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Author's note: There are times when we have dreams so real that they conflict with our memories. Which are the memories, and which are the dreams? Sometimes, it gets confusing. Sometimes, we have to wonder whether the memories really are memories, or if they are something else covering a deep dark secret. I welcome feedback on this story - good or bad. Please take a moment to let me know what you think. Elrodw email: [email protected] ********************************************************************* Flashbacks by Elrodw ********** The figure lay on a surgical table of some form, completely naked. He shielded his eyes from the intense lights, trying to see beyond the circle of illumination to the rest of the room. He thought he could make out some details - polished steel walls reflecting the white glare. Around him there were figures - humans? - dressed in surgical garb, featureless except for their eyes, staring at him. He tried to move, and found that he was strapped to the table, fastened so securely that he couldn't move at all. With an audible squeal, a bright, knifelike red line of light snapped on at the foot of the table, a visible red curtain moving slowly up the table. And then the light touched his feet. Though he couldn't see it, he knew it. The light seared every nerve where it touched, causing an agonizing pain the likes of which the man had never felt before. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. There was only the pain, a tortuous agony which crept lowly up his legs, inching ever so slowly up his body. His mind tried to shut down, to blank out the overload from the red beam, but something prevented that. He could only lie on the table, conscious, unable to scream, enduring the terrible suffering as it dragged on, seemingly forever. ********** Frank bolted upright in his bed, his eyes wide as saucers, sweat dripping from his forehead. For several seconds, his eyes darted about nervously, until he realized his surroundings. As he took deep breaths to calm himself, he noticed that his wife had been awakened. "Frank?" she called, sleepy but alarmed. She looked at her husband, sitting rigidly on the bed, calming himself from whatever had so violently disturbed his sleep. "Another one?" she asked, concerned. Frank nodded, dropping his face into his hands, his elbows propped on his knees. He took another deep breath, and felt his body convulse involuntarily. Nancy sat up beside her husband, her hand on his shoulder. "They're getting worse, aren't they?" The question was rhetorical. She knew how often Frank had awakened, sweating, screaming, terrified. Frank looked at Nancy, and she saw the toll this was taking on him. He looked like a zombie, his eyes sunken and lifeless. "I haven't felt like this since..." His voice trailed off. Nancy was alert. "Since when, dear?" she asked. This was the first time he'd had a comparison, a frame of reference. Frank closed his eyes, his face frozen in a mask of concentration. But then he turned to Nancy and dropped his head on her shoulder. "I don't know!" he cried softly. Nancy could feel his body shaking, and knew that he was crying. "I thought I knew, but I lost it!" Nancy wrapped her arms around her husband to comfort him. "We'll figure this out," she cooed softly. "We'll find the answers." And it was a good thing Frank couldn't see her face - she was as terrified as he was. ************************* Frank quietly sipped his coffee, sitting across the table from his wife. Without warning, his face wrinkled in disgust, and he visibly had to force himself to swallow the coffee. He set down the cup like it was a snake. "Why don't you ever make French Vanilla coffee, like I prefer?" he asked suddenly. Nancy's brow wrinkled. "You never liked French Vanilla coffee," she said cautiously. "You always said those flavored coffees were too feminine." Frank looked at Nancy, stunned. "Why did I just ask for French Vanilla coffee?" he asked in disbelief? "I've always hated that stuff!" His gaze turned to the cup. "Why did that suddenly taste so bitter? I've loved strong black coffee ever since..." His voice trailed off again, and he appeared lost in concentration. But his concentration broke with visible frustration. Like a clue was stolen from his grasp. "Hi, mom," a cheery voice sang as Julie, their fourteen-year-old daughter skipped happily into the kitchen. She gave her mom a quick peck on the cheek. "Hi, daddy," she chirped as she gave Frank a quick peck. "Hi, sweetie," Frank answered warmly. "Breakfast?" he invited. Julie smiled and shook her head. "No time. I've got to meet Sharon before class." She stepped lightly to a cupboard and got a Pop-Tart. "Tell you what. How about if I drive you to school? We'll stop by Sharon's house on the way." Frank's offer was unheard of. Julie beamed. "You mean it, daddy?" she asked. "But, don't you have to go to work?" She didn't understand - usually, her dad had to go to work, forcing her to ride the bus. Frank smiled. "I'm taking a day off. I'll go get the car, and I'll meet you in a minute. Okay?" Julie grinned. "Great!" she exclaimed as Frank trudged out the door to get the car. Then when the door closed behind her dad, Julie turned to her mother. "Mom," she said, sounding worried, "is Daddy going to be okay?" Nancy's eyes widened, and she opened her mouth, trying to think of what to say. But Julie beat her to it. "Daddy had another dream last night, didn't he," she asked, knowing the answer. "And they're getting worse, too, aren't they?" Her mother didn't need to nod to give Julie the answer she dreaded. ************************ Frank gulped yet again as he sat, waiting, in the doctor's lobby. But this was not a physician. Rather, he was seeing his psychologist. Again. Something was wrong, he knew, but he dreaded trying to talk about it. The inner door opened. "Mr. Jenkins?" an older, pleasant-looking Hispanic woman asked. She smiled as Frank stood. "Good morning, Doctor Ramirez," Frank said awkwardly, shaking her outstretched hand. He just couldn't get used to seeing a psychologist. "If you would come this way." She led him to an office - a rather pleasant office, with some comfortable-looking wing chairs, a sofa, and a small desk nestled against one wall. "Have a seat," the woman instructed as she closed the door. Frank glanced around nervously, then sat down in one of the wing chairs. Dr. Ramirez smiled pleasantly at Frank as she sat down across the room from him. "Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Coke?" Frank shook his head. "No," he said, trying to sound brave. "Why does every counselor ask that? Back when..." His voice trailed off again, and his face contorted with the strain of trying to catch the fleeting thought. But he couldn't. He dropped his face into his hands, near tears. "Dammit!" he cried. Dr. Ramirez was sitting upright. "Back when ... what?" she asked softly. "You seemed to be remembering something, then you stopped." Frank shook his head, and lifted his eyes above his hands. To the doctor, he had the look of a haunted man. "I can't remember," he said in an anguished tone. "The dreams are bad enough, but the worst part is, every time I think I'm about to remember something important, something related to them, I only get a little flash. Then it's like my mind goes blank. Like something is turning off the memories." His arms dropped wearily to the chair. He looked like a beaten man. Doctor Ramirez scribbled a few notes in a folder. "Let's start at the beginning, then, shall we?" Frank nodded. "Okay, tell me about the dreams." Frank sat back heavily. "They are all the same. I'm in a room. On a table. And bright lights are nearly blinding me. There are some people there - in white clothes. Some kind of beam scans me, like a price scanner. And then another beam comes down, and it feels like my body is being ripped apart." He shuddered at the memory. The doctor nodded. "What kind of room is it?" Frank shook his head, trying to remember the images. "A white room." He paused for a moment. "No, it's more silver. Yes, silver. Shiny. Metal. Sterile." "And you are on a table?" "Like an operating table. A shiny metal operating table." The doctor nodded. "Is this room an operating room?" she asked, prodding his memories. Frank shook his head. "Kind of, but not really." He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes, the better to focus on his dream. "And I was strapped to the table. Naked." "And there were others in the room?" Ramirez prompted. Frank nodded. "Several others, dressed in surgical scrubs. Pure white. The only thing I could see were the eyes." The doctor tried to suppress her skepticism. "Were these others aliens?" Frank's eyes snapped open, and he looked disbelievingly at her. "Aliens? You think I'm nuts, don't you?" he snapped. He was starting to rise from his chair, alarmed. Doctor Ramirez was surprised at the vehemence of his reaction. "No," she said softly. "Of course not." Frank slowly let himself calm down and settle back into his chair. "It's just, you know, some people make claims of alien abductions and experimentation. It's not my job to say whether such things are true. Only to help people with their very terrifying memories and dreams." Frank took a deep breath. He knew he was having problems, but he didn't want to face the fact that he might be losing it. "And then something scans me, a red beam, sweeping up and down my body. After several moments of that, the other beam hits, kind of bluish- purple. And it feels like it's tearing my body apart." His eyes got a panicky look again. "When I have the dreams, I can feel the beam. I can feel it ripping every cell in my body apart." ************* The woman smiled to herself, pleased that she was finally getting a chance to do some shopping. And the store was having a sale, too! How fortunate for her and her friends! Being stuck in the middle of nowhere, her job didn't let her get to any sizable town very often. Truly this was a treat. And she needed some new clothes. As she stepped into the department store, she paused a moment to survey the store. Dresses. Sweaters. Skirts. Jeans. Blouses. Ah, there! That's where to start - lingerie. She knew she needed to treat herself to something sexy, frilly, feminine. With a broad smile, she strode purposefully toward the racks of underwear. ********** Frank was just browsing in Sears, checking for new tools, gardening supplies, and other toys for men. For him, it was a pleasant getaway. And as usual, he saw lots of tools he'd like to have, and bought none of them. Frank strolled casually back through the store, heading for the doors back to the mall, past men's suits, then through the lingerie department. Like it had hundreds of times before. Only this time, Frank found himself sidetracked into the lingerie, his eyes dancing over the sexy, feminine, and lacy bras and panties. His fingers relished the soft satiny feeling of a bra as he stood caressing it. "May I help you?" Frank nearly jumped. "Um," he stammered, "I was just looking. For a gift." He knew he was turning red. The sales lady looked at him knowingly, then saw the ring on his finger. "I see," she said evenly. "A gift for your wife?" "Uh, yeah," Frank answered quickly. "She likes soft sexy things." He gulped, wondering a few things. Like what the hell was he doing here in the first place. "And I know she'd never expect me to buy her lingerie." The woman smiled appreciatively. "Most husbands wouldn't. What size is she?" Frank gulped again. "Size? Um, I'm not sure." He gulped again, knowing how thin his lie was. "But I've got a couple of weeks before her birthday," he fibbed. "So I guess I can find her size by then." The sales lady nodded. She held up a bra, displaying the tag. She explained quickly how to read the sizes. Frank nodded, then thanked her and sped out of the department. **************************** The knock on the door startled the woman, engrossed as she was in her reading. She looked up even as the door opened. The woman smiled as a few of her friends, girls eighteen or nineteen like her, came in. They were dressed in their underwear - after all, this dorm was girls only, so there was less need to be discrete. But one of them was hiding something, and the woman got curious. Finally, when the room seemed overflowing, with nearly a dozen young ladies crowded around, the girl produced a cake - a birthday cake. After all, this was sort of the woman's birthday - it'd been a year since she came here. The girls giggled as the ate some cake, talking normal girl talk. But one thing led to another. A little frosting smeared on a face, a smack with a pillow, and the next thing they knew, the girls were engaged in a free-for-all pillow fight, playfully hitting and tackling each other. ********** Frank gulped, knowing that he was beet red. "And I went back. A few days later." "And?" Doctor Ramirez prompted. Frank looked down. "And I bought a bra and panties," he admitted softly. Doctor Ramirez jotted in her folder. "It wasn't a gift for your wife, though." Frank shook his head, his eyes stinging with tears of embarrassment. "And then?" Frank couldn't look up. "And when Nancy was at work, I tried them on." He looked up, defensively. "I'm not queer," he snarled. Doctor Ramirez smiled sadly. "No, I don't think you are," she said evenly. "But did you know that transvestitism is more common than people believe? Much more common." "But it's not normal," Frank rebutted angrily. The doctor raised her eyebrows. "Then why did you try on the bra?" Frank looked down, unable to answer. "That act, by itself, is normal. Every man, at some point in his life, wonders if the grass is greener. It's normal." She paused for a few moments to let her words sink into Frank. "And then what?" Frank sat in the chair, his face impassive, staring at the wall. "And then..." his voice trailed off, and he sat silently for a few moments. "And then I put on the panties." "Why?" "Something inside of me seemed to be making me. Some force I couldn't resist." He was almost in tears again. "Like a part of me just had to put them on." He looked down at the floor again. "I put some socks in the cups. So they looked full." "And how often have you done this?" the doctor asked patiently. Frank flushed. "At least once a week." "Hmm," the doctor said as she wrote in her folder. "And I've tried on some of Nancy's makeup. Eye shadow, lipstick. And I've used balloons. In the bra. Water balloons. Because they feel bouncy." "Does Nancy know about any of this? Have you talked with her about these compulsions?" Frank looked up, horrified. "Of course not!" he exclaimed. "How could I? She wouldn't understand." He looked back down. "Up to a couple of months ago, I never had these desires. How could I explain that? What's wrong with me?" Doctor Ramirez shook her head. "But the dreams have stopped?" Frank nodded, almost imperceptibly. "The bad ones have. For the most part. Only once in a while." The doctor's eyebrows shot up. "Have there been any new ones?" she asked in a clinical yet curious way. Frank sighed heavily. "I dreamed I was with a bunch of girls. Eighteen, nineteen years old? And we were all in a room together, with lots of beds. Like a dorm, maybe?" "Or a barracks?" the doctor suggested helpfully. Frank's eyes widened. "Yeah, exactly. A barracks." His voice trailed off as he tried to focus on that new piece of data. Doctor Ramirez scribbled in her notepad. She had just seen the piece click into place in Frank's mind. "And you were the only guy in the barracks?" Frank shook his head. "No." He swallowed hard, and the doctor realized that he was embarrassed again. "No, I wasn't a guy. I was one of the girls." He waited a second, but the doctor was just making notes. "We were having a pillow fight. And then it sort of got sexual." The doctor stopped writing. "Sort of?" Frank looked down, knowing that he was blushing. "Yeah. Kissing, touching. All that." Dr. Ramirez nodded. "Um, hmm." Frank sat forward on his chair. "The funny thing is, the dream was so damned real!" He banged his hand on the chair's arm. "I could feel it. I could really, really feel everything." The doctor looked up, confused. "You could feel it?" she asked. Frank looked down. "Yeah. I mean, I could really feel it. Boobs bouncing, when the other girls touched me, everything. It felt so real." "Including an orgasm?" Frank blushed. "Yeah," he admitted finally. "A sensate dream. That's what we call it when the senses are so involved in the dream. They're really quite rare, though." The doctor took a strange turn in her questions. "Do you and your wife have an adequate sexual life?" Frank looked up, surprised. "Yeah," he stammered, "I guess so." "And you are comfortable with your sexual role when you and your wife have sex?" Frank nodded. "Yeah." *************************************** The woman knew it was wrong - her supervisors definitely would object to this, but she also knew that she was dying to find out for herself. Glancing nervously over her shoulder, she followed her date through the shadows and into his dorm. They both glanced up and down the halls, then quickly ran into his room. Breathlessly, the boy closed the door behind himself, then smiled at the woman. She felt very nervous, and it showed. Still, the others had told her how wonderful it was. Before her judgement could overrule her curiosity, the boy stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her neck, pulling her closer as he leaned into the kiss. Automatically, the woman lifted her head, her eyes drifting shut as her lips tentatively met his. She felt a strange excitement, even as part of her mind told her over and over that this was wrong. She felt the boy's hand sliding around her, and she tingled with anticipation as it cupped her breast. The sensation was more powerful than she'd imagined, and she found herself losing all inhibitions. She let him guide her to his bed, and sat beside him as he fumbled with her blouse. Had she not been so excited, she'd have found it almost comical how the boy was trying to kiss her, feel her breast, and unbutton her blouse at the same time. And then, to her surprise, her hand wandered to the boy's crotch, and her eyes widened as she felt the bulge within his trousers. ********** Nancy wrapped Julie in a big hug. "I'm glad I'm home, honey," she said enthusiastically. She'd just returned from a four-day business trip, and was happy to see her family again. Julie reciprocated the hug. "I'm glad you're back, too, Mom." Nancy didn't like Julie's tone. "Was everything okay while I was gone?" she asked warily. Julie looked worried. "Can we talk - privately?" Nancy frowned, then crossed the kitchen to glance in the family room. Frank was sitting in his usual chair, the nightly news blaring on the TV as he ignored it. Looking at a tool catalog. Then Nancy did a double take. It wasn't a tool catalog. Frank was looking through the lingerie section of the Sears catalog. Nancy gently shut the door between the rooms and sat down at the breakfast table, gesturing for Julie to join her. "Okay, sweetie, what's up?" Nancy asked, trying to sound unconcerned. Julie glanced at the door, then back at her mother, and took a deep breath. Nancy interrupted her thoughts. "Did he have another nightmare?" she asked. "Just one," Julie answered softly. "But that's not it." She looked at the table, then fidgeted with her hands, visibly uncomfortable. "Daddy talks in his sleep, you know." Nancy was confused. "Yes, I know." Julie glanced out the window, then at the table, then looked at her mother. "The past couple of nights he's been kind of loud." Nancy nodded, understanding. "He's been having some weird dreams," Julie finally managed to say. "Did you get any idea what they were about?" Nancy asked cautiously. Julie nodded. "Sex." Nancy breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, well..." "No, mom," Julie protested insistently. She looked down at her hands again before looking back at her mother. "He's been talking in his dreams about sex. As a woman. Being made love to." Nancy looked at her daughter intently for a moment. "Julie," she began. But Julie was not to be put off. "No, mom," she protested, "I know what I heard. It sounded like Dad was dreaming about being screwed!" She looked pleadingly at her mother, hoping to be believed. After several awkward seconds, Julie stood. "Come on, Mom," she said firmly. With her mother following, she padded softly up the stairs. She stepped deliberately into her parent's bedroom, then went to her dad's closet. With her mother still watching uneasily, Julie picked up one of Frank's boots. One of his old combat boots that he seldom wore. Leftovers from his days in the Army. Julie reached in, and pulled out some clothing. And as Nancy's mouth dropped open in shock, Julie unfolded a bra and panties. Nancy stood there, shocked, stunned, and shaking her head. "This doesn't make any sense!" she said over and over. "He's never given any sign of..." She shook her head again. "He's always liked our ... games. He hasn't been distracted at all!" Julie nodded. "Yeah," she agreed. "Julie!" Julie tried to smile. "It's not like you two are quiet, you know!" But the forced humor was lost, given the situation. *********************************** The woman smiled to herself as she stood in the communal shower, still basking in the afterglow of the previous evening. Another girl came in, and commented casually that someone wasn't home last night. The woman blushed, even as the other girl laughed. The woman soaped her leg, then took a razor and began to methodically shave them. The other girl was insistent about details, and after much cajoling, the woman began to talk, a veritable geyser of information. The other girl smiled to herself, then noted that she'd been wondering when the woman would lose her virginity. The other girl described her own first experience, then noted that things got better. The woman, nonplused by the subject, asked curiously about that, to which the other girl began to describe in great detail some of her exploits, as casually as if describing the weather. ********** Frank fidgeted in the wing chair, while Dr. Ramirez took more notes. From the scowl on her face, she was deeply in thought. Finally, she looked up. "Okay, tell me exactly what happened." Frank glanced at the floor, embarrassed. "Saturday morning, I got up late, like I usually do. Nancy was still in bed, and I started to shave." He swallowed hard, an action Dr. Ramirez noticed. "I finished shaving. And suddenly I found myself shaving my legs." He paused, knowing that he was turning red. "I don't understand it. It just seemed like something I had to do." "Um hmm," the doctor mumbled as she continued to scribble in her notebook. "Go on." "Well, I shaved a good part of my thighs before I realized what I was doing. Before I felt like I had any control." The doctor looked at Frank - really looked at him. His eyes were sunken, tired, almost defeated. Like he was ready to give up. "You felt out of control?" Frank nodded again, slowly. "It was like I was watching someone else control my body." Then Frank's eyes widened. "Like when..." He froze again, and Dr. Ramirez could see the struggle through his eyes as he fought to hang onto the memory fragment. But he lost this battle. Like he had lost before. Frank buried his head in his hands. "Okay," Dr. Ramirez changed the subject abruptly, "let's pick up where we left off. You were telling me about your senior year." Frank sighed heavily as he sank back into the chair. "This isn't doing any good," he complained bitterly. "What the hell good is it to tell you about my past? The problem is right now!" Dr. Ramirez smiled warmly. "Frank, you know there is a problem. And you are having some problems remembering something. If we search your past, maybe we can help trigger those memories." She glanced at her notebook - it was getting full. "Last time, you were telling me about the track team." Frank nodded slowly. "The coach asked me to be on the track team. To run the half-mile and mile. I was the fastest one in school, and he knew it." Frank smiled at a particularly pleasant memory. "The little son-of-a-bitch had to ask me. I hated him, and he knew it. And he had to ask." Dr. Ramirez frowned. "If you hated him so much, why did you join the track team?" Frank closed his eyes and sighed. "I needed to get in shape. I'd already signed up. Two years in the Army." Dr. Ramirez nodded as she consulted her notes. "Because your parents couldn't afford to send you to college," she read. "So you joined the Army to get some educational benefits." Frank nodded. "And track was a good way to get in shape." Frank began to ramble on about the track team - his ribbons and medals, how he just missed the state meet because of a pulled muscle. Then he finished his school days. "And then you reported to the Army?" Dr. Ramirez asked. Frank smiled. "Three weeks of vacation, then a trip to the processing station. Lots of paperwork, swearing in, a couple of special tests, then a plane trip to Fort Sill. Oklahoma. In the summer. I did one-station training there. Field artillery crewman. 10 Bravo 10." "Tell me about it." Frank shrugged. "We arrived at reception station late one evening, heard a boring sergeant, and got issued our underwear, then were assigned bunks. The next morning, we began in-processing. Dental check, eye exam, the start of vaccinations and lots of blood work. We picked up uniforms, got our combat gear, had more tests. Some of us got some special vaccinations. It was a pretty boring week. Reception station was easy. Mostly, we marched around and then waited in line." Something Frank said triggered an alarm in Dr. Ramirez. "Wait a minute," she said, suddenly alert. "Back up. You said you had some special tests at the processing station?" Frank nodded, confused. "Sure. Why?" Dr. Ramirez felt her heart racing. "Describe them, please." "Standard tests, I guess," Frank said. "Strength measurements, endurance tests on treadmills, a bunch of psychological evaluations. Things like attitudes about people, race, sex, religion. Usual stuff, isn't it?" Dr. Ramirez tried to smile. "Of course. I was in the Army, too, you know. A psychologist at Fort Campbell and Fort Knox." She forced herself to concentrate on Frank. "Did everyone get the tests?" Frank frowned. "You know, come to think of it, they didn't. And not everyone got the vaccinations during reception station, either." Dr. Ramirez felt a shiver. "Okay, let's go on." Frank shrugged, then continued, at great length. Third training battalion, first platoon. He talked about the training in great detail. The rifle training, where he stripped and reassembled an M-16 rifle faster than the instructor. On his first try. The grenade range. Fire and maneuver. The `confidence course'. Frank described the artillery pieces, the field exercises with them. How they went out with the howitzers slung under helicopters, and rappelled down to them. How they fired the guns in the rain and mud and muck. Frank wiped a tear from his eye when he described the kid who lost a hand in the breechblock of the 155-mm howitzer. Graduation exercises. His assignment to the 2nd Armored Division at Fort Hood, Texas. Frank was pretty explicit with details, including the weekend passes, the hookers, and the parties. Two years of his life in an olive-drab uniform, serving the country. Then Frank went on with his college days. Four years in a small, Midwestern technical university. Four hard years studying computer science, then he finally got his degree. Dr. Ramirez interrupted. "I think we're about out of time, Frank," she said as she closed the notebook. She stood and waited for Frank to rise. "Same time next Tuesday?" Frank shook her hand, then froze, staring at the expression on her face. "What is it, doc?" Dr. Ramirez forced a smile, but Frank wasn't fooled. "Come on, doc. It's been, what? Three months? Four? Something's up." Dr. Ramirez finally nodded. "I'm not sure, Frank. But I think we're on the verge of something here." ************************** Giggling, the group of women piled out of their car, walking quickly to the nearest store. After all, the desert heat was very oppressive, especially around noon. But they'd been late leaving the dorm, so they had no choice but to brave the sun if they wanted to go shopping. And of course, they all wanted to go shopping. Anything to get away for a while. Really, none of the needed anything. They just all wanted a chance to get away. From shop to shop, store to store, they wandered, taking their time, looking over everything, trying on lots of clothes. And the more sexy or impractical, the more time they seemed to spend, giggling, making lewd suggestions, daring each other to try them on or buy them, and the longer the afternoon wore on, the more they seemed to enjoy the shopping. The final department store had to chase them out so it could close. ********** Frank gave Nancy a big kiss, then tenderly kissed her exposed breast. She sighed contentedly, basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking, then reached her arms around his neck and kissed his forehead. "That's a hell of a way to wake up," she smiled. Frank looked up at her, then kissed her. After a long, very involved kiss, he rolled out of bed. "You just rest. Remember, I promised Julie I'd take her to the mall." Nancy smiled. "You're going to regret this. You know that, don't you?" Frank nodded, smiling. "Yeah, she does shop like her mother." He rolled quickly away from the playful punch and scurried into the bathroom. The shower felt invigorating, and Frank took advantage of the warm water to have a quick shave. Then Frank glanced down at his legs. Again, without knowing why, Frank took his razor and began to shave his legs. This time, he shaved them completely and carefully, relishing the feeling of his bare skin as he rinsed. As Frank reached into his closet for his pants, he spied his boots. The old Army boots. Keeper of his secret. Again, without knowing why, Frank reached into one boot and pulled out his pair of panties, then slipped them on. Acting quickly, nervously, he pulled his trousers on, covering the lacy feminine undergarment. He felt a shiver of delight at the soft satiny underwear between his skin and his pants. Then he pulled on an old polo shirt, grabbed his socks and shoes, and padded softly through the bedroom. "Morning, daddy," Julie said cheerfully without looking up from her breakfast. Frank smiled. "Morning, sweetie." Then he frowned. "You know you shouldn't eat that much for breakfast," he chided. "After all, you need to keep a nice trim figure to attract the boys." Julie looked up, startled, then smiled. "You're starting to sound like Mom," she grinned. She pushed a piece of toast to Frank. Frank sat down and took a bite of toast, then noticed the coffee cup. "Thanks," he said appreciatively as he took a sip. It was French vanilla. Something about that bothered Frank, but he couldn't remember why. A few bites of toast, a few sips of coffee, and Frank was on his feet. "Let's go shopping," he said eagerly. Julie's eyebrows lifted in surprise. Her dad wanted to go shopping? But she had seen enough weirdness lately. As long as her dad loved her, she wasn't going to argue. Nancy was way past getting worried when she heard the car pull into the driveway. Julie was giggling when she came in the door. "Hi, mom!" she chirped. Nancy tried to look upset, but she couldn't. "Do you know what time it is?" Julie smiled. "Daddy said you'd say that!" She was beaming, and judging by the armful of packages, the shopping trip had been a great success. "Can you help me put some of this away?" she asked. Nancy gave in and got up to help, taking a few packages from Julie. "Looks like you had a good day," she observed. Julie was beaming. "We had a fabulous day," she declared as she followed her mother to Julie's room. She dropped the packages on the bed. "I see you found a few outfits." Nancy smiled. "I hope you left some money in our bank." Julie was pulling the clothes from their bags. "Daddy helped me pick these out," she said proudly. "Aren't they gorgeous?" Nancy nodded, stunned. "Nice, honey," was all she could manage to say. The outfits were nice. Very nice. Tasteful, a bit provocative, a bit daring, but without being trashy. Much more daring than Frank would have let Julie buy. ************************* Tears in her eyes, the woman walked - waddled, actually - from the clinic back to her room. She flopped heavily onto the bed, and immediately, her hands reached down and cradled her swollen belly. She tried to stop crying, but the tears kept flowing. One of the other girls came in, asking tenderly how the woman was doing. She appreciated the concern of her friends, even though the ranks were diminishing. Of the two dozen girls in the program, five had already transferred out. The woman cried as she told her friend that the doctor had wanted her to abort the pregnancy. The doctor had told her, very insistently, that the pregnancy wasn't supposed to happen, and it could harm her health. An abortion was the best thing. But the woman had refused. The friend tried to comfort her, knowing even then that the friend's time was nearly up, and she would be leaving soon. Still, the woman was adamant that she was going to have this baby. And then, by some coincidence of timing, the baby stirred within the woman's womb. She took her friend's hand, and placed it gently on her belly. She watched in wonder as the friend felt the tiny baby kicking. The friend, her eyes wide at the miracle growing within the woman, began to cry, finally understanding. The friend reassured the woman that she'd support her as long as she could. Even if it meant extending her time in the program. The two hugged, crying, the friend still feeling the baby's kicks, both unsure what the future would bring, but resolved to see it through together. ********** Frank flopped heavily into the chair and sighed. "I had another dream last night," he said in a resigned tone. Dr. Ramirez lifted her pen. "Tell me about it," she prompted needlessly. She knew by now that he was going to tell her all the details. "I was pregnant," Frank said simply. The doctor's eyes widened. Frank continued. "It was like watching - experiencing - bits and pieces of a pregnancy." "Go on." "I was lying in bed, resting, and one of my girlfriends came in to see me. She was leaving for some reason, and we were both crying about it. And then she felt the baby kicking in my womb, and I told her that the baby was telling her goodbye. And we cried some more." "Why did she have to leave?" Frank shook his head. "I don't know. She was given her ..." He couldn't find the right word. "Her orders?" the doctor prompted. Frank nodded, accepting her help as another piece clicked into place. "She had her orders." He leaned back in the chair. "Another part of the dream, I was shopping with another girl - you know, a maternity shop. And I had to buy a new bra. My tits were getting too full. And I remember walking back to her car, and feeling myself swaying with a full belly. I held my hands under my belly, rubbing it a bit, giving it some extra support. And my boobs felt huge and swollen, and they seemed to be sagging so much! And my back hurt a lot." Dr. Ramirez nodded as she jotted more notes in Frank's thickening file. "Was there anything else?" Frank shook his head sadly, almost as if the dream had been real to him and he didn't want to let go of it. "Okay, let's get back to where we were. As I remember, you were talking about college?" Frank nodded, then began to describe his life as a graduate student, almost exactly where he'd left off in their last session. After several minutes, Dr. Ramirez put her pen down and bit her lower lip. "This isn't right," she muttered to herself. Frank stopped. "What isn't right?" he asked, puzzled. Dr. Ramirez scowled. "Have you noticed a pattern here? About your memories and your dreams?" Frank shook his head slowly, not understanding. The doctor looked down at the floor for a second, then back at Frank. "Think about what happened while you were in school. In grade school. In high school. How clear are your memories? Think about your memories of college. Of grad school. Of your early years with Nancy. How clear are those memories?" Frank tilted his head slightly, confused. "Yeah," he finally said. "So?" Dr. Ramirez frowned. "Now think about your memories of the Army." Frank's eyes widened. Dr. Ramirez nodded in agreement. "Exactly. They are too clear. Crystal clear. Like they happened yesterday." Frank shook his head. "But that was a very stressful time in my life," he protested, looking to the doctor for reassurance. Dr. Ramirez shook her head. "So was the lung collapse your senior year of college. So was the broken arm and concussion in the car wreck. But those memories are faded. Foggy. Not totally clear." "Too clear?" The doctor nodded solemnly. Then she put down the notebook. "You have lots of things which you can't quite recall. And you have a set of memories which are too clear. I'm wondering if they are hiding something - some traumatic event - which is causing your current problems." Frank nodded slowly. "And the dreams?" The doctor sighed. "The one common thread is the military. Barracks. Orders. Leave. Military hospital." She shook her head. "Except for the operating room, it is all tied to the military." Frank digested the possibility. "I hadn't thought of that, but you're right. So what do we do?" The doctor raised her eyebrows. "How about if we try hypnosis?" But the doctor was disappointed. Under hypnosis, Frank did recall things. More details about his Army days. Perfectly clear, exact details. None of which conflicted with his conscious memories. After Frank left the office, Dr. Ramirez stared at the notebook, her brow furrowed in concentration. "What are you hiding?" she asked herself over and over. "What happened during your enlistment?" ******************************** The woman knew that, uncomfortable as it would be, she just had to get to the goodbye party for her friends. All but a handful had gone, and they were leaving that weekend. It had been the woman's idea to have a party, to say goodbye, to celebrate their friendships, to give each other one last bit of support. But they also knew that the moment could never be relived, that this goodbye was forever. And so the woman stood over her sink, carefully applying her makeup. None of her friends would expect it, but she was determined to look her very best. Her dress was a bit worn - after all, she hadn't had a lot to spend on maternity clothes - but still, when she finished her makeup, she looked very nice. ********** Frank leaned over the sink, his eyes wide open as he moved the brush onto his eyelashes. With a quick stroke, the mascara went on perfectly, and Frank stood back to check his handiwork. Inwardly, a small part of Frank shuddered at what he had just done. Outwardly, he smiled to himself. Nancy wouldn't be home for several hours - she had called to let him know that she was working late on a new business proposal. And Julie was at the school football game with her friends. That meant Frank had three or four hours to himself. And as he watched himself in horror, Frank slipped his stash of feminine clothes from their hiding places. As he adjusted them, Frank marveled at just how real the breast appliances looked under his blouse. They had a nice feel to them - just the right weight to be a bit bouncy, and smooth but with barely-visible nipples. Not like the wadded-up socks, or the balloons. A nice white blouse, trimmed with lace and some embroidered flowers. A mid-length plain skirt. Nylons over his shaven legs. Frank was shocked that Nancy hadn't said anything about his legs, but he assured himself that she didn't suspect a thing. Frank picked up the tube of lipstick and deftly applied it, rubbing his lips together to properly distribute the gloss, then he picked up the one last item - a wig. His short hair was easily tucked under the cap, and he used his fingers to tease the dark locks around his face. Inwardly, Frank felt a powerful sexual thrill as he stared at himself in the mirror. Fortunately, Nancy wore clip-on earrings, so it was easy for Frank to borrow them. And a necklace, which he wore draping down into the neck of the blouse, deliberately left unbuttoned. With some blush, some eyeshadow, and the other makeup, and with the wig, Frank was stunned at just how feminine he looked. He giggled with delight at his appearance. Then Frank turned to his closet. Carefully, he reached behind some boxes on a shelf and pulled down a pair of high-heel shoes, his latest acquisition. A few days before, Frank had visited a shop which specialized in larger women's shoes. Somehow, he knew just what styles and colors would go with the outfit he had stashed in his closet. And he got heels. Three inch heels. As he paid, he noticed the clerk giving him a strange look. And Frank realized that the store probably sold lots of shoes to cross-dressers. "For his mother," Frank had lied feebly. The clerk nodded knowingly, and Frank felt himself burning with shame. He was glad to flee the store and its knowing staff, his shoes safely concealed in their box under his arm. And now he was trying on the shoes. As he looked at them, Frank was suddenly worried. Three inch heels. He remembered how Julie had struggled to learn to walk in high heels, and how Frank had been convinced that she would break her ankles. Now Frank was going to wear such heels. He slid one foot into the shoe, then leaned down to fasten it, the locks of his dark pageboy wig swirling around his face. As if he'd done it thousands of times, Frank easily fastened the shoe strap, then stepped into the other shoe and fastened it. Then he stood upright. To say that Frank was shocked would be an understatement. He was very aware of the extra height of the shoes, but he didn't feel uncomfortable. In fact, he felt - right? It felt like he knew what he was doing, which puzzled him. Tentatively, Frank took a step, one hand on the vanity just in case. But that hand was unnecessary. Frank took another step, then another. Bolder, more confidently, Frank walked out of the bathroom, a bounce in his step. Like he'd walked in heels before. In a sudden fit of enthusiasm, Frank raised up on one toe and twirled, his skirt flaring upward as he spun, his face radiating the joy he felt inside. Buoyantly, Frank pranced down the stairs, feeling happy and curiously alive. He walked into the kitchen, intent on getting a glass of juice. And as he opened the refrigerator door, his heart stopped as he heard a key turning in the deadbolt. Frank froze in terror. Nancy glanced at the figure by the refrigerator, assuming it was Julie. A brief struggle with the key, and she swung the door shut behind her. "Hi, honey," she called cheerfully over her shoulder. "I thought you were going..." The words cut off as she realized she wasn't talking to Julie. Nancy's jaw hung open awkwardly. Frank just stood, frozen, terrified, humiliated, unable to speak. For several terrible long seconds, the two stared at each other. Finally, Nancy said something. "Frank?" she asked hesitantly. Frank whimpered, his lipstick-covered lips trembling, tears of embarrassment streaming from his eyes. He nodded slightly, then he turned and ran sobbing up to the bedroom. Nancy knocked on the open door, more to let Frank know that she was coming into the room. "Frank?" she asked, trying to sound understanding and reassuring but really sounding more confused. Frank was lying on the bed, his face buried in his pillow, his body convulsing with sobbing. Nancy glided to the bed and sat beside him, then reached out her hand to his shoulder. For a long time, neither spoke. Finally, when it seemed that Frank wasn't sobbing any more, Nancy spoke softly. "Frank." Frank kept his face buried in his pillow, ashamed at what she'd caught him doing. "I can't stop this," he said softly. "I can't control it any more." His body convulsed again, and Nancy knew he was crying. "I'm scared," he said in a tiny, frightened voice. *************************** Frank couldn't look at Dr. Ramirez, even though they'd already dissected his life in these long months. Being caught by his wife - dressed in woman's clothes. That was too much humiliation. Dr. Ramirez tried to be reassuring. "You know that millions of men cross-dress, don't you," she said soothingly. "There's nothing wrong with it." Frank stared at the wall. "Yes there is. For me." He was being defiant, as if that might bury his embarrassment. "I'm a man. I'm not supposed to dress like a woman. To feel like I'm supposed to be a woman." Dr. Ramirez was taking notes, when she stopped suddenly, her pen still held above the paper. "You say you feel like you're supposed to be a woman?" she asked, intrigued by the change in direction. Frank nodded slowly, imperceptibly. "Sometimes," he said softly, "I get the feeling that I'm out of place. That I'm really a woman." Frank was sounding more and more desperate as time had gone on. "That's not normal." Dr. Ramirez frowned. "Usually, the onset of these feminine desires is slow, very gradual, and occurs in the late teen years or early adulthood. In most cases, they can be traced to puberty." She frowned again. "So far, there's nothing in your childhood or teen years which might show the start of these feelings. Hmmm." She stared at the wall for a moment. "The only thing is." Frank straightened, lifting his head to look at the doctor. "The Army," he said with certainty. "You think the answer is somewhere in that time?" Dr. Ramirez nodded grimly. "Your memories from the Army are much too clear. Almost like they were scripted." She paused for a long moment, her eyes shut in concentration. "Tell me, Frank, did anything unusual happen after you got out of the Army?" Frank tilted his head, puzzled, as he considered her words. "Unusual? No." his voice trailed off uncertainly. Then his eyes snapped open. "Except for the paychecks." "What about paychecks?" Frank sat back heavily. "After my discharge, I got a couple of weird checks. Sent to my address, but made out to someone else. It was the damndest thing. They were made out to, uh, Tonya? Yeah, that's right. Tonya Jenkins. But they had my social security number and pay grade." Dr. Ramirez frowned again. "Clerical error, maybe?" Frank shook his head. "That's what I thought. I called the payroll- processing center to clear it up. Funny thing, though. They insisted that they didn't have any errors. But the checks stopped." "How did you repay them?" Frank snorted. "That's another thing. They were direct deposited in my bank account, and when I tried to repay them, the payroll center wouldn't take my money." Frank tried to laugh, but it didn't work. "I always thought that paymasters were worse than the IRS about getting money back." Dr. Ramirez didn't flinch. "They are," she said, her voice full of dread certainty. For a few silent moments, she sat, puzzling over this latest turn of events. "I've got an idea. Let's get your service records from the Army. And see if there are any records for this Tonya Jenkins." She scribbled a note on a blank page, then tore it off and handed it to Frank. "Get the forms here, and fill them out. Both of them, you and Tonya. Then we'll see what turns up." Frank stared at the note, then at the doctor, confused. "Trust me, Frank. I'm playing a hunch here, and my hunches are usually right." ************************** The figure lay on a surgical table of some form, completely naked. He shielded his eyes from the intense lights, trying to see beyond the circle of illumination to the rest of the room. He thought he could make out some details - polished steel walls reflecting the white glare. Around him there were figures - humans? - dressed in surgical garb, featureless except for their eyes, staring at him. He tried to move, and found that he was strapped to the table, fastened so securely that he couldn't move at all. With an audible squeal, a bright, knifelike red line of light snapped on at the foot of the table, a visible red curtain moving slowly up the table. And then the light touched his feet. Though he couldn't see it, he knew it. The light seared every nerve where it touched, causing an agonizing pain the likes of which the man had never felt before. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. There was only the pain, a tortuous agony which crept lowly up his legs, inching ever so slowly up his body. His mind tried to shut down, to blank out the overload from the red beam, but something prevented that. He could only lie on the table, conscious, unable to scream, enduring the terrible suffering as it dragged on, seemingly forever. And in the corner of his eye, he saw one face watching him, fascinated at what was being done to him. Recognition dawned slowly, fighting its way through the haze of pain. But the man recognized one of his tormentors. ********** Frank snapped awake, his eyes wide with fear, his body covered with a sheen of sweat. He gasped for breath, fighting back the waves of terror as he slowly realized it had only been a nightmare. Nancy, disturbed by Frank's sudden motion, rolled over, her eyes opening quickly. "What is it?" she asked, concerned. But Frank didn't hear her. He stared vacantly at the wall, still fighting off the horror of the nightmare. "Ethridge!" he exclaimed over and over. Nancy sat up, clinging tightly to Frank's shoulder. "Are you okay, Frank?" she asked repeatedly, very concerned. Slowly, Frank's eyes narrowed, his breathing returned to normal. The terror faded, and he became aware of where he was, who he was with. Finally, he half-turned his head, focusing on Nancy. "Another nightmare?" she asked knowingly. Frank just nodded. "Who is Ethridge?" she finally asked. Frank's eyes widened a bit. "Sergeant Ethridge. My drill sergeant." Nancy's eyes narrowed. "From the Army?" Frank nodded slowly. "It was the same nightmare. The room, with the table." "And Ethridge?" Frank's eyes widened. "Ethridge was there. Watching me." ****************************** Doctor Ramirez was immediately worried when she saw Frank. He looked terrible - sunken eyes, hollow cheeks. "How are you doing today, Frank?" she asked casually, trying to set him at ease. Frank shook his head. "I'm afraid," he said simply. Dr. Ramirez nodded sympathetically. "The nightmares have returned?" Frank nodded lifelessly. The spark was gone from his eyes; he looked like a defeated man. "Any differences?" Frank nodded weakly. "I recognized a face. Ethridge. My drill sergeant, I think." Dr. Ramirez was bolt upright now, suddenly very interested. "Are you sure?" Frank glanced at her, then nodded. "Another puzzle from my enlistment?" The doctor nodded. "I still haven't gotten anything back on your records." Frank sank back against the cushion. "I can't take much more of this," he finally said. "I feel like I'm out of control. Like there's someone else inside me, fighting for control. And I'm losing." "How are things with Nancy and Julie?" Frank shook his head slowly. "They're being pretty supportive, I guess. But this is hard on them." The doctor made another note in her book. "How about sexual relations? Has that improved any?" Frank closed his eyes and took a slow breath. "No," he finally admitted. "I can't." He looked away, embarrassed. "I can't perform any more." "And you're afraid that your wife thinks less of you for it?" Frank nodded. "How about Julie?" Frank pried his eyes open. "I'm having lots of fun, taking her shopping and stuff, but I'm afraid I'm not being what she expects in a father." ********** Doctor Ramirez sat back down after Frank closed the door behind him. This session was like the past ones. Slowly, his mind was revealing its secrets. But she was afraid that it was taking too long. She was afraid that he was going to crack from the strain, and very soon. All the signs were there. And she felt helpless, because all of her training, all of her education, all of her experience, it was useless. Nothing had worked. Nothing was helping Frank. She sighed heavily. The sound of the door opening startled her. As she turned, a tall man slipped quickly through the door and closed it behind himself. She stood quickly. "Can I help you?" The man, a rather non-descript man in a dark suit, shook his head. "Yes, colonel," he answered firmly. "You can give me your notes on your last patient - Frank Jenkins." Dr. Ramirez started, surprised at what the man was asking, startled more that he had addressed her by her Army rank. She eyed him warily. "I'm afraid I can't do that," she said cautiously. "Colonel," the man said firmly, his soothing voice belying his intimidating manner, "I needn't remind you that you are a member of the United States Army Reserve, and that you have a sworn duty to protect the country in matters of national security." Dr. Ramirez felt a chill as her mind started assembling the pieces. "You know what happened to Frank. When he was in the Army." The stranger remained expressionless. "I'm not at liberty to comment," he said, sounding suddenly threatening. "But I am going to take your notes." He reached inside his jacket, and Dr. Ramirez had a sudden fear that the man was going to harm her. She felt a sigh of relief when he pulled an envelope and handed it to her. She looked at the man, then took the envelope slowly. She examined it quickly, but was disappointed. It was just a plain envelope. She opened the envelope and extracted a piece of paper. Slowly, deliberately, she unfolded the paper. And as she read, her eyes widened. She looked up at the man, questioningly, but he just nodded. "I assure you, Colonel, that those orders are indeed genuine. That is his personal signature." Dr. Ramirez struggled with herself for a moment, then relented. "Okay," she said wearily as she picked up the folder. She held it out to the man, who accepted it wordlessly. "What is this about?" The man didn't flinch. "You don't have the clearance for that," he said easily. Dr. Ramirez wasn't through. "I shouldn't have to remind you of just how high my clearance is," she said firmly, determined to know something of what was happening. The man observed her for a moment, weighing the facts. Then he reached inside his jacket and retrieved his PDA. A few quick taps on the keypad, and he narrowed his eyes as data came up. Finally, he snapped the lid shut and replaced the PDA in his jacket, nodding. "You'll find out at Mr. Jenkin's next appointment." He turned and was gone, vanishing like a specter. ********************************* The men, all in olive-drab uniforms, sat at rigid attention, uncomfortable in the small schoolroom desks in the hot windowless room. A sergeant and some high-ranking officers sat at the head of the room, gazing out over the room, seeming to scrutinize every last detail of every man in the room. And a captain stood droning his words, reminding everyone present that this was a very important project, that it had implications for national security, that everyone here was a volunteer. Did anyone wish to leave? If so, they could depart now, and face no consequences. If not, they would face a lifetime of secrecy about the project. No one left. To a man, everyone was too intrigued by the cloak-and-dagger atmosphere of this project. Including one relatively normal young man, recently out of high school, seated in the second row. Though he was perspiring, it wasn't from tension or nerves; he was merely hot in this stuffy room. No windows, he observed - makes it harder for uninvited eyes and ears to pry. Intense secrecy, ergo a very important project. Just the kind of thing that appealed to young male egos. And this particular young man knew he wasn't immune. He listened in rapt attention as the captain began to describe the project, his initial disbelief changing to awe and wonder as the lights dimmed and the projector began to display photographs of the project in which they would be participating. A few weeks ago, he would have never believed it. Now, he couldn't wait. ********** Frank sat heavily on the couch, looking way past exhausted. His eyes were lifeless, dull, his complexion pale. He was about to break, the doctor realized. Perilously close to his breaking point. "I can't go on," he said nervously. "I can't keep this up." He let his head roll back until his gaze was fixed on the light. "I need to get my life back." Dr. Ramirez noted his lack of determination, his lack of energy. "Frank, are you sure you can do it?" Frank started to sob. He'd just heard the doctor confirm what he'd feared the most - that he might not be able to get his life back. "I . I need to get it back." Even his angry tone sounded flat, lifeless. "I can't go on like this. I feel like I'm fighting myself. And losing." Dr. Ramirez set down her pen. "What made you suddenly get so determined to have your life back?" Frank sighed heavily, still gazing at the ceiling. "The nightmares are back. Worse than ever. Only this time." His voice trailed off. "Go on." "They're different." Frank took a deep breath. "This time, it goes on past the light. The light, the pain - they are there. But then it stops. And I'm ." His voice choked off. "You're what?" "Somehow, the light has changed me. Into a woman!" Frank sobbed. "I'm the same woman I've seen - experienced - in all the other dreams." Frank dropped his gaze, turning his head until the doctor saw a sudden intense fire in his eyes. "It was so real!" he said softly but insistently. "Every sensation, every sight, every sound. It was so very real." Dr. Ramirez fought to maintain an outward calm. "A sensate dream. When the dream involves all of your senses. Such dreams are rare, fortunately, because they can be so very disorienting." Frank shook his head. "I'm confused, though. Why this dream? Why?" He picked up the glass of water the doctor had given him and took another sip. "Why is this happening to me?" As if in answer, the door opened, and the mysterious man walked in. Frank looked up at the intrusion, then sudden recognition flooded his features. Recognition - and anger. As if he suddenly knew the answer, and knew that this intruder was responsible. "Ethridge!" he exclaimed. "What have you done to me?" Frank pushed himself, to stand, to confront this intruder. But his legs were weak, numb. And his arms were losing strength very quickly. Frank turned his eyes, already looking glassy, toward the doctor, and he realized that she had drugged him. As his consciousness faded, he thought he heard the intruder saying something that sounded like "Good work Colonel." ********** Dr. Ramirez and the mysterious man walked calmly into the principal's office. Startled, he rose to protest, angry at the intrusion. Especially since he had a secretary to stop such uninvited guests. "Stay seated," the man said, clearly used to giving orders and being obeyed. His eyes widening, the principal eased himself back into his chair. He was starting to feel real fear. "What do you want?" he stammered. "We need to see Julie Jenkins," the doctor said simply, unemotionally. The principal knew he was in no position to be defiant; these two were professionals. Terrorists? Military? He didn't know. Still, his professionalism tried to rise to the occasion. "That's against policy," he said weakly. The man didn't even raise an eyebrow. In answer, he just lifted the principal's phone and pushed some buttons in a well-rehearsed sequence. After a moment, he spoke. "Bravo leader here. We're at the school now." He handed the phone to the principal. The principal took the phone as if it were a snake. Gingerly, he held it up to his ear. "Hello?" he said meekly. Slowly, his eyes widened, and he gulped. Then he gently replaced the phone in the receiver. "Did you recognize the voice?" the man asked. The principal nodded wordlessly, his mouth stuck open awkwardly. "Good. Now call Julie Jenkins to your office." The principal nodded slowly, still not believing what was transpiring in his office, then he depressed the button on his intercom. "Ms. Andrews, please call Julie Jenkins to my office." Julie was already puzzled when she came into the principal's office; after all, she was a reasonably good student and not a troublemaker. She was doubly concerned when she saw the principal looking very subdued, and the two guests in his office. "You wanted to see me?" she asked cautiously. The woman spoke. "Julie, I'm your dad's counselor. We need you to come with us." Julie's eyes widened, then she looked at the principal for a clue. He bit his lip, then nodded. "It's okay, Julie. They work for the government." A sudden chilling thought came to Julie, and she gasped. "It's dad, isn't it!" she practically cried. "Oh, God!" The woman tried to be comforting, but failed. "Julie, your dad is okay. We just need to talk to you and your mom about him." Julie's head was spinning as the woman put her arm around Julie. "But if he's okay, why are you getting me out of school? Why now? Why can't it wait?" The woman tried to reassure her, but Julie had already seen to much of her dad's strange behavior. ********** Nancy was walking back to the house, from the community mailbox. On rainy days, she hated having the mail drop a block away. But on sunny days like today, she enjoyed the chance to get out for a walk. As she walked, she flipped through the mail, frowning involuntarily whenever she saw a bill. She didn't see the van pull up slowly beside her. "Mrs. Jenkins?" a woman's voice called out beside her, startling her. Nancy saw the open door of the white non-descript van with an open side door, and she felt fear rising in her. Nancy took a step back from the curb, feeling a need to be cautious. The woman appeared as the van stopped, stepping out of the darkness. Nancy's heart started beating again as she recognized the woman. "Doctor Ramirez," she said, relief in her voice. "You startled me." Dr. Ramirez tried to smile pleasantly. "I'm sorry about the dramatic appearance. You need to come with us now." Nancy had taken a step closer, and felt panic anew when she saw a very serious-looking man seated inside the van. Next to Julie. "What's going on here?" Nancy demanded nervously. Dr. Ramirez ran out of smiles. "It's about your husband. You must come with us. Now." She was getting very insistent. The passenger door opened, and the serious-looking man stepped out. He wasn't trying to be threatening, but he was. Very stern appearance. Military haircut. Dark suit. His entire being screamed of being a professional at this type of thing. "Mrs. Jenkins, time is a critical issue. You must come with us now." He took Nancy's arm, firmly but not painfully, and steered her into the van. Nancy let herself be pushed into the van - she didn't really see that she had a choice. And as she sat down between the doctor and Julie, she saw Julie's face. Julie was ashen; something had frightened her, and badly. The man slid the door closed, blocking out the sun. Nancy's eyes began to adjust to the dim interior even as the man crawled into the passenger seat and slammed that door shut. That was a signal, and the driver sped away, professionally and rapidly. Nancy felt uneasy about not trying to run. The driver, like the other man, was clearly a professional at his job. The entire thing, from stopping to driving away with her in the van, hadn't taken more than a minute. But