By Jillian
Chapter 1 — Con Passione
By Jillian
There it was 1am and I was standing out in the cold…by choice no less! Maybe it’s not so surprising. I mean, I always took my breaks outside no matter what the temperature. Okay, if it was raining or snowing I’d stay in the club, but otherwise I’d rather spend my 15 minutes breathing some air that didn’t smell like stogies.
Anyway, I was out there leaning on my car while the other guys passed around a joint, which is just not my thing but then who am I to say anything. After all, if they knew what my thing was they’d probably beat the crap out of me. My greatest wish is to be a woman. See why I didn’t tell the guys?
Just as we were about to head back in to play the last set of the night I heard a commotion from over by the dumpster. I turned to look and saw one of the club regulars, a guy named Joey something running away as fast as he could. Momentarily I wondered if I should go see what was going on, but then remembered that as it was time to get back to work the last thing I needed was for that jerk of a club owner to short the money because I was a few minutes late coming back from break.
First thing we did once we were back on stage was start in with some old country, mostly two steps and what Bob the band’s front man liked to call ‘bellyrubbers’, which I guess is what some country boys call slow dances.
As we began the set I found myself thinking about the path that had brought me to that point. To say I had no idea how I had gotten there would be a lie, because the truth of the matter was I knew exactly what had brought me there.
I’d started out with one goal in life…to be a great jazz bassist…and I was on my way to achieving that goal. I was studying with Rufus Reid at Indiana State and making great progress. It was quite a coup getting in with Rufus. After all, he was the author of one of the most widely studied texts for the instrument, ‘The Evolving Bassist’, which of course everyone there had pretty much memorized by the time they were done with their Freshman year.
Truth is, my bass was my only friend in the world at that time. I was getting better all the time and had even started picking up some playing jobs, which helped make me a little bit less of a starving college student. Unfortunately, even with the advances in my professional life I was alone. Maybe a lot of that was self-inflicted, as I was very confused about myself.
Music was the only thing that kept me going most of the time. When I wasn’t playing, I had no idea who I was. I was conflicted about pretty much everything in my life and as a result I generally went out of my way to avoid getting involved with anyone.
Much of my conflict came from questions about gender. A very large part of me was absolutely certain I was a Transsexual, but then there was this little voice in the back of my head that kept telling me not to do anything about it. I had finally come to terms with things, but was too scared to do anything about it. As a result, I was still Harry to everyone except me. In my heart, I was Hannah.
I was trying my best to be a ‘normal’ guy despite those persistent feminine feelings. I’d like to think that I was successful enough that nobody knew my secret. Heck, sometimes I wasn’t even sure I knew…
…I was sitting in the student union doing some homework when out of the blue this girl comes up to me and asks, “Can I join you?”
Dumbfounded because this was the first time I had ever been acknowledged by another person outside my family, I stumbled through a reply of, “Sure.”
She sat down across from me and said, “My name’s Holly,” as she reached out her hand to shake mine.
I took her hand and shook it as I answered, “Harry.”
“I know,” she said. “I’ve seen you around. Can I ask you something?”
“Depends,” I replied, trying to be funny.
“Why are you always alone?”
I thought for a moment trying to come up with an answer that would be plausible without giving away my deepest darkest secret immediately, “I don’t know. I’ve just never been very good with people.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “You’re doing okay with me.”…
It had been a long time since I’d thought about that day and frankly it left me almost as off balance as when it actually happened. After that, I tried to keep my mind focused on my playing and I felt like that last part of the set was the best I’d played in a long time. I doubt anyone else noticed, though. After all, we were playing country and as long as the beat remained steady nobody was going to notice the bass player.
With ten minutes left in the night, Bob stepped down off the stage and let the guys and I close out the night with a couple of rock numbers. Once that was done the other guys joined Bob at a table for a few drinks while I packed up my basses, since I’m not terribly fond of drinking to be quite honest.
I carried my stuff out to the car and just as I was about to head back in to collect my pay for the night, I heard a sound from over where I’d seen Joey running before. Worrying that there might be someone hurt over there…after all this Joey character had a reputation for being a bit of a tough guy…I went to take a look.
Lying there on the ground in a pool of his own blood was another one of the regulars, though I didn’t know his name. Running back inside, I threw open the door and shouted, “There’s somebody hurt bad out by the dumpster!”
The club owner sent one of the waitresses to check it out while he finished counting up the drawer and she promptly threw up all over the guy, who was no longer moving or making any kind of sound.
“Come with me,” I said to her as I led her back inside. Going up to the bar I shakily said to the owner, “I think the guy may be dead out there.”
“Well crap!” he exclaimed, his response taking me by surprise. “They’ll shut us down for at least a week this time!”
Looking over at the guys, I started to ask what he meant when Bob said, “I thought things were gettin’ better, Billy!”
The owner responded, “Yeah, we’d chased off some of the bad eggs, but they don’t seem to want to go.” He then picked up the phone and called the police.
We had to hang around until they got there, not only because we might be needed as witnesses but because Billy hadn’t paid us yet. I can’t explain it, but as we listened to the sounds of the approaching patrol cars I found my attention being drawn toward the door and beyond it the body lying out there.
Once the police arrived on the scene all attention was directed toward them as they interviewed all of us in search of clues that might help them solve the crime. Somehow I wound up last on their list, so I had to sit there quietly for over an hour before I could tell them what I’d seen.
“So you’re the one who found the body?” asked one of the officers.
“Yeah, when we were on our last break I heard a noise from over by the dumpster just before we went back inside for the last set and I saw this guy Joey running away from there. Then after we’d finished I carried my instruments out to the car and heard something from over there again. Curiosity got the better of me so I went to take a look and found this guy dying,” I said before pausing to try and calm my nerves.
After writing down a few notes the officer asked, “You mentioned the first man by name. How do you know him?”
“He’s a regular around here. They both are actually, but Joey’s something of a troublemaker.”
Turning his attention momentarily back toward Billy, the officer asked, “You know who he’s talkin’ about?”
Turning pale, Billy responded, “I’m not sure I wanna say.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he said putting great emphasis on ‘mean’, “I know what this guy is capable of and I’d rather not wind up as the next notch on his gun handle.”
With the ‘gun handle’ comment the officer’s demeanor changed dramatically, shifting from bored confidence to something that resembled fear. “Is there something solid you can testify to? And just as important, are you willing to do so? I can promise that if this character is as dangerous as you’re leading me to believe, we can probably provide protection through the trial.”
We all heard his promise of protection, but I doubt anyone present including the officer truly believed it. He did continue without success to try to convince one or more of us to tell him who did it, but eventually he exasperatedly said, “If you’re not going to tell me, then maybe I should have you all taken into custody. Maybe that’ll loosen your tongues.”
As we stared at each other unsure what to do the officer called in for a transport. True to his word he took us all in and allowed us to spend what little remained of the night in the custody of the local constabulary. Being my first brush with the law beyond a speeding ticket, I was scared to death and I’m sure everyone knew it.
After a while, we were taken one by one out of the holding cell and interviewed. Luckily for my nerves, I went second. I was led down several corridors, up some stairs and into what I presumed was the squad room. I was taken to a desk and told to sit down, after which I was handcuffed to my chair to wait until a detective had a chance to interview me.
I have no idea how long I waited, but I’m fairly certain it was well over half an hour before a gentleman in a crumpled, cheap suit sat down at the desk and started questioning me.
“Name?” he began without even looking at me.
“Harry Dawson,” I answered quietly.
“What was that? Speak up please.”
Louder this time I repeated myself, “Harry Dawson.”
“Now Mr. Dawson, what can you tell me about this evening?”
“I really don’t want…” I started.
He quickly interrupted me, saying, “Just answer the questions.”
“But...”
Exasperatedly he said, “I could take you into custody if that would make things easier.”
“No,” I quickly replied. “On our last break we were out back and just before we came back in I saw somebody running away from around the dumpster.”
Probing for more information he asked, “Could you identify who it was?”
Again I hesitated before finally saying, “Joey something or other. He’s a regular here, but…” I paused before adding, “Sorry, that’s all I know.”
Turning his attention to the rest of those present, the officer asked, “Did anyone else see this Joey?” Everyone responded by vigorously shaking their heads no.
He then asked, “Any idea who he may be talking about?” Once again the only reply was a chorus of heads shaking.
Eventually the police left us and we were free to go home to catch a few z’s. Once in my car I started it and put it in gear beginning my journey home.
During my trip home the extra tiredness from being kept up an extra couple of hours by the police seemed to take it’s toll as I found it difficult staying awake. Again my mind started wandering in directions it hadn’t gone in a while and I found myself thinking about Holly.
After we met, we became something of an item. She went with me to jobs when I’d get work and I did what I could to support her desire to become an artist. Sometimes her presence was the only thing that got me through the night, because I rarely got to play the kind of music I really wanted to play.
Funny thing is, for a while my gender issues kind of hibernated and for the first time in my life I felt like just a normal guy. I guess sometimes love is like that.
Eventually, when we reached a point where I was playing enough to afford it we got an apartment together. Her parents were okay with it, but to say mine didn’t like the idea would be a drastic understatement. Things went along well for a while, until the day Holly told me she was pregnant…
…”Harry?”
I looked up from my studies to see Holly with a look of intense worry on her face. “What’s wrong?”
She held up this thing that I soon came to find out was a home pregnancy test and after stumbling over her words a couple of times, she said, “I’m pregnant.” No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she dissolved into a flood of tears.
I rushed to her and took her in my arms saying, “It’s gonna be all right. You’ll see”…
Fortunately I did finally manage to get home in one piece, where the very first thing on my agenda was to strip off the old smoky smelling clothes I’d worn to the gig and climb into the shower, luxuriating in the warmth while the water washed away the remainder of the club’s aroma.
Even after several months on hormones I was still pleasantly shocked by just how sensitive my nipples felt as the water rushed over my body. As I continued to enjoy the sensation my mind again wandered off on it’s own…
…”How could you?” she yelled at me from the doorway.
“What?” I asked, unsure just exactly what I’d done wrong this time. Okay, so that wasn’t exactly true. I knew. I was logged in to one of my favorite TG fiction websites despite the fact we’d had some fairly major fights about the time I was devoting to them just the day before.
“Don’t ask me what! You know damned well what!” she paused to catch her breath after all that shouting. “You promised you wouldn’t do that anymore. Is your word worth nothing?”
“But I was just checking up on some friends,” I argued. It was true. I wasn’t writing anything, nor was I reading stories. I was just responding to some private messages from friends who had missed hearing from me for a few days.
“I told you to give up that stupid fantasy or I was out of here!” She then picked up a book that was lying on a table by the door and threw it at me.
I barely ducked out of the way, but by the time I returned my attention to the doorway I could hear her storming down the hall toward our daughter’s room…
When I got out of the shower I toweled dry and blew dried my hair before slipping into a nightgown and crawling into bed. Within seconds I was asleep.
The next thing I knew, I was sitting bolt upright in bed drenched in perspiration shouting, “No!” at the top of my lungs. The only thing I could remember from the nightmare that prompted that reaction was a hauntingly familiar voice saying ‘You’ll be next’ in a menacing tone.
Giving up on the idea of further sleep, I got up and went into the living room where I curled up on the couch and dozed while some mindless movie played on the TV. I’ve no idea how long I slept there, but when I decided to rejoin the living the day was in full swing.
Despite the hormone therapy I still hadn’t been able to work up the courage to start living as a female full time, so after I put on a rather snug sports bra to prevent excessive jiggling I got dressed in the standard issue musician’s uniform…a musical t-shirt and jeans with a pair of Nike’s. I wandered out of the house on my way to run some errands when I found that my car had been vandalized.
The windows had been broken out, there were numerous large dents in the doors, fenders and hood, and spray painted on the trunk lid was ‘U talk U die’ underlined for emphasis. I considered calling the police, but from what I knew of this Joey character he didn’t make idle threats and I had no interest whatsoever in tempting fate.
I returned inside and found myself pacing back and forth as I looked out the window at my now all but useless car. As the time passed I contemplated the various options available to me in the situation, but for the most part found that I had none. Sure, I could call the police and file a report. I could even give them Joey’s first name and description, but somehow that didn’t really strike me as the best way to ensure my continued living given what I do know about the guy.
Once I began to calm down I called Bob to see about a ride to the club that night. As the phone rang I became increasingly fidgety worrying about Joey and just exactly what he had in mind for me.
Finally Bob answered, “Hey, Harry.”
“Bob, I need a favor,” I blurted out almost before he’d finished saying my name.
“What is it?”
I paused just a moment before saying, “I need a ride to the gig tonight. My car’s out of commission.”
“Dude!” he seemed surprised. “That sucks. I’ll pick ya up about seven, if that works for ya.”
“That’d be great, Bob,” I replied. “I’ll see ya then.”
As I disconnected the line I thought about the fact that this guy knows where I live not to mention what I drive. I couldn’t help but wonder what else he knew about me? Did he know about Hannah?
The shudder that ran through me at that thought hung on for quite some time before I was able to collect myself again. I then called my cousin whom I normally take my car to and asked him to come pick it up and let me know if I had a prayer of affording the repairs. Since I wasn’t going anywhere until Bob came to get me I decided I’d take care of a little maintenance on my bass. It took nearly an hour, but I had cleaned all the ‘bar goo’ off, done a fingerboard treatment, and changed strings leaving it ready to go in it’s case.
I then turned my attention to my first love, the upright. I sat down behind it and got that familiar feeling of being ‘home’. I started playing some bluesy jazz walking lines, as my mind filled in with drums, piano, and a tenor sax completing the ensemble. After a few choruses I climbed the fingerboard to run through some solo ideas before settling back into the groove for another couple of choruses before bringing the piece to a close.
I played through a few more songs, mostly standards like Miles Davis’ “All Blues”, again imagining the entire ensemble as I went. The next thing I knew, there was a knock at the door bringing me back to the present. I set down my upright and went to answer it.
Bob was standing there impatiently waiting when I opened the door. “What the hell took you so long?”
“Sorry, I was practicing. Guess I didn’t hear ya.”
“I kinda gathered that from your playin’.”
I grabbed my electric bass and followed him out to his truck, sliding my instrument behind the seat before climbing into the passenger seat. The drive to the club was uneventful as we sat quietly listening to the radio on the way.
Once there, I couldn’t help but to scan the place for any sign of Joey. As I set up for the night, while we waited for 9 o’clock, and as we climbed up onto the stage I was quite distracted from worry that he might think I’d called the police, so much so that I nearly missed the count-in to begin the first song. My distraction carried through the entire first set as evidenced by the fact that I made several mistakes, which I simply don’t make as a general rule. I’m pretty certain nobody other than the drummer and myself noticed though as the sparse crowd seemed quite energetic in their appreciation…of course that might’ve had something to do with the substantial amounts of alcohol being consumed by the small group of what looked to be college kids obviously holding some sort of celebration at the club.
On our first break I stayed inside rather than go out for a breath of fresh air as I normally would so I could again scan the crowd for signs of Joey, but by the time the guys had returned from doing whatever chemicals they were sharing outside happened to be I’d managed to convince myself he wasn’t there. As a result, I was a bit more satisfied with my performance in the second set and when the time came I even decided to join my band mates outside.
We were barely out the door when one of them pulled out a joint and lit it, passing it around to the others. They did offer me a hit which I declined saying, “Thanks guys, but no thanks. S’not really my thing.” From that point they ignored me as usual while I leaned against Bob’s truck and stared at the stars overhead.
The third set ran smoothly as did the fourth, then we tore down the gear while we waited for payment. The truck was pretty crowded by the time we got all the PA and my bass amp, but we managed to fit it all in just in time for Billy to hand out the night’s remuneration. Bob and I said our goodnights and climbed into his truck for the ride home.
“Thanks for the lift,” I said shortly after we left the club.
“No problem,” Bob replied. “What’re you gonna do about your car? I saw it getting’ towed away when I got there and it looked pretty bad.”
“I don’t know, to tell you the truth,” I said tentatively.
He was quiet for a minute or two before saying, “Well let me know if you’re gonna need a ride Wednesday for the gig.”
“I will,” I said. “Thanks.”
The remainder of the trip was made in silence, other than the turned down radio playing top 40 Country in the background. When we arrived at my place I climbed out and pulled my bass from behind the seat, then went around to the back and unloaded my bass amp. I closed the tailgate and waved as Bob pulled away, leaving me to haul my stuff upstairs to my apartment.
Just like the night before, I stripped down and took a nice long relaxing shower before pulling on panties and a nightie, blow drying my hair, and climbing into bed. I think I was asleep before my head hit the pillow…
Chapter 2 — Adagio Cantabile
By Jillian
My sleep was peppered with nightmares. Okay, more like several variations of one nightmare in particular. Every time I’d get to sleep I’d see Joey either attacking me, or harming those around me, or in one case outing me to all his redneck buddies as a transsexual.
It was almost noon Sunday by the time I got up and when I did it amounted to little more than pulling on a bra, t-shirt, and lounge pants and curling up on the sofa to watch some television. I had just about dozed off again when I was startled by the phone ringing.
I picked it up and said, “Hello?”
“Harry, it’s Tim.”
“Hey cuz. What’s the word?”
“I’m not sure you wanna know,” he replied tentatively.
“That bad, eh?”
There was a short pause before he responded, “Let’s put it this way. We can fix it, but it may wind up costing more than just going out and buying another car.”
“Ouch!” I exclaimed. “Wow. Any idea where I can find a decent car cheap?”
Tim thought for a moment before saying, “Let me make a couple of calls. I’ll give ya a holler in an hour or so.”
“Okay,” I responded just before he hung up. I looked at the phone for a moment before placing it back on its cradle. I continued to stare at the telephone for a few minutes as my mind began to wander…
…I looked up from the book I was trying unsuccessfully to read to see Holly coming into the room. Once she knew she had my attention she said, “Listen, I just talked to my parents and I’m going to take Jessica and stay with them for a while.”
“But…” I began.
She cut me off saying, “We’ve had this discussion a thousand times, Harry. I’ve told you over and over again it’s either us, or them. And time and again you’ve made your choice. I’m done fighting with you over it.”
“So if you’re going to stay at your folks, how am I going to see Jessica?”
“I guess you should’ve thought of that before,” she sniped.
“A baby needs her father,” I stated.
“Like you’re much of one,” she coldly snapped back. “Honestly, I don’t know why I’ve stuck with you as long as I have. No, I take that back, I do. It’s because I love you and yes, I still do. I just can’t take not being a more important part of your life than those weirdos are.”
“Holly…” I started. “You know you’re important to me. You and the baby.”
“Just not enough to stop trying to live this fantasy life of yours,” she spat, driving a stake deep into my soul…
…Holly had just come back inside from loading things in her car. She was just about to pick up the baby when I asked, “Does it have to be like this?”
“You better believe it!” she exclaimed, causing Jessica to start screaming. “Now see what you’ve done,” she huffed as she took the baby into her arms.
“But leaving?”
She stared at me icily as she said, “You won’t hear from us again, ever. And don’t try to contact us.”
“But…” I began to cry.
“Goodbye,” she coldly said as she carried the baby toward the door.
I followed after them saying, “Please…” but it was too late. She was out the door and strapping Jessica into the baby seat as I stood there crying…
I picked up the phone and dialed, despite knowing it would do no good. She’d been avoiding my calls ever since I found out her new number, but this time it was different. This time an automated voice answered saying, “You have reached a number that has been disconnected, or is no longer in service. If you believe…” at which point I hung up.
I couldn’t stop the thoughts as they rattled around in my head, “It had taken months to finally convince her parents to give me her new number and now she’s changed it again. I guess she was serious when she said I’d never see or hear from them again.” The tears started falling down my cheeks and wouldn’t stop until I cried myself to sleep.
Once again I awoke to the ringing of the telephone, though this time I wasn’t quite as startled as before. I answered, “Hello?”
“Harry,” Tim said. “I found you a guy looking to sell an old Explorer in pretty good shape.”
“How much does he want?” I asked.
“That’s the best part,” he replied. “Since he’s a friend of mine, he said he’d let ya have it for a thousand.”
“Sounds like my best bet,” I said.
“Yeah, want me to tell him you want it?”
Did I want it? Yeah, but could I afford it? That was a matter up for some debate, to tell the truth. But, not wanting to keep Tim waiting while I thought about things, I said, “Yes. It’ll be tomorrow before I can get to the cash, but yeah.”
“Okay, I’ll tell him you want it. I know the truck pretty well. You won’t be disappointed,” he said then hung up.
I replaced the handset, then thought, “Well, so much for my savings. I guess it was silly for me to be saving up for SRS when I’m afraid to even start my real life test anyway
Finally shaking those thoughts from my head, I went to my old friend the upright and started practicing. After wandering through several classical etudes from the Simandl books, I again found myself playing through jazz changes as I listened to the other instruments in the ensemble playing along in my head.
I went through song after song, until I stumbled upon an idea for an original song, which prompted me to reach for pen and paper. Scribbling away furiously as I tried not to lose the idea in the interim, I quickly had the melody laid out as well as the chord changes. I played through the song several times, even grabbing my bow to give voice to the sustain needed to make the tune ‘sing’.
By the time I realized how late it was, I was actually a little surprised I hadn’t heard some complaints about the volume as it was quickly nearing the noise ‘curfew’ for the apartment complex. Putting down the bass, I then undressed and got ready for bed.
Once again my sleep was filled with a series of unsettling dreams. The least disturbing of these was actually when I dreamt of playing a jazz gig as Hannah. That was the only time all night that I woke up from a dream without my heart racing from fear.
Monday morning brought with it the need to make a few phone calls, since I wouldn’t be able to run my usual errands. First up was a call to my therapist’s office.
After two rings the receptionist answered, “Dr. Tucker’s office.”
“Hey Jen, it’s Hannah Dawson. I’m afraid I’m going to have to cancel on Sarah today.”
“Not sick are you?” she asked.
“No, but my car is,” I replied, trying to be lighthearted about it.
“Do you want to reschedule now, or wait until you know what’s going on with the car?”
I thought for a second before saying, “I shouldn’t have any trouble making it tomorrow. I’m buying a replacement later today, but this morning is kind of difficult.”
“Okay, I can get you in at 11 tomorrow, if that works?”
“Great!” I replied. “I’ll see ya then.” After that I hung up the phone and got on with making the rest of my calls.
Once done with the others I called Tim and said, “Any chance of getting a ride to the bank so I can pay for this Explorer?”
“I don’t know,” he started. “That’s askin’ an awful lot.” I could almost hear the smile over the phone and found myself doing the exact same thing. When finally he relented and said, “I suppose,” I barely prevented myself from giggling.
“I’ll see you in a bit then,” I replied.
“Later,” he said before hanging up.
I quickly showered, washing and conditioning my hair while there, then dressed. I was far more bold than normal for some reason, opting for a beautiful lacy bra for a change to wear under a polo shirt. Not only did it not hide my ballooning assets, it displayed them in all their feminine glory and I was thrilled to be able to go out like that. Of course, it was chilly enough out that I could pull on a jacket, which still disguised my figure somewhat so my concerns about discovery by my family had very little justification.
After picking me up, Tim first took me to my bank before then driving me to meet his friend. I looked at the truck and found myself really liking it. The leather interior was in wonderful condition and the body looked like it had just come off the showroom floor, despite being over ten years old. My cousin had already told me that he’d been the one to do much of the work that had been done to it, so he knew exactly what kind of shape it was in. That was pretty much all I needed to know, so I said, “I’ll take it!”
I handed over the money, then once the bill of sale and title had been properly tended to I took my new truck directly to the inspection station so I would have all the requisite paperwork for licensing the vehicle.
From there I found my way to the license bureau where I stood in line for nearly two hours waiting to pay my sales tax and fees. By the time I’d made it up to the counter and taken care of my business, I couldn’t remember ever being gladder I wasn’t wearing heels!
I was however quite glad that I’d managed to work up the courage to go through the process of getting my name changed, because that meant for the first time in my life I was able to register a vehicle under the name ‘Hannah’. That might have seemed like a pretty small thing to some, but to me it was a huge step toward becoming the person I’d always thought I should be.
Mondays were jam night on the local jazz scene and I was feeling pretty good about things, so I decided that it was as good a time as any for ‘Hannah’ to make her debut. It had been several years since I’d gone to one and as that was my only contact with the jazz world, I didn’t really expect anyone to recognize me.
Dressing up too much would’ve been out of place so I went simple, with women’s jeans and a simple top plus flat sandals. Not wanting to haul a $10,000 instrument into a bar, I opted for my rarely used electric upright. There probably wouldn’t really be a need for it, but just in case, I was ready.
Turned out there weren’t any other bass players there to jam, so I wound up playing all night while making some great contacts for future work…as Hannah no less. The number of comments along the lines of “Never heard a girl play that well before” had my confidence through the roof by the end of the night. I was asked by several different band leaders for my phone number in case they needed a bassist, which I was thrilled to give them.
My drive home that night was different from usual, not the least because the buzz I was still experiencing from being allowed to play as the woman I’d always believed myself to be for the first time prevented me from feeling the tiredness I usually suffered from during the drive home. The rush wasn’t enough, however, to keep me from getting to sleep as soon as I climbed into bed.
Those same bad dreams haunted me all night long, so much so that I eventually gave up on sleep opting instead to crash on the sofa with unidentified mindless programs playing on the TV. Unfortunately, that didn’t make the dreams go away, though the content did change…
…I was modeling a dress in front of my bedroom mirror when to my surprise my door flew open and in stormed my father. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, ya damned pansy?” he shouted as he rushed toward me. He struck me as hard as he could, causing me to drop straight to the floor.
As I looked up toward him he spat, “I don’t want to ever see you dressed like that again! Got it!” He then turned and left the room as I dissolved into tears…
…I was sitting at the table with my mother, saying, “I really like her a lot.”
“That’s wonderful, son,” Mom gushed.
Just then Dad came into the kitchen. Mom looked up at him and said, “Tom, Harry’s got himself a girlfriend! Isn’t that wonderful?”
He looked at me with the same kind of disgust he always did and said, “Must not be much of a girl if she’s interested in a little perv like you.” With that single sentence he had managed to take me from excitement to despair without even trying. Then as quickly as he had appeared, he disappeared…
…I nervously listened to the phone ring as I waited for someone to answer on the other end. Eventually there was an answer, “Hello? Who is this?”
“Mom,” I exuded. “I have what might be good news.”
“What’s that, dear?” she asked.
“You remember that girl I told you about, Holly?”
“Sure,” she replied, sounding extremely bored by the discussion up to that point.
“We’re having a baby!” I said excitedly. There was no response. After a moment or two of allowing the deafening silence to grow I said, “Mom?”
Finally she responded, “Yes dear?”
“You heard what I said, right?”
“Yes, dear,” again she became silent.
Growing a bit agitated I asked, “What’s wrong? I thought this was great news!”
“Oh, it’s lovely dear, just…” she paused to search for the best way to say what she meant.
“Just you don’t think it’s a great idea,” I finished her thought, or at least what I thought she was going to say.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to,” I responded. “Don’t worry, you won’t be asked to do anything for the baby. I promise.”
She didn’t say anything…
…Mom may have been at a loss for words, but that was not an affliction my father suffered, “What the Hell are you thinking?”
“I admit, we didn’t plan this, but…”
He cut me off to continue his tirade, “Plan? Plan? Since when did you ever plan anything? I can’t believe you could be so irresponsible! I take it back. When have you ever been responsible?”
As the steam powering his tirade began to dissipate the fury of his argument faded, but the one thing that didn’t fade was the obvious disappointment I could see in his eyes. It was after all a look I’d become quite accustomed to over the years.
His lecture continued at a more sedate level, “So what are you going to do to support this new family of yours? Have you thought of that at all?”
“Of course I have,” I retorted. “I’m actually making quite good money playing these days and I’ve had offers of jobs I couldn’t take because of my school schedule. I’m going to drop out of college and play full time.”
“Oh, now that’s rich,” he said with an almost sinister chuckle. “You really think you can support a family by playing in bars? This Holly of yours won’t stick around six months.” The chuckle transformed into an almost evil laugh…
…I woke up crying from the memory of that day. As I thought about it I had to admit that while he might have been wrong about the six months, he didn’t miss it by all that much. Little Jess’s first birthday had been the only one I’d been able to spend with my little girl. Before she had another, her mother had taken her away.
Shaking off the maudlin thoughts that had been dominating my mind, I decided to get out of the house for a while. In a sudden surge of bravery I dressed more femininely than usual and even put on a little makeup before heading over to Guitar Center. I didn’t really need anything, but it was always a good place to kill some time.
When I returned home the flashing light on my answering machine told me I had messages waiting. I pushed the playback button and listened to the beginnings of two telemarketer calls before hearing, “Hey there, girly boy. Did ya get my message? I see ya got yourself a different car. Just remember what I told ya and ya won’t get hurt.”
I wasn’t sure what I could do about what I’d just found out without telling someone what was going on. Ultimately, I must have been struck by a surge of bravery because I popped the tape out of the machine and promptly called the officer in charge of the investigation.
“Hello detective, this is Hannah, I mean Harry Dawson. I have something I think you’ll find very interesting.”
Chapter 3 — Molto Agitato
By Jillian
Detective Johnson was at my house in less than 15 minutes and once there didn’t waste any time in listening to the phone message. “What did he mean, ‘my message’?”
I took a deep breath and said, “He vandalized my car and spray painted ‘You talk, you die’ on the trunk lid. Truth is that threat’s why I didn’t report it in the first place.”
“Where’s this car?”
“It’s out at my cousin’s place. He was looking at it to see how much it would cost to repair, but told me it was a total loss.”
“I’d like to see it,” he said.
I rode with him, directing him to Tim’s place where he took pictures of the damaged vehicle while he asked more questions. “Any idea why you’re being targeted?”
“Just that he suspects I saw him running away from the body,” I answered.
“And did you?”
“I couldn’t tell for sure. I saw someone and thought it looked kinda like someone I recognized, but…” my answer slowly ground to a halt as I wasn’t sure what to say to complete the thought.
Gesturing toward the car he asked, “So this happened at the club?”
“No, I got up the next day and found it like this in the parking lot at home. What am I going to do?”
The officer stood there for a moment before saying, “First things first, if anything else happens, whether it be another phone message or vandalism or what, report it directly to me immediately. Don’t touch anything you suspect has been tampered with and again, call me immediately. Call me if you think of anything that might possibly be helpful. And last but certainly not least, be careful. Don’t take any chances.”
He left to return to the station, while I stayed at my cousin’s to retrieve a few things from the car. Once that was done, Tim’s wife Beth gave me a ride back into town so I could pick up my truck and get to my appointment with Dr. Tucker.
As we drove, I guess her curiosity got the better of her, “So, why are you dressed like that?”
“Umm,” I replied so eloquently.
“Come on, Harry. Everybody in the family knows you’re not exactly the poster boy for macho,” she laughed as she said it, but not trying to be cruel. “How serious is this?”
I gradually allowed myself to respond, “Pretty serious.”
“Like permanent kind of serious?”
“Someday,” I said before even realizing I’d done it.
“Really?” she queried. “What’s your name?”
“Hannah,” I said quietly.
“Hannah, huh?” she repeated me. “It suits you. I think I may like Hannah, but you may want to keep it quiet in some corners of the family until you absolutely have to make the change.”
“No kidding,” I said dryly. Then as I breathed a sigh of relief, “Wow! I hope you know I was terrified what might happen when you noticed. All sorts of things were running through my head. Maybe even throwing me out of the car or something.”
She looked hurt, “How could I do something like that? We’re family, you know that.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to accept me, or even treat me fairly.”
“It does to me,” she said with great conviction. “I knew you had had lot’s of problems with your folks growing up. Is this why?”
“You could say that.”
Gesturing toward my bosom she asked, “Are those real?”
“All me,” I said while trying and failing to suppress a grin. “Wonders of modern chemistry.”
“So you’ve been on hormones for quite a while then,” she stated.
“A few months,” I responded. “Really the only thing holding me back at this point is fear.”
“Of what?”
“My folks, mostly, but lots of other things as well. There’s part of me that’s still trying to get back in touch with Holly about Jessica, but that’s not going well at all.”
“That’s gotta be rough,” she said as we turned into my building’s parking area. Changing direction slightly she added, “We ought to hang out more.”
“I’d like that,” I said. “I haven’t really had much chance to do that sort of thing.”
“Anything going on tomorrow?” she asked as we parked.
“Not really,” I replied.
“Why don’t I come by in the morning? Maybe we’ll do a little shopping or something?”
“Cool,” I said. “Listen Beth, thanks for the lift. And everything else,” I said as I opened the passenger door to climb out.
“Be careful. I heard what you were talking about with that cop.”
As I got out, I waved bye to her and watched her pull away. Then I headed for my truck, practically skipping. When I started the engine I noticed the time and saw I’d have to hurry to make it.
Truth is I was a few minutes late in arriving at Sarah’s office, but fortunately she was running a little behind herself. That meant I had time for some coffee before my appointment.
“How goes it?” Jen startled me with the question, having come up behind me as I was fixing my drink.
Once my heart returned to it’s normal location I said, “Trust me, you don’t want to know.”
“Oh come on,” she continued. “Where else am I going to get the local music scene gossip?”
“I’ve spent all my time recently steppin’ in cow poo, so I’m not really up on the local rock gossip.”
“Ah,” she said. “Too bad. Most of the time the only thing I miss about playing is the gossip.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I can’t help ya there.”
“Anything interesting going on in your life?” she asked.
I took a deep breath and sighed before saying, “Well, I witnessed a killing the other night.” She gasped in shock, causing me to pause momentarily before continuing, “Yeah, and then my car was vandalized beyond the point of repair.”
“Wow!” was all she could say.
Just then Sarah poked her head out of her office and asked, “Hannah? Are you ready?”
I turned my attention back to Jen and offered, “Maybe we’ll get a chance to chat later?”
“Maybe,” she replied. I then followed Sarah into her office and took my usual spot on the sofa.
“Anything interesting happen this week?” she asked once we were settled.
“I guess you could say that,” I responded dryly. “Where shall I start? The murder at the club, my car being vandalized, or the multiple threats on my life?”
“Sounds like you’ve been busy,” she said while pleading with her eyes for me to offer some details.
“Well, last Saturday I was out on break when I saw someone running away from the dumpster out behind the club. I thought it odd, but didn’t really think all that much of it. After the last set of the night, I was carrying my bass out to the car when I thought I heard someone moaning in pain.
“I followed the sound out to the dumpster and found one of the club’s regulars lying there on death’s door.”
“Yes?”
“I ran inside and told the manager to call the police. They took statements, then I went home.”
“Sounds harrowing,” she commented.
“You could say that,” I responded. “The next morning I found that my car had been vandalized, including a message spray painted on the trunk. It said, ‘U Talk, U Die”.
“Oh my,” Sarah gasped.
“Precisely what I thought,” I offered. “Not wanting to test the validity of the statement, I just called my cousin the mechanic and had him come get the car so he could let me know how much fixing it was going to cost.”
“You mean you haven’t reported it?”
“I have, just not when it happened.”
She looked at me with concern as she asked, “What prompted the change in position?”
“Threatening phone calls.”
Eventually our conversation drifted to more familiar subject matter, like my hormone treatment and my eventual transition. When our time was up I made my way out of Sarah’s office and after exchanging goodbyes with Jen I was on my way home.
All the way home I had the strangest feeling distracting me. Not only couldn’t I seem to shake it, it seemed to grow stronger the closer I got to my apartment. Even though it was almost bad enough to make me consider not going home, I did so, against my better judgment.
I made my way inside the building once I’d parked and after nervously fumbling with my keys managed to open the door. Once inside my apartment, I checked for messages on my machine. There was only one, but it was rather scary.
“I thought I told you not to talk to the cops!” the now familiar voice shouted from the answering machine. “You must have a death wish, girly boy!” then the line went dead, leaving me devastated.
Again I called Detective Johnson to tell him that there was another threatening message on my machine, but the best I could do was leave him a message.
I tried to put the whole thing out of my mind without success. I even tried practicing, but found myself unable to focus, so I settled into an easy chair and waited for the detective to come back by to pick up another tape. At this rate, I was going to need to stock up on those old style mini-cassettes.
It wasn’t long before he arrived, leaving with cassette in hand. I tried listening to music but couldn’t concentrate. The same could be said for the book I tried reading. I even tried napping but couldn’t relax, so I wound up just letting my mind wander.
Thoughts raced through my mind as I tried to come up with a way out of this mess. I played through quite a few scenarios in my head, none of which ended with me safe and Joey behind bars, before I finally came to the realization that whatever the solution I came up with might be, I wasn’t going to come up with it that easily.
In an effort to clear my head I switched on the television and sat through some mindless movie the title of which I couldn’t identify, then fixed myself a salad which I nibbled on as another movie blared from the TV. As I spaced out, memories again came flooding into my consciousness…
…I sat nervously next to Holly on a park bench, staring at her face as it was lit up by the moonlight. Eventually I said, “I have something I need to tell you.”
She looked me in the eye and said, “It can’t be that important.”
“I hope you feel that way after I tell you,” I said. I took a deep breath and proceeded, “There are things about me that could have an impact on any relationship we might have.”
“God, you make it sound like it’s something horrible,” she said, a look of concern etched on her face.
“It might be,” I tentatively said. “I don’t suppose there’s an easy way to do this, so here goes. I’m not really like other guys.”
“Oh, God. You’re gay,” she said.
“No, no,” I quickly countered. “But you’re not far off.”
She looked absolutely terrified as she asked, “Then what is it?”
I took another couple of deep breaths to try to settle the thoughts running through my head before saying, “Have you ever heard of Gender Dysphoria?”
She looked at me confused, saying, “Can’t say that I have.”
“Well,” I continued as I reached over and took her hands in mine. “It’s a condition where the afflicted person experiences some level of confusion or discomfort with their birth gender.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that there’s a part of me that is really uncomfortable with being male.”
She continued to look at me, even more confused than before. As what I’d said started to sink in she first looked hurt, then mad before finally getting an incredibly sad look on her face as tears began falling. I reached over and held her in a gentle hug, trying to comfort her.
As I did that, she turned her face to my ear and whispered, “We’ll get through this. Together.”…
…I paused at a store window to look at a beautiful pair of boots with stiletto heels. Holly looked as well and commented, “They are quite striking. Want me to try them?”
“Sure,” I said, probably a bit more enthusiastically than a boyfriend normally would.
We went in the store and Holly tried them on. They looked marvelous and I must admit that I couldn’t take either my mind or my eyes off of them for the rest of the evening.
Later that night Holly found me sitting on the edge of the bed holding one of those boots, staring intently at it. She came over to me and took it out of my hand, angrily saying, “Don’t. Don’t even think about it!”
“What?”
“I knew it was something like this. You can’t even go a day without thinking about it, can you?”
I dropped my eyes to my lap but didn’t respond. I wasn’t sure what to say. While I tried not to admit it openly, she was right. My obsession with all things feminine was beginning to interfere with ‘real’ life and Holly wasn’t happy about it in the least.
“This needs to stop,” she said as she put away the boots.
“I know,” I replied, unsure how to make that happen…
…I typed away furiously, unaware that Holly was standing behind me. When she finally cleared her throat I nearly jumped out of my seat. “You startled me,” I said once my heart was again a resident of my chest.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
I quickly minimized the window I was working in before saying, “Oh, nothing.”
She came closer and said, “Didn’t look like nothing. Let me see.” She took the laptop from me and looked at the web page I had left open as a decoy. She looked down at the bottom of the screen and clicked on the minimized Word document.
She read a few sentences before saying, “You promised you wouldn’t write this stuff anymore!”
“I’m sorry,” I replied. “It just a little story. It helps me to write them.”
“Helps you with what?” she asked, the disgust clearly evident in her voice.
“Deal with things,” I replied timidly. “Writing them helps me feel better.”
“But you promised!”
“I know,” I said. “But…”
Cutting me off she said, “But nothing! You promised. If you can’t even keep a promise about something as simple as this, how can I trust you about anything?”
She was right and I knew it, but that did nothing to assuage my desire to write stories about my life that wasn’t. There was nothing I could really say in response to her question, so I stood there looking at her as tears began rolling down my cheeks.
Seeing that I didn’t have an answer for her, she turned and left in a huff. I sat back down and tried to write some more, but found I couldn’t. After saving what I had done already I turned my attention to my email messages from my online friends…
…At some point I must’ve fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew it was very dark out and I was feeling refreshed but hungry. I had just begun making myself something to eat when the phone rang.
“Hello?” I fearfully said into the handset.
“Miss Dawson? This is Detective Johnson.” He called me miss! I couldn’t believe it.
“Yes,” I replied as calmly as I could.
“Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner, but with the shift change and everything I just got your message. I’ll be over in a few minutes.”
It took me a moment to remember that I had called him about the latest phone message and to realize that was why he was coming over. However, that didn’t stop me from running to the bathroom and touching up my makeup.
I’d just about finished when the doorbell rang. I ran to it, peeking through the hole to make sure it was him before opening it.
He greeted me, “You said there was another message?”
“Yes,” I said, showing him in. I led him to my answering machine where I played the message for him before popping the tape out to hand him.
“Right,” he said as he stared into space, presumable thinking. “We know that he knows not only your telephone number, but where you live and is in fact keeping an eye on you. I think it’s time to consider moving you to a safer location.”
I looked at him and asked, “And where might that be?”
He returned my look, but no response was forthcoming. He then grabbed his cell phone and placed a call, “This is Detective Johnson out of the fourth precinct. I need to secure a safe house for a witness to an open homicide investigation.”
Chapter 4 — Scherzo Energico
By Jillian
“Wait!” I said in a surprised tone. “A safe house? You mean like witness protection? What about my work? My apartment? What am I supposed to do with my stuff?”
“Slow down,” he said while holding his hands up to emphasize things. “We don’t know how long it’ll be, but I wouldn’t expect it to take too long. For now, anything you don’t have to have with you should stay here. I’ll have a uniform posted here as a guard, okay?”
“Will there be room for my upright?” I asked.
“I don’t know why not,” he responded before adding, “Which one is that?”
I rolled my eyes in as exaggerated a look as I could manage before finally pointing toward my baby and saying, “That one.”
He cracked a smile before saying, “I knew that.”
“Uh-huh,” I grinned as I packed some clothes to take with me. “So what happens if you can’t find Joey?”
“That’s not going to happen,” he said smugly.
Obviously I wasn’t going to get anywhere with the detective at this rate, so I shut up and finished packing. That task done, he helped me pack my things into my truck, since I pointed out that there was no way we were fitting in his car with my bass.
We waited for more officers to arrive, one of which he left guarding my apartment while another drove the Detective’s car behind mine. At first I began to wonder if he had any idea where we were going, as we seemed to be randomly turning every which way en route to my temporary abode.
However random our route seemed to me, it turned out there was a method to his madness, as he explained. “We’re making sure no one is following us so we can keep this location secret.”
“Oh, that’s why?” I asked, rather surprised for some reason.
Eventually we did reach our destination; a fairly plain looking house, surrounded by other plain looking houses in a typical lower middle income neighborhood. My truck was hidden in the garage and then my belongings were brought inside the house.
Once installed, Detective Johnson started to leave when I stopped him, “You’re not leaving me here, are you?”
“Well that was sort of the plan,” he retorted. “The whole idea here is to keep you safe while I track down this Joey character.”
I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course he was leaving. Otherwise, there wasn’t much sense in protecting me, was there?
Leaving me in the care of a young man who was introduced to me as Officer Sanchez, Detective Johnson set out in search of a killer while I had little to do other than practice and watch television. Given those options, I chose to practice…a lot.
With the exception of the Detective’s daily visit, which amounted to little more than him stopping by to see if we needed any supplies, my only companions for days were my bass and the collection of police officers who had been assigned to protect me.
I found that my constant practice time was having an impact on a couple of things. First, I was playing better than I could ever remember. And second, it seemed that all that alone time was allowing my mind time to wander back into the past…
…As I entered the house, I was overwhelmed by the emotions of the day. I looked at the ancient Grandmother clock that sat on the side table in my parents’ entryway and found myself overwhelmed by the sadness of having just come from their funeral.
The policeman who had contacted me said that their car had been struck by a semi that ran a red light doing nearly sixty. My parents’ old VW bug never stood a chance.
Still staring at that clock, tears pouring down my face, the weight of recent events overcame me as I collapsed on the spot in a rain of despair. Here I was, a mere two weeks removed from having my child torn away from me by her mother and now I was faced with the task of sorting through my departed parents belongings, even though I hadn’t had even a moment to grieve…
…I was sorting through things in my father’s desk when I ran across something I never would have expected; a stack of concert programs from my high school and college ‘career’. I didn’t even know he’d been at most of them, yet here they were, in near perfect condition, neatly stacked in an otherwise empty drawer.
“I never knew,” I said as I flipped through the pile. “Why didn’t he let me know he was there?”
I had lived most of my life assuming that my father not only didn’t respect me or the choices I’d made in life, but that he barely tolerated me at all. And yet, here I had in my hand what seemed to be evidence that he had been if not proud then at least as supportive as he knew how.
As I thought about all of this, I couldn’t help myself. I began crying yet again and couldn’t stop. Some of them were tears of sadness for my lost parents, but some of them were tears of pride in knowing that in his own way my father really did love me…
…I was sorting through boxes of old photos and other collected ‘special things’ my mother had saved over the years when I came across something I never expected; a letter addressed to me.
“Dear Harry,
If you’re reading this, then something drastic must have happened. I don’t know what that something might be, but trust that your father and I love you and we will miss you very much.
I know you’ve always felt like you were different from others, despite all the effort you put into being “normal”. To say I’ve been proud of you for the way you’ve tried to live your life so honorably would be a drastic understatement. Not only do I love you, I admire you more than I could ever say.
Your father may have always seemed like he was disappointed with some of the decisions you’ve made, but believe me when I say he is more proud of you than he would ever admit to you. I hope you know that already, but in case you don’t please understand that everything he did was done out of love and was the only way he knew to show that.
You’ve spent far too much of your life trying to conform to the expectations of your father and others around you. It’s time you stopped that and start to embrace your true path. Whatever that may be.
With love and respect,
Mom”
I set the letter aside as I continued my task of packing up their belongings. The rest of the day was filled with many tears, as so many of the items I came across brought back specific memories of my parents.
When night came, I took the letter with me and read it again as I lay in my childhood bed. At first, the meaning of the ending eluded me, but eventually what she was trying to say dawned on me.
As I re-read the letter I thought about just exactly what my true path was. I began to realize that my mother must have known all along what that path was. I don’t think she knew that her name was Hannah, but she knew the direction my life should take…
…That was the moment when my whole life finally came into focus for me. It was like in some way, my mother was giving me permission to become her daughter. Maybe she didn’t know that’s what would eventually happen, but then again, maybe she did.
My days began to take on this similar routine; practice and reflect, reflect and practice. It seemed that even when I tried to change the pattern, I was drawn back to my instrument and my memories.
I found myself thinking about that old clock as well. Most of my parents’ possessions I had donated to charity, but that clock and the table it sat on found their way into the entryway of my apartment. I couldn’t begin to explain it, but there was just something about it that made me feel closer to my parents when I looked at it. I hoped I’d be able to look at it again soon.
On Friday morning I managed to broach the subject of my work with the good detective. “I’m supposed to be working tonight,” I stated before he could leave again.
Turning back toward me as he started out the door, Detective Johnson asked, “What would happen if you didn’t show up?”
“Well, let’s see,” I began. “The band would be fired, I’d likely be let go by the band, the group’s reputation would be soiled making it more difficult for both them and me to get work, and I might find myself blackballed in the local music scene. Did I leave anything out?”
“No, that sounds like a fairly complete scenario,” he responded. “Do you need anything from your apartment? And where are you working next?”
“My electric bass, gear bag, and amp from the spare bedroom in my apartment,” I listed off my requirements. “And oh yes, I’m supposed to be playing tonight from nine to one at Kelsey’s on Elm.”
“I’ll have the equipment brought over from your apartment and will arrange for at least one officer to serve as escort tonight. Will that do?”
I looked at him, trying to put my gratitude into words but failing miserably. Eventually I did the expected ‘girlie’ thing, walking over to where he was standing and giving him a small kiss on his cheek. “Thanks,” I said after thoroughly embarrassing the poor guy.
The needed equipment arrived around three that afternoon, after which I decided to relax in the bath for a while. Once out, I dressed again and got in a couple of hours practice before time for dinner.
I’m not much in the kitchen department but I had nonetheless taken to inviting my guards to join me for dinner most evenings, for which the mostly young and obviously single officers seemed quite thankful. That evening, by the time I’d straightened up after dinner I noticed that it was time to get ready for the gig, which was when I discovered what I considered to be a major problem.
I hadn’t remembered to pack any of my guy clothes, which I ordinarily would wear when I played. Since it was already after Seven, there wouldn’t be time to have a change of clothes brought over from the apartment and I was fairly certain there was no way I’d be allowed to go back by there myself. I stewed on that dilemma for longer than I probably should have before I finally reached the conclusion that I had no choice but to go as Hannah.
I picked my least girlie things; a nice pair of jeans, a polo top and loafers, and on a whim decided to add some small hoop earrings and some very light makeup. I fussed with my hair until it was almost too late, then joined my escort in my truck for the journey to the club.
I suppose I might have been a little less conspicuous had Officer Reynolds not insisted on helping me bring in my equipment, but I wasn’t about to turn down help schlepping my stuff into the bar. This drew the guys’ attention, which led to them noticing the changes in my appearance.
“What’s goin’ on here?” asked Bob as he stared at me, trying to figure out what was different.
I looked at him and fear washed over me. He knew! “This is Officer Reynolds, my bodyguard for the night.”
“Bodyguard?”
“Yeah, they’ve had me locked up in ‘protective custody’ most of the week until they can manage to actually catch Joey,” I responded, hoping the questioning would go no further.
“You look different,” he pondered aloud.
I’m fairly sure I went pale as I asked, “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” he started, before his eyes grew wide in surprise then narrowed as he said, “I always thought you were kinda the sensitive type, but I didn’t take ya for one of those pervs.” The venom in his voice wasn’t disguised in the least.
“Bob…” I started.
“Guys,” called the bartender from beside the stage. “It’s time.”
Bob nodded to him before returning his attention to me and saying, “This is not over.” He then counted us in and we began our usual first set selection of two steps and line dances, with the occasional buckle polisher thrown in for a change of pace.
I found that for some reason I was feeling a heightened sense of connection with the music, which to my ear at least was obvious. However, when the set came to an end none of my band mates made mention of me playing particularly well.
Bob indicated that we should all step outside, so I followed them out the back door to the overflow parking, which we had all used to load in. We’d barely made it out the door when Bob fired toward me, “What’s goin’ on here, Harry?”
“What…” I began before being cut off.
“You know exactly what I mean,” he interjected. “The whole girl thing you got goin’ tonight?”
Jack the guitar player added, “Yeah, I mean you ain’t never been no macho guy, but this is way too far fer even you.”
“What is it you’re trying to tell me here?” I asked, although I had a fair idea where they were headed.
Bob was the only one who seemed to have the guts to actually come right out and say, “We don’t want to work with no weirdo. We’ll finish the night with ya, but unless I can’t find somebody to fill in for ya tomorrow night this’ll be your last one with us.”
That was it? I wasn’t exactly surprised by their reaction. I knew the kinds of attitudes they all harbored on various topics and at some level expected the reaction I’d gotten from them. That didn’t, however, lighten my reaction to the delivery of the news that I was being let go.
All that and yet if they couldn’t find a replacement they expected me to play the next night? That struck me as rather galling, but in the end I held my tongue.
The longer I thought about it, the more tempting it was to simply walk off the job on the spot. However, in the end I felt some professional obligation to at least finish out the night, so when the time came for us to return for our second set I dutifully followed the others in and took my place on stage.
Our second hour followed a similar game plan musically, though my heart simply wasn’t in it, which meant that my performance lacked some of the soul that had been present earlier. I doubt anyone in the club, my band mates included, noticed anything different about the way I played but I certainly did.
When the time came for our second break I chose not to accompany the others outside and decided instead to take a seat off in the corner, quietly sipping at my diet coke. It was almost time for us to return for the third set when I noticed a commotion over by the bar, which I tried to ignore until it reached a level I could no longer block out.
That moment came when I heard a gunshot coming from the front of the establishment. I had just managed to look in that direction when my ‘escort’ grabbed me by the arm and pulled me to my feet, dragging me at some speed toward the nearest exit. He pushed me out the door and turned to deal with the source of the disturbance when there was another gunshot, followed by Officer Reynolds falling toward me.
Panicked, I searched for the reason he had fallen as the door closed separating us from the inside of the club. I could here lots more commotion going on inside as I found the officer’s injuries, which consisted of a single bullet wound to his stomach from which blood seemed to be pouring out.
I reached for my cell phone to call 911 but found that I must have left it in my purse, which at that exact moment was still sitting inside the building on the table where I’d been sitting. Since there was nothing else I could do at that moment, I held Officer Reynolds’ hands trying to help him remain calm while we waited for the cavalry to arrive.
By the time I could hear the approaching sirens, I feared that my companion might not make it until he could be taken to the hospital. Beyond that, I feared that this might also be the handiwork of Joey and that I had been the intended target. Fortunately he hadn’t come in my direction after the last of the shots were fired, because with each passing second I became more certain that if he had I too would be lying here bleeding to death.
Police officers were the first to reach us, asking, “What’s happened here?”
“Some lunatic started shooting inside the bar. Officer Reynolds here was my guard and was shot when he got between me and the shooter.”
“And you are?”
“Sorry, Hannah,” I paused and corrected myself. “I mean Harry Dawson.”
“Oh,” he said blankly. A moment later, his demeanor changed and he said, “Oh, yeah. I think I’m supposed to be assigned as your guard tomorrow.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you. Despite the circumstances,” I said as I looked at the dying figure of my protector.
“You think it was the same guy from before?”
“I don’t know, I didn’t get a good look at him,” I said. “It was rather dark and I was in a bit of a hurry to get out of the building when it all started.”
“Understandable,” he said quietly.
Just then the ambulance pulled up and immediately went to work on Officer Reynolds. Moments later, Detective Johnson arrived.
He ran toward me and, after pausing a moment to catch his breath, took my arm and began leading me away from Officer Reynolds as he said, “We need to get you out of here pronto!”
He quickly led me to his car and sat me in the front passenger seat, then climbed in on the other side. As soon as the door was closed, he started the engine and turned to me, “I knew it was a mistake, letting you come tonight.”
“Was it Joey?” I asked.
“If the eyewitness reports are correct,” he said as he pulled the car out of the parking lot, “Yes.”
We drove for a minute or two before I could bring myself to ask, “Was anyone else hurt?”
He kept his eyes glued to the road as he said more calmly than I suspected he felt, “Yes.”
“Do you think…?” I started to ask, unable to complete the question.
Again, with his eyes firmly locked on the road he replied, “Yes.” He took a deep breath as we pulled up to a stoplight and turned toward me, saying, “I’m pretty sure he was there to take care of you.”
Chapter 5 — Legato Grave
By Jillian
“So you think…” I couldn’t bring myself to finish saying what I’d intended.
Detective Johnson turned his attention back to the road just as the light changed. As we pulled through the intersection, he muttered, “I knew I shouldn’t have let you go tonight.”
Ignoring his comment I asked, “What about my things? You know, my equipment? And I left my purse on a table in the club.”
Without saying anything to me, he pulled out his cell phone and pushed a couple of buttons. After a moment he said into it, “Sanchez? Listen, there are some things that need to be picked up from inside the club…yeah, the gear and a purse…”
Turning to me he asked, “What color?”
“Black shoulder bag. It’s on a table just stage left of the bandstand.”
Returning to his phone conversation he said, “It’s a black shoulder bag to the left of the stage…I’m guessing that’s the one…okay, get that stuff back to the safe house ASAP…great, I’ll see you there.”
He then closed the phone and put it away before telling me, “Taken care of.”
After a moment or two of silence I asked, “I don’t suppose anyone saw where Joey went?”
For a moment he got this incredibly compassionate look on his face before saying, “Looks like he got away in all the commotion. Lucky for you he decided to cut and run after he shot Reynolds.”
“For me, yeah,” I said. “Not so much for Officer Reynolds. What about his family?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of things,” he said dismissively.
We drove around for over an hour before finally pulling up at the safe house, where I immediately found my way to the bathroom and emptied the meager contents of my digestive tract via the in door, as it were. Once I’d managed to clean myself up and regain my composure I rejoined the good detective in the living room.
He looked closely at me and commented, “I’m surprised you went dressed like that.”
“Yes well, it seems I forgot to pack any of my guy clothes and by the time I found that out it was too late to get anything else from the apartment.”
“So do we need to have anything else brought over?”
I grinned and said, “I don’t think so.”
“Why so?”
“I got canned a little before Joey showed up,” I said with less disappointment than the detective probably expected.
“You don’t seem too broke up about it.”
“I’m not really,” I said. “I’d been looking for an excuse to get away from those guys anyway. I just didn’t want to no-show on them. Professional pride and all that.”
Shortly after that, Officer Sanchez pulled into the garage in my truck and came inside to deliver my purse. As he handed it to me, he said, “Here ya go. How’d you manage to get separated from it?”
I nearly lost it when he asked that, but I did manage to keep myself under control and after a couple of deep breaths replied, “When Officer Reynolds dragged me out of the club after the first shots were fired…” I left the thought unfinished, as I wasn’t really certain what to say.
“Ah,” he responded before turning his attention to Detective Johnson. “So what time does my shift start in the morning, boss?”
He looked at the younger man and replied, “I’d say eight or so. I’ll be taking tonight’s shift myself, so whenever you get here to relieve me.”
“Yes, sir,” he said before turning to me and adding, “Good night, ma’am.”
Once he’d headed out the door, I said to no one in particular, “Did he just call me ma’am?” The joy in my voice was unmistakable.
“I take it you like that?”
“You could say that,” I responded. “That’s sort of the goal of all the therapy I’m going through right now.”
He smiled at me gently and commented, “I think you’re being very brave. Not just about this whole Joey business.”
I returned his smile and then awkwardly said, “I’d best get to bed.”
Looking at his watch, he said, “You’re probably right about that. Good night, Miss Dawson.”
The smile on my face lit up despite my best efforts to hide my reaction to being called ‘miss’. I made my way into the bedroom and undressed before climbing into bed. I tossed and turned for quite some time, unable to get to sleep. As a result, my mind once again began to wander…
…I was lounging in the living room watching television when Mom came in and asked, “What ya watching?”
“Donahue,” I replied.
She went to sit beside me, saying, “I always love his show. What’re they talking about today?” As she asked the question the show returned from its commercial break, with an opening shot of a transvestite who was later identified as Virginia Prince, sitting there talking to another ‘lady’.
After seeing the topic of the show, an almost disgusted look came across her face as she got up from the couch and silently left the room, leaving me alone once again. I tried to focus on what they were saying, but found it nearly impossible thanks to the distraction of worrying what were my mother’s true feelings on the subject…
…As I tied my bow tie, I had to pause for a moment to reach inside my tux shirt to adjust my bra straps. Once I had them in a position where they wouldn’t be visible through my tux I pulled on my vest and jacket. Then I headed out, pausing at a mirror in the entryway to take one last look before making my way to the recital hall for the concert.
After arriving at the performing arts center my first task was to get my upright on stage where I would be playing later. I then double-checked that I had all the pieces we were scheduled to play, as well as our potential encores, on my music stand before joining the rest of the ensemble in the green room.
A quick look around the room confirmed that none of my friends had checked in yet, so I just started wandering around while watching the door for their arrival. At one point I found myself near a group of the more ‘popular’ people in the orchestra and discovered that the topic of their conversation was…me. I made sure they didn’t notice me but remained close enough to eavesdrop, which may have been a mistake.
While I couldn’t tell who was saying what, I could hear every word that was said. “What a dweeb!…Yeah, I mean he can play all right, but really!…And he’s such a downer, ya know?…Definitely…I keep expecting to hear that he’s done himself in committing Harry Carey or whatever they call it…”
At that point I’d heard far more than enough so I quietly slinked away, trying not to be noticed. Turning toward the door I then happened to catch a glimpse of a couple of my buddies as they wandered in…
…Eventually I did manage to get a little sleep, though nowhere near as much as I would’ve preferred. As a result, Saturday morning seemed like a particularly cruel thing to inflict on me. That didn’t, however, prevent the detective from rousing me at far too early in the morning.
“Come on, up and at ’em,” he abruptly called as he flipped on the bedroom light. “Breakfast’s ready in five.” Without waiting to ensure I actually got up, he turned and left the room.
I seriously considered just pulling the covers up over my head, but something prevented me from doing that. So up I was pulling on my robe over my nightgown and slipping my feet into warm fuzzy slippers before making my way to the kitchen, where I found the good detective standing in front of the stove, utensils in hand, stirring the contents of a rather large skillet as it sizzled away.
“Grab a plate, it’s ready,” he called to me as he scooped the contents of the skillet onto plates and went to hand one to me. We then sat at the kitchen table partaking of his labors while we awaited the arrival of Officer Sanchez.
“Thank you,” I said quietly as we ate.
“It was nothing, no big deal. All I did was throw some eggs and a little cheese…” he said.
I cut him off saying, “No, not for breakfast, although thanks for that as well.”
“Then what for?” he asked.
I took a deep breath and said, “For the way you’ve been treating me. I know it’s kind of strange having to deal with someone like me and you’ve…”
He jumped in, “There’s no need for thanks. All I’ve done is treat you the way I would hope to be treated if I were in your situation.”
I blushed as I responded, “Well, thanks anyway. Not many would be as understanding.”
He took a few more bites of his breakfast before offhandedly saying, “I kind of have trouble seeing you as a guy anyway.”
I’m not sure he meant to say it out loud, or realized he had said it for that matter. Nonetheless, the joy that spread through me made me blush further, if that were possible. After that, we ate in more or less silence, neither of us sure where the conversation should go.
Breakfast done, I took care of cleanup and just about the time I was done Officer Sanchez arrived. Detective Johnson said his farewells and was out the door.
Sanchez said, “I’m going to do a sweep around the house while you get showered and dressed, all right?”
“Okay,” I replied. He then headed out the door while I went to shower. After that, I was drying my hair when my cell phone rang.
I flipped it open and was greeted with, “Hey, girlfriend!”
“Beth? It’s good to hear from you.”
“Well, it’d been a few days so I thought I’d check in with ya. Got anything going today?”
“I wish the answer was no, but I’m stuck here in solitary confinement for the foreseeable future.”
“That sucks. I was hoping we could go shopping,” she said, sounding a bit dejected.
“God, I wish I could,” I replied equally saddened. Just then, Officer Sanchez poked his head in the room to let me know he was back from his reconnoiter of the perimeter. I waved to him and after he responded in kind, he left me to my phone conversation.
Beth asked, “So no luck finding that creep yet?”
“Not so much. He found me last night though.”
She gasped, asking, “What? How?”
“I had a job last night. About halfway through he showed up and started shooting. It was horrible,” I said as I started to cry.
“You didn’t get hurt?” she asked, the concern in her voice extremely evident.
“No, but the cop who was protecting me was shot and killed,” I barely managed to croak out through my tears.
The conversation continued for some time, ending with me promising to call back later so we could talk more after she said she needed to get busy. I hung up and let out a huge sigh.
No sooner had I finally begun to settle down than my cell phone rang again. Looking at the caller ID, I then flipped it open saying, “Sarah, what are you doing calling me on a Saturday? Did you forget that you get weekends off?”
She giggled for a moment before responding, “Well, since you can’t come in for your weekly session I thought I’d bring it to you.”
“Ah, that’s sweet,” I replied. “If ever there was a time when I needed to talk to someone, it’s now.”
“Something wrong?”
“You mean aside from feeling like I got a police officer killed last night?”
She gasped before asking, “What happened?”
“I talked them into allowing me to go play last night. Not one of my better decisions,” I replied. “The guy they’re trying to protect me from showed up and started shooting up the place.”
“You didn’t…” she began.
I cut in, “No, I’m fine. Unfortunately my bodyguard can’t say the same.” Unable to contain it any longer, I started crying.
“Oh, Hannah,” she said, unable to come up with anything more appropriate.
“He was trying to save me and was killed himself. Guilt doesn’t even begin to cover what I’m feeling right now.”
We talked for over an hour before Sarah noticed the time and brought our session to a close, but not before promising to call again Tuesday evening to check up on me. After spending much of the time on the phone in some state of emotional upheaval, I let out a huge sigh as I tried to calm myself.
Suddenly a voice broke the silence, “It really wasn’t your fault, you know.”
Startled, I felt myself jump. Once I had myself back under control I said, “Would that that were true.”
“It wasn’t. Really,” he said. “Detective Johnson authorized it as an operation to attempt to capture the perpetrator. Unfortunately, he got past us.”
I looked at Officer Sanchez and said, “I’m sorry, but that’s not really all that reassuring. How do I know he’s not going to come bursting in here and take you off guard again?”
“I’ll be honest, we underestimated the guy and he got the better of us. I promise you, that won’t happen again.”
I tried to be reassured by my guard’s words, but in the back of my mind I couldn’t help but have my doubts. I did my best to not allow them to rule my thinking.
Later that night, I found myself having rather scary dreams…
…I was playing on stage, when suddenly Joey jumped up right beside me and held a gun to my head, telling me, “Keep playing, sissy boy!” Rarely needing to be told twice, I tried to ignore the gun and continue playing. However, my nerves seemed to be getting the better of me as I found myself uncharacteristically making numerous mistakes as I played.
I’m sure the fear I was feeling was evident on my face, but as I looked toward the others on the bandstand I could see no acknowledgement that anything was out of the ordinary, other than my obvious mistakes which seemed to be seriously irritating everyone else. I kept glancing back and forth between Joey and my band mates, but apparently none of them could see the man holding a gun to my head.
When the song ended, Bob the front man looked at me and growled, “Get yer head outta yer ass and start playin’ like yer supposed to!”
I stared at him, absolutely shocked, as I felt Joey’s gun barrel press harder into my temple…
…I’m sitting at a candlelit dining table in a rather romantic restaurant, looking across as Detective Johnson. I nervously smile, a gesture, which he returns in kind, and take a sip of my wine.
“Thank you so much for bringing me,” I stumble out.
“I should be the one thanking you,” he responds.
I look away in embarrassment, but when I turn back to face him it’s no longer the good detective I’m seated across from, but my nemesis Joey…
…I sat bolt upright and shouted, “Aaahhh!” before I realized that what I had just seen was in fact a nightmare. Just as I started to calm down, in came my overnight companion, a young lady by the name of Officer Banks.
She crossed to my bedside and asked, “Is something wrong?”
I looked back at her and said, “No, just a bad dream.”
She smiled, trying to calm me down some, before saying, “Well, if you need anything, just let me know, okay? I’ll be right out here if you need me,” She then turned and left the room, this time leaving the bedroom door ajar.
I lay back down and tried to go back to sleep, though it took quite some time before I could manage it.
Hannah tries to fend off cabin fever while she waits for Detective Johnson to finally catch the ever elusive Joey. But will he be caught in time?
Chapter 6 — Presto Marcato
By Jillian
It had been a week since I’d been outside. A whole week! To say I was going a bit stir crazy would be the biggest understatement of the century. I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever be allowed to be a regular person again. Of course, that presupposed that I’d ever been a regular person in the first place.
It was getting bad enough that even practicing, which had always been my escape from the real world, was proving difficult thanks to my inability to maintain focus on the task at hand. I did manage to renew my acquaintance with the Kousevitsky concerto, which I hadn’t played since college, but that was probably the highlight of the entire week.
Eventually I resorted to daytime television, which hardly did anything to prevent my brain to turning to mush but it did pass the time. And there was my one link with the outside world…my cell phone.
I was on said gadget when Detective Johnson came in to check on me. As soon as he saw the telephone in use, he loudly asserted, “Get off that phone now! Don’t you know that your location can be traced by tracking the signal?”
I timidly said into the phone, “Gotta go, Beth. Laters.” I closed the phone and, looking at the good detective, said, “No, I didn’t know that. But don’t they have to know the number in order to do something like that? I’m pretty sure Joey doesn’t have this number.”
As he reached over and took the phone from me, he replied, “What makes you think he doesn’t know the number?”
“Well, he hasn’t called it. Not once, even though I know for a fact that he’s still leaving nasty messages on my home phone. If he knew this number, I’m sure he’d be calling it instead.”
“But you don’t know that, do you?” he asked. “Maybe he just wants you to think he doesn’t know it so you’ll keep using it until he manages to triangulate your position.”
“Okay, that sounds a little paranoid,” I said rather skeptically. “You forget, Joey is a regular at Lou’s, a bar rat, power drinker, trustee of modern chemistry. I doubt he has enough brain cells left to even think about using something as technologically advanced as cell phone GPS to track me down.”
After pausing for a second to allow my point to sink in, I continued, “I think you’re attributing a lot more intelligence to this guy than he has.”
He smirked at me as he said, “I might have been inclined to agree with your argument if I hadn’t just gotten the scoop on our buddy Joey.”
“Wha…” I said intelligently before falling silent.
He then produced a file folder and began reading, “Joseph Warner, born June 4th, 1966 in Chicago, Illinois. Joined the Navy right out of high school and trained in telecommunications and computers before transferring to the Seals. Spent five years there before being dishonorably discharged for conduct unbecoming…it says here he had multiple disciplinary actions taken against him, but the incident that led to his discharge involved beating a fellow Seal to death because the guy owed him twenty bucks. Shall I go on?”
I gulped before saying, “No, I get your point. What now?”
He took a deep breath and sighed before saying, “I know your phone conversations has been about the only thing that’s kept you sane here, so this is what I’m going to do. You can use the secure landline for a total of one hour a day. You will initiate all calls and caller ID information will be blocked.”
“But…” I tried to begin.
“But nothing,” he rebutted. And thus my cell phone was taken away from me for the duration of my stay in their custody.
Over the course of the next few days it seemed that some progress was made in the hunt for the elusive Joey Warner. By tracking debit and ATM activity, the police were able to determine that he was still in the area, although he was jumping around the area enough that they weren’t able to pin down a more narrow location. I tried my best to simply stay out of it and let my protectors do their work, although I found the boredom to be almost more than I could stand.
Officers Banks and Sanchez were my primary keepers, occasionally being spelled by Detective Johnson. When I asked why these poor kids were stuck guarding me all the time, the Detective’s reply was, “So we can minimize the number of people who know your location.”
“What? You think Joey has a spy on the police force now?” I asked.
“Who knows?” he replied. “But this guy killed one of my officers. I’m taking nothing for granted here.”
With seeing her nearly every night, I became quite friendly with Officer Banks…or as she insisted I start calling her, Ashley. We talked for hours every night, with only her hourly sortie outside to break up the girl chat fest. Most of the time we talked about music or movies, but as time went on we began to share a lot about ourselves.
We had been discussing this movie she had brought for me to watch when out of the blue she asked, “When did you know you wanted to change?”
“Wow,” I said. “Talk about topical whiplash.”
We both began giggling at that for a moment, but once things settled back down she said, “Seriously, when did you know?”
I thought for a moment before replying, “Well, for me it sort of came in stages. When I was a kid I knew I was different, but couldn’t put my finger on why. Then in high school and college I started trying to figure out what I was. I did a lot of reading and spent some time seeing a therapist, but we never really got to the bottom of things because I was afraid to explore that road at the time.”
“So when?” she asked, staring at me as though I were the most interesting person she’d ever talked to.
“Toward the end of college, we started actually getting down to the truth. But then I met Holly and one night we…you know…and she got pregnant.”
“What happened?”
“I did what I thought was the right thing…I proposed and we got married. Talk about a mistake.”
She was looking at me and I could see the beginnings of tears in her eyes as I continued, “I mean, I love my daughter more than I can say, but my problem started tearing us apart. I freely admit that the bulk of the responsibility for our marriage failing falls at my feet.” By the time I’d finished with that statement we were both in tears.
“So what’s next?” she asked, once we had both gotten the waterworks back under control.
I thought for a moment before replying, “I guess that depends.”
“On?” she probed further.
“Well, on what happens with all this for one thing. And whether or not I can come up with the money to pay for further treatment for another.”
“I take it this is all rather expensive?”
“You could say that,” I said. “I mean, the actual surgery may be the biggest
single expense, but there are so many other steps before you can get to that. Not having any kind of medical coverage makes it all that much worse.”
“Does insurance pay for it?”
“Most companies won’t pay for the actual reassignment procedure, but they will cover some of the steps leading up to it.”
She looked at me for a moment before asking, “Like?”
“If the plan covers any mental health services, then it will cover the required therapy leading up to SRS.”
She interrupted, “SRS?”
I grinned and said, “Oh yeah, I forget you don’t know all the jargon. SRS stands for sexual reassignment surgery.”
“Ah,” she retorted, her face changing from confusion to understanding before settling on a look of pure empathy.
The more I talked with Ashley, the more I grew to really like her. Equally as important, I think she came to genuinely like me as well. With that in mind, I asked, “So why are you here every night instead of going out? Surely you don’t find this more interesting?”
“Hey, I like hanging out with you. And I get paid to do it!” she barely got out before breaking down in a fit of giggles which I quickly found myself joining in.
Our conversation was interrupted a short while later by Ashley’s hourly trip around the grounds. While she was outside, I started watching some of the movie she’d brought for me. I became so engrossed that I hadn’t noticed that she’d been gone a lot longer than usual.
When I did finally realize that she was still absent, I paused the movie and started looking around the house. I checked the bedroom, kitchen, dining room, and even took a quick look in the basement before heading into the living room.
As I entered, I found myself face to face with a battered and bloodied Ashley, who in no uncertain terms said, “Get to your truck! We have to leave, now!”
Not being one who needs to be told twice, I ran for the garage with the injured Officer Banks trailing behind me. I helped her into the passenger side before climbing behind the wheel and starting the engine.
I hit the automatic door opener and as I started backing out I saw a dark figure standing in the middle of the driveway in my rearview mirror. I threw the truck into reverse and hit the gas, aiming straight for whom I assumed was Joey.
He managed to dive out of the way, after which I romped on the gas pedal as hard as I could. I’m fairly sure I left rather impressive looking skid marks in the process.
While all this was going on, Ashley managed to call in the incident using her radio. “The safe house has been compromised. The witness and I are attempting to ensure that we’re not followed. Awaiting instructions.”
We wound around the city for nearly two hours, constantly checking to make sure we weren’t being followed, while we talked about what to do next.
“Do you need a doctor?” I asked.
“No,” Ashley replied, “I’ll be okay. It’s just a little blood and bruising.”
“What do we do now?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t understand how he found us.”
I sat there for a moment feeling guilty before I said, “I suppose it could’ve been me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Detective Johnson took away my cell phone the other day because he said it could be used to track down my location.”
“They can, but you have to know the number to do it.”
“That’s what I thought. I told him I didn’t think Joey had that number, since he’d never called it, but the detective thought it would be better to be safe than sorry.”
“Looks like he had a point,” she said. “But that still doesn’t explain how he found us. I mean, if it were the phone, why take this long to make his move?”
“I don’t know.”
We eventually found ourselves heading out of town and at Tim and Beth’s place. We pulled in and got out of the truck, then went straight inside after confirming that nobody had followed us.
As soon as Beth saw us, she came running to me and grabbed me in a fierce hug while asking, “Are you all right? What happened?”
Returning her hug, I responded, “We ran into a little bit of a problem. Any chance we can hang out here until the police arrange another location?”
Beth smiled and said, “Do you really think you need to ask?”
Looking toward Tim, who hadn’t yet acknowledged my presence, I asked, “What about him? You know, what with things changing with me and all?”
In answer to my questions, Beth turned and gestured toward Tim as if to say ‘ask him’.
I decided there was no time like the present and cleared my throat before saying, “Hey cuz. How’s it going?”
He looked up from the book he was reading and uncomfortably said, “Hey Har…Hannah. You all right?” I’m not sure why, but knowing that he was willing to make even that much effort for me brought tears to my eyes. Before I knew it I had headed toward him and gave him a gentle hug in response.
As I released the hug and tried to wipe the tears out of my eyes I said, “Thanks Tim.”
“What for? I haven’t done anything,” he replied.
“Oh, but you have,” I retorted as I gave him a smile.
Ashley interrupted the family reunion, “Is there any way we can stay here until my superiors figure out a new location for Hannah?”
“There’s no need to ask,” said Beth. “Coffee anyone?”
Once we’d gotten settled Beth made coffee for everyone, which we drank as we filled her in on what had transpired at the safe house. After that I crashed on the sofa while Ashley waited for word from Detective Johnson concerning our next move.
The next thing I knew, I was being shaken awake. As I started to regain consciousness, I realized that it was the good detective doing the shaking, at which I asked, “What’s next?”
“I’m not sure,” he replied.
“Gee, that engenders a lot of confidence in a girl.”
“Yeah, well I guess I deserved that,” he said, half chuckling. “You all right?”
“Still a little spooked, but all right. Is Ashley…?”
“She’s fine. A few scrapes and bruises, nothing major. Probably got worse during training at the academy.”
I breathed a sigh of relief knowing that my new friend was all right, but it was short-lived as I remembered what Detective Johnson had said to me about using my cell phone. That thought forced me to tentatively ask, “So was this my fault?”
He thought for a moment before replying, “Who knows? He might’ve tracked your location with the GPS, or he might’ve simply followed one of the officers guarding you.”
“You think that’s possible?” I asked. “I mean, I hate to say this, but Officer Banks was with me every night for over a week. If he knew that he could’ve easily tailed her straight there.” I felt a shiver run down my spine as I thought about that.
“It doesn’t really matter how he tracked you down. All that matters is that we don’t let it happen again.” After a brief pause to allow that to sink in, he then said, “Now on another note, we need to get you to a more secure location.”
“You’ll forgive me if I seem a bit resistant to that idea. After all, your last ‘secure’ location turned out to not be all that secure after all.”
“I suppose that’s true. Still,” he retorted, “I’d prefer having you somewhere easier to defend than here.”
“And I would hate to impose on my cousin any more than I have already,” I added. “I just wish this was over already.”
“I know, Miss Dawson,” he said, after which I glanced at my cousin Tim whose reaction surprised me in a good way. He simply smiled at me.
My mind began wandering, only to be brought back by the detective’s voice saying, “We could set up a trap for him, if you’d be willing?”
“What did you say?” I asked, as I missed some of what he’d said while allowing my inner thoughts free reign of my head.
“I suggested setting a trap for Joey,” he repeated.
I stared at him, my veins coursing with a combination of excitement and fear. Excitement that this might all end soon, coupled with fear that it might all end soon. Once I found my voice I asked, “What do you have in mind?”
Detective Johnson looked thoughtfully distracted for a moment before finally replying, “We’ll set up a trap for him at your apartment.”
“But how?” I asked, confused by the sudden change in position.
“We’ll post numerous officers around the complex, waiting for him to make his move. He’ll never know what hit him,” he said almost smugly.
At that moment the thought occurred to me to ask, “If we’re going to do something like this, is there any way we can arrange for Ashley to be with me? I’ve grown quite fond of her.”
“I’d have never guessed,” he quipped. “I’m sure we can work something out. She didn’t appear to be too badly injured, so I’d say it’s up to her as much as anything.”
“I know you had her taken to the emergency room to be checked out, but have you heard anything about her condition?”
“Hang on,” he said, picking up his cell phone and calling police headquarters. “Hey, Johnson here…any word on Banks?… Yeah, that’s her. Injured while guarding our witness…Really?…that sounds like good news…Great…Good…Later…” he then closed the phone and slipped it back into his pocket.
“Sounds like she’ll be fine. Nothing more than some scrapes and bruises,” he reported.
“Wonderful!” I enthused, making no effort whatsoever to disguise my rapidly growing emotional attachment to Ashley Banks.
Detective Johnson left the house, I presumed to conduct a recon of the property since we had planned to stay at Tim and Beth’s until everything was ready to set up the trap. Once he was gone Beth wasted no time in pouncing on me with questions.
“How long have you known this Ashley?” she asked.
“Not a real long time. Just a week or so really,” I replied, blushing profusely.
“You like her!” she accused. “A lot, if the heat rising from your cheeks is any indication.”
“Okay fine. Yes, I like her,” I finally admitted. “She had volunteered to stay with me every night this past week. We spent almost the entire time talking about stuff.”
“Stuff?” Beth probed for details.
“Yes, stuff,” I responded. “We talked about everything you could imagine. I’ve probably been more relaxed with her than I think I’ve ever been with anyone…ever!”
“And is it reciprocated?”
I thought for a moment before admitting, “I don’t know for sure, but I think so.”
“Well, I hope so. I think you deserve a little happiness.”
“I’d like to think so too.”
At that moment, Detective Johnson returned from outside, saying, “Looks like the trap will be ready by morning, so if it’s all right with your family I thought we’d stay here overnight.”
I didn’t even have a chance to say anything because Beth jumped in, “Well, yeah! No problem. You need anything, Detective?”
“Thank you no,” he replied.
“Well, let me know if you change your mind,” Beth said, as she got ready to leave the room.
“Don’t go on my account,” said the detective.
“Oh, I’m not,” she responded. “I’ve just got a few things to get done before dinner.”
“Don’t let me keep you then,” he replied before turning his attention back to me. “I’ve arranged for your things to be transported back to your apartment overnight.”
I looked rather concerned as I said, “I do hope they’re careful with my baby.”
“Rest assured that ample care will be taken with everything, including your baby.”
I breathed a sigh of relief and said, “Okay then.”
Detective Johnson’s cell phone rang. He pulled it out and flipped it open, saying, “Johnson here…good, I figured as much…just a moment.”
He turned to me and said as he handed me the phone, “Banks wants to talk to you.”
I took it from him and put it to my ear, “Ashley?”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” she quipped.
My heart soared at the sound of her voice, making me think Beth might be right. “It’s just so good to hear your voice.”
“Yours too. Listen,” she said. “I’m not going to make it back tonight.”
“I expected that,” I replied, trying not to let my disappointment show in my voice. “I’ll just have to see you tomorrow.”
“Guaranteed,” she said. “It’s a little weird spending the night apart.”
I felt a flutter in my tummy as I said, “Yeah, I know. You try to get some rest, okay?”
“I will. You get some sleep too, all right?”
“I’ll try,” I replied.
Detective Johnson reached out and took the phone from my ear and said to me, “We’d best cut this short, just in case.”
Into the phone, he said, “Banks, we’ll see ya at her apartment tomorrow…good night.” He then closed the phone and put it back in his pocket.
“So that’s it then?” I asked. “We’re doing it tomorrow?”
“That’s the plan. Nervous?”
I thought for a moment before responding, “Yes and no. I think I’m mostly just looking forward to having this thing over with.”
“Well, don’t worry. It’ll all be over soon,” he said as he placed a hand on my shoulder. I can’t explain it, but at that moment I felt a strange chill run through my body.
Beth came in at that moment and said, “Soup’s on.” She then turned and left without looking to see if we were following. We were.
As we settled in for dinner, the room fell silent for a while as we enjoyed the fruits of Beth’s labors. Once the meal was done, I helped Beth clean up. I was rinsing dishes and loading them into the dishwasher when Beth brought in the next load of dishes.
“I know we covered some of this earlier, but does this Ashley know how you feel?” she asked out of the blue.
Taken aback, I stammered, “Uh, well, ahh…I uh…”
“You need to tell her, you know,” she said as she stepped behind me and gently hugged me.
“But…” I stumbled.
“But nothing,” she countered. “I can see it in your eyes every time her name is mentioned and I’d be willing to bet that not only is the feeling reciprocated, she probably already knows.”
“Well, if that’s the case…” I argued.
“Just say it,” she said with some finality. Giving me a final little squeeze, she then left me to my task and my thoughts…
…Looking into Ashley’s eyes, I asked, “So do you have anyone special?”
“’Fraid not. Not really much time for that kind of thing, ya know?”
“Yeah,” I responded as I reached out and touched her hand, sending a surge of electricity through me. At that moment, I nearly told her I thought I was starting to develop feelings for this marvelous woman. Unfortunately I couldn’t quite bring myself to do so…
…Detective Johnson cleared his throat, bringing me back from my thoughts. He then said, “You were about a million miles away.”
“Sorry,” I replied. “I was just thinking.”
“Yeah, well,” he began. Continuing, he said, “You’d best get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”
As I put the last of the dishes into the machine, I said, “True. Guess I’ll go get some rest.”
“Good night,” he said as I left him standing in the kitchen. I wandered into the guest room and fell onto the bed, losing consciousness before my head hit the pillow…
…I wandered into the living room to find Ashley, obviously hurt, standing there shouting, “Get to the truck! We have to get out of here!”
I turned and ran for the garage, hoping she was right behind me, but by the time I’d gotten to the garage door I knew something was wrong. Slowly turning my head to look behind me I saw a dark figure looming there, about to reach out to grab me.
“No!” I screamed as he took hold of me, grabbing me by both wrists and shaking me. “No!” I screamed again.
At some point I was able to see around my attacker, where I saw Ashley slumped on the floor unmoving. I tried to scream again, but no sound would come out.
This faceless stranger dragged me back into the living room where he threw me down on the floor and growled, “Where’d you think you were going? Thought you could get away from me? Ha!” He began laughing, a dark, twisted chortle containing only anger and hatred.
I looked up at him and his features started to come into focus, but he hit me in the head and I flopped down on the floor crying…
…I sat bolt upright in bed, gasping for breath. Looking around the room I realized I was still at Tim and Beth’s house, as I remembered why I was there. Gradually I began to calm down enough to try going back to sleep, but found that every time I started to drift off the image of that faceless figure returned to my thoughts, jarring me back awake. Tossing and turning until nearly dawn, I finally drifted back off to sleep where thankfully I managed to find a couple of hours of dreamless slumber.
When I finally arose from bed I quickly showered and dressed before joining Beth and Detective Johnson in the kitchen, where they were drinking coffee.
As soon as he noticed that I’d joined them, Detective Johnson asked, “You ready to get this show on the road?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess,” I responded as I poured myself a cup and took a seat at the table with them.
Beth then said, “Ya know, we still haven’t had a chance to go shopping.”
“I’d noticed that. Soon as this mess is over, we’ll have to remedy that situation.”
“Absolutely,” she replied.
The detective interrupted girl talk time saying, “Finish up your java. It’s about time to hit the road.”
I took a deep breath before swallowing the dregs of my cup. After rinsing the cup and placing it into the dishwasher I turned to face him and said, “Guess it’s time to go then.”
Following him to the front door, I was paused by Beth who gripped me in a rather powerful hug as she said, “Be careful.”
“Hey, what could go wrong? I have a personal escort and everything.”
Detective Johnson led me out to an unmarked car and after getting settled we began our journey. I must have allowed my mind to wander, since when I finally noticed where we were it seemed we were heading in the wrong direction.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
He ignored my question and continued driving until I couldn’t stand it anymore and asked more forcefully, “Where are we going?” Again he ignored my question and kept driving silently. At that point I opened my car door, which prompted him to grab hold of my arm quite roughly.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he shouted at me as he yanked my arm back toward him.
“Getting out of here!” I shouted back, full of far more bravery than I actually felt.
“Oh, no you don’t!” he said as he managed to pull me close enough to him that my door was pulled back shut. Then before I had the chance to try to open it again, he hit a button on his door turning off the automatic locks and windows for all the passengers, followed by locking the doors.
“Let me out!” I shouted. He responded by laughing at me, at which point I began to cry, from fear or frustration I know not. As the tears continued to fall I withdrew into myself and began to think about things. How I’d wound up here, what I could’ve done to avoid all this mess…basically, trying to figure out what I’d done wrong and what I could do about it.
Gradually I regained control of my tear ducts and once I felt like I could string together a complete thought I asked, “Why? What’s this all about?”
He let out a little snort and shook his head as his face took on an evil grin, saying, “All in good time.” I got no other response.
Undeterred, I continued peppering him with questions, “I thought you were trying to help me?” I couldn’t help myself as I again dissolved into tears.
A little while later a thought occurred to me, prompting me to resume questioning my abductor, “How did you think you could get away with this?”
For the first time since I realized what was going on, Detective Johnson was a bit more forthcoming, “Easy. You’ll be dead long before you’re missed.”
“But…” I began, searching for the words to complete the thought, “…what about Beth and Tim? They’ll notice right away if I’m gone.”
“You don’t really think I’m going to tell the plan, do you?”
“You’re bound to get caught,” I argued, trying to ruffle his unsettlingly calm demeanor.
“It’s all been planned,” he replied smugly. “Besides, no one will miss a freak like you.”
A part of me wanted to kill him right then and there, but another part just wanted to curl up and disappear. I knew that beyond Tim and Beth there were very few people who would notice if I were gone and most of them not for quite some time. As that thought rattled around inside my head, I drifted off into a sort of half sleep.
I must’ve been sort of out of it for a while, because when I realized we were stopping I looked around and had absolutely no idea where we were. All I could see were trees in every direction, even tightly lining the road making it clear that we were fairly deep in the woods somewhere outside of town.
The detective climbed out of the car, quickly slamming his door shut before I could try to climb out through his side and running around the car to my side. He pushed the lock button on his remote and yanked the door open, grabbing and pulling me out. I tried to look around in an attempt to figure out where we were, but again came up empty. Just then, I saw someone heading toward us.
As Joey walked toward the car, I looked at Detective Johnson hoping that he was going to do something. What happened next was not what I was expecting.
“Dude, you’re late,” Joey grumbled at the detective.
“Yeah well, maybe if you’d done your job right we wouldn’t need to be here dealing with this,” Detective Johnson said as he gave my arm a good yank.
This exchange confused the heck out of me, but before I could ask anything Joey said, “Careful little brother, don’t make me ‘deal’ with you next.”
“You don’t have the guts,” Detective Johnson countered. He then laughed as he said, “I’m not even sure you can knock me out after this like we planned.”
“You may be family, but don’t push your luck,” Joey replied. Then he turned his attention to me and said, “You look confused, girly boy.”
Both of them erupted in laughter, obviously sharing an inside joke. As I stood there staring at them dumbfounded I heard a truck coming. In response to the sound, my captors began trying to drag me away from the road and into the forest.
“Good a time as any,” Joey said as they each took hold of one of my arms and started pulling me toward what I was certain was my imminent death. The roar of the big truck whizzing past made me wonder if that would be the last thing I ever heard, other than my captors killing me.
As we were making our way into the woods where nothing could really be seen from the road, several cars pulled up beside Detective Johnson’s and car doors could be heard opening and closing quickly. In response, Joey and the detective tried to pick up the pace as they dragged me to what they intended would be my death. When we reached a clearing, they threw me down on the ground and both drew their guns preparing for my execution.
I heard a commotion nearby and in an act of self preservation curled up trying to make myself as small a target as possible. Then I simply tried to brace myself for what appeared to be the inevitable.
I heard several shots fire from what sounded like multiple directions and as I began to relax after tensing up from the sound, wondered why I hadn’t felt anything. As I opened my eyes and began to look around, I saw the co-conspirators lying on the ground, still and lifeless followed by the most wonderful sight I had ever seen.
Several police officers were heading my way, led by the lovely and talented Officer Banks. I stood up as Ashley got to me, throwing her arms around me in what I was certain was the fiercest hug in history. At first all I could do was return the hug, but eventually what had just happened started to sink in and I began to cry tears of joy and relief.
As I struggled to gain control of myself I asked, “How?”
She looked into my eyes and replied, “I followed Johnson from a distance, using a tracking signal. Once I knew he’d stopped, I called in for reinforcements and then waited for some commercial truck traffic to cloak our arrival.”
“But…how’d you know?”
“I didn’t for sure. I’d been a little suspicious for the last several days, but…” she stopped short.
I looked into her eyes and said, “I have never been happier to see anyone in my life.” I then resumed the earlier embrace, wishing it would never have to end.
Eventually, she led me back out of the woods to a waiting squad car. She helped me into the back seat before going around and getting in the back with me. Almost as soon as the doors were closed, I began sobbing as she held me gently and made calming sounds, lightly stroking my hair with her hand.
When I was finally able to speak, I told her, “I don’t know if you will want to hear this or not, but when he was driving me out here the thing I kept thinking about was that I wished I’d told you that I’ve been developing feelings for you.”
For what felt like about a month and a half, but was probably more like a few seconds, she held me silently as I stewed about the fact that I’d just revealed what was in my heart to her and yet she didn’t respond at all. With each passing nanosecond I could feel my heart breaking wide open. I began to wish I’d never said anything.
Finally she spoke, “About time!” While I processed what she’d just said, she placed a finger under my chin, raising my face until I was looking directly into hers. She then slowly leaned forward and lightly brushed my lips with hers.
They may have just barely touched, but the electricity that passed between us at that moment caused my heart to skip a beat…a sensation I hoped would repeat often over the next, say sixty years or so. I whispered, “Can we do that again?” as my face broke into a huge grin.
She replied, “You didn’t really think I volunteered for all those night guard shifts out of a sense of duty, did you?” She then once again kissed me…
The End