating her the same way. She had needed it just as Maritza had. It took no effort, and the person always knew the answers themselves, it just took someone stopping them and telling them to think.
Reaching the galley, Sarah slipped inside after knocking on the door frame. “Hello?” she called. Nobody replied. Flipping a light switch, she went in search of the first aid kit for some paracetamol.
As she was boiling a kettle to fill the hot water bottle she had discovered in a storage cabin, she heard a noise behind her. Spinning around bottle in hand, she nearly slapped Major Thesik around the face with the rubber bottle.
“Oh god, sir, sorry, you startled me.” she apologised.
“What are you doing in here?” snapped the Major with a less than pleased expression on his face.
”I was just getting some things for Maritza.” Sarah replied with more confidence than she felt.
“Who?” glared the Major.
“The premier’s daughter?” prompted Sarah.
“Oh… the kid. Well next time ask one of the crew before you go skulking around the Yacht. I’d be watching my performance if I were you, Yakobavitch.” snarled the Major. “Not that I ever would be.” He muttered as he walked away.
Not wishing to repeat the confrontation, Sarah grabbed the items she had collected and beat a hasty retreat from the hornet’s nest. He either definitely had a problem with her, or was brushing up his head chef act, she wasn’t sure which.
After another battle with the card reader, she re-entered the cabin she shared with Maritza. The girl was in bed beneath the covers watching some mindless celebrity show on the TV. She looked fairly uncomfortable. After passing her the drugs and hot water bottle, Sarah left Maritza in peace to get some rest.
Walking back out onto the deck, Sarah pulled her sunglasses down from atop her head to deflect the glare of the midmorning sun. Resting against the railing, she began to wonder what periods must be like. Sure, she would never experience one, and part of that made her deeply sad. She would never have a baby, nor would she ever be really female. Sure the outside is nice. But one part of her mind would always know it was just window dressing. That no matter what medicine did, she would never be a true female biologically. Starting into the foamy wake of the Yacht, she silently began to cry.
Sarah woke around 5am the next morning. She was pleased to see Maritza sleeping peacefully across from her. The girl had been in bed the whole day with her cramps; something that made Sarah feel somewhat better that she didn’t have to experience that.
Slipping from her bed, she tiptoed to the bathroom to relieve herself. Once finished, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. It was enough to instantly wake her more effectively than any coffee known to man. Her hair was all messy, and she had clearly forgotten to take her makeup off, the panda eyes and traces of lipstick on her cheeks made her feel like some zombie woman. After washing her face and tidying up, she returned to the cabin feeling very much more human. As Maritza softly snored, she dressed quickly and made here way out of the cabin.
With a mug of coffee in hand, she made her way up onto the deck of the yacht. The sun was beginning to rise, and the orange hue cast over the ocean was beautiful. Sighing wistfully, she sipped the sweet nectar between her cupped hands, its warmth providing comfort against the chilly morning air. This was a whole lot better than being on some dusty mountainside, maybe she should apply to the secret service for a transfer?
As she looked over the ocean, she heard a faint voice towards the bow of the yacht. Curious as to whom else was up at this hour; she made her way along the deck towards the bow. As she neared the sound, she stopped. It appeared to be someone on a phone. A phone? Out here? It didn’t make sense. Putting her mug down quietly, she slowly tiptoed forwards so quietly even a mouse would be considered noisy.
As she reached the corner, she knelt to listen:
“Yes, yes, it’s fine.”
“We’re a day out of port.”
“No, no.”
“The bag put the tranny freak with the kid, it might make things difficult.”
Sarah recognised that grizzled voice anywhere, Major Thesik. But who was he talking to? She fought the urge to go and lay into him for his clear insult of her, now was not the time or place. Retracing her steps to the stern, she curled up on one of the seats to finish her coffee and think. What was the Major doing? He had to be using a satellite phone this far out at sea. And why wasn’t he using the ships communications room and sat line? Too many questions with too few answers. Sarah knew who she had to talk to, there was only one person she could trust with one of her paranoid theories; Ari.
Hearing footsteps, she turned to see the major appearing from the direction of the bow. He looked very surprised to see her. “What are you doing up?” he snarled.
“I couldn’t sleep she shrugged cheerily. “And it’s a beautiful morning don’t you think?”
The Major grunted and vanished. Her ‘happy go lucky gal’ routine seemed to have dissuaded him from any notion that she may have overheard him. The man was sure acting suspiciously.
Nah, she was just being silly. It was all the stress from the last couple of days catching up; making her see and hear things. Pushing the thoughts from her mind, she stretched out on the seat to watch the sunrise. What surprised her most this morning was that she actually HAD a ‘happy go lucky gal’ routine. Sarah wondered if she would be wearing pink by the end of the week…
Stretching, she uncurled her legs and stood with a long cat like stretch. “Mmmm time for breakfast” she muttered to nobody in particular as she made her way below deck.
As Sarah entered the main dining room at 0700 to eat with the crew, she was greeted by a strange sight. At the table, Maritza was sat talking and laughing with Ari and the sergeant.
“My; aren’t you up early? Where’s the real Maritza?” smiled Sarah pulling up a chair near the group.
“I think I spent far too much time in bed yesterday, I’m making up for lost time getting to know all these cool people.” The girl grinned.
Sarah smiled happily. She was glad the girl had pulled out of her self destructive nose dive, but something about her interaction with Ari upset her, but she couldn’t place her fingers on it, or however the expression went.
“Where did you go this morning?” Maritza asked between mouthfuls of cereal. “You were up awfully early.”
“Just felt like sitting on deck for a while, watch the sunrise and relax with a coffee…” shrugged Sarah dismissively. She had no intention of sharing her observations so publicly.
After Breakfast, Sarah cornered Ari leaving the dining room; “Hey can we talk somewhere private?” she whispered into his ear.
After giving her a curious look, Ari shrugged; “Sure, come to my cabin while I change for work, we can talk there.”
After following her team-mate down the passageway Sarah followed Ari into a small, more sparse berth than her own.
“What was it you wanted?” Ari prompted as he began to change into his day uniform.
”I uh,” Sarah blushed scarlet as Ari dropped his shorts to change.
”You… what?” Ari called turning around, “Oh shit sorry.” He mumbled as he dove behind one of the bunks to continue changing.
“You were saying?”
“Uh, sorry, yeah, I heard something this morning. And I don’t know who else to talk to about this Ari…. It sounds pretty weird.” sighed Sarah as she slumped down on the nearby bunk. A thought coming to her, she continued. “Who are we reporting to on this mission?”
”The Colonel Indirectly, the Premier directly I guess.” Replied Ari thoughtfully.
”Well wouldn’t Major Thesik communicate with the Colonel via the com room?” frowned Sarah, “Surely he would have no need to bring a personal satellite phone?
“Where did you hear this?” said Ari as he adjusted his shirt.
“I was on deck this morning, about 0500. He was at the bow alone, talking on a sat phone, and he made several comments that made me uneasy…” she answered slowly, looking into Ari’s eyes for a reaction.
Ari’s eyebrows moved closer to his hairline as he stood before the mirror combing his hair into order. “Like what?”
Sarah relayed the comments she had overheard to Ari, whose expression turned from confusion to worry with a tinge of anger. “I don’t like this Sarah… We know he has it in for you because of… um, you know…. But this goes beyond that. The best thing we can do is keep this to ourselves, and watch things, IF… and IF he has turned, we don’t know who else is on his side… So don’t tell anyone what we talked about ok?”
Sarah nodded quickly; Ari seemed to have a much more rational grasp of things… She wondered if he would have told her had he witnessed the phone call.
“I’d best go, people will be looking for me, we can't do with rumours now can we?” She giggled to break the tension.
”Hah yeah, but if anyone asks, tell them I was amazing ok? Grinned Ari
He would have told her, she knew now.
As she made her way out the door Ari slapped her on the butt. Squealing she wheeled around with a scowl on her face. “Get out of here little one; I’ll see you at lunch.”
She could hear him laughing at her as she stormed off down the passageway. UGH MEN. She couldn’t believe that she had been born a member of that disgusting sex.
Fumbling around with her swipe card, she re-entered her berth with a sigh, was every day going to be so taxing so early?
“Where have you been?” grinned Maritza who was in the process of dressing. Fighting the urge to turn away, Sarah just shrugged and started going through her clothes for something to wear.
“Around.” She replied dismissively.
“You left with Ari…” she grinned wiggling her eyebrows. “And something tells me that talc handprint on your butt isn’t yours.” She laughed pointing at Sarah’s behind.
Craning her neck fruitlessly, Sarah darted into the bathroom to be greeted by a large powdery white handprint on her tan shorts. “ARRRRGGGG” She screamed stamping her foot. “I’m going to kill him.”
“So It was Ari then?” Maritza smiled poking her head around the doorframe.
“Yes” Sarah replied in an exasperated tone, “no, yes, no, oh I don’t know.” She sighed.
“Ask me an easier question.” She mumbled slumping down on her bed.
“Are… you… Sleeping with… Corporal Weismann?” mouthed Maritza with deliberate annunciation.
Launching a pillow at the girl, Sarah vehemently denied any relationship with Ari beyond the brother sister sort of thing. Maritza however was having none of it.
“Well you two always smile at each other when you see one another, and when I was flirting with him at breakfast, he got really uncomfortable as soon as you arrived…. If you aren’t doing it, I bet you will before long.” She laughed dodging another swipe.
Sarah sat thoughtfully on the bed. Was she right? Did she like Ari like that? No way. She couldn’t…
“Stop thinking so hard, I can see smoke pouring out of your ears.” smiled Maritza.
“I think I preferred you when you weren’t talking” Sighed Sarah with resignation.
“Look, I don’t know ok? I mean, we’ve been friends for years, and I mean years, since our teens…. I just don’t know if I see him like that. Maybe I do, maybe I don’t, but I KNOW I like the guy. I don’t know if I’m ready to think about dating that’s all….”
”Ready?” frowned Maritza. What do you mean ready? How old are you? Like 21-22?”
Sarah nodded absentmindedly.
“Are you telling me you have never even kissed a guy? Or been on a date?” probed the girl.
Sarah nodded.
”Wow, I think I have a pet project this week….” Maritza replied dramatically. “I’ve GOT to help you; it’s my duty as a teen fashion queen.”
‘Oh no, I’m going to say it’ thought Sarah. ‘No, I cant, she will hate me’ “I’m not like other girls Maritza.”
The younger girl cocked her head and looked at Sarah. “Coulda fooled me babe.” She replied still looking at Sarah unblinkingly. “Small boobs doesn’t make you less of a girl you know, look, I’m sorry about yesterday, it was mean, I had no excuse.” She continued apologetically. “You’re probably really sensitive about it, and I took my problems out on you, I’m sorry.” She whispered pulling Sarah into a hug. As Sarah sobbed quietly into her shoulder, Maritza Rubbed the older girl’s back and whispered comforting words in her ear. She was kicking herself for being such a bitch.
Pulling away from Maritza, Sarah rubbed her eyes and took a breath; “No, I’m really not like other girls Maritza. I… I” she continued, screwing her eyes up and balling her fists in some mental attempt to force herself to say the words. “I ‘m a boy.” She half croaked as she hung her head.
“Oh.” The girl replied. “Um, So you want a penis?”
Sarah shook her head slowly. “I was born a boy, but its wrong.”
Realisation dawned in Maritza’s eyes, “Ooohh, gosh, really? I guess that explains a lot.”
“What do you mean?” Sarah frowned. Was everyone she met able to tell she wasn’t what she seemed?
”Well, you’re sorta like me when I was 12… You hate dressing up, body conscious 24/7, small boobs, and you didn’t know what I meant when I said I was coming on… she smiled. Taking Sarah’s hand she gave it a squeeze. “Honestly, It doesn’t stop you being one of the coolest people I know. You took the time to talk to me, and help me when it had nothing in it for you. Who cares what you were born, You’re clearly a girl.” “And a girl in loovvveeee” she giggled as she danced off the bed out of Sarah’s range.
”Yeah that’s one of the things I don’t know about….” Sarah grimaced. “Me and Ari have been friends for years right? But I’ve only been his female friend a few days… it’s a lot of mixed signals, I’m not sure how much is him treating me like a guy friend still, or if he’s actually coming on to me… We were always close, but I don’t want to kill that.”
Maritza nodded solemnly. “A dilemma young padewan you have.” She rasped in a rather high pitched impression of Yoda. “Hang on? Did you just say a few days or am I going loopy?”
”Yeah, um, 2days now I think?” Sarah thought back through the muddle of the last few days.
“Wow. You’ve only been a girl for 2 days? Jeeez you’re a natural.” smirked Maritza shaking her head.
“I felt like this ever since I was little.” Sarah sighed wistfully. “I guess I needed a kick in the butt. Ari has a big foot.”
”Now I see why you two are so close.” replied Maritza. “So you do like boys then?” she pressed.
“Well I didn’t like anything before.” Sarah shrugged. “I just saw girls with some more interest than men, I guess because I was jealous, but I never dated or anything with either sex. It sorta felt wrong.”
”I can understand that.” Maritza agreed looking thoughtful. “Hell I look at other girls too, but purely from an analytical point of view you know? Like, what’s she got that I haven’t?”
Sarah nodded. “Yeah, that’s it, I saw features, not ‘that’s sexy’” she smirked. “A friend back home told me I’d woken up to the possibility of men because I was comfortable now. It feels right, but it’s scary. I don’t know anything. I’ve almost been thrown into this, and I’m totally winging it….” She sighed slumping into her pillow. “Its just so much so fast, I get so lost. Suddenly I’m in society, and I find I can interact, but I don’t know the language.”
Chapter 11 — Redefining a smile.
“Welcome to your teens, again.” smiled Maritza sympathetically.
“UGH” grunted Sarah into her pillow. “It was bad enough first time around.”
“Right, well I fancy spending some time on deck doing one of the few activities where I don’t have to talk to my parents.” Grinned Maritza whilst delving through her dresser and emerging with a barely decent bikini. Sarah looked up from the pillow and looked confused.
“Sunbathing my dear.” Giggled Maritza, “We are going to go catch some rays, you can ‘guard’ me, and I can give you some classes from the Maritza Zimann School of Girlhood.”
“Shouldn’t it be womanhood for me? I’m 21!” protested Sarah indignantly.
Fixing her with a disproving look and a hand on her cocked hip, Maritza replied in a patronising tone; “Walk before you can run my dear, as much as I don’t want to admit it; even I’m not a woman yet. Anyway, stop stalling, and grab your suit.”
Pulling herself off her bed, Sarah gingerly approached her dresser as if it contained a live bomb. Could she let her friends see her in something so tiny? Could SHE let her see herself?
“I will be right back.” Sarah called as she grabbed her suit and vanished into the bathroom. Here she was safe from her blushing attacks as Maritza changed, something she wasn’t used to yet, and more importantly, Maritza couldn’t see HER change.
Stripping naked, Sarah surveyed what she saw in the mirror: A flat chested girl with olive skin and deep brunette hair. Of course, she was omitting the main discrepancy in the image. A tear rolled down her cheek as her eyes fell to the penis that nestled in her pubic hair. It wasn’t the thing itself that hurt her. It was its presence on her body. The pain its presence caused had been increased in the last several days. The more she had embraced the way she should be, the more her gawky slim hairless body seemed good, but that one thing would always remind her it wasn’t right….
Grabbing a roll of medical tape from her toilet bag, she proceeded to tape and tuck the disgusting thing back out of sight. Satisfied with her work, she pulled the white crocheted string bikini bottoms up her long legs. She was sceptical as to the efficacy of such a tiny garment at protecting her modesty, but as she thought back to Eva and Maritza’s words, she knew exactly what she had to do…. WEAR IT…. And not just wear it, but wear it confidently. She had to stop caring. Everyone on the boat knew her. Pretty much everyone knew her past now, save the real crew members and the Premier himself.
Tying the top after much contortion and wriggling. She looked in the mirror. A skinny flat chested girl looked back at her. She would have to talk to Mrs Zim… Eva, about those hormone pills… She NEEDED help badly. Balling her fists, she unlocked the door and stepped back into the berth.
”Heeeyyy, Lookin good,” grinned Maritza devilishly, similarly clad in not much.
Turning as red as the evening sun, Sarah resisted the temptation to run back to the sanctuary of the bathroom.
“Is it ok?” she asked nervously.
“Yeah, you look fine, stop worrying. You’re meant to be the one protecting me remember?” giggled Maritza.
Blushing anew, Sarah busied herself with collecting her handbag and Glock. As she turned towards the door she heard a theatrical cough behind her.
“You going up there like that?” asked Maritza with an eyebrow cocked questioningly as she tied a sarong around her waist.
It dawned on Sarah eventually. Perhaps this confidence thing was overrated?
Finally, properly attired, the two girls made their way up to the main deck of the yacht, giggling like schoolgirls. Well, like a bodyguard and a schoolgirl.
“Rawr.” Growled Thomas playfully,” Pity I left the scopes at home.” The horny trooper was reclining against a railing with his mp5 in his lap and his shades on the end of his crooked nose.
“So I suppose you think you’re some sexy piece huh?” snorted Sarah in mock disgust. “You can’t afford this on your rank, I know what you make.” She grinned slapping her butt playfully.
Thomas shook his head and grinned pushing his shades back up his nose. “Jeez Yakobavitch, for someone who spent most of their life as a dude you really don’t know much about how we think. I mean, look at you, wiggling around in that little thing as if it were a god damn bhurka.”
“I don’t follow,” replied Sarah, taken off guard. “What am I DOING to you?”
“You know what a guy thinks when he sees a chica in not much, and you’re teasing us with that lil ass as if you were a regular girl.”
Feeling her colour rise, Sarah turned and walked up to Corporal Thomas till she was about 6 inches from his face. “See, here was me thinking I was just walking.” She growled.
”And I’ll pretend I didn’t hear the last bit.”
Pushing himself up off the railing, the Corporal pulled himself up to his full height. “Sarah; you are not a regular girl. You’re half girl at best, at worst; you’re a dude that looks like a girl. Teasin guys like that could end up getting you killed; Sayeret Matkal or not.” He replied nonchalantly.
“Excuse me?” demanded Sarah indignantly. “I AM a regular girl. Because my plumbing does not match does not change that. How I choose to walk or not is my concern. If you can’t keep your fucking pecker in your shorts that’s your problem, not mine. It comes out of your pants, it comes off…. Got it?” growled Sarah, gripping the man by his privates.
Turning, Sarah marched off without waiting for a reply.
“What the hell was that?” Maritza asked as soon as she was out of sight.
“I’m not sure.” sighed Sarah. “I guess the strain of things being so sudden hasn’t just been on me.”
“You can say that again.” nodded the younger girl solemnly. “But you did ‘handle’ him well.” She smiled, resting her hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “Guys behave like that to all girls, honey, its part of life…”
“You’re serious? Ugh, fucking pigs.” muttered Sarah leaning against the railing and feeling the ocean breeze wash over her. “Here was me thinking it was because they think I’m some halfway freak that’s tricking them into being turned on by me. That was what it was right? He was blaming me for making him attracted to me?”
”Yup, they do it anyway. It’s like the most common excuse guys give for forced sex or rape. ‘She looked sexy, so she clearly wanted it.’.”
“Seriously?” replied Sarah with a look of shock and disgust on her face.
Maritza nodded. “Yup, guys are like that in school. They all think girls look sexy or pretty just for them. Selfish fucks. Like we exist to please them, so when we look good, its just for them, and we do it for their attention. Though I admit part of his reaction was classic ‘stop making me gay’itis.”
Sarah frowned and looked back over her shoulder at Maritza who was leaning against the bulkhead of the yacht. “What’s that?”
Shaking her head sadly Maritza was silent a moment before responding. “Look, honey, I know how fresh this all is, and its been sort of good so far, but believe me, there are men who will be pissed if they find out. They will see you as a guy who tricked them into being gay. I know it sounds harsh.” She continued quickly, “But this is an honest truth, sweetie. I’ve heard people talk about people like you in school, its not a common topic sure, but its come up when its been on the TV or something. You know? What would you do if you found out your partner wasn’t the sex you thought….”
Chewing her bottom lip Maritza continued her difficult lesson. “There was this girl in the United States I saw on the TV right? She was like you. These guys she dated found out what she was and killed her… I just want you to be aware, ok?” She whispered as she hugged her friend tightly.
“Reality sucks.” mumbled Sarah quietly.
Pulling away from her friend, she felt suddenly very cold; Very very aware of her position. It was a feeling she had experienced before; Cold hard reality, after that bubble of fiction bursts. She had experienced it once when she had been ambushed in Syria by a terrorist cell they had thought they were tracking. That realisation that the hunter was now the hunted was exactly the same. Sarah however wasn’t the same person who had fought through that. This was her life. This mattered, and it was too much. Running back to the railing, Sarah began to heave over the side of the boat.
Once she felt better, and had convinced Maritza likewise. She excused herself and went below decks. This whole thing was too much. It wasn’t the matter of coming out so abruptly. It was the way that seemingly, nobody cared. It hadn’t seemed like a big deal to anyone, but they masked their true feelings as well as she. Was she even a she? Sure, she had felt it her whole life. And the last few days had felt more right than any other she had lived. But was being seen by those few friends she had as some half and half freak, worth it?
She was acutely aware of the strain she put on those she loved. It seemed stupid now she thought about it. She was deluded; Crazy!
Half conscious, and half on some form of auto pilot, Sarah walked the hallways of the yacht in a daze. She wasn’t exactly sure where she was going. Had she ever been in the last few days? She only really knew one thing, to most, she was a burden, others, a disgusting deviant. Would Ben the paramedic have killed her if she had told him? She felt guilty for his finding her attractive now; A deep painful guilt. The same feeling towards her greatest friend, Ari. Maritza had told her what she had seen in Ari. What she was doing to her friend wasn’t right. This whole thing wasn’t right. She felt so confused.
Sliding down to her knees against a bulkhead in a dark corridor of the Yacht, she came to a realisation. A beam of light in the dim passageway. This world was better off without her. Pulling the Divers blade from her bag she gripped the blade with her left hand tightly. Watching the trickle of blood run down the hilt as she held it just made her sob harder. What was she doing? It was too much too soon, she was cracking. She couldn’t cope with this. Hell, if Thomas thought like that, what did all the others who ‘accepted’ her think? Were they secretly enemies? Sarah was confused and distracted. This all seemed so sudden, but so real. Like she had woken up from a dream to realise she lived a nightmare.
Balling her resolve, she raised the blade in her shaking hand, tears rolling freely down her cheeks. Before she could back out, she ran the blade deep through her left wrist.
Sarah gasped as she blade entered her flesh. It wasn’t a pain as she had expected, a thud of adrenaline hit her as the steel broke her flesh. The only pain she felt was in her heart, and a light throb in her arm. Blood mingled with tears on her lap as she cried. This was for the best. She was doing people a favour. Things would be better without her fucking things up. Of all the things she had done, this made most sense. For the best…
As things went black, Sarah couldn’t think of anyone she hated more than herself. Not for the reasons that brought her to do what she had done. But for what she had done. As hateful of herself and her life as she was, she felt like a coward; taking an easy way out.
“Ugh Fuck.” She whispered and closed her eyes.
Chapter 12 — Headstones and Headaches
“She’s coming round”
“You really had us worried you know.”
Sarah wasn’t exactly sure who was talking, she felt rather foggy.
“What?” she croaked quietly.
The room was her berth; she was in bed, and not alone. “Why the fuck did you save me?”
Despite having felt utterly guilty at her actions before, she wondered if it would be better to survive what she had done. Suicide was the only thing you were punished for if you failed to do it.
Sighing, she looked around the room, the ship's doctor and several of her team were present.
”Why?”
Sarah turned towards the voice only to be greeted by a deep sadness in Ari’s eyes. “Why did you do it?”
A single tear rolled down her cheek as his accusing eyes bored deep into her very being.
“I… I don’t know.” She whispered, breaking eye contact, she couldn’t stand to see his sadness, her guilt was overwhelming. “I… Its just been too much; the last few days, this mission. I think I had a breakdown.”
”That’s not surprising Corporal,” agreed the ship’s doctor. Considering what Corporal Weismann has told me of the last few days, and your situation. I’m honestly surprised it took this long to come to a head. Now I’m not a shrink, but I definitely think your mind is the only thing damaged at the moment. We were able to stabilise you before significant blood loss could occur. I’m going to suggest to Major Thesik that you are taken off mission immediately for the duration of the cruise. I’d suggest you stayed at home to recuperate, but I’m afraid that isn’t possible.” He sighed apologetically.
“I guess we can’t exactly blame her for breaking down considering the pressure… I don’t know why the Colonel put her on this mission considering you know what and the shoot out in Jerusalem.” Goni added. “Hell I’d have cracked under this week. I’ll talk to the Major Doctor.” He added shaking the Doctor’s hand before kneeling by Sarah’s bedside.
“You listen to me.” He whispered into her ear, “You do not have permission to do anything. You got that? I want you to get back to operational status, which means dealing all this, however long it takes, ok? Start with this week; you even lift a finger to do anything and I’ll throw you off the boat. Are we clear?” Mussing her hair, he pulled himself up and made his way out of the berth.
Sarah smiled weakly. How could she have hurt these people so much? Realising she had people that truly cared for her only increased her guilt.
“Give the corporal some space people,” announced the doctor, ushering people towards the door.
”Give me a moment?” Ari asked him quietly.
”Ok, but you have 5 minutes, she really needs to rest.”
Nodding, he waited for the doctor to leave before gently sitting on the bed next to Sarah.
“I suppose this is where you tell me what a stupid idiot I’ve been?” She asked sheepishly.
”Nah,” he answered without taking his eyes off her. “You really worried me, but I understand it.”
”I really feel like I let you down; you and everyone… When I did it, I felt so bad I can’t describe it, I can’t really remember why I did it now, but everything seemed false, and broken. I guess I got too upset to think straight.”
”It happens.” Ari agreed. “I’m just glad you’re alive. To be honest, I don’t know how I'd cope if you weren’t around. I ... Uh, yeah I’d better let you rest.”
”What?” Sarah asked, curious at her friend’s almost admission of something.
”It’s nothing, honestly. I’d better go.” Before she could question him further, Ari had left the berth and closed the door behind him.
“Weird!” She sighed to herself as she tried to relax and go back to sleep. Try as she might, all that ran through her head was the faces of her friends; asking her why. She had never been this unstable. What was this doing to her? Was it worth it? Some time later, she wasn’t sure how long, she drifted off to sleep.
When Sarah awoke, it was dark. How long had she slept? She felt a grogginess that hinted at sedation. She eased herself upright in the bed. The dark berth was eerily quiet. In fact, the whole boat was quiet. Had they moored?
Pushing the cover off, she swung her legs off the side of the bed and tried to acclimatise to sitting. The movement caused her wrist to throb. Gently she wrapped her fingers around her wounded wrist. How could she have resorted to that? The very thought made her feel queasy. Pulling herself to her feet on the bulkhead, she began to move towards the bathroom when she felt a tug in her arm. There was a saline drip hung on the wall attached to her via a canula. Slipping the needle from her arm with a wince, she slowly trudged over to the bathroom. However many days in bed had taken a toll on her; she needed to pee badly…
Slumping down on the seat, she felt the pressure leave her. Her headache was less aggravated now too.
There was a report of gunfire somewhere on the yacht. She wasn’t sure where. Sarah began to laugh. She was sitting on a toilet with her panties around her ankles, wondering where the gunfire she just heard came from and what weapon. This week was full of firsts.
‘Shit. Maritza.’ Pulling herself back together, she left the bathroom and went straight for her Glock. After checking the load, she pulled back the covers of Maritza’s bed. The young girl was still sleeping.
Sarah lightly shook the girl’s shoulder till she stirred. “I need to you get under the bed, and stay quiet, ok? I’m going to check on something.”
Groggily, the girl complied. Sarah made her way back towards the door and after locking it, retrieved the silencer and bullet proof vest from her bag. Looking at the vest, she abandoned it in favour of her favourite option; not getting shot. As she attached the silencer, she could hear voices in the passageway and footsteps.
Quickly she dived into Maritza’s bed, and pulled the covers over her head.
(Arabic translated)
“This is the one, careful, that tranny commando is in there.”
“Yeah but the boss told us he’s out cold, sedated after going nuts and trying to kill himself.”
”Pity it didn’t succeed. Fucking disgusting.”
There was a sound of a key in the lock and the door sliding open.
Through the crack in the duvet, Sarah could see 2 men wearing black enter the room holding Kalashnikov carbines.
”The tranny’s gone, Ahmir but the kid is there.”
”Good! Grab her and lets go, remember, the boss said if we harm her, we go straight to hell, do not collect 72 virgins…” chuckled one of the other men.
Two on one, she had a semi automatic pistol, they had automatic carbines. Was it worth trying? She almost wished she hadn’t disregarded the vest now.
As the first man began to pull the covers down, she hoped to hell that the second wasn’t covering her.
“Wait, what the fuck?”
Sarah rolled over and aimed the Glock at the second man; he had his rifle in his hands, where his companion did not. She squeezed the trigger quickly and two hollow point slugs ripped through the man’s skull.
With her free hand she jabbed at the chest of the man closest to her; her fist impacting in the man’s sternum and taking his breath away.
As he dropped to his knees, Sarah was out of the bed and grabbed the man from behind, dropping him face first into the mattress.
“You make a sound, and I will castrate you, you understand?” she whispered into his ear. Something she had learned was that the majority of the Arabs she had come into contact with during combat had no regard for death. They would become martyr’s. Threatening an integral and necessary part of their masculinity however, seemed to always catch their attention.
The man whimpered into the mattress.
“How many of you are there?”
”Fuck you, bitch.”
“Aw, now that’s not very nice…” Sarah whispered into the man’s ear as she grasped his privates through the combat trousers.
The man howled into the mattress.
“Maritza.” Sarah called quietly.
The frightened girl stuck her head out from under the bed. The child looked terrified. “Maritza honey, can you go grab the power cords for my cell phone charger and your’s, and tie this man’s hands and feet to the chair when I move him to it?” She was asking a lot from the girl, but she couldn’t do this alone.
The girl scrambled from under the bed and after nearly freezing when she saw the dead body of the accomplice, returned with the two long black cables.
Sarah dragged the man to his feet by his testicles before guiding him to one of the chairs by the vanity in the room.
”Sit, NOW.” She commanded
The man meekly followed her orders.
As she kept him covered with the pistol, Maritza warily tied the man’s hands and feet to the chair.
“That’s great, Honey. You did great.” Sarah smiled warmly at the girl trying to dispel some of the fear. “Just go sit on the bed, ok?” she continued, pulling the girl to her feet and guiding her to the bed.
By now most of the sedative had worn off and Sarah felt alert. The throb in her wrist had not subsided, and she noticed that her bandage was beginning to turn red with fresh blood.
Moving to the dresser, she grabbed her discarded body armour and returned to Maritza.
”Here honey, put this on, ok? It’s for your protection.”
Once again, the girl meekly followed her directions. Sarah was positive she hadn’t a clue what was going on. The less she knew the better, in this case. She was easier to control and keep safe in this state of shock. As harsh as it seemed, Sarah needed the girl confused and disoriented. She would not become hysterical and loud if she didn’t know what was going on.
Returning to the man she had tied up to the chair. She stood before him regarding her opposition for a moment. In one movement, she swiftly jabbed her heel into the man’s crotch.
He screamed into the cloth Sarah had stuffed into his mouth, before going limp in his restraints.
Kneeling before him she lifted his chin in her hand. “Now you will tell me everything, or I will cause you more pain than you can imagine,” she stated quietly in the same Arabic dialect that the man had used, so as to leave no confusion to her meaning.
Popping the material from his mouth, she waited;
”I’ wont tell you shit you land grabbing bitch!” the man spat.
His turn of phrase left Sarah in no confusion as to his ethnic origin. The dialect and land reference told her the man was Palestinian; possibly Hamas or Hezbollah. Judging by his clothing, she was more inclined to think Hezbollah. While Hamas was dangerous, they were not this organised or well equipped. Hezbollah was better funded and more professional in its attacks. The man wore black combats, and a tactical vest. His weapon was an expensive AKS74U, a compact carbine of the AK74 assault rifle. With its small calibre round, and large magazine, it was deadly on a boat.
Sighing, Sarah stood and regarded her captive. He was unlikely to talk. She had suspected as much, but it was always worth an attempt. Any intelligence was a bonus. Gripping her pistol by the barrel, she smashed the man around the head with the pistol grip; his head lolling forwards to his chest.
She was fully focused now. She had to be, to survive. She did not know the status of her team, or the other packages. She knew there were hostiles aboard the ship, and she was alive, currently safe, and the premier’s daughter was safe.
Sarah stripped the dead assailant of his gear, donning her combat trousers and the boots she had brought along out of habit. She donned the man’s assault vest over her tank. The padded bra she was wearing made the vest feel somewhat different than she was used to.
For the first time in her military career, she was able to sympathise with fellow female soldiers; a woman’s anatomy was not compatible with assault gear.
Checking to see that the AK was loaded, she returned to the frightened Maritza. “Ok I want you to stay in this cabin till I get back, ok? Lie under the bed and stay there till I come back for you?”
Maritza nodded absent mindedly.
“Look at me!” Sarah turned the girl’s face towards hers. Hugging her, she kissed the girl’s cheek. “I promise I will return for you.”
It was heart breaking to leave the girl, but Sarah knew she couldn’t move about the yacht as she could. She would only drag her into danger and slow herself down.
Opening the cabin door, she slipped out into the dark corridor. She slipped the Attacker’s earpiece into her ear and flipped his radio on. At the very least she could get forewarning of any danger to her or Maritza.
Was everyone else dead? Was she alone? Blotting the thoughts from her mind, she began to slowly move down the corridor. She gave up on her friends before. She wasn’t about to do that again.
Chapter 13 — Fire and Ice
As she reached the top of the stairwell leading to the main deck, Sarah stopped for a moment to listen. The only sound save the quiet lap of the waves against the hull of the yacht was her beating heart. The radio was quiet and the deck was devoid of human sound.
They were together somewhere, most likely one of the staterooms.
Stepping out onto the deck, she was greeted by the chill of the night air. Perhaps more than a tank top would have been more appropriate she wondered, feeling her skin goose pimple.
Approaching the stern at a creep, she saw 2 ribs* tied up at the small dive platform.
Slipping down onto the platform, she placed her weapon on the deck, waiting and listening for any sound. Confident she was alone; she slipped aboard the ribs and disconnected the fuel lines on both craft. Collecting her weapon, Sarah slowly retraced her steps to the main deck of the yacht.
She would head for the comms room, and hope that they hadn’t either stationed men there, or sabotaged it. But as they assumed all were accounted for and under control, she hoped they were lax in their security.
Slowly climbing the ladder to the upper deck, she heard footsteps approaching. Freezing, she waited, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain she would be heard.
A man walked slowly down the deck with rifle slung. They were not entirely stupid she mused. Slowly slinging her rifle across her back, she pulled the combat knife from the vest, and waited quietly. If the man got closer, she would have to dispatch him.
The man casually wandered towards her, his eyes cast out over the ocean. There was a dim flicker of red on the horizon; it was the early morning she surmised, this made things difficult. The shroud of night was withdrawing; her window of action was narrow.
As the man drew level with her position. She slowly crept up the remainder of the steps and moved behind him.
As the man coughed, she sprang forwards and slid her knife into the side of his neck to the hilt, violently ripping it forwards removing his trachea and severing his jugular, a swift and silent death for the hapless and entirely unwelcome guest. She was done with interrogating now. These were clearly foreign, hostile, and uninvited. Playtime was over.
With a gargle, the man slumped quietly to the deck assisted by Sarah so as to quietly the sound. Checking him, she removed several magazines from his gear, and a smoke grenade attached to his belt, stashing the body in a dark corner more out of habit than any attempt at covering up the killing. The deck was covered in the man’s blood. She cursed herself for not snapping his neck.
The dead intruders would be missed, and any person that came past this part of the deck would immediately know something was amiss, her window was even smaller. At least until she went noisy.
Popping the latch on one of the doors into the upper deck of the yacht, she checked and made sure the coast was clear. Discovering the passageway was empty, she entered and latched the door.
The communications room was at the end of this hallway. As she approached the door she heard a voice. “Yes, it's all gone fine. We have them, and we have men securing the daughter as we speak.”
“Yes”
“Yes, I'll report in when we depart, do you still want us to sink the ship?”
“Yes. Ok, Out”
Peering into the room, she saw the fist non Arab intruder. The man was white, clearly not Middle Eastern, and somewhat geeky. His combats looked uncomfortable on him, and the weapon was well out of his reach. Some techy loser drafted in for the mission, she deduced.
Slipping into the compartment, she raised her pistol and with it trained on the man’s head, closed the compartment door.
As the door clanged shut, the man spun around, only to go whiter than his pale complexion. “Wh, who are you?”
“That my friend, is not important,” she leered. “Why don’t you tell me who you are? I insist, guests first.”
“I uh, I’m just here to provide technical services, I’m not involved in the other stuff,” he spluttered.”
“What other stuff.”
“Kidnapping the prime minister and his family.”
“For once, a straight answer. Your friends were not very forthcoming.” Sarah grinned as she pressed the muzzle of the pistol against the man’s forehead, forcing him to lean back further in the swivel chair.
“Are you sure that’s all you know? To be quite frank, I have every right to put a bullet in your brain.”
The man swallowed and glanced sideways at his rifle, leaning against the far bulkhead.
Following his eyes, she laughed quietly. “Please try. I don’t quite think you can beat a 9mm hollow point down this barrel however,” she purred, a fire dancing in her eyes.
“I wasn’t I swear.” The man gulped.
“Who were you talking to on the radio?” she pressed. “And don’t tell me it was your mother. Though I would tell her you love her before you die, however.”
The man managed miraculously to pale even further, and an ominous stain spread across his trousers. “I, I was reporting to my boss, I uh, our boss, how things were progressing. We have to give regular updates on the operation.” He whimpered, going cross-eyed staring down the pistol’s barrel.
“Please don’t kill me,” he whispered.
“I won’t kill you if you tell me who you are working for,” she prompted, pressing the steel of the barrel further against his forehead.
“I don’t know. Honestly, we just report in to ‘base’ I promise I don’t know.” The man looked terrified. “Hang on, are you that transvestite soldier we were told about?” a sly smirk spread onto his thin lips, as he forgot for a moment the silenced pistol pressed against his forehead.
“Oh well, I lied.” Sarah sighed as she pulled the trigger.
The man slumped back into the chair as the round destroyed his brain.
Wiping the muzzle of her pistol, she grimaced. Why couldn’t people be more tolerant? Especially when in such a disadvantaged position. You would think pissing off the angry woman with a gun was a bad idea, no?
Moving to the bank of Radios, she dialled in the frequency for her home operating base, one committed to memory. “Hawk’s Nest this is Rosefern, We have a code red. I repeat, code RED. Does anyone copy?”
Sarah waited for a reply, the static on the line almost deafening.
“Rosefern this is Hawk’s Nest, what is your status.”
With a sigh of relief. She did a silent happy dance as she clicked the call button on the mike. “Hawk’s Nest, Rosefern. The Package is compromised. Unknown number of assailants aboard the yacht. Status of my team, the Premier and his wife is unknown, Premier’s daughter is safe. Assailants are mixed; some are Palestinian, and some Caucasian of unknown origin. All are armed with automatic weapons. The yacht is stopped and I am unsure of our location, Over.”
“Rosefern, Hawk’s Nest. We copy status. Dispatching teams Gimel and Dalet to your location. Eta, 0500.”
Sarah glanced at the clock on the wall, it was 0340 at the moment. 'Damn, an hour and 20 minutes to hold out before the backup teams arrive.' “Hawk’s Nest, Rosefern, Copy last. Will standby. Inform the teams they can contact me on 129.3 when they are in range for UHF. Rosefern Out.”
Sarah reluctantly set the handset down. She felt so close right now. That tie to home. She wasn’t alone. For the first time since she had been thrown into this soup, she felt truly scared. Small… insignificant … Alone ….
A tear rolled down her cheek. Dabbing it with her finger, she sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “God, why me?” she groaned. Part of her wished she could just be a captive, at least she wouldn’t have to be so self reliant. She just felt that the pressure of the past few days had been doubled by this. She was being asked to do something that even a sane healthy trooper would have a hard time completing. Yet it was up to her; just her. She knew full well this would be over inside an hour.
Screwing up her courage. She gritted her teeth as she opened the door from the comms room. “Time to save the fucking day,” she muttered to herself. “They so owe me leave after this.”
Moving with a mixture of apprehension and resolve. She neared the bridge. Ducking into a side passage, she waited, listening to the conversation ahead. There were two voices, both speaking Arabic. One was a native speaker, the other was not. The other sounded like Major Thesik…
‘I knew it.’ She thought to herself. ‘That bastard is mine.’
The two were discussing ways to proceed. Apparently, the crew and passengers were below deck, in the second stateroom of the yacht. The major was discussing with his accomplice which port to make for. After making some decision that Sarah couldn’t quite make out, she heard the major leave the bridge, and left the other crewman alone, or at least whoever was in there, alone.
Shortly after, she heard the Yacht’s engine roar to life.
'Shit, the helicopters will be heading for the wrong location, unless they can be updated on the GPS location by home base.' Sarah had to work off a premise that they could not. Anyway, it was IAF pilots. They had a tendency to get lost going to the bathroom. She couldn’t trust them to get this right.
Making her way back down the passage, she descended a deck. Slipping into the galley, she made her way towards the serving lift at the rear. She could make an entrance to the second stateroom unannounced. No, it would be stupid. They would expect that…
Removing the smoke grenade from her belt, she placed it in the small lift car. Tying a length of string around the pin, she tied that to a kitchen work surface nearby. Sliding the door shut on the lift, making sure the string was all inside, she hit the descend button.
Grabbing a towel from the rack, she quietly but swiftly made her way down the main stairwell, her rifle tucked into her shoulder, ready.
As she turned the corner, she could see the stateroom’s doors ahead. There was a fine mist of smoke drifting under the door, and what sounded like a riot taking place inside.
Grinning, she pulled the towel out of her pocket, and tied it around her lower face, covering her mouth and nose.
Moving forward, she approached the door. “Now or never,” she muttered, taking a deep breath.
With a well placed kick, like a cobra striking, she kicked the door open, moving forward with practiced ease.
Through the smokey haze, she saw her gamble was not misplaced. There were several guards, but all were standing, as opposed to the bound and seated hostages.
Lining up the first of the attackers in her sights; she unleashed a burst of lead into the man.
Without pause, she moved through the other 3 terrorists, cutting the men down like sheaves of wheat.
Moving across the room, she swept the hostages visually, all were bound, terrorist or not, they were not going anywhere. Continuing, she swept the room, the smoke now thinning. Confident that there was no further threat, she removed the towel from her face, and moved towards the hostages. All seemed to want freeing at once.
Ari just sat quietly, shaking his head; a cheesy grin across his lips. Sarah felt a strange flutter in her stomach seeing him alive. “Well it's about time you got out of that bed. I was beginning to wonder if we would have to cut you from it,” he smirked.
“Nice to see you, too.” With a look of mock distain on her face as she knelt to cut his bonds.
Rubbing his wrists, Ari stood, and taking Sarah’s face in his hands, kissed her softly on the lips. Gone was the hard cold unfeeling soldier; Sarah’s floodgates had broken. As they kissed, tears rolled down her cheeks; a mixture of pain, joy and fear.
“EHEM.”
Breaking away from Ari’s embrace, Sarah turned towards the group, blushing a deep crimson.
“If you’re done playing grab assy, I’d like cutting loose some time this week,” smirked Sergeant Goni.
*RIB: Rigid inflatable boat. A solid hulled dingy with inflatable portion of the hull. A step up from inflatable boats. Usually slightly bigger and favoured by amphibious groups for quiet and fast transport, either powered by an outboard engine or oars.
Note from the Author: Thanks for your kind words guys! I really appreciate all the comments. Sorry I don’t post up chapters fast enough, I’m rather busy atm, I just moved house. And I don’t have internet at home, so I have to use a university PC if I want to get online… I’ll try to get them posted faster or more often. But don’t rush an artist! Hehe.
Keep commenting guys. I honestly love your replies, and they inspire me to keep going.
Alyssa
Chapter 14 — Arrows Of Fire
Sarah blushed so deeply she could swear she felt steam pouring out of her ears.
“I ah, sorry,” She mumbled as she cut the Sergeant’s restraints.
The sergeant just looked at her with his favourite blank, unreadable expression, then grinned broadly. “Ah don’t worry. I was young once, believe it or not.”
As the three set about freeing the others, the troopers collected weapons from the dead attackers and secured their location.
Sarah could see nearly all of her team. Specialist Thomas, Corporal Silverberg and the Major were all missing.
“Were all three of them traitors?” Sarah asked, turning back to the sergeant. He was after all the highest ranking now.
“No. The bastards killed Silverberg when he went for his sidearm,” Goni growled.
“That bastard Thesik is in charge of things here… but it doesn’t seem like its his show.”
Sarah nodded. “Their techie weasel in the coms room told me they reported back to someone else.”
“You leave him alive?” Goni arched an eyebrow in Sarah’s direction as he checked the magazine on the Kalashnikov he had secured.
Sarah’s expression darkened. “”Sorry, he gave me reason to accidentally let my finger slip ...”
The sergeant stopped checking gear and looked her in the eyes. The comforting way he paid attention when there was something actually wrong was reassuring. “What reason was that?”
”He called me a transvestite ... Apparently, they all knew about me,” she explained, pulling a sour face. “And when they came to get Maritza, they were planning on killing me. I seem to have pissed off some seriously powerful people, boss,” she whispered softly, looking up at Goni.
“What did I say to you back at base that time?”
Sarah cocked her head. “What good would ‘fuck em’ do now?”
“Ordinarily, I’d agree. But you do happen to have a great deal of firepower, and after seeing you come in here alone like some female version of John Mclane on pms… I’d think your current ‘fuck em’ capabilities are quite a good option.
Sarah couldn’t help but smile. Truth be told, the ‘Diehard’ movie had run through her head more than once since this began. She felt very much like Bruce Willis ... What a disturbing thought…
“Corporal?”
Sarah turned coming face to face with the Premier and his wife. “Is our daughter safe?”
'Oh god, Maritza....' ”I left her under her bed in our berth, wearing my body armour, Sir,” She replied. “I felt it was safest considering. I'll take a trooper and go and retrieve her, sir.”
The Premier nodded curtly. Turning to leave, she made her way towards David Zeis.
”Sarah?”
She looked back. The Premier smiled. “Thank you for your timely assistance.” He winked.
“Nice to be appreciated sir.” She grinned.
Sarah and Zeis made their way out of the stateroom, heading aft towards the cabin she had shared with Maritza.
The two moved swiftly but stealthily. Moving about the boat was far simpler when you didn’t have to rely on yourself to cover 360 degrees.
Approaching the cabin door, Sarah held her finger to her lips before trying the door. Unlocked… Readying her weapon, she hit the open button before bursting into the room, weapon raised.
This was not right…. The man she had left unconscious in the chair had a bullet hole through his forehead. Dropping to the floor, she dove under the bed. Maritza was gone.
”Shit.”
“She’s not there?”
“No but…" She trailed off, her eyes fixed on a red blinking light beneath the bed.
“No what?” David asked, looking puzzled.
“GET OUT!” she screamed.
David had been around too many bombs to question a ‘get out’. He came flying out of the Berth, crashing into the side of the passageway in his headlong scramble for anywhere but there. Sarah was not far behind.
Stumbling, she fell forward, landing atop of the Trooper.
“Ordinarily, I’d enjoy this position. But what the fuck was that about?”
With a scowl, Sarah punched him in the arm. “I saw a b…”
her statement was cut short by a deafening blast from the berth. Smoke, flame and debris flew out of the door.
Coughing, Sarah rolled off David and lay on her back, panting. “I was going to say… I saw a bomb.”
”Ugh, No shit.” groaned Zeis.
Looking over at her teammate, Sarah burst out laughing. “Hey, did the earth move for you too, baby?” she grinned.
Groaning, David sat up, dusting himself off. “So she left then?”
”Yeah.” Replied Sarah sarcastically. “She left and they planted a bomb for us. That bastard’s got her.”
“Shit.”
The knot in Sarah’s stomach tightened. “He must have heard the gunfire. His people didn’t check in. SHIT. I should have taken her with me.”
“No, you did the right thing. Taking some kid along with you would put her and you in more danger than necessary.” David replied, setting off down the passageway. “Where did they tie up their boat?”
”Boats.” Sarah replied. “How did you?”
”They didn’t walk on water now, did they?” David offered.
“Yeah I guess. Ah, Stern, at the dive Platform, two ribs. I cut the fuel lines on em both, they aren’t going anywhere fast.
“Good girl.” David smiled looking back at Sarah.
The two made their way back along the passageway the same route Sarah had taken when she first left the berth.
Arriving at the stern ladder, they could hear voices outside.
“It's Thesik and some Arab.” hissed David. “How do you want to play this?”
”We aren’t.” Sarah replied shaking her head. “He has Maritza, we cant risk a fire fight. Plus, he wants me. Just make sure your shooting is better than your explosives….”
”I resemble that comment…” he smirked.
“I don’t know why he can’t have some insane hatred of you …. I’m the fucking sniper. I can trust my shooting.”
”Thanks for the vote of confidence, but you are not going out there alone.” David answered, placing a hand on her shoulder.
”Tough!” She spat, throwing her Kalashnikov at him.
Sarah walked up the steps to the stern deck.
The major was just visible down on the Dive platform. He was accompanied by two Arab men, one holding Maritza, the other fiddling in the one of the ribs, his work made more difficult by the wake of the yacht buffeting them about.
“Thesik!” she shouted.
The major looked around startled, then grinned broadly. “Well if it isn’t our prodigal son. Why did you have to be so God damned independent, David? Can’t you just be a good deviant and die by your own hand the first time?”
Sarah fought the desire to shoot this man. “You can’t make it, you know. There’s two Blackhawks on their way with the standby teams. You won’t make it more than a few miles.”
”Ah but they won’t attack me with her aboard. Thank you for leaving her for me. For once, you doing your job benefited me.”
”Sir, the boats good to go,” the man in the rib shouted in Arabic.
”Let her go, Thesik, you know you want me more. I disgust you. She’s just an innocent kid.”
The major threw back his head with a maniacal laugh that seemed far too comic to be truly nasty. “You are right David, you do disgust me, you perverted little freak. But sadly, I won't receive quite as much for my retirement plan for you.”
”So that’s it? You betray your country for money?” Sarah challenged, wanting to waste the man’s time. “And working with Palestinians? I thought even you had more respect than that.”
The man on the boat raised his AK towards Sarah, but Major Thesik batted it down. “No he’s mine,” he growled.
“So come on! Kill me!” Sarah challenged, walking slowly towards the top of the steps to the dive platform. “I know you want to.”
“Stay there, freak.” barked the Major. “None of your little games now, please.” After telling the man holding Maritza something, he cast off the line securing their boat to the yacht.
Sarah’s eyes followed the Rib as it bobbed away in the wake before powering off.
”So it’s just you and me now,” she growled.
”Yes, so it is. And believe me, this is a great pleasure.” The major pulled a baton from his vest, and flipped it open.
Taking the action as an invite, Sarah descended the steps to the platform.
“Ironic isn’t it,” she called as she circled him on the 12 ft square platform at the stern of the yacht.
”What is that?” smirked the Major.
”You decided to fight me like a man, not murder me in cold blood like I assumed you would. I’d have thought you wouldn’t want to get so close to something so perverted and disgusting.”
“Oh that is true, but I will derive greater satisfaction from beating your pretty sissy face in, Zayin kariyot,” he hissed as he lunged forwards.
Sarah felt the baton strike her left arm bellow the elbow, smashing the bone. Yelping, she stumbled backwards against the boat. The major had a twisted look of satisfaction on his face.
Blocking out the pain, she came forward rapidly, closing the distance between the two of them, making his baton almost useless. With her good hand, she slammed the heel of her fist into his jaw, snapping his head back.
Dazed, the major dropped the baton, but grabbed onto Sarah wildly.
Falling to the deck, the two grappled and exchanged blows. Sarah greatly disadvantaged by the broken arm.
Rolling over, the major came out above her, and sitting astride her torso, placed his hands around her neck.
Sarah could feel the life leaving her body as his hands tightened around her windpipe.
As black spots began to appear in her vision, she summoned all her strength and raised her legs up, launching the major headlong over her and flying into the bottom of second rib.
Springing to her feet, she yanked knot securing the rib’s mooring line to the yacht, sending it bobbing away, the major sprawled in the bottom.
The major regained his feet, stood in the rib as the gap between the two widened. ”Thank you David, perhaps I’ll post you the girl’s cunt. Then you can have one of your own.” He laughed as he moved to start the boat’s engine.
Sarah pulled the Glock from her holster and aimed at the open gas tank in the rib, which was sloshing fuel all over the bottom of the boat.
“Thesik, burn in hell, you bastard!” she screamed as she pulled the trigger.
The wide-eyed look of surprise on the Major’s face was erased from sight as the rib was torn apart by a blinding explosion.
Sarah was thrown back onto her butt on the dive platform, her head striking the deck with a crack that ripped consciousness from her.
Chapter 15 — Diana the hunter
“You know, if you keep doing this, you may eventually succeed and kill yourself,” Zeis grinned from above her.
“Huh?” she mumbled intelligently blinking in the sunlight.
”The whole blowing up thing … you seem far too fond of it. You’re beginning to make me look safe.”
Sarah wiggled all her bits, making sure her body was still in one piece and functioning. Satisfied, she pulled herself up to a sitting position.
“How long was I out?” She asked, wincing as she felt her injured forearm.
“Not long.” David muttered feeling her pulse, “Few seconds at most, though the major used that time productively and followed SOP.
Sarah looked at David with a confused expression. “Standard operating procedure for what?”
“Well, in cases of being blown up while in a boat, it’s SOP to scatter yourself over a large area, and sink.”
Sarah grinned at the thought, but rapidly felt guilt set in.
“Did he deserve it David?” she asked, looking into her teammate’s eyes for any sign.
”You think because he abused you, your judgment was clouded?”
Sarah nodded quietly.
David shook his head and gingerly patted his teammate and friend on the shoulder before overcoming some internal conflict and hugging her.
Sarah felt the hot tears trickling down her cheeks. Why was this so different? So much had changed recently. This wasn’t some nameless enemy, even the named ones she had less problem dealing with. Major Thesik had hurt HER, had caused her pain, for being herself, and she had acted with fire and passion; something that had never clouded her judgment before.
Sarah was brought back to reality by a dull thudding that began to rise over the chop of the waves against the hull and the dull throb of the yachts engines. Pulling herself off David, she saw two distant black dots emerge from the horizon.
”Time to go to work, David.” muttered Sarah. Emotions aside now, she was needed by another.
“David, head up to the bridge and tell Goni about the major, and that the birds are here. I’m going to go and guide them in.”
Nodding curtly, Zeis jogged off towards the bridge while Sarah climbed to the top deck of the yacht where the helicopter landing pad was located.
Ripping one of the smoke grenades from her vest, and dialling in the IAF vhf frequency, she signalled out to the incoming helicopters.
“Incoming aircraft, this is the Yacht Tahiyya. State your intent!”
“Tahiyya, this is IAF Blackhawk Omega 23 responding to Security forces Mayday.”
Placing the smoke grenade on the deck, she pulled the pin and stood back as the thick green smoke began to billow.
“Call sign Rosefern of the Tahiyya to Omega 23, popping smoke, confirm.”
The radio crackled before the voice on the other end responded. “Omega 23, we have green smoke. Thanks for the indicator.”
“Rosefern, Omega 23, are you carrying anti vessel snipers or is the other bird?”
“Aaah that’s a negative, Omega 24 has 2 A.M rifles aboard however.”
Smirking, Sarah pressed the call button on her radio; “Send omega 24 in to land first, I’ll be needing one of those.”
Flicking her radio to the main channel, she called for the sergeant.
“Archangel go.”
“Rosefern, Sergeant, I have a bird with A.M’s coming in, I’m going to go after the second rib.”
There was extended static while Sarah waited for the reply.
”You sure you’re up to it Yakobavitch?”
“Sir, they have Maritza, and I’m our best chance of stopping them before they can reach land.”
After another lengthy pause, the channel opened; “Go, but try and keep collateral damage to an absolute minimum.”
“Yes sir,” Sarah answered as she began to move towards the landing Blackhawk.
”Corporal?” Goni asked.
“Yes?” replied Sarah stopping short of the helicopter’s door.
”Don’t call me sir, I work for a living.”
Sarah smirked and ended the transmission.
Sliding the door open, one of the soldiers aboard offered her a hand into the belly of the aircraft.
“Thank you, as she Private.” She smiled retrieving the offered headset and the .50 calibre rifle.
“Corporal, where are we heading?” came the voice of the pilot over the radio headset.
“Where is the closest land?”
“That would be Tyre, 40 miles north of Haifa ma’am.”
“That’s across the Lebanon border. Are we cleared into their airspace?”
There was a pause, Sarah turned towards the pilot who glanced back at her with an expression that told her quite simply that they would not get caught, never mind have to explain.
“Well it's not like we are going to be staying long, is it?”
“Rodger that Ma’am.” came the reply as the bird began to pitch forward and accelerate away from the yacht.
Sarah slid along the floor of the helicopter till she reached the rear bulkhead, and clipped one of the lanyards around her waist before pulling the side door open and slipping her legs out.
If things were not so serious, she would enjoy the feeling of the wind blowing in her hair. The feeling reminded her of game hunting with her father in a helicopter in her childhood. But then she had been David…
There was nobody to please now; nobody to impress or win praise from, she would only get a reaction if she failed. That wasn’t going to happen.
“Got a small craft ahead, Ma’am, looks to be pulling 30 knots or so. What do you want to do?”
As her hands tightened around the rifle, Sarah thought about the fight with the Major. This was personal, but there was someone here at risk apart from her.
“Get in low and give them a warning.”
“You sure, ma’am?”
”We gotta take the risk, there’s a hostage at stake,” she called back over the roar of the rotors.
“Ahh, they’re Arabs?” came a hesitant response.
If Sarah gripped the rifle any harder, she would shatter the fibre stock. "We are not at war. That is the Premier’s daughter down there, and she MUST survive. We give them a chance. At the very least, they stop, and I get a better shot.”
“You’re the boss.”
Something in the pilot’s words told her he didn’t quite agree, but this wasn’t his call.
‘THIS IS THE ISRAELI AIR FORCE. STOP YOUR ENGINES AT ONCE OR WE WILL OPEN FIRE.’
Sarah Flicked on the dot sight of the rifle and raised it to her shoulder, gripping the bipod legs in her left hand.
The rib seemed to continue for a moment while the occupants looked back and forth between each other and the Blackhawk.
Sarah pulled the rifle into her shoulder and took aim just in front of the speeding vessel’s outboard motor.
The occupants seemed to have decided to continue their flight when a .50 calibre bullet exploded from Sarah’s rifle. Before the men in the Rib had heard the shot, the outboard motor on their vessel was torn from its mounting as the bullet struck home.
“Good shot.” grinned one of the troopers aboard the helicopter, patting Sarah on the thigh.
“Do you touch up your buddies in combat?” growled Sarah
“No?” replied the trooper looking confused.
“Any of your body parts jump into my personal space while I’m trying to concentrate, you jump out of this helicopter, we clear?” hissed Sarah at the startled trooper.
She knew she over reacted but she didn’t understand why men felt they had to touch her, or treat her like whatever she did was a far bigger accomplishment because she was a girl.
Forcing her concentration back onto the scene unfolding bellow she watched the frantic discussions of the men on the boat below.
“Give them another warning,” she shouted into the radio headset.
As the Blackhawk swung around in front of the Rib, it pulled back into a low hover buffeting down on the ocean surface below.
‘YOU WILL NOT BE WARNED AGAIN. DROP YOUR WEAPONS AND PLACE YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEADS.’ echoed the megaphone on the Helicopter.
The two Arab men aboard the Rib were standing now, holding weapons in their hands, Maritza was bound and lying in the bow of the Rib.
A clear shot.
The only things passing through Sarah’s brain right now were numbers and training.
As good as the pilot was, the helicopter was moving, as was the boat below, lightly bobbing in the waves. Any shot was going to involve some element of luck.
Sarah relaxed her breathing and raised the rifle towards the closer of the two men. As her pulse slowed, the movements began to slow, and she drew a bead on the centre of the man’s torso. There was no tear in her eye when she pulled the trigger this time.
The man’s torso exploded in a crimson shower. Without pause Sarah racked the bolt, chambering a second .50 calibre round. She saw the second man look up towards her; Kalashnikov in his hand pointing towards the deck. She could almost read his thoughts and as his arm began to move, so did her finger, lightly depressing the rifle’s trigger.
As her shot struck home, Sarah threw the rifle at the nearest trooper before unclipping her lanyard and slipping from the door of the helicopter.
The wind rushed past her as the ocean surface came up to greet her with open arms as she plunged the 40m from the hovering helicopter. Only the yank as she exited the door had told her she had forgotten to remove the headphones.
Slipping effortlessly through the surface of the water, she plunged down into the darkness before kicking her way back to the surface.
Momentarily disorientated, Sarah pushed her sodden hair from her face and looked around for the rib.
The vessel was bobbing quietly about 30 meters away from her. Swimming to the Rib, she grabbed onto the rope handles on the side of the inflatable hull to pull herself aboard. The two Arabs were clearly dead; no man could survive a .50 calibre round to the chest and live. Not from that range, one of the bullets had passed clean through its target and ruptured one of the rib’s inflatable cells, allowing seawater to lap over the deflated rim near the rear of the boat.
Confident they were safe, she turned her attention to Maritza.
Moving towards the bow, Sarah dropped to her knees beside the young girl and slipped her knife from its sheath. Loosing the girls bonds, she removed the gag and checked her pulse.
Sarah’s heart was beating so loud it was almost deafening as she mindlessly jabbered at the unconscious girl in her arms.
Feeling the girl stir, she gently held Maritza as she came around. “Lay still honey, you’re ok now, you’re safe.”
“Ugh, Sarah?” groaned the girl.
“Its okay, honey, I’m here.” soothed Sarah
Maritza swallowed and coughed before opening her eyes and looking up at Sarah, “Are my parents okay?” she croaked.
“They're safe, and so are you. Nobody is going to hurt you now.”
“For a moment there, they had me going.” She giggled before coughing again. With Sarah’s help she pulled herself into a sitting position before rubbing her wrists and ankles where the tight bounds had cut into her flesh.
“Are we going back to my parents?” Maritza asked, turning to Sarah, who was waving towards the circling Blackhawk, signalling their desire to leave the blood soaked Rib that was now their lifeboat.
“No, sweetie. We have to head back to Haifa, to the naval complex. its closer,and the helicopter has been flying too long. You’ll see your parents soon; another helicopter is flying them back from the yacht at the moment. They may be back before us.”
Quietly nodding, Maritza attempted to keep her feet out of the bottom of the rib, which was now a sloshing mixture of sea water and blood.
As the helicopter came into hover above them. Sarah waved guidance to the winch man as he began to lower a padded loop to lift them from the vessel.
Making sure she and Maritza were securely attached, she tugged on the winch line and felt the combined thrust as the helicopter began to lift up as they were winched in. Looking down at the Rib, she pulled one of the phosphorous grenades from her vest and pulled the pin, dropping it into the gently rolling deck.
As the helicopter began to pitch forwards and lift them away, there was a bright flash as the boat was consumed in a ball of fire and bright light. There would be no evidence of the hostage situation that had played out off the Lebanese coast. Slumping back against the bulkhead of the Helicopter, She slipped her arm around Maritza’s shoulder and hugged the girl to her. As they were wrapped in foil blankets and checked over, Sarah finally let her guard down. This mission was over.
But one still remained.
*A.M — Anti material rifle, large calibre rifle designed for taking unarmoured or lightly armoured vehicles.
Note from the authoress: Soooooo sorry this has taken so long guys! Ive had revision for exams, and i had 2 viruses, and had to format my pc and lost all my un posted work! :S (and uni work) So big dramaz there... and those of you who are author will know when you dont have that special inspiration... writing is either a chore, or just not gonna happen.... so i had to wait for my muse to return from her summer holiday and get her butt back in gear! Anyway, ill be labouring away to get more of haifa, born twice, and Homework up.... Homework i lost 2 chapters for, and i lost all of born twice! ill have to save it all off here :S
anyway, tell me what you think.... and for those of you who are bored, sarah has to confront her sexuality, family, and gender now without bullets to distract her! so finally its a trans story!
Alyssa
Chapter 16 — Boker Tov Haifa
The trip from the Blackhawk to the base hospital was a blur for Sarah. The pressure of the week had been too much, even for one as trained as she was. This was in no manual.
“Hello Corporal?”
Sarah snapped awake, there was a nurse standing before her as she dozed lightly in the small curtained examination area of the base hospital.
“Hmm” Sarah mumbled rubbing her eyes, “Sorry, its just been a long day.” She grimaced at the nurse.
“Well we totally understand my dear, we just need to give you a quick exam before we clear you and you can get some proper rest. Can you strip down for me please?”
The topic that had been tactically shoved into the dark recess of Sarah’s brain popped up again.
“Err, have you seen my medical records?”
This time it was the nurse’s turn to frown; “No, I think there is a file mix-up. Do you have a brother in the forces?”
Sarah blushed, “No.”
“Oh,” exclaimed the nurse, shuffling her clipboard thoughtfully. “Paper mix-up I guess,” she shrugged, “Come on then, lets get this over with so you can get some rest, huh?”
“The papers you have…” Sarah began, “Are probably the correct ones.”
The nurse chuckled and smiled. “I don’t quite think you are a David my dear.”
“I guess they didn’t get chance to change my medical records yet,” she mumbled.
Looking up from her toes as she sat dangling her legs off the side of the bed. She caught an expression of shock, suspicion and confusion on the nurse's face.
“You mean to tell me you are David Yakobavitch?” asked the nurse incredulously.
“Err, I was. I know my military record says Sarah now.”
The nurse looked at her for a moment mentally processing what was being said.
“I’ll go find the doctor,” she exclaimed, as if this was some amazing solution, leaving Sarah alone in the examination room.
Sighing, Sarah wagged her legs back and forwards and tried to think of a way to explain to the doctor.
“Corporal Yakobavitch?”
Sarah looked up to see an older doctor with Major’s rank on his collar.
“Yes?” she replied, wondering what the man would think of her when she explained.
“Colonel Mathias has explained your situation to me. I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner, you completely confused one of my staff nurses ….” He smiled.
“What has he told you?” she asked in a tiny voice.
“Well, he explained that you were transgender, and considering when he told me you had begun your transition, I’m somewhat surprised by meeting you. Can you tell me what medication you are on?”
“Err, none?” Sarah replied slowly looking confused. “I haven’t had chance to see a doctor about this yet, or really how to ….” She trailed off.
“Hrm, Well I need to make sure you’re healthy and fighting fit at the moment. You took quite a drop from a helicopter, and the various actions I was told very little about. But I'd like to refer you to a friend after this is dealt with, He is an expert in this field, and I would like him to perform some tests on the side, too. Check for biological abnormalities. You don’t really look like a David at all.” He chuckled.
“That’s the second time I’ve been told that today,” Sarah replied, smiling weakly. “How is Maritza?”
“Well she’s okay. She just needs some rest like you. But I know nothing of the situation, was there some sort of accident? I know her parents are in another ward here being checked over by people beyond my pay grade.”
Breathing a sigh of relief, she smiled, “Well it was an accident of sorts, but like you know, I can’t tell you … or they will have to kill me.”
Smirking, the doctor nodded knowingly. “Can we get this over with then? I'd like to get you in a bed as soon as possible. As far as I can see, your main requirement is sleep.”
Grudgingly, Sarah began to strip from the jumpsuit she had been loaned on arrival. Hming and Ahing the doctor poked and prodded and tested her till he was satisfied she was in good health.
Redressing, Sarah was lead from the hospital and escorted to a IAF Gulfstream waiting on the flight line at the naval base.
As she boarded, Sarah was greeted by the faces of her team-mates. The sergeant, Zoni, Ari, and Thomas were aboard all similarly attired in flight suits.
“Hey.” Smiled Ari as he saw her board the aircraft. “They done poking and prodding you?”
Sarah nodded tiredly and slumped into the seat beside him, too tired to wonder about her team-mates or whether she truly loved Ari, or the implications. She leant against his shoulder and dozed off to sleep.
“Hey. Wake up, sleepyhead.”
Sarah woke to find that they had landed.
“Why didn’t you wake me up sooner?” she moaned groggily as she stretched in her seat, rather annoyed to have slept through the entire flight.
“You looked so peaceful, and it was kinda nice having you asleep on me.”
Ari’s reply made Sarah blush deeply. “Sorry,” she muttered, looking away.
“Hey you, look at me…” Ari said sternly touching Sarah’s cheek.
As she turned towards him, he drew her into a hug, and placed a kiss on her forehead.
“I know we have been friends for so long. I forget the exact number of years, but believe me when I say this… Sarah Yakobavitch… I love you.”
A lump grew in Sarah’s throat as she heard the man who had been a friend for so many years, and had been her closest ally in her coming out. The three last words broke the dam, and she dissolved into tears on his shoulder.
“I love you too.” She choked looking up into his eyes. Sarah felt her inhibitions melt away as he held her in his arms. Her gender, sexuality, her being felt complete, resolved…
Stretching up, she placed a kiss on his lips. A faint brush that was returned equally.
Sparks flew around her brain as their lip touched; at the pressure of his tongue on her lips, she parted them and melted under his kiss.
“This is going to be awkward for you.” She mumbled dreamily. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”
“Why?” Ari asked, caressing her cheek.
“You know… my being transsexual …. I don’t want you to suffer because of me.”
Frowning Ari shook his head. “Nobody can say anything to make me love you less. Just remember what gramps said…. Fuck em. You look like a girl, think like a girl, feel like a girl; to me, you are nothing but a girl, hell, you even kiss like one.” He grinned.
Ari’s final words made Sarah blush. As he was the first person she had kissed. She had never felt the desire to before now. There was nothing wrong; he was right. He was a man, and she was a woman. This was natural, simple, right…
Descending the steps of the Gulfstream, Sarah was blinded by the light outside. Gripping Ari’s hand tightly, she followed him to the waiting helicopter for the final leg of their return to their home base.
On the final leg, it was clear to their team-mates what had transpired on the Gulfstream. The sergeant grinned slyly whenever Sarah caught his eye. She knew that while he was happy for her, he would never ever tell her so. They would get digs from the rest of the team, but she knew that it would never be hurtful. The one thing Sarah worried about was her future on the team: Her relationship with Ari, and her gender made things complicated. The unit was largely left to its own way of running things, but IDF command did keep some rules, she was sure one of the two would leave Sayeret Matkal soon. She was adamant that it would be her. She would not hurt Ari’s career.
From the author: A short chapter admittedly, but I promise to post more tomorrow…. It just felt a good place to end it.
'She collected her rucksack, and pausing to gently kiss Ari on the forehead, she slipped from the room, quietly closing the door behind her. As much as she wanted him with her, she knew this was a journey only she could take.'
Chapter 17 — A little fire burns a great deal of corn
Sarah lay in her bed daydreaming. She loved that just woken up feeling of utter calm. She would often wake up a hour earlier to just extend that lovely feeling of rest. Today however was not to be one of those days. Their team had been placed on a fortnight's leave following the incident on the yacht. Sarah could imagine it was more to encourage them to follow the general story of an outbreak of food poisoning.
Swinging her legs from the bed Sarah stretched and rubbed her eyes. Ari lay sleeping in his bunk; One thing she was glad that hadn’t changed. Colonel Mathias probably forgot to move her she mused.
Pulling her towel off the rack and collecting her wash kit, she groggily padded down the hallway to the shower.
Stepping into the bathroom, she slung her towel over the railing and stepped under the steaming water within the nearest shower cubicle.
Today was no normal day; she was returning home.
The day before, she had phoned her mother and as much as it hurt her to hear the name that had pained her childhood, she had played the dutiful son informing his mother that he would be returning to visit his family.
But he wouldn’t.
Sarah was going to be returning, not David. It was the last emotional hurdle she could foresee, and one she would rather get out of the way sooner than later. Just the knowledge that she was only their son stabbed at her heart daily. She would let them know they had another daughter, even if they did not accept it.
Rinsing the soap from her hair, Sarah groped around outside the curtain for her towel and pulled it off the railing. Modesty returned, she exited the shower, wrapping the fluffy towel around herself. She approached the steamy mirror and wiped a patch with her hand; A bedraggled soggy Sarah looked back at her. Poking and prodding her face and making stupid expressions she really couldn’t see a David there at all. But she had not changed physically? Would her parents see Sarah or David in a dress?
Shrugging, she tore herself away from her reflection and slowly made her way back towards her room.
Slipping back inside, she quietly dried herself off and made her way to her wardrobe.
Androgyny? Boy? Or girl? Before she could convince herself that going as David was a good idea, she pulled a blue print summer dress from the wardrobe.
Shimmying her underwear up her legs she felt somewhat more modest in the presence of her sleeping lover. Despite Ari’s assurances, that one part of her made her more self conscious than any other. She was not his girl while she was reminded of that thing ... It bothered her more and more each day, the more she wanted to love Ari, that growth reminded her she was not worthy.
Smoothing her dress down she knelt to search her shoe rack for a suitable pair. It still amazed her how she had managed to fill her wardrobe in such a short space of time. Admittedly, Shamira was a one woman shopping explosion.
Liberally dosing herself in body spray, she collected her rucksack, and pausing to gently kiss Ari on the forehead, she slipped from the room, quietly closing the door behind her. As much as she wanted him with her, she knew this was a journey only she could take.
Clumsily locking the door, she made her way out of the barrack block into the bright morning sunshine.
By the time she had reached the bus stop outside the base main gate, she was beginning to feel the nervous pangs in her belly once more. Rummaging in her rucksack, she retrieved her cigarettes.
While she felt bad for doing it, now was not a time to deal with quitting, she needed the calming effects to relax her.
Lighting the cigarette, she waited beside the dusty road for the bus into the city. Before long, and too many cigarettes, she was aboard a sweltering hot bus rattling noisily into the centre of Hadera.
As she moved around the bustling city centre and train station, she realised that she had forgotten to worry. She stood on the platform and looked around her. People going about their business, waiting, chatting, nobody was staring, nobody was laughing at her, maybe she didn’t need to worry anyway?
As the train pulled into the station, Sarah joined the throngs of passengers boarding, and found herself a seat in one of the carriages.
Throughout the journey, Sarah could not pull her mind from the possible outcomes of her meeting. No matter how much she wanted them to just accept her, a niggling feeling at the back of her mind told her that it would not be.
The first hurdle would be Eliana, Sarah’s sister who would be picking her up from the station in Beersheba.
“Miss?”
Sarah’s eyes fluttered open to see a aging conductor standing over her in an emptying carriage.
“Oh sorry,” mumbled Sarah blinking. “I must have dozed off.”
“Its ok my dear. We just pulled into Beersheba; I remembered your ticket’s destination.” smiled the old man. “You reminded me of my granddaughter.”
Sarah blushed and thanked the conductor before collecting her belongings and making her way towards the carriage door.
Stepping out into the early evening she felt a slight chill; she couldn’t tell if it was her nerves, or the temperature.
Sarah walked towards the café they had arranged to meet in. After a brief scan of the tables, she saw her sister reading a novel at one of the far tables alone.
Moving over, Sarah felt her stomach doing flip-flops inside her belly. Swallowing hard, she approached. “Is this seat taken?” she asked, catching her sister’s attention.
“Oh I’m sorry, I’m waiting for someo…..” Sarah saw Eliana’s mouth hang open unable to finish the sentence. “David?”
Sarah eased herself into the seat opposite her sister and studied her face carefully before speaking.
She had been best friends with her big sister Eliana before she had moved to join the army. The two had done everything together. So many times, Sarah had been moments and words away from telling her sister about her, but had never found the words.
“Um, been a while huh?” she prompted intelligently, trying to reengage her sister’s brain.
“David…. She began slowly. “Sorry Da… Sorry, ah, I guess, um, this isn’t a joke is it?”
Sarah shook her head slowly. “No, Eliana.” She whispered quietly reaching across the table and taking her sister’s hand in her own and giving it a squeeze.
“This might sound corny…” Began Eliana with a weak smile, “But I sort of always felt you were different, more like me… I’m just a little sad that you didn’t trust me.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you Eli.” Sarah sniffed as a tear rolled down her cheek. “I was too scared, and I’m so so sorry.”
“Oh baby” Sighed Eliana wiping a tear from Sarah’s cheek. “You know you could have told me anything. I'd have kept your secret.”
“I know.” whispered Sarah. “Its just I don’t know if I could have said the words to anyone, it wasn’t you.”
“You certainly have changed, sister.” smiled Eliana, making Sarah blush. “I don’t think it’s fair to keep calling you David, people might wonder if I had gone mad,” she quipped.
“Um, S, Sarah.” She stammered awkwardly while staring at her lap. She looked up tentatively to gauge her sister’s reaction.
She was smiling. “It suits you… achoti.”
Sarah couldn’t hold it back any further, her sister’s words meant so much to her, and without a care for being in public, she broke down sobbing.
“Hush baby. It’s okay.” She felt her sister wrap her arms around her from behind and hug her tight.
“Eli.” Sarah sniffed quietly.
“Yes, sweetie?” her sister replied softly while dabbing her own moist eyes.
“Thank you.”
After composing themselves, the two made their way out of the station and towards the lot where Eliana had left her car.
“Do you think Aba and Ima will be angry?” Sarah asked in a very small voice as they walked along the pavement.
Eliana shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know sweetie. I know Aba had high expectations for you, his son the soldier …. He is very old-fashioned, you know…” Reaching for Sarah’s hand, she squeezed it tight in her own. “Ima always thought you were gay, to be honest. So I guess she might have an easier time accepting the new you.”
Sarah sighed audibly. “That’s what I’m trying to explain, Sis,” she replied exasperatedly stopping and pulling her sister to face her.
“I’m not a NEW person.” She pressed. “This is the same person you grew up with, you can just see me now.” She pressed, searching her sister’s eyes for understanding. “I’m not changing.” She sniffed.
Eli looked at the girl before her that had been her brother till this day. She could remember the pain she had seen in her brother growing up, His dull outlook, his depression. She could see the person before her. They looked the same, but different. But there was one noticeable difference.
The girl in front of her had eyes that shone with life.
“I know, my sister, I know.”
Hebrew translations:
Achoti — My Sister
Aba — Father
Ima - Mother
Chapter 18 — Love Does Funny Things
Sarah slumped down in the passenger seat as they pulled into the street she grew up in.
“Don’t worry, the neighbours have more important things to do than watch the street any time a car goes down it.” Eliana smiled, patting Sarah on the knee.
“I know, it’s just… all hit home now…” Sarah began. “I mean, I know before, but now it all suddenly matters… I’m home, and it’s real.” She sighed.
Eliana shrugged her shoulders as she turned the car into their driveway. “What’s done is done, little one.”
Squeezing her sister’s hand, Sarah Opened the car door and stepped out into the cold night air.
The front door opened ahead of her and her mother was framed by the warm glow from within.
“Eliana, David! Welcome!” she smiled broadly stepping forward to greet her children. “David?”
“Shalom Ima.” Sarah shyly responded looking at her feet. Feeling Eli’s hand slip into hers and squeeze, Sarah looked up at her mother.
“I don’t understand David….” His mother began looking confused, her eyes darting around her.
“Shall we go inside?” Eli prompted.
Her mother nodded before turning back to the house. Looking over her shoulder, she locked eyes with her youngest child before making her way back inside.
“Where are my children.” smiled their father as they stepped into the hallway. “Oh, I thought you were bringing David, princess. Who is this lovely young lady?” smiled her father.
“Don’t you recognise your own son?” replied their mother tersely.
Looking confused, Sarah’s father looked her over closely. “David?” he asked, his eyes widening in confusion.
“Yes Aba.” Sarah whispered quietly blushing with a mixture of fear and embaracement.
“Did she put you up to this?” he asked looking between Sarah and Eliana.
“Aba, Ima,” Eliana began. “This,” She announced gesturing towards her sister, “is your daughter Sarah.”
It seemed an eternity before either of them spoke. Sarah noted that both her parents seemed equally surprised by the revelation.
“I need a drink.” Her father sighed dramatically before turning and walking away towards the living room.
“Peter.” hissed Sarah’s mother. Turning back to her children, she smiled and embraced the pair. “Welcome home, my children.” She beamed, Eli, David, give me your coats, stop looking like you are at one of your father’s trials.” She beamed taking their coats.
“Ima, she’s called Sarah, not David.” Replied Eliana sternly.
Their mother sighed and took Sarah’s hand. “I’m sorry child, this is just still very much a shock to me. But tell me please; is this some dressing up game? Or is this what I think it is?”
“What do you think it is, Ima?” asked Sarah quietly, trying to avoid angering her mother still.”
“You think you are a woman?” she asked apprehensively.
Sarah sighed and slowly shook her head. “No Ima, I always have been. This is the same person you gave birth to. I was just hidden… buried… This is me, The real me, I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you sooner.” She answered seriously, a tear trickling down her cheek. “Just please, I beg you, don’t hate me,” She begged.
Her mother shook her head before embracing her youngest child in her arms. “I could never hate you, my dear.”
Sarah sobbed uncontrollably. As much as she had desired this outcome, she had not expected it. Years of pain, emotion and fear poured out on her mother’s shoulder.
Smiling broadly, Sarah wiped her eyes and finally felt at ease in her childhood home.
“It is a good thing then that you didn’t have any girlfriends waiting for you when you came home from the army,” grinned her mother.
Sarah blushed furiously. “I suppose now would be a good time to tell you that I never liked girls?”
Sarah’s mother waved her hand dismissively. “Ah, a mother knows these things. Admittedly, I just thought you liked boys, but this makes much more sense!” she smiled. “You are going to make me the mother of the bride a second time, yes?”
Sarah nodded happily. “Yes Ima, in fact it could be sooner than you think. I’ve fallen in lo…” Sarah’s confession was cut short by a cough from behind the group.
“Are you going to stand gossiping in the hall or are you going to sit here with me?” Da..Sar… child, would you talk with me?” her father stumbled.
Sarah frowned at his obvious difficulty with her name, but followed her father towards the veranda to the rear of the house.
Handing her a tumbler of amber liquid, Sarah stood reluctantly beside her father.
“I think I saved you from those two just in time.” he muttered. “Any longer and they would have been braiding your hair.”
Sarah sniffed at the liquid in her glass and remained quiet.
“I don’t know where I went wrong raising you. I taught you to shoot, to read, to ride your bike. Was I not a good role model?”
“No Aba.” sighed Sarah. “It’s nothing to do with you.”
“Don’t tell me that. Rhis is everything to do with me, you’re my child.” snapped her father.
“Aba, I didn’t mean it that way….” She began. “I… This is just who I am, I am a girl. I can't change that, you couldn’t change that any more than you can make the sun rise or set. You did nothing wrong.”
“You know we are not such an orthodox family that you couldn’t come out as gay if you preferred?” offered her father with resignation. “ I thought the army would straighten you out, toughen you up. Perhaps I was wrong.”
“Did you not hear me?” Sarah answered attempting to control her anger. “Look at me, Aba!” she demanded.
Turning towards his child, Peter stared at her. The moonlight caught her face just right. She truly was beautiful, His baby…. No his son.
“Aba, I am a girl. I was born with a problem; I had boy parts where they didn’t belong. By the time I truly understood this, I was too scared to tell you because of how I thought you’d react… I have obeyed you and been a good child, but please, do not ask me to be your son, I cannot do it.” She sighed, “I will not.”
Peter Yakobavitch stood there looking into his child’s eyes. She had the fire and stubbornness he had loved when he first met Sharon. They even looked alike, his girls, how had he not seen this? How had he been so fixated on having a son in the image of himself? A lone tear rolled from the man’s eye as he locked eyes with his daughter.
“Give your father a hug, my daughter.” He sighed, sweeping his child into his embrace. “I love you .… Sarah."
From Alyssa: Sorry this is a short one, im a bit sick atm, so i tried to get as much as i could out. I'll be doing more soon and more regularly now. :)
Alyssa xx Also, for those confused amungst you, I am belladonna :P
Chapter 18 part 2 — Love On the Line
“Do you mean it Aba?” she asked apprehensively. Unsure weather to believe her father’s change of heart or be wary.
Sighing, her father moved over to one of the wicker chairs on the deck, gesturing her to join him.
Gingerly, Sarah lowered herself into a seat beside her father, all the while studying his face. Her father the tough lawyer seemed so conflicted at the moment… so fragile…. So… human. Sarah reached out her hand towards her father’s and gave it a soft squeeze.
Collecting his thoughts, he opened his mouth with purpose, downed the last of his whiskey, and began to speak;
“For the longest time, I wanted a son. I wanted a boy to teach to hunt, fish, to be my heir.” He answered sadly. “I saw you growing up, and in my heart, I knew you were never going to be the ideal son I had pictured. I thought you and that boy Ari being friends would toughen you up, he seemed a strong boyish kid.” He sighed looking over at Sarah. “I hoped he could influence you, maybe show you how a boy should act, But I don’t know…” he trailed off looking pensive.
“Aba, nobody could change me, or make me any different to how I am, it was gods will to make me a girl in here when I was born.” Sarah replied quietly touching her hand to her breast. “You and Ima could not have changed god’s will. You have been good parents, and I love you so, I just ask that you try to love your child still. I have not changed quite as much as you think.”
Peter looked across at his child. She was right. He was even thinking of her as a girl, which confused him, and saddened him, as though he was allowing his hope of a son vanish in a pronoun. She was right, she had never been his son, as much as he had wanted it. The child that sat next to him now was successful, happy, strong, and a credit to any parents. Would two daughters be so bad? It would cost more of course… but he had no choice in the matter. Glancing over Sarah, he saw the way she nervously chewed her lip, the way her mother did. The same beautiful hair, the same nose. This was no boy, no matter what she had been when she was born. This child before him was his baby girl. Realising this washed all conflict from Peter’s mind.
“Sarah.” He called softly, snapping her from her trance. “Yes, I meant it, now give your father a hug my daughter.”
Sarah jumped up and rushed to the arms of her father. His arms felt as strong as always. The same bear like grip that made her feel so secure. Tears rolled freely down her cheeks, not from pain or fear, but joy.
“Aba.” She sniffed quietly, not wanting to tear herself away from the embrace. “About Ari.”
“Yes little one?” her father began apprehensively.”
“Well.” Sarah replied quietly. “You may still have a son after all.”
Releasing her from the embrace, her father slumped down into his chair before looking up smiling at Sarah. “You do not need to further prove you are my daughter by spending every Sheqel I possess…” he smiled.
His face taking a serious edge, he gestured her to his lap.
Taking a position she had not been in since her infancy, Sarah slipped onto her father’s knee and wrapped her arms around his neck, snuggling into his shoulder.
“Does he love you?” he asked. “For this you? Or as David?”
Sarah shook her head. “No Aba, he loves me, we were good friends, the best of friends when I was David, but he dragged this out of me, he made me see myself, the me I had been hiding from him, and I realised he was more than my best friend. We are in love Aba, as man and woman. And he knows, and he still loves me. Now I realise why we were so close. It was not a friendship between two boys, but a childhood romance neither participant knew was going on. This is meant to be Aba. I hope you are not angry.. She trailed off.
Rocking his daughter gently, he sighed. “I could not ask for a better son in Ari Weismann. He will make you a good husband.” He whispered.
“Now tell your father. Why did you leave the army and not tell us? I thought you were happy… you enjoyed it no?
Sarah looked at her father for a moment. “I did not leave Aba… I am on leave….”
“So I take it my daughter is only my daughter while she is at home?” he asked with a confused expression. “As resistant as I was to the idea. I don’t think you give the impression of a son of Israel well….”
“My commanding officer wanted me to stay, and he fixed things with some politicians, its not publicised.” She began. “I know its not really with IDF policy, but as most people thought I was a girl anyway, they figured it was no harm leaving me. Especially as my err, unique skills, are hard to replace just because I wanted to use a different bathroom….” She grinned.
“That is courtroom logic my daughter.” He smiled. “Your commanding officer must think very highly of you. I know I do, especially now.” He replied softly.
“Well if that’s not a photo moment.” Beamed Eliana from the doorway.
Sarah snuggled into her father’s chest and grinned at her sister. “He has a knee spare.” She laughed.
“I think I am too old for that little one.” Smirked Eli “Come inside you two. There is much catching up to do.” She called as she turned to head back inside.
Hugging her father, Sarah felt content with life. The ache of fear in her tummy ebbed quietly away. She was home, she was free, and she was herself. Silently, she thanked god for his choice of parents.
After many hours of talking, and catching up, Sarah lay in her childhood bedroom staring at the ceiling. It may have been the room that David grew up in, that David cried and hated himself in, but now, to Sarah, it felt like peace.
From Alyssa: Short update to yesterday's chapter, It was too short, i felt too sick, and now i feel better after a good sleep, so heres part 2!
xxx Alyssa
Chapter 19 — On Target.
Sarah woke suddenly. The sun was streaming through the gap in her curtains, signalling a new day. It wasn’t the comfortable, sleepy awakening she enjoyed, but she felt renewed, full of energy and ready for the day.
As she lay in bed, her eyes drifted around the room. It was definitely David’s. The room she had sculpted to please her parents. The sports posters, the fighter jet photographs. Even her old rifle sat in the corner.
Gently slipping her legs from the bed. Sarah was very aware of her past in this place. So many memories… so many feelings. She was happy for a large part of it of course, the times she could do something… anything… she didn’t have to think about herself. It was her childhood, there was no changing that.
Stretching, she slowly padded over to her old rifle. The gun her father had bought her when she turned 12, the gun she had been taught to shoot with.
She sat down on the edge of her bed, cradling the rifle in her hands, her fingers rubbing the grain of the stock. Just touching the thing brought he back to the day when her father taught her to fire the thing. To aim, to breathe correctly. She remembered his gentle, firm instruction. It had seen her through her life so far in more than just shooting…
‘Relax before you do anything, line up what you want, and get it first time. Passion and fire will only cause you to rush, and waver.’
How that had held true…
Gently placing the rifle against her nightstand, she rose from the bed and pulled apart her curtains. The bright sunlight made her blink momentarily. It was still the same…. The neighbourhood she had grown up in was hardly different…. Would she be able to face it? Or would she sneak out the same way she had arrived? Avoiding those who might know her…
The knock at her bedroom door broke her from her thoughts. “Hello?” she called uncertainly, wrapping her robe around her tighter.
The door opened and her mother appeared bearing two mugs. “I thought I heard you moving around darling.” She smiled warmly.
Relaxing, Sarah returned the smile and took one of the offered mugs.
“Thought you might need this, you always liked me bringing you coffee in the morning,” said her mother wistfully, as if remembering a happier time.
“I still do Ima.” Sarah replied slipping her hand into her mother’s and giving it a squeeze.
“You know, you seem a lot more natural now my dear.” began her mother slowly.
Slumping down on her bed with a leg beneath her, Sarah looked quizzically at her mother. “Natural?” she repeated wrinkling her brow. “How so?”
Joining her on the edge of the bed, Sarah’s mother patted her child’s knee. “You just seemed a little forced last night, your actions and mannerisms seemed deliberate, forced, and unnatural…..” She began. Before Sarah could protest, she continued. “Seeing you this morning proved that to me…. You were trying to prove yourself to me, prove you were worthy to be my daughter. Worried we would think you unfeminine if you relaxed. Believe me dear, Seeing you now is prove to the opposite. Even the way you sit is totally female…. What confuses me, is this is how you always acted, sat, moved, reacted… you really haven’t changed. Just your shell seems more appropriate now.” She smiled.
“I really don’t know what to say Ima.” sniffed Sarah, fighting back tears. “I wish I could have told you sooner, I was just terrified of myself… I know I probably let you and Aba down… I wasn’t the son you wanted… That you expected….” She answered quietly.
“Daughter, believe me, you could never disappoint me and your father. Of course, I would have loved a son, but that does not change the fact that I was blessed with two daughters, and I see that now. I never had a son. So I fail to see what I should be disappointed about….” She smiled softly at her child. “Your father and I had a long talk last night. And we want to be there for you… To help you, love you, and rejoice in your successes… Nothing will change the fact that you are our child, our baby. You were a blessing to us, we want what makes you happy.”
Unable to restrain her tears, Sarah Hugged her mother tightly. The world didn’t matter now she had the approval of those who mattered, those she cared about.
“Come on you, get dressed now and face the day properly.” Smirked her mother. “You cannot stay in your bed all day, or ill be forced to spank your bottom madam.”
“Yes Ima” giggled Sarah smiling broadly. Words could not describe how good it felt to be normal… Just a regular girl …
After a brief shower, Sarah made her way downstairs. Looking around, she saw her mother working by the sideboard, but nobody else.
“Ima, where are Eli and Aba?” she asked cocking her head to one side as she slipped onto one of the bar stools in the kitchen.
“Oh hello dear.” Her mother smiled turning at the sound. “They went out, Eli needed some things and you know how your father is with her…” she smirked.
Sarah grinned. “He will be penniless when he returns.”
Her mother chuckled as she chopped fruit, “Well he does like to dote on his only daughter.” As the dagger like words slid into Sarah’s heart, her mother spun around with her hands to her mouth. “I’m sorry darling. I.. .I just… its taking some getting used to.” Her mother stumbled apologetically.
“Sarah looked down at the wood grain of the table. “It's okay Ima, I didn’t expect things to be perfect straight away.”
“No darling, I’m sorry, I should be able to get something so simple right….” Her mother replied softly placing her hand on Sarah’s shoulder.
“It's okay, Ima,” she sniffed quietly. “Is there any more coffee?” she asked brightly, hoping to change the subject.
“Of course. One moment dear.” Her mother smiled, rubbing her shoulder before busying herself in the kitchen, clearly catching that Sarah did not want to talk about things further. She had always been like this with her mother. They had always got each other's clues and signals.
How could she not have spoken to her mother? She had known that she was unhappy and tried to talk… but any time she did… she had just pushed her away. Sarah felt a massive pang of guilt that she had not had enough love to trust her mother, what if? What would things have been like? Where would she be now? Surely not doing what she did, that was certain in her mind.
As the two sat quietly drinking coffee at the table, Sarah pushed her chair back and looked squarely at her mother. “I’m seeing someone.”
Her mother stopped mid sip and looked across at her daughter. “Aaah, that’s nice dear. What’s hi … ah … he … um, their name?”
Sarah looked at her mother. She was trying to be delicate, and she could tell that her mother was thinking very hard about gender and sexuality at this moment in time.
“It’s a man, Ima. … It’s Ari Weismann …”
“Does your father know?” she asked tentatively, watching her daughter’s expression.
“Uhuh,” nodded Sarah, “When we talked last night.”
“Oh,” stated her mother simply. “I shall have to talk to the Rabbi about this … Surely he can find some way for you to still be a boy and love Ari? You don’t have to be a woman if its not what you want dear … If its because of this ….”
Sarah didn’t hear the end of her mother’s sentence. The door slamming saw to that.
Chapter 20 — Nobody Escapes
Sarah ran blindly. She had to get away from that place.
When her eyes were too full of tears to see where she was heading, she slumped down against a wall, hugging her knees to her chest, and sobbed uncontrollably.
Why? What had she done? Her mother told she loved her and understood? Was she just doing it to hurt her? Was it all a big joke? Was everyone just… humouring her?
She had expected so much… she had let her guard down at the false acceptance and this is how they paid her back…
Sarah lifted her head from her knees sighing deeply. Running her hand through her hair she looked around her:
She didn’t recognise the neighbourhood. She was sitting in the dust in an alley between houses. She couldn’t be far from home, but these houses all looked the same, and she had no idea how far she had run. At that moment in time, she really didn’t care either.
Dragging herself to her feet she looked both ways down the alley she was in before heading off down the alley towards the nearest street.
Stepping out onto the pavement, Sarah recognised the street. She used to walk it every day to school; it was about three quarters of a mile from her parents’ home.
Sarah didn’t know if she was ready to face things yet; she knew she would have to at some point, but couldn’t quite bring herself to try just now.
Turning, she slowly traced her invisible footsteps from years passed towards her old school. Why, she didn’t know. Perhaps something about the old place drew her to it. It had been an important part of her life. By no means a happy part, but regardless, it was why she had remained in the army after her conscription…
Nothing much along the way had changed. The same shops, the same houses… even the group of old men by the park were still there.
As she neared the gates, she stopped by the chain link fence. Staring across the yard, the buildings looked sad and dark. Memories came flooding back to her as she gripped the fence tightly; the bullying, the pain, the ostracism… Why had she come here? This was not a happy place; not for her.
High school was never easy for anyone, she knew that, but her time had been especially traumatic. Sarah had known that she wasn’t like the other boys when she was little, and by the time she reached high school, that feeling was overpowering.
All she had wanted was to be like the other girls…. Wear her hair in pretty styles… wear the cute dresses like the other girls… It was not to be…
The boys always picked on David, he was smaller, and weaker, and he wasn’t quite what they saw as normal. He had tried to fit in; to be one of the boys, but he always made some social faux pas that rewarded him with further ridicule. Ari had been the only reason she had survived that hell hole. If He hadn’t been her friend, and ally, she doubted she would have made it out alive. Ari had taken flack for being her friend, had lost his own social standing and friends by befriending David and standing with him against the bullies.
She owed that man so much…
She had to come though... They had come through… That chapter of her life had needed closure. She knew now she had survived it, she was a better person. It made her smile to think of what they would say about her now… She turned away from the buildings and left that chapter in her past.
After a short while, she had reached the centre of town. She hadn’t intended to come here, but her feet had carried her at their own desire.
Rummaging in her jeans pockets, she found some cash, but nothing else. Why did running away always mean being unprepared?
Sarah aimlessly traversed the shopping streets, occasionally stopping and glancing in a window. As much as she wanted to go in and try an outfit on, she didn’t feel in the mood for shopping.
Finally ending up in the main square, Sarah stopped, looking around her for some excuse not to return home… On the far side, she spotted an open air café. She was really missing that coffee she ran out on…
Sitting down at a table, she caught the attention of a passing waitress and ordered herself a new cup of coffee.
It was a gorgeous morning, and the square was full of shoppers. Sarah reverted to her childhood pastime of people watching; somehow observing the bustle and stress relaxed her.
What had she said? Done? Why had her mother thought she was doing this just to feel less guilty for loving Ari? Didn’t she explain that he came after? That she had felt like this always?
Her train of thought was broken by the arrival of her coffee. Slowly sipping the hot liquid she sighed and stared off into space.
“Hi, can I sit here?”
Sarah looked up to see a young man in military uniform standing above her, then past him to the group of soldiers he was clearly with by another table. A part of her danced that they thought her worthy of a bet, but another deeper part felt annoyed.
“Sure.” She smiled sweetly as the young Private took a seat opposite her. “So you’re a soldier.” She stated matter of factly sipping her coffee.
The young man nodded. “Uhuh, me and my squad are on leave, we’re with the commandos.”
Smirking inwardly, Sarah decided she could use cheering up. “Ohh, that’s awesome,” she bubbled. “Isn’t it very dangerous? You must be so brave.” She smiled placing her hand on his.
“What’s your name?” the young private grinned.
“I’m Sarah, what’s yours?” She purred.
“Michael.” He replied. “You from around here?”
“Uhuh.” Sarah smiled. “I live just out of town.” She replied, maintaining her purposeful vagueness.
The private smiled at her. She could tell instantly he wasn’t Special Forces... He just didn’t have the look… Besides … having an mechanic’s insignia on his uniform didn’t help his case.
“So what do you do?” he pressed.
“Oh I’m in the army too,” she grinned.
Michael looked momentarily worried before repairing his grin. “Clerk? Technician?” he asked casually.
“Sayeret.” Smirked Sarah. “I’m a sniper.” She purred into his ear as she dropped a bill on the table and made her way to the exit to the café. “Lovely meeting you, Michael,” she replied cheerily. Loud enough for his friends to overhear, “I’ll give you a call if we need any ‘commando’ mechanics,” she finished before walking out of the café.
As she walked across the square, she could hear the raucous laughter of the private’s friends. She felt sorry for him in a way, but it was his own silly fault for lying and thinking she would be impressed by his macho bullshit.
Her mother still pressed on her mind, but after her coffee and morning ‘exercise’, she felt almost ready to face some of her family. Walking over to a payphone, she slipped a few coins into the slot and dialled her sister’s cell number.
Chapter 21 — Sweet Dreams and Nightmares
The sun beat down onto the town square casting a glare up from the stone surface polished to almost a mirror finish by the thousands of feet that traversed it daily. Sarah took shelter in the shade provided by a wizened old tree.
She couldn’t begin to wonder where she had gone wrong. Was her mother right? Was she even HER mother? Sarah kicked a dusty pebble away from the base of the tree and sighed. What if everyone was right? She had been born a boy, maybe that was right? What if she was just confused? She had heard the view many times, and her mother’s reaction couldn’t have been more certain.
She knew she was a girl, it was almost certain in her mind. As certain as she needed air, and the wind that blew down from the heights. It was her soul, she felt it. But surely the mad felt as certain as this? The old man down the road from her parents house, that had gone around professing his ability to talk to animals... had he felt as certain of this? That everyone was mad for not believing him?
God, she wished she knew. The uncertainty hurt her more than anything.
“You know, you can’t stay here for the rest of the weekend little one.” Eli called softly from behind. Sarah started suddenly, feeling guilty she had allowed her guard to fall so far.
“Maybe I want to.” She replied quietly, turning to face her sister.
Eliana looked worried. “Ima didn’t mean it Sarah.” She whispered clasping her sisters hand in hers. “Please come back, she’s worried about you... Upset that she hurt you.”
Sarah frowned. “She called me a boy Eli, she pretended to understand.... I... I can’t...” she whispered softly, a tear rolling down her cheek...
Eliana pulled her sister to her as she cried. “Don’t worry baby, you come home with me, I’ll not let them hurt you.” She soothed stroking Sarah’s hair.
Sarah found herself in the driveway of her parents house once more, feeling as apprehensive as the last time. “Cant you just get my stuff and take me back to the station?” she asked quietly, more of herself than Eliana.
“No baby.” She whispered gripping her sister’s slightly shaking hand. “Come on, I’ll look after you, I promise.”
For the second time in as many days, Sarah stood before the door to her house: The chime of the doorbell struck like a knife into her beating heart.
The door opened and Sarah came face to face with her mother once more. “Sarah?” she asked quietly, almost fearfully.
Sarah looked into her eyes. Her mother looked drawn, and tired, weak, she had been crying. “Ima.” Sarah replied quietly looking anywhere but at her mother.
“I’m sorry chid, she murmured cautiously.” Reaching out to touch her daughter’s cheek. “I was wrong.” She whispered, lifting Sarah’s chin. “I couldn’t see you... For my love of you... ah, for him, my son; I could not see you my darling.” She sobbed. “I, I... Please forgive me,” she asked quietly looking into Sarah’s eyes.
The jolt struck Sarah deep within her core; love; a love she had not felt in years. Her mother truly cared for HER. In that one moment, things became so firm, so sure... Sarah knew who she was right then. Smiling through her tears, she hugged her mother.
“I... When I left this morning, I thought you hated me, I thought you believed I was a boy still... that you had lied to me last night. It... It just terrified me, it was rash I’m sorry.
“I got confused.” She admitted. “I was still thinking of you as my boy... my baby boy that had grown up with Ari Weismann as a friend... Not as my daughter who had fallen for charming young man.” Their mother replied.
“I think we ought to start fresh, Sarah’s past won't ever go away, but we do need to let go of David... He was a good brother, and a good Son.” Eliana began. “But in his stead, we have Sarah, a new sister for me, and a new child for you Ima. It’s time we got to know her.” She beamed, hugging her sister.
The next morning , Sarah walked with her sister to the station in town. It felt strangely normal. Taking a cigarette from her bag, she slipped it between her lips and fished for her lighter: Finding it, she lit the cigarette and took a deep drag. As the nicotine rushed to her head, she felt strangely aware that morning. A veil had been lifted from her eyes, the world seemed more colourful.
There was no pretence anymore, no lies, no deception. The people she loved most in the world knew about her, they knew their daughter. And she was happy. Happier than she had been in a long time.
Entering the building, she scanned the board for her train, and the pair made their way up onto the platform.
“I’m going to miss you.” Eli smiled, squeezing her sister’s hand.
Sarah hugged her sister. “Me too...” She began feeling her body tense up. Behind her sister several men were walking, they seemed out of place, and entirely focused on them. Her impromptu hug had caught them off guard and they had not been able to blend into the surroundings in time.
The Four were of Arabic origin, and their drab clothing and rucksacks looked entirely out of place on an early Monday morning. Pretending she hadn’t seen the men, Sarah broke off the hug and took her sister’s hand pulling her onwards.
“What?” Eliana asked twisting her head around the way they had come “What’s wrong?” she asked innocently.
“Nothing, come with me, please.” Sarah urged quietly, hoping the men had not noticed anything.
“What is it Sarah?” Eli asked again, beginning to look worried catching the determined expression on her sister’s face.
“Look, don’t react Eli ok? There are some men following us ... following me ... I think ...”
Eli looked curiously at her sister. “Why would there be men following you?”
“I...” Sarah began, wondering how much she should tell her sister, or if it was even relevant. “Some people don’t like me, its a work thing...” Sarah sighed dragging her sister around a concession stand on the platform towards a departures board.
Looking up, Sarah pretended to search the trains on the computer screen, she watched the reflection of the platform behind her.
The four men were not alone, and were clearly watching her. Sarah’s heart began to beat faster. A switch in her flipped into combat mode. She was unarmed, accompanied by her sister, and outnumbered. The numbers didn’t look good. Her only hope was to run, fast, and get her sister out.
Sarah checked her watch, the train was due in moments, and the men hadn’t made a move yet, she had to assume they were waiting for her to board.
Sarah’s pace quickened as the train pulled in, this was where her hopes hinged. Eliana had been quiet and Sarah gripped her sister’s hand tight. “Come on, I’m not leaving you here.” She whispered.
“I don’t have a ticket.” Mumbled Eliana weakly. Sarah looked at her sister; the vivacious girl was pale and subdued. She had never seen her sister look like that.
“I don’t think that matters, honey.” Sarah muttered half to herself, squeezing her sister’s hand tightly.
The train rolled into the station and came to a halt. In the bustle of boarding and alighting passengers, Sarah pulled her sister with her into the nearest coach. In the sea of human waves, 8 men boarded the 10.25 to Beersheba. All for business, none for pleasure.
Note from author: Sorry guys, Its been a while, and i know that, But i lost my computer, and ive only just got a new one, Consider this a late christmas present, I hope you all like it, Lots more Haifa to come soon, and for a long time!
Alyssa
“You think I just want to kill you? You’re going to suffer my boy… You’ll have ring side seats for your sister’s rape, torture and death, then I might kill you… after some playtime.” He smirked, running a finger across Sarah’s cheek. “After all, you do want to be a woman don’t you? My dear little David…”
“What are we going to do?” Eliana asked meekly, keeping very close to her sister’s side.
“I don’t know, I’m making this up as I go along.” Sarah sighed, “I didn’t get a good look at them, but I can guess who they work for.”
Eliana looked across at Sarah and frowned. “Now would be a good time to tell me why… I’m involved too now … And I don’t think they want to give us a big friendly hug by the way you’re acting!” she hissed.
Sarah looked at her sister “I pissed off some bad people,” she said with a weak smile. “I personally got in the way of a fairly extensive plan to kidnap and potentially murder the prime minister and his family.”
“But they said in the news it was food poisoning?” Eli replied slowly, mulling the news over in her mind.
“It’s not something we want to publicise … not till we destroy the threat.” Sarah muttered. “But it looks like the threat wants to tie up our loose ends, and one of them was a traitor.”
“Really?” Eli gasped. “So it’s even more personal?”
Sarah nodded and peeked around the doorway to avoid further discussion with her sister. She didn’t want to verbalise the fear that it was more that her intervention that made her a target.
The carriage looked normal, so tugging her sister with her down the aisle, they had made it about half way down the coach when three of the men she had seen on the platform appeared ahead of them at the carriage door. A burst of panic ripped through her as she spun on her heels to move the opposite direction. She had just pulled Eli around by the time she noticed men in the far doorway, too… They were trapped…
The morning commuters on the train seemed oblivious to the situation unfolding; reading newspapers, listening to ipods, or chatting to each other. As the men began to close the distance, Sarah had a flash of inspiration; “Oh my God! He’s got a bomb!” she screamed, pointing down the carriage towards the first group of men. The sudden attention fixed on them stopped the men dead in their tracks, and the ensuing stampede utterly blocked them off from Sarah.
Pushing her sister into an empty seat, she slipped through the press of people trying to escape the carriage towards the second group of men, now flattened against the wall near the door.
Coming up beside one of the men, she delivered a swift jab to the man’s temple, robbing him of his consciousness. As his compatriots began to react, she kneed the closest in the groin before elbowing him in the back of his suddenly lowered head, sending him to join his friend. The third man managed to land a punch which stunned Sarah momentarily. As he came at her once more, she ducked his clumsy hook and slipped under his arm and behind him, deftly snapping his neck as his momentum carried him forward. Snapping her brain out of combat mode, she turned and began forcing her way back towards her sister through the now rapidly emptying carriage.
Reaching her sister, she grabbed the girl roughly, pulled her from the seat she had been hiding in and pulled her back along the walkway. Reaching the door, she pushed Eliana through, and slammed the carriage door closed. Through the glass windows, she saw the other group of men elbowing past hysterical commuters trying to reach them. She needed to buy time … Spotting a rescue axe in a safety glass compartment to her side, she smashed the glass and slipped the tool through the handles on the door. Herding her docile sister into the other carriage, she returned to the passageway linking the two cars. The men had reached the door, and were trying to get it open. She didn’t have long, but hey, it worked in the movies didn’t it?
Scanning the floor, she found an access panel and yanked it open. She was greeted by a blast of air and blurred track beneath them. How the heck did you disconnect carriages? The heroes in action movies always knew, she thought…. Spotting a greasy lever on the coupling, she pulled at it but the thing wouldn’t budge, and the axe wasn’t going to hold forever… Placing her foot against the far carriage, she pulled with all the strength she possessed. The lever flew up with a jolt, and the coupling sprang open, sending Sarah sprawling for a handhold to stop her slipping under the speeding wheels of the train.
Pulling herself back into the coach, the gap began to widen as the weight of the trailing carriages began to slow them, now free rolling. The brake line snapped, as the rubber hose became the last thing linking the carriages, spraying hot brake fluid over one of the assailants as he managed to smash through the door. Behind their screaming compatriot, the other men could only watch as their carriage pulled away.
Sarah let out a sigh as she lay sprawled on the carriage floor. Why couldn’t she have had a normal job, left the army after her conscription and just gone to work for her father? Or something safe … like the bomb squad …
Rolling over, she began to haul herself to her feet when she came face to face with the barrel of a pistol. “Very nice, David. A lovely little show.”
Taking her eyes off the mesmerising darkness of the barrel, she looked up, her eyes connecting with the dark soulless pools that belonged to Major Thesik.
“You didn’t think I was dead now did you?” he smiled sadistically. “Aw …” he mocked. “The little tranny looks surprised to see us.” He laughed.
Sarah cast her eyes past the major, and was greeted by a second shock; Eliana was struggling under the grip of Specialist Thomas, who was gripping her by the throat, a gun to her head…
“Let her go, you scum,” she hissed, coming to her haunches.
“Ah, ah, ah,” The major urged, pushing the barrel of the pistol against her forehead. “I’ll have none of your heroics, David. You quite depleted my manpower already, Good help is hard to find.”
“You seem to have interrupted our plans once more David.” The major smiled sardonically, “Regardless, my mission now is something you cannot avert. You cost me dearly … my little retirement package, my bosses’ prize … All I want today … is you.”
“So let her go!” Sarah hissed, looking up at the major. “If you want me, take me, but she’s done nothing.”
“Au contraire,” Smiled the major, “You think I just want to kill you? You’re going to suffer, my boy … You’ll have ringside seats for your sister’s rape, torture and death. Then … I might kill you … after some playtime.” He smirked, running a finger across Sarah’s cheek. “After all, you do want to be a woman don’t you? My dear little David…”
“Enough chatter.” He sighed, straightening up and turning to two of his men. “Bind these two, and get a car to meet us when the train stops.”
A rifle butt smashed down on Sarah’s head, and darkness enveloped her….
Chapter 24 - Death's Right Hand.
Sarah drifted back into consciousness in a dark room. Her head throbbed, and she tasted the metallic tang of blood in her mouth. Trying to find her remaining 4 senses, she opened her eyes slowly. Looking around, she found that she was in a small room, chained to what had once been a toilet bowl. Moonlight mingled with the sodium glare of a lamp was streaming through a small window above her. It was too high to see out of; her chain barely let her lift her arm more than a foot off the floor. Her head was throbbing from the impact that had rendered her unconscious, and she felt the mild nausea that accompanied a concussion. Apart from the blood, her mouth felt dry and dusty. Her clothes were heaped at the far end of the room, near the doorway, at some point she had been stripped to her bra and panties. There was no sign of Eliana…
Sarah sat quietly, straining to hear any sounds that might give clue to her location. There were the sounds of a street outside, traffic, voices, and noise. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the sounds, trying to separate out phrases, words, languages… She heard snippets of Arabic dialogue, the dialect was hard to determine from here, but she presumed that she was now in either the Gaza strip, or the West Bank. Neither place was favourable for an Israeli soldier, alone. What was she here for? The Major’s sick pleasure? No, he had too many men, and it was too well backed up to be a spite attack. They had clearly planned to take her as hostage, to replace the failed action on the yacht. She wasn’t as important she knew, but the sight of a beaten female soldier, would undoubtedly wrench public appeal in favour of whatever demands were made. She wouldn’t be used as a bargaining chip. There was little chance she would leave here alive, and if she did, it would be under her own steam. The Major had no intention of handing her back, at least not in one piece. Sarah leaned her head back against the pealing paint of the wall and waited quietly for her fate.
Sarah lay against the wall, counting drips from a leaking pipe near the ceiling. By her reckoning, several hours had passed since she had regained consciousness; the sky was still dark outside but the tinge of dawn was approaching. Sarah’s mind drifted to her sister, Ari and her friends as she lay against the wall, waiting, listening She missed them all terribly, It seemed strange, she wasn’t afraid like she had expected to be. She felt remarkably calm under the circumstances. The thought of being missed caused a twinge in her heart that she couldn’t shift. Would Ari move on? Could her parents cope? Would her sister make it out alive if they got what they wanted from her? Sarah hoped so. She knew what lay ahead for her. In a way, she felt disappointed that she would die, but resigned to the fact. At least she thought, she would be remembered correctly. What was immortality in memory if she was remembered as the wrong person? She would take what came to her like a woman, she would not fear death, but she would not embrace it. She would not give the major his pleasure.
In the stillness, Sarah was roused by the sound of a door closing somewhere below her and she was instantly aware of footsteps outside the room. There were two distinct sets she could make out, and both came to a stop outside her door. She retreated between the wall and the toilet bowl, trying to restrict the angles she could be kicked or hit from and waited while keys jangled in the lock. The door swung open casually and two men strode into the room with shemagh scarves wrapped around their lower faces, short dark hair covering their scalps. Wordlessly, one man grabbed Sarah by the wrists, while his compatriot unlocked the padlock on the chain. Hauling her to her feet, they led her out of the room and into a dark, bare corridor. The place had a distinct industrial look to it. She was half dragged, half pushed down a set of metal stairs, and into what had at one point, probably been a workshop. Metal chains hung from a pulley on the ceiling, and towards the centre, was what appeared to be a section of telegraph pole, that had been sunk into the floor and concreted in place. There was a D ring at the top, and one at the base, with chain looped through them and she surmised that the colouring of the post and surrounding floor was from its previous occupants.
The men lead her towards the post, and pressing her against it roughly, proceeded to fasten her handcuffs to the upper chain, and her ankles to the one against the floor. The two men silently completed their work and left the workshop. arah closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the cool wood against her back, and tested the leeway in the chains, there was barely an inch either way. The air smelt thick with fear, if such an emotion had a scent…. A mixture of the ferrous tang of blood, ammonia, and sweat clung to the heavy stale air. Sarah shivered involuntarily, partly due to the cold, and partly realising what must have happened in this room. Where ever they were, this was a main facility, it seemed… well used… Not many of the safe houses remained in one location for a period of time, IDF raids saw to that.
After a short while, Sarah heard the bolt of the door slide open, but from her vantage, she could not see the door. She strained to hear any sounds, but other than the door shutting, it was utterly silent. After a few moments, she felt breath on her neck that made her jump involuntarily. A disembodied hand stroked her cheek gently as if to calm her.
“Hush David, do not fear me,” growled Major Thesik so softly it almost held a pretence of comfort. “We are going to get to know each other very well, I’d hate to start off on the wrong foot.” He chuckled, walking around into her view.
Sarah looked at the major, his facial hair had grown in slightly, and he wore a white dress shirt tucked into his jeans. He would have looked at home strolling in a park…
“First, David, I think you need to realise how serious I am.” He purred, fixing his eyes on Sarah. There was a dangerous fire dancing in his eyes, it scared her more than his words.
“I’m not simple enough to believe I can hurt you with pain, although that will come later.” He smirked, “First, you need to suffer.”
[Arabic] “Bring her in.” he shouted towards the door.
After a moment, the two men who had led her down from her cell dragged a struggling Eliana into the room.
“You leave her out of this you bastard,” Sarah hissed through gritted teeth, trying not to show that her heart was racing and her stomach churning.
“Why, David? We were just going to get to know each other better.” He smirked lazily, giving a wave of his hand towards the two guards.
The two men dragged the sobbing girl to a table, and lashed her hands to the top. Eli raised her head weakly. She just looked at Sarah as she sobbed, terrified.
The major moved round Eliana and yanked her jeans down, soon followed by her panties.
“LEAVE HER ALONE YOU BASTARD!!” screamed Sarah, so hard her throat burned.
Eli looked shocked momentarily, before banging her head against the table and shaking her chained arms against the surface. The major grabbed her flailing legs and chained them to the floor before unzipping his jeans and extracting his rapidly hardening penis. Turning back to Eliana, he placed his hands on her hips and moved forwards, all the time staring into Sarah’s eyes.
Sarah couldn’t speak she was so enraged. She pulled at her chains so hard they cut into her wrists and ankles and trickles of blood ran down her arms. Eliana looked mortified, and was screaming and writhing, which only seemed to please the major more as he thrust in and out of her vagina.
“Sarah.” Eli sobbed, tears streaking down her cheeks, “Sarah he’s raping me,” she moaned through her sobs. “It hurts.”
“It will be over soon, baby, I’m so sorry. This is my fault, I’m so so sorry.” She sobbed as she watched her sister’s brutal rape play out in front of her. Sarah hung her head and sobbed tears of frustration and anguish. She couldn’t watch her sisters pleading eyes anymore. Balling her fists in the chains, she raised her head slowly and stared at the Major through her matted hair, and breathing deeply she uttered five words. Anyone in the room could tell that she meant them, every single word….,
“I’m going to kill you,” she hissed, as she pulled again at the restraints, more blood running down her arms and feet.
“Hah. Well I don’t believe you will live to get a chance, my dear boy.” The major grunted as he shuddered and climaxed into the now limp Eliana. “I will grant you your wish to become a woman before you die, though.” He chuckled as he zipped his jeans up. As he walked forwards, Eliana surged against her restraints and the major landed a punch square to the girl’s temple. She was knocked out, her body flopping at the impact.
“Maybe I will cut out your sister’s cunt, so you can feel what it's like to have a pussy between your legs…” he sneered.
He walked over to a metal table beside the post, selected a knife blade and ran it flat against his finger.
“Now down to business I think.”
He walked around Sarah once, keeping eye contact with her before stopping in front of her and cradling the arm holding the knife in his other palm, and made a mock thoughtful expression, wiggling the knife in his fingers.
"Where to begin… that is the question. I can’t go cutting your pathetic dick off just yet, I don’t want you to bleed out just yet.”
Raising the knife blade to her right arm, he ran the blade down the soft underside of her forearm, not cutting deeply, but just enough to cause her to grimace as the blood began to drip onto the already stained floor. Smirking, the major repeated the process on her other arm, before stabbing the blade through her restrained arm. Sarah grunted with pain, but refused to scream as agony racked her body. She would not give the bastard the pleasure.
Stopping, Major Thesik regarded the girl for a moment, “Perhaps you need to be taught how women feel before I grant you your desire, you may yet want to embrace your shred of masculinity….”
“This is why I am more man than you David.” He smirked darkly, as he unzipped his pants once more, and pulled out his penis. It was covered in drying blood Sarah could see, that only enraged her more. Placing the knife on the table, he unbuckled Sarah’s feet from the D ring, and tuned her around against the post. His foot on her ankle chain, he slipped down her panties, and slapped her backside with enough force to make Sarah wince.
Ramming a finger into Sarah’s bottom, he roughly twisted it around. And pushed himself close against Sarah’s back. “Is this what you want, you faggot? To be treated like a bitch?” he hissed into her ear.
“I wasn’t going to use any lubricant, but your sister’s blood seems to still be wet on my cock, so thank me for small mercies ….”
Ripping his finger out forcefully, he lined up his penis and began to push. Sarah grimaced as he invaded her body. She felt hot tears cascading down her cheeks as her bottom burned with the invasion. The major grunted and started to thrust away, each time feeling like sandpaper against her delicate parts. He ripped it out and shoved it back in roughly.
“You fucking like being a woman now you faggot?” he screamed. “My cock in your ass is the last thing you will remember.” He growled as he dragged the blade from Sarah’s arm and held it against her throat.
“You’ll die being fucked, you tranny faggot. You’ll never die a woman, I’ll leave that one bit for them to identify you by.” He laughed and began to press the blade home when an explosion rocked the building.
Taking advantage of his momentary lapse of concentration, Sarah ripped her feet forwards, yanking the chain out from under his foot and kicked up backwards as hard as she could. She felt her feet connect between his legs. The major staggered back, and slipped from her abused bottom, howling in agony. Sarah pulled her feet up the post till they were almost at the upper D ring, and pushed with all her strength. The blood ran from her wounds, but she pushed, the metal began to loosen in the rotten wood, and with a crack, the ring sprang free of the post, sending her sprawling across the floor of the chamber.
Dragging herself to her feet, Sarah dropped into a fighting stance as the major staggered blindly towards her, still very much in pain from her emasculating blow.
“I said I was going to kill you, pig,” she hissed. Flipping the chain around her wrists around the Major’s head and bringing it slamming into her raised knee. The man stumbled but stayed upright, blood gushing from his nose.
“Fucking cunt!” he screamed, and lunged forwards, catching Sarah on the cheek with a glancing blow that would have floored her with full contact.
Dazed, she spun around and kicked the Major’s legs out from under him. As he sprawled on the floor, she grabbed the discarded knife from the floor, and slammed it home through his back, deliberately avoiding his heart. The Major screamed, and tried to push himself to his hands and knees, the blade embedded between his ribs.
Sobbing from exertion, Sarah looped her wrist chain around his jaw, yanking it till it slipped between the major’s teeth as if it were a bit for a horse.
“I said I was going to kill you, asshole! This is for Eli,” she screamed at him. “Get up from this, asshole!” she hissed before yanking the chain back with massive force.
The sound of the major’s neck snapping reverberated around the small room.
Sarah collapsed to the floor. Utterly spent, she fell next to the corpse of Major Thesik. With her remaining strength, she reached out a hand towards her sister, in a vain attempt to reach her. She passed out as soldiers in black breached the chamber door and flooded in.
Dear Readers: I am so sorry this has taken so long. I intended to get this and NCIS - A Time of Innocence posted last week, but i suffered two personal traumas, I won't go into them, its not the place or time. But I apologize for the delay. I didn't mean to take this long. NCIS - A Time of Innocence will be posted tomorrow once I edit it. ~Alyssa
Sayeret had been watching Sarah and her family. They had not thought it sensible to admit to one of their own that she was in danger and would be used as bait. Indeed telling her would have lost the Intelligence corps chance to draw out a presumed dead traitor. It had nearly broken Ari to watch his love’s pain and anguish during her return home, and to not be able to act when they were followed from her home to the station. The brass had taken Ari off the surveillance rotation; he was too close to the case. It had taken all his begging and persuasion to be allowed onto the assault team when they had tracked the girls’ captors to a safe house in the West Bank. The message from up high was to allow them to take her, to wait and watch silently. Ari hated it. Not knowing one moment to the next if his love was alive or dead. Of course, the word that surveillance teams had located her alive in the building using thermal imaging had been of little comfort to Ari; it had felt too detaching, too inhumane. Once they had as many high profile targets on site as possible, including the traitor, they had been given the word to go in.
Ari and team one had swept in from the sewer network beneath the compound, with the other teams had striking from the roof, ground level, and adjoining buildings. The sight that had greeted his eyes when the frame charge disintegrated the steel doors of the chamber had almost brought Ari to his knees. It had been all he possessed to sweep the room clear before putting several rounds through the Major’s limp body. Sarah’s older sister Eliana Yakobavitch was lying unconscious on a table, bound harshly and half naked. His love… his Sarah, was lying in a pool of blood beside the body of the traitor in only her underwear, her ankles and arms a mess of blood, her hair matted with sweat and bodily fluids. Nobody had said a word as he fell to his knees beside his love, cradling her limp body in his arms and sobbed.
Once the building had been declared safe. Medical teams had swarmed in to attend to wounded. The hostages and prisoners were removed, and the building sanitised. To the world at large, it had been a raid to arrest Palestinian militants, nothing more, and no undue attention drawn to it. As the Israeli Intelligence community celebrated, little thought was given to their own soldier, lying comatose in a Tel Aviv hospital bed, or her sister, traumatised for life. No, They were ‘expendable collateral damage’ they agreed over toasts of success. The end justified the means of course…
Ari Weisman Rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he sat at Sarah’s bedside. He had not shaved in a week, and it was starting to annoy him, but little distracted him from being by her side. Shifting in the uncomfortable plastic seat by her bed, he stood to allow the blood to return to his aching behind. Ari walked over to the window and gazed out over the Tel Aviv Skyline, highlighted by the rusty sunset. Sarah had been in the Sourasky medical centre in downtown Tel Aviv for nearly a week. She wasn’t comatose in the literal sense, but in a medically induced sleep to allow her body to heal. Over the past few weeks, her body had been put through too great a stress, the ordeal had been the tip of the iceberg. She had suffered severe blood loss, internal and external. The girl was near death's door when she had been recovered. Medical crews had been barely able to stabilise her. Multiple scans showed no brain damage, which was in itself, a relief. But Ari wondered what state her mind would be in if…. No, when she woke. Could she cope? She had been through so much… His heart skipped a beat every time he thought of her pain; it almost hurt him as much to think about what she had been through.
Checking his watch, Ari walked slowly over to Sarah’s side, and lent forwards and kissed the girl on the forehead before walking towards the door. He stopped, and looked back one more time before slipping out into the bustle of the corridor.
Ari leant against the wall by the main door of the Ichilov General Hospital building and lit the cigarette he had been dying to have all day. Taking a drag, he luxuriated in the nicotine rush. He rubbed his tired eyes and watched the human traffic moving around the grounds. He almost felt a fixture in the hospital after the time he had spent there; it was certainly the longest he’d ever spent in such a place. The nursing staff on Sarah’s floor all knew his name, but they just thought he was Sarah’s boyfriend. That had caused one or two raised eyebrows when her physical sex had been discovered. Their line of work was not disclosed beyond the fact that they were both soldiers, something Ari had not been able to hide as his rifle accompanied him. There had been one or two comments, but he refused to even acknowledge them. As far as he was concerned, she was his girl, and that was that…. If they didn’t like her past, that was their personal problem, thankfully, it had not detracted from her treatment.
Ari absentmindedly watched the comings and goings of the hospital as he smoked.
“Hey Weismann.” Grunted Sgt Goni as he appeared out of the darkness outside the flood lit entrance. “I hoped to catch you.”
“What are you doing here?” Ari replied, jumping; he had been off guard too long…
“I came to check on you and the kid upstairs.” He replied quietly with a nod towards the hospital building.
“She’s still out.” sighed Ari, taking another drag on his cigarette. “Doctors say it could be a while yet.”
“What about you?” The older man asked, “And don’t lie to me Weismann.”
Ari looked at the grizzled sergeant for a moment before chuckling. “I’m dead on my feet sir.”
“Thought so.” grunted Sergeant Goni. “You really love her don’t you?”
“Yeah.” Ari sighed to nobody in particular.
“I spent a week like this when my wife Sharon was in the Maternity Hospital over the way with Rebekah and Peter. There were complications… I didn’t want to leave her alone even though she was out for most of it.” Goni grinned sheepishly.” So believe me Kid, I know how you feel. You don’t want to go home for that few hours sleep in case it’s the one time she wakes up and you aren’t there for her…. Believe me, I know.” He smiled, patting Ari on the shoulder.
“I don’t know sir.” Ari grimaced. “It’s the worst thing I’ve ever felt, Its like the whole thing before… It was nothing, now… I just don’t exist… I feel empty..” he muttered softly, staring at the ground between them. “I don’t want to admit it, but I don’t know what to do.” He whispered.
“Ah that’s love for you.” grinned the Sergeant. “We spend all our lives looking for the one that makes us whole… and when we find them, we realise how truly empty we are without them. Soon as you fall in love they take it all.” He chuckled.
Ari smiled. The grizzled old guy always seemed to find a way of putting things that made sense. Sarah completed him, he knew that. They were two halves of a whole; equally lost without the other.
“So how are you Ari?” Goni pushed, seeing a crack in Ari’s depressive shield. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks.” chuckled Ari stubbing out the cigarette. “You look pretty awesome yourself granddad.”
“You want to be on a double response rotation?” smirked the sergeant. “You look worn out, you handling this?”
“Yeah, I guess...” Ari shrugged. “I feel perpetually tired, and I hardly ever smile. But being by her side through this makes me happy… It makes me hope that she knows I'm here for her, and that makes it all worth it.”
Goni nodded understandingly. “That it does.”
“What next?” Ari asked, changing the subject. “Is this actually over?”
“Is it ever?” Goni shrugged. “The spooks seem happy with things, from their lofty analysis rooms it appears so, but you know the family ties and revenge bullshit that lot play…”
Ari nodded. As much as he wanted it to be, It was unlikely to be a cut and dried event. They had seriously wounded several factions’ leaderships… Places would be filled, and revenge sought. That was the way of the world here.
The two talked quietly for a while before Ari bade farewell to the Sergeant and made his way back inside. He hadn’t been the first visitor from their team, but one of the last he expected to see coming to ask about Sarah. Returning to the hospital room that had become his world over the last week, Ari slipped into a fitful sleep beside his love’s bed, lulled to sleep by the soft bleeping of her heart monitor.
Sarah regained consciousness sometime in the early morning. She had been dreaming about things… horrible things… Her sister, her own torture, the laughing face of her tormentor; the unnerving quiet and darkness was reassuring to her tired mind.
It took her a moment to realise that she had actually woken up. A soft bleeping, intermingled with the sounds of a hospital filtered into her ears slowly, like syrup. She was alive…. Where, she didn’t know, but she presumed safe. Her body ached terribly. As sensation began to return to her body, she felt heavy and sore. Her mind was groggy now she was waking, not tired… but something else.
Sedation? Maybe.
How long had she been asleep?
She wasn’t sure that she cared. The pain was still present, but softened. She tried to lift her arm from the bed, but its numb uncontrollable roll only succeeded in pulling a canula from her arm.
“Shit.” She muttered groggily. She was aware of the bleeping increasing, and the sound of footsteps entering the room. The darkness was gone and it was terribly bright suddenly. There were people, doctors? Nurses? She felt a strange scraping as the canula was reinserted, and a faint recollection of pressure round her fingers and voices talking to her.
“Sarah can you hear us?” She felt the squeezing again in her hand and words started to clear.
“Take her off the sedative,” someone said.
Sedative… that made sense.
The voices carried on unintelligibly for a while before trailing off and the room was quiet once again that. Sarah remembered slipping back into blackness once again before reawakening what seemed like seconds later. It was beginning to get light in the room, not the harsh instant brightness of the lights she had barely made out before, but a faint tinge to the blackness. There was more detail now… Sarah could feel more; the pain, though dull felt more localised and identifiable. Her hearing and vision was more focused.
She flexed her fingertips before realising they were encased in a human hand.
At her movement, the owner stirred from his position beside the bed.
“Hey.” Ari smiled sleepily.
“Hey.” Sarah croaked dryly. “Where am I?” She managed to whisper before coughing.
“You’re in hospital Sarah, You’re safe now.” Ari soothed as he pressed the call button above her bed.
“That’s nice.” Sarah muttered absent mindedly as she slipped back to sleep again.
Ari stayed with Sarah as much as he could. He was periodically ushered out by the nursing staff and doctors since she woke, and she was mostly asleep when he was allowed back in. It took a stern but caring order from one of the senior nurses to make him go home. Reluctantly he had left Sarah in their hands for a few hours.
Ari rolled over on his bed and tried to focus on the alarm clock. It was 3am, a day later. He had fallen asleep as soon as he had hit his bed without even chance to undress.
Ari slumped down onto his back and ran his hands through his hair as he lay waking up, drowsy from such a prolonged period of rest. His hair felt disgusting and he smelt aweful. Had he allowed himself to get this bad? Stumbling into the bathroom, he stripped naked and collapsed into the shower. The warm jets beat down on his tired body and began to wake him. After washing and shaving, Ari felt like a whole new man compared to the zombie of previous days. He was glad Sarah had been so out of it when she had come round. Sarah….
Ari hurried to pull on a pair of old jeans and a grey tee-shirt before grabbing his keys and flying out of the apartment door. Ari jogged down the stairwell and out of the apartment block, it was still dark out… He realised how foolish it was turning up to the hospital at 4am… Sarah wouldn’t even be awake… Reluctantly, he slowly made his way back up to his apartment and forced himself to wait till it was at least morning.
Ari pulled up at the parking lot At the Sourasky medical centre and began the long walk across the grounds to the Ichilov General Hospital where Sarah was being looked after.
“Well don’t you look more human?” smiled the chief staff nurse as Ari stepped out of the lift on the 14th floor.
“Well I figured she didn’t need another shock after waking up.” He smiled sheepishly. “Is she awake?” he asked hopefully.
The nurse chuckled and nodded her head. “Yes, a few hours ago, she’s lucid and asking for you.”
Ari grinned and jogged off down the corridor towards Sarah’s room. The staff nurse smiled and shook her head before muttering something about young love and returning to her rounds.
From the author lady:
Hey guys, sorry I'm taking forever, College gets on top of you... you know how it is... (OK thats an excuse, I was mostly hungover and having mad sex with a series of hunky... don't believe that either? Well stick to lots of work... its more believable, even for me...
I hope you like this, its a tangent from usual i think. I'll endeavor to turn down some dates and write more sooner!
Love Alyssa
Megan sighed as she pushed a piece of chicken around on her plate for the fifth time in as many minutes. The meal had been wonderful, but her appetite wasn’t in it. This was supposedly their three month anniversary dinner; herself and John.
Three months, since the day they had first laid eyes on one another across a quiet courtyard one chilly late September morning. Fate, she supposed; they had both travelled from opposite ends of the country to attend the same training course. Megan had been surprised when the tall, handsome Irishman had come up to her and offered her his gloves to warm her. Megan was unprepared for the interest of a man and secretly delighted that he would talk to her, or be interested in her. The smile of thanks on her lips had stolen his heart, just as his kindness and romanticism did hers over the following weeks. They had dated, sporadically at first, getting to know one another; tentatively exploring the other’s personality and feelings. Megan had been reserved; she had her reasons.
They had dated, she had set boundaries. She had not wanted to fall for the man that was slowly winning her heart. A heavy secret bore over her: When he had told her that he loved her, she had cried tears of joy and anguish. Joy that she knew she felt the same, but anguish that she could never tell him. Not with her own personal sword of Damocles perched precariously above her head.
Every single time the words had left his lips, she had longed to repeat them before their lips met. Every time he held her hand and made her feel special, she had felt the pang of guilt. It had to end: It had to end tonight.
“What’s wrong darling?” John asked reaching across the table to stroke Megan’s fingers.
Megan retracted her fingers, placing them demurely on her lap. “Nothing.” She smiled weakly. “I’m just thinking.”
John frowned softly. “You look worried.” He offered, “Have I done something?”
Megan shook her head. “No John. It’s nothing, really.” She smiled falsely, drinking deeply from her wine glass to break the awkward silence that permeated their conversation.
* * *
The meal continued, much as it had, and desert came and went. The couple chatted pleasantly, Megan’s distance and evasiveness forgotten for the moment. The bill paid, the couple quietly left the small restaurant and walked silently out into the quiet, snow covered town square.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.” John asked softly, wrapping his arms around Megan’s waist as she opened her handbag.
“Everything and Nothing.” Megan sighed, lighting a cigarette as she tugged the hem of her dress lower against the cold night air.
“You seemed distracted tonight.” John observed. “Didn’t you enjoy it? We won’t come here again,” he offered reassuringly. “It was just an idea to check this place out.”
Megan shook her head and exhaled, the smoke drifting lazily in the cold air. “No, dinner was lovely,” she said turning to face the man she knew she loved with all her heart. “I’m just… well my mind was elsewhere, it’s my fault.”
John squeezed Megan tighter to him as the couple stood in the quiet night air. Megan stubbed out the butt of her cigarette and lit another, jabbing it into her mouth with shaking hands. “Jesus,” She muttered. “I’m all over the damn place tonight.”
“What’s wrong? Really?” John asked, frustrated with her evasiveness. “Tell me please Megan.”
Lifting his hands from her belly, she walked several steps away from John before turning to look at him. Mascara trails stained her cheeks as she stood; staring mournfully back at the man she loved.
“John, look…we need to talk.” She whispered quietly. “About me.”
John’s expression melted from confusion to concern. “What is it?” he asked nervously. “Is it about us?”
Megan shook her head softly. Her brunette waves swaying gently with the movement. “No John, Just me…. Let me talk please, this is hard to say.”
Megan drew on her second cigarette and sighed. “John, I’ve wanted to say something to you for the last few weeks… ever since I realised that I really, truly, loved you.”
“Aw baby.” John smiled adoringly as he stepped towards Megan, arms open.
Megan took a step back. “Let me finish please!” she pleaded holding up her hands.
“I’m not normal John.” She sighed reluctantly, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. “I wasn’t born normal, and I grew up feeling terrible… that I didn’t belong.”
Megan took a step back from the man she loved and looked down at her feet before clenching her fists and raising her eyes to meet his. “John, I was born as boy.”
Taking another step backwards, Megan searched for any sign of reaction in John’s deep blue eyes. “Please say something,” she whispered softly, a deep sense of dread filling her heart. “I’m so sorry John.” She moaned quietly.
John smiled reassuringly. “It doesn’t change the way I feel about you,” he shrugged dismissively. “It’s a question I asked myself a while ago; before we met. Would it matter? Would it change how I felt about a girl? I didn’t think so at the time. But now I know. You trusted me to tell me your secret…. It doesn’t matter: I know that for certain, Megan,” he said sincerely. “I love you Megan.” He finished softly. “Nothing will ever change that.”
Dumbfounded, Megan blinked for a moment before flushing deeply. “I don’t deserve you John,” she mumbled quietly.
“You have that wrong.” John replied lovingly. “It’s me that doesn’t deserve someone as brave and as courageous as you. Or as Sexy and intelligent.” He grinned boyishly.
Stepping forwards, John wrapped his arms around the trembling girl before him, squeezing her tightly. As he held her, he felt her body shake with heavy sobs. “Hush,” he soothed as he rubbed her back. “There, there baby, it’s ok.”
Megan cried, but not for fear, or pain, but for joy and relief. Her secret had freed her from the bonds of guilt. It was a new woman that raised her head towards the lips that begged a question she answered with her own.
From the Author: Hey folks, I just wrote this up tonight. It had been on my mind for a while. It was one of those situations that simply cried out to be immortalized on the page of fiction.
I hope you Enjoy it. Miracles do happen.
Alyssa