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The Lesson By GSElvis Jeff was happy with his life--almost. He was a mechanic at a new car dealership, and was good at what he did. His job gave him a comfortable life. He lived in a good apartment in a large apartment complex. His assigned parking spaces contained a shiny, new pickup truck and a big, powerful motorcycle that he enjoyed driving on weekends. The people he worked with liked him. But he was unmarried, childless and alone, and that ate away at him. He had no girlfriend and no romantic prospects. Jeff was in his mid-thirties, and never close to getting married. In contrast, his parents had been married when they were in their early twenties, and had three kids by their thirties--as his mother reminded him almost every time he saw her. Jeff couldn't understand what was wrong. He was average height, 5'10", with big shoulders and a good build. His hair was receding, with hints of gray, but he was not close to bald. He wore thin, wire-rimmed glasses that gave him an intellectual look. He dressed casually in and out of work, favoring jeans and T-shirts because they were comfortable and easy to take care of, occasionally throwing on his favorite, fraying brown knit sweater when the weather turned chilly. The ladies in the office occasionally teased him about needing a woman to dress him, but he did not care about fashion. He was a regular guy with a regular life. He was not a dating hound, the way some of the guys at work were. They went to bars and hung out with women as if that were a perfectly normal, easy thing to do. One guy he knew had a wife and, on the side, always a girlfriend or two. Some guys were just like that, he supposed. Jeff was never like that. Women were a mystery to him. He did not ask out women often, but when he did the answer was always 'no'. He was not smooth and articulate, the kind of guy that could just walk up to a woman and pull off a conversation. He thought he had a lot to offer, but could never get to know a woman well enough to let her get to know him. Finally, he stopped asking, accepting his life sentence as a lonely loser, a confirmed bachelor without his consent. If only he knew how to talk to women--that was his problem. Take his neighbor across the hall. He ran into Carrie almost every day, and never could talk to her. She was the kind of woman he wished he could get to know. She was tall for a girl, pretty, with shoulder-length brown hair, and big, green eyes. She had an athlete's body and kept herself in shape. Jeff usually ran into her first thing in the morning when he was heading to work and she was starting her morning run. She would be coming out of her apartment, dressed in loose sweat pants and a light jacket, with headphones over her ears and a CD player attached to her waist. He did not know what she did for a living, or really anything about her other than her name. But he could never talk to her long enough to find out more. Usually, they gave each other a quick nod and small, friendly smiles. Then, they went quietly on their way, off to their separate jobs and lives. Only once, soon after she moved in a couple of years ago, did Jeff try to ask Carrie out. She was coming back from the grocery store, and was trying to carry her entire load in one trip. As she adjusted her bags in her hands to get out her apartment key, a bag of cat litter started to slide free. Jeff, coming out of his door, saw it and reached quickly to keep it from falling. Carrie was startled at first by Jeff's sudden movement, but then realized what he was doing. "Thanks," she said, smiling in embarrassment. "I'm too lazy to make two trips to the car." "No problem," Jeff replied. "Here, let me help you with those." He shifted the cat litter and a couple of plastic bags into his hands. He waited while Carrie unlocked the deadbolt and pushed the door open. The layout of her apartment was just like Jeff's, except in reverse--two bedrooms, one bath, a kitchen with an open nook, and a large living room with a fireplace and a sliding glass door opening out to a short balcony. But everything else, everything that made it Carrie's home, was different. The furniture was upscale and tasteful, the materials bright and feminine. The personal touches-- pictures on the mantel, ceramic pots and artwork that she obviously made herself--were everywhere, but did not seem to clutter the place. A white cat with clear green eyes was curled up next to the patio window, eyeing the humans smugly. The place was clean and bright, unlike Jeff's living room, which, well, looked like a single man lived there. Jeff strode to the dining table in the nook and dropped his bundles. "Nice place," Jeff said. "My apartment would look this good if I had a maid and a fumigator." Carrie frowned. "A maid? What's that supposed to mean?" Jeff managed a weak smile. "Just making a little joke." A nervous chuckle escaped his lips. "Of course, you've never seen my apartment, so I guess it wasn't that funny." Carrie nodded but the puzzled look on her face stayed. She started to empty her shopping bags, placing items on the kitchen counter. Jeff knew his time with her was about up, so he decided to try something he did not try often. Jeff's voice shook with tension as he began to speak. "Look, I didn't mean anything." He coughed to steady himself. "We've been neighbors for three months now and this is the first time we've said 'boo' to each other. I don't know anything about you--what your job is, what you like, what you don't like. I don't even know your last name." "Anderson," she said with a half-grin. "Carrie Anderson." "Okay." Jeff smiled back at her. "I'm Jeff Baker. Nice to meet you." Her smile deepened. "Nice to meet you, too. After two years of living across the hall from each other." "Hey, Carrie Anderson. Would you like to go to dinner with me tomorrow night?" Jeff could not believe he was that direct, and he carefully watched her face as he asked the question. The reaction was not what he wanted. "Oh," she said. The smile disappeared from her face and she returned to emptying her shopping bags. "No, thank you. I'm sorry. I wouldn't want you to take that the wrong way." The wrong way? What did she mean? He lived right across the hall, and never saw her with a boyfriend. She seemed to spend as much alone as he did. Didn't she want the company? What was so wrong with him? Jeff started to object. "But, I mean it's just a dinner." Then, he caught himself. She looked back into his face as he paused. No, he thought, if she did not want to go to dinner, he wasn't going to fight about it. Jeff sighed. Another defeat with a woman. When he next spoke, his voice was quiet and hurt. "Well, thanks anyway. If you change your mind, just let me know." He turned and went back out the front door, without a glance Carrie. Carrie called after him. "Thanks, Jeff. I appreciate the help." But Jeff did not turn around, and did not stop until he made it into his truck. He needed some air. He drove out of the apartment complex and resumed his day's errands. And that was it. No more conversations. No more friendly exchanges except for the formal nods and curt 'hello' to each other as neighbors occasionally passing in the hallway. She never brought up the dinner invitation, and Jeff didn't either. As time passed, though, Jeff could greet her without sounding angry and resentful, and she could reply without sounding guilty for turning him down. But they were no more than that--two people who lived across the hall from the other and who barely knew anything meaningful about the other. Then came the day that Jeff Baker's life ended and a new one began. It was another workday, a beautiful sunny Mayday. The morning passed uneventfully at the car dealership, the jobs the same ones he had done hundreds of times--oil changes, tune-ups, wheel alignments. But as noon approached, Jeff began to experience a tightening in his chest, a dull throb around his heart that nauseated him. He asked his boss, Tony, if he could go home at lunch. Jeff almost never missed time for illness, and felt a little guilty about asking. But Tony simply shrugged when asked. "Yeah, Okay." was all he said. So, about a half hour later, Tony was climbing the steps to the second floor of his apartment complex. The drive home had been uncomfortable, and Tony even felt a little winded by the time he got to his front door. He did not know what was wrong, but he definitely did not feel well. He looked forward to stretching out on his bed and taking a nap. He shoved his key into the deadbolt, and pushed the front door open. The interior was dark and stuffy, as it always was. Jeff had left the curtains drawn and the windows closed. The kitchen table was littered with unpaid bills and receipts, the living room cluttered. Jeff had not been kidding when he said he needed a maid. He rarely cleaned his apartment, but was not overly concerned about the mess. He rarely, if ever, had visitors. On the other hand, the closed air in the apartment was easily fixable. Jeff stepped around the magazines and CD's on the floor to the sliding glass door on the other side of the living room. He unlocked the lock and slid the door open a few inches. A faint breeze began to flutter the light drape drawn across the door. Jeff barely noticed, still suffering discomfort, and headed toward the bedroom for some much needed rest. As he reached the hallway leading to his bedroom, however, the tightness in his chest intensified into a white-hot pain, taking his breath away. Jeff clutched at his heart, waiting for the moment to pass. The seconds passed with excruciating slowness, and Jeff's face was twisted into tight agony. Finally, the pain left him, and he gasped in relief. He continued on into the darkened bedroom. Thin slits of sunlight lighted the room through small gaps in the drapes. Clean and dirty clothes lay intermingled on the floor and over the chair and dresser. The bed was unmade, the sheets still crumpled from where Jeff had left them that morning. There was only one change to the room, but it so startled Jeff that he stopped cold halfway through the doorway. Someone was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at Jeff as if he were waiting for Jeff to arrive. Jeff almost shrieked in surprise. He cried out, "Ed!" It was his grandfather--the one that had died of cancer three years before. Ed's reply was calm and self assured. "Hello, Jeff. Good to see you again." Jeff blinked in disbelief. It was indeed Ed--the same round, weathered face, the same plaid shirt with suspenders, the same pair of dark green pants that he'd worn almost every day since he had retired. More importantly, Ed was the man who had helped raise Jeff. Jeff's father had died when Jeff was an infant, and Jeff and his mother had moved in with her parents. Yet Jeff had never felt cheated in his upbringing. Ed had helped make Jeff the man that he was, and Jeff had loved him for it. Jeff had taken it hard when Ed passed away. Jeff had always been happy to see Ed, but at that moment, Jeff could not believe what he was seeing. "Ed," he gasped, "what the hell are you doing here?" Ed's warm smile twisted into a mischievous grin. "To offer you a choice, Jeff. You can come with me, or you can learn a lesson you never learned in your life." Jeff's mind was swimming. This did not make sense. "A choice? I don't understand." "Well, to start with, look behind you." For a moment, Jeff hesitated. He stared at his long-dead grandfather in disbelief, but at that moment the thought of turning around was more frightening than seeing the ghost in front of him. Finally, he could not resist. Jeff spun slowly. At first, he only saw the darkened living room behind him. Then his sight drifted down toward the floor. There, at his feet, Jeff saw himself, face down on the carpet. His arms were bent underneath his body, with his hands still clutching at his chest. His eyes were open and unblinking. From behind him, Ed spoke up. "That's right Jeff, you're dead." Yet, for some reason, Jeff already knew that. But that did not stop Jeff from panicking. Jeff's spirit dropped to its knees. His soul's hands, almost transparent, reached for his face, then his chest. Jeff wanted to slap himself awake, wanted to give himself CPR, but his spirit could not touch his own body. He grew more frantic. He rose and headed across the living room to the telephone on the wall. But again, his ghostly hands passed through without touching, disappearing into the wall before coming out again. He tried again and again to lift the receiver, without success. Then, Ed was right behind him, his voice urgent and concerned. "Jeff! Jeff! Stop it. This isn't helping!" It took a moment for Jeff to stop clawing at the telephone, for Ed's words to penetrate his fright. Finally, he stopped and faced his grandfather's spirit. "Ed," Jeff said quietly, "what the hell is happening?" "You're dead, Jeff. But you already know that, don't you?" Jeff could not recall the exact moment that he knew, but he did know. The moment that the pain in his chest had left him, the moment he had stepped forward and saw a ghost sitting on his bed, it was as if he had left his old reality for a new one. The panic came because he did not want it to be that way. As far as Jeff was concerned, it was not yet his time. He was still a young man, with a life yet to live. He just could not be dead! Ed spoke as if he knew what Jeff was thinking. "As I said Jeff, I am here to give you a choice. One option is for you to go with me, for me to take you to the other side. The other choice you have is to stay on Earth, to continue to learn about life and what it means to be alive." Jeff responded eagerly. "Great, I'll stay! You can put me back in my body, and I can get on with my life." "No, Jeff, it's not that simple. If you want to stay, you can, but you have to take on a new identity, live a new life. Right now, on the other side of town, someone is getting hit by a car. That spirit will pass over to the other side. You have the chance to take over that person's life, to learn an important lesson before your time comes again." Jeff's mind raced. He could not imagine what Ed was talking about. "What lesson? What am I supposed to figure out that I don't already know?" Ed shook his head. "That's not for me to tell you. All I can say is that you will have to take over someone else's life, to experience what you need to know. Either that, or come with me right now." It did not take Jeff long to decide. "Then, I want to stay," he said firmly. "I know it sounds strange, but I don't want to go to Heaven. I'm just not ready." Ed nodded. "I know. That's how it is supposed to be." Suddenly, the air around Jeff began to brighten. The walls of his apartment began to fade away. His last memory as Jeff was of Ed speaking to him. "The next time we meet, Jeff, it will be forever." *** Jeff's next conscious thought was that he was outdoors, lying on asphalt. Numerous, worried voices were around him. His mind was foggy and unfocused, and it took a moment before he realized that his eyes were closed. His limbs felt heavy, and his head throbbed as if he had taken a fist to his jaw. Then, he remembered. It was not Jeff lying on the ground, but someone else--his new self, whoever that was. The soul that used to be Jeff was experiencing the first few seconds of a new and unfamiliar life. The thought sent a shiver up his spine, and a shot of adrenaline into his blood. He forced his eyes open. Bright sunlight blinded him temporarily, and his new eyes struggled to focus. Several faces peered into his field of vision, their expressions tight with concern. Six or seven men and women were gathered in a circle around him, some standing and others kneeling. The closest was a heavy-set, middle-aged African-American woman, who was trying to pry her arms underneath his shoulders. "Praise God," she breathed. "I thought you were dead." She managed to prop Jeff up into a sitting position, and Jeff's first look at the rest of himself almost caused him to faint again. Jeff only saw the lower half of his new body, but the sight told him more than he wanted to know. Thin, spindly legs covered in white sheer pantyhose jutted out from a plaid, knee-high skirt. The legs ended in small, delicate feet, clad in black loafers. In disbelief, Jeff reached toward the unfamiliar limbs in his view, and in reply to his will a thin, pale, shapeless arm lifted, and the delicate fingers of a woman's hand traced the contours of a smooth, feminine thigh. Jeff was a girl! In an instant, the lingering fogginess in his mind vanished, and his new body began to struggle to lift himself to his feet. The woman holding Jeff grabbed Jeff's shoulders to keep him from thrashing. She helped Jeff to stand, but held tight to his shoulders to keep him from falling back down. Jeff could not believe how strong the woman was. He felt trapped in her grip. For a moment, he panicked and resisted. Then, he caught himself. This woman was trying to help him. Jeff tried to speak but at first there was only a dry- throated gasp. He swallowed, and tried again. "Okay, okay," he croaked. The voice that he heard was high and thin, very girlish. "Nothing's broken, I think." "Honey," the woman answered, "the way you bounced off that windshield, I can't believe you can even stand up. We've got to get you to a doctor." "No! No way!" The voice of a young woman spoke the words coming from Jeff's mind. "Just give me a minute to get my head together." Jeff looked around. They were in the parking lot of a small plaza. An expensive German car, motor still idling, was behind him. The windshield had taken the brunt of the impact, bent inwards and laced with innumerable cracks. The hood was dented where the victim--the woman that Jeff had now become--had landed on the way to the ground. The car must have stopped just in time to avoid running her over. Then, Jeff's eyes met those of a man in a business suit. He stepped forward with relief on his face. "Miss," he said to Jeff, "I'm sorry. I was talking on my cell phone and you just came out of nowhere. Are you alright?" Jeff almost laughed. Everyone around him was worried about the woman who had just gotten hit by the car, but he was more panicked about his new gender. If he could have, he would have just bolted, running until he found a place to think this through. But the woman leaning over him still held him had a tight grip on his shoulders. For the time being, Jeff would have to play the part. Jeff managed a weak smile and gazed up at the driver. "Actually, sir, I think your car got the worst of it. All my parts seem to be working." He patted the arms of the woman holding him. "You can let go. I can stand by myself." "You sure?" she asked. She held Jeff for a moment more, then released her grip. Jeff's new knees wobbled for a moment, but he held his legs underneath him. Jeff gave her a pat of thanks. He smiled to reassure her. "See?" The woman shook her head. "Diane, you scared me to death." She looked Jeff up and down. "But I've always said that your head was as hard as a rock. This just proves me right." Diane? It was Jeff's new name. And the woman that had helped him up seemed to know Diane. Diane, ex-Jeff, leaned toward her. "Look, I just need to sit down for a few minutes. Someplace quiet." "Fine," the woman answered. "You can go back into the office and wait for the police there." She began to lead Diane toward one of the doors in the plaza. The driver of the car quickly stepped in front of them. "Police? Is that really necessary?" His voice was shakier than it had been. Diane figured this guy must have been in trouble before for something. "No, don't worry about it," Diane said. "I'm okay, really. You take care of your windshield and I'll worry about me." The driver was visibly relieved. "Great. Thanks." But the woman leading Diane was not buying it. "Honey, you don't know what you're saying. When we get into the office, I'm calling the police and that's all there is to it." The driver threw up his arms in frustration, but a look from the woman leading Diane silenced any argument. He walked back toward his car. The two women resumed their walk and reached a door labeled "WOMEN'S DEFENSE FUND & SHELTER." Diane groaned. Great, she thought, God made me a feminist. They entered into a large, open room. To the right, there were several desks and tables covered with cups, plates, and condiments. Several women of mixed races moved as if they were just cleaning up from a meal. A door behind was labeled "Kitchen". To the left, the room was divided into several cubicles. There, two women with concerned faces watched them enter. One, a short, plump white woman in her thirties, dressed in a smart business suit and dress, stepped forward. "What happened, Corrine? I heard some tires squeal and a terrible noise! Diane, are you alright?" The woman leading Jeff answered. "Oh, Diane tried to stop a car with her head. Honestly, I can't believe she's still with us. The car got the worst of it, if you can believe it." Both of the waiting women gasped. The other woman, a tall thin woman of Italian decent, said in a worried voice, "Diane! Oh, you poor thing. Here, sit down!" They led Diane to a wheeled chair and guided her into it. Corrine said, "Here, let me get you a cup of water. You take it easy, now." It took an hour for the police to arrive. Diane's first impulse was to bolt for the door and run as far away as her thin legs could carry her. But instead she calmed her nerves, and paid attention to the details around her. She learned the short woman, Betsy, was the administrator of the shelter. Corrine was the other full-time staffer. The tall woman was one of the ex-battered women who now worked as one of the part-time workers. Diane, the real Diane, had been a volunteer. The new Diane found it ironic that these women seemed relieved that Diane was not badly hurt, but the Diane they knew really was dead and gone forever. An imposter was now in her place. The police came and went. They decided not to charge the driver because Diane kept insisting she was alright, despite the damage to the car. And, strangely, she felt no pain and seemed uninjured. One of the officers even remarked that he could not believe Diane was unhurt. Diane just nodded in reply. She wanted them to go away. The car was towed, and the relieved driver caught a cab to get back to his job. He never knew how close he came to being scarred for the rest of his life. Without divine intervention, he would have killed Diane. Instead, he would always have a good story--the one about the young woman who had done a body slam into his windshield, then got up and walked away. Corrine offered to drive Diane home, and Diane agreed immediately. She needed time alone to think things through, without these women hovering over her. Diane rose to head toward the door. Betsy called after her, "Oh, honey, don't forget your shoulder bag!" Diane blushed. She would have to learn what was hers and what was not, quickly. She smiled in thanks. "Goodbye," she said, knowing she meant her farewell as more permanent than they would have heard it. "Thanks for helping me." Once she got out the door, Diane knew she was not coming back. The other women grinned and waved. "Take it easy. See you tomorrow." Diane smiled a half-smile, but did not reply. Corrine led Diane out. Reaching the parking lot, Corrine held out her hand. "Give me your keys, hon. After watching you do a belly flop on the hood of that car, there's no way I'm letting you drive me anywhere. I'll drive your car and take the bus home." Diane reached into the tan leather shoulder bag, and pulled out a wad of keys. Diane placed the keys into Corrine's hand, then fell back a couple of steps. If Corrine wanted to take charge, Diane would not argue. Diane did not know what her own car looked like, or where she lived. She needed Corrine to begin teaching her about her new life. Corrine moved slowly between the parked cars, her motion a slow, steady waddle necessitated by her plump lower body and tall high heels. Diane was relieved that her former self had picked a pair of comfortable shoes that morning. Her slender frame only generated a small twisting in the hips as she moved. But the cool air moving up the inside of her skirt was disconcerting. It did not feel as if she was wearing very much below the waist. To Diane's further consternation, Corrine crossed the parking lot toward the most rusted, beat up car in the entire plaza. It was a small, foreign hatchback, with equal shares of faded silver and large swatches of rust covering the sheet metal. Instead of a normal antenna, a bent coat hanger jutted up from the fender. Diane, ex-mechanic and ex-owner of a brand new pickup and gleaming touring motorcycle, grunted in disgust. Corrine unlocked and opened the passenger side door for Diane, then helped clear away the debris in the seat--candy wrappers, crumpled papers, unopened junk mail--to allow Diane to sit down. Diane gently eased herself into the seat, and had to use her feet to clear a spot in the passenger footwell. Corrine slammed the door shut for her, and it closed with a clanging shudder. The whole interior was covered in a fine layer of dust, and Diane pressed her shoulder bag to herself as if to shelter herself from the mess. Corrine opened the driver's door and eased her generous proportions into the seat, filling her half of the car. Corrine twisted the key and, after a few grinding turns of the motor, the engine fired halfheartedly, sputtering and coughing just enough to keep running. Diane groaned out loud, drawing a concerned look from Corrine. Diane smiled weakly, and said, "Maybe I should donate my car to the shelter. I think I'd do better on the bus." Corrine laughed. "No, thanks. We don't need another problem." After a couple of gasps, the motor warmed to a semblance of running, and Corrine eased the car out of the parking lot. As the car wound its way through the streets, Diane paid careful attention to the route. As Jeff, she'd been in this part of the city only a couple of times, and looked for familiar landmarks, with some success. Corrine carried on her own conversation, talking aimlessly about the weather and the shelter, with Diane maintaining a watchful silence. Tension knotted Diane's stomach as she tried to come out of lingering shock. Over and over in her mind, she told herself that she could not believe what was happening to her. She absentmindedly rubbed her hands together, and the rings on her fingers made tiny clicking noises as an outward sign of her continuing distress. Then, about ten minutes into the ride, Diane's mind registered a new shock. She was wearing a ring on the third finger of her left hand! She looked down. Among her thin, delicate fingers, nails painted a girly pink, there was a ring tipped with a small diamond. It was an engagement ring--a cheap one, but definitely an engagement ring. Corrine looked over and smiled a motherly smile. "Let me guess," she said. "You're wondering how long it will take for Tom to get home. He'll give you all the medicine you need." Diane felt the blood drain from her face, and swallowed to clear her suddenly dry throat. "Uh, yeah." She could not say anything more. The thought of a fiance, a man sharing her apartment, was too horrifying. Finally, they arrived in front of an old, run-down apartment block, the kind found in every inner city. It was a four story walkup, with faded and cracked paint on the doors and windows, rusting iron grates on the balconies and fire escapes, and sparse, overgrown grass separating the building from the street. Diane shuddered. This was home. Corrine eased the car against the curb, and both women climbed out. Diane wanted to be alone as soon as possible. It was time to send Corrine on her way. Diane fought all the emotions swirling inside her and managed her best smile. "Thanks, Corrine. You've been too nice." Corrine returned the smile and opened her arms for a hug. Diane leaned forward awkwardly into Corrine's embrace, and her tiny frame seemed to be enveloped by Corrine's ample body. Corrine's voice deepened to a soft, motherly tone. "Now, honey, you've had quite a day." Diane groaned. That was truer than Corrine could ever guess. Corrine continued, "You get some rest and get your man to give you some lovin', and you'll be good as new tomorrow." A new what? A new woman? The thought brought an involuntary chuckle from Diane. Despite her ongoing discomfort, though, Diane managed to sound in control of herself when she spoke. "Thanks, really. I'll be just fine. You have a good day, now." "I will," Corrine said. See you tomorrow." She turned and began walking away down the street. "Goodbye, Corrine." Diane's words had a finality that Corrine did not seem to notice. Diane turned toward the building. The first problem to overcome was figuring out which apartment was hers. She reached into her handbag and found a tan leather pocketbook. She unclasped the binding and flipped through it until she found a driver's license. She was looking for the address, for the apartment number, but her eyes were drawn to something else--the picture. The photo was typically bad for a license, but it was Diane's first look at her own face. It showed a pretty, young woman with a thin, narrow face and high cheekbones, framed with dark brown shoulder length hair parted down the middle. The license listed her full name as Diane Thorton, her eyes as green, her height as 5'3", and gave her birth date. Diane quickly did the math-- she was 22 years and six months old, give or take a couple of days. She stared at the face for a few seconds, as if unable to comprehend that the woman in the photo was herself. More than ever, she felt the need to get inside, to be alone to contemplate her new fate. Diane looked again for the apartment number--3C. She headed for the front door and made her way up the winding staircase. Arriving on the third floor, she found the correct door and fumbled through her wad of keys. After a couple of wrong guesses, a key slid into the deadbolt and, with a sharp click, the lock released and Diane pushed the door open. For several seconds, Diane listened, holding her breath. She waited for any noises that might betray the presence of another person. Finally, after a couple of tense moments of silence, she exhaled her relief and walked into the apartment, pushing the door shut behind her. She dropped her shoulder bag on the floor, as if she were glad to be rid of it. She was in a small living room. A well-worn couch faced a small television perched on top of a cheap bookcase. The floor was a faded hardwood, which bore the scars of many years of use. To the left, there was a combination kitchen/nook, with a small, square table covered in bills and catalogs. To the right, a doorway opened into a bedroom with a couple of dressers, and a table and chair, which faced a mirror. There was one unmade bed, full-size. Diane gulped. One bed for Diane and her fiance. Off to the side of the bedroom, another doorway led to a bathroom. It was small, with only enough room for a shower stall, toilet and pedestal sink, and every flat space was cluttered with the daily necessities for a man and a woman. But it was the sight reflected in the mirror over the sink that sent a chill through her. Diane saw herself. She saw a woman standing in the darkened bedroom, wearing a collared navy blue blouse with silver buttons up the front. Her limbs and body were thin but feminine, with noticeable breasts, and hips that filled out her plaid, knee-high skirt. Her face, though, was in shadow. To get a better look, Diane walked into the bathroom and flipped on the florescent light over the mirror. The fuzzy driver's license photo had been a hint of her appearance, but now Diane saw close-up the face of a living, breathing woman. Her eyes were large with piercing green irises, rimmed with a light border of black mascara and eyeliner. Her eyebrows were thin and arched. The high cheekbones had a hint of rouge, and her lips were colored with a cherry red lipstick. Her nose was small, even petite. Her face was long and thin, framed by the dark brown hair that descended flat from the part in the middle of her head until lifting in a curl above her collar. Diane was mesmerized. She was pretty--not model pretty, but everyday pretty. Then, in the next instant, the same sight generated a wave of nausea and revulsion through Diane. There was a part of Diane's mind that clung to being Jeff, which resisted this new body and new life. And it did not like makeup on Diane's face, even if it was perfectly normal for it to be there. She turned on the spigots and grabbed a bar of soap from the top of the sink. She lathered her face and began cleaning off the offending makeup. After a few moments of energetic scrubbing, Diane froze when she heard a new and disturbing sound. The doorknob to the front door of the apartment jiggled, then Diane heard the knob turn and the door swing open. Heavy footsteps strode into the apartment. A male voice called out, "Hey, babe. I'm home." Diane froze, her face still covered in soap. It was Tom, Diane's fiance. Of course, Diane thought, Tom knew she was there. The deadbolt was unlocked and Diane's handbag still lay on the floor of the living room. Her first impulse was to flee, but there was nowhere to go. She did not answer, but instead thrust her hands into the running water and hurriedly rinsed the soapsuds from her face. She grabbed a hand towel and began to dab her face dry. The footsteps started again, crossing the living room and heading into the bedroom. Diane turned to face Tom. He strode into the bathroom doorway, smiling. Tom was a smaller man than Diane would have expected from the sound of his steps, about 5'7" and 180 pounds, and probably a few years older than Diane, in his late 20's or early 30's. His brown hair was long for a man and slightly unkempt, his face covered in a couple days' worth of stubble, and round, wire-rimmed glasses gave him the look of a poor man's intellectual. He was wearing a brown knit sweater and blue jeans, and on his feet were well-worn sneakers. Before that moment, Jeff would have seen Tom and instantly have looked down on him. Here was someone who would never buy a pickup truck or a motorcycle, even if he had the money. This was a thinker, a reader, maybe even an artist-- to Jeff, less than a real man. But now, Diane knew, Tom was the one with the penis, and he was used to putting it in Diane. Tom's voice was warm and tender. "Hey, kid, what are you doing home?" He covered the remaining distance to Diane and leaned forward to give her a kiss. Diane's eyes widened in surprise and, holding the wet towel in front of her as if to ward Tom off, leaned backward away from him. But the sink dug into her back, and Tom was taller than she, so he succeeded in planting a quick peck on her lips. Diane felt a cold shiver run down her back. If Tom thought Diane's greeting was less than friendly, he did not show it. "So, what's going on?" It took a couple of seconds for Diane to gather herself and try to speak. "Uh, nothing," she said in a trembling, high voice. "No, that's not true. I mean, I had trouble at the shelter." She swallowed and gathered herself. "In fact, I don't think I'm going back." She nodded as if to emphasize the point. The first look of confusion crossed Tom's face. "Are you kidding? What do you mean? You love working there. I thought those women were your friends." A pang of guilt went through Diane. She remembered Corrine's kindness and the genuine concern of the other women after Diane had been hit by the car. They had no idea that Diane was never coming back. But Diane had already made up her mind. She was going to leave the old Diane's life behind. And that included leaving Tom as well, as soon as she could get away with it. "Oh, I know," she replied. "It's just that being a volunteer is a dead end, and I need to start earning some money. I need a real job. They'll understand." Tom seemed genuinely surprised. "Hey, you're the one who insisted on staying there. I told you the same thing six months ago." He moved closer to Diane and put a friendly arm around her shoulder. "We could always use some more money. It'll help us to get to where we want to go." Diane grimaced and pulled away from Tom's embrace. In a quiet voice, she said, "Yeah, I guess." She quickly left the bathroom and went through the bedroom into the living room. She needed some space. Tom did not try to follow. Instead, he stayed in the bedroom and began to change his clothes. Several minutes passed before Tom tried again to talk to Diane. He called out, "Hon, can we eat early? I want to work on my thesis tonight, and I need you to help me proof it." Diane, confused, stood for a moment staring back into the bedroom. Then, she realized that Tom was expecting her to make dinner for both of them. On the one hand, she was offended that he just assumed that she would be cooking. On the other hand, it would allow her some time to be away from him, some time to think. She called out. "Okay. I'll make dinner. You take your time and relax." Tom did not answer. Apparently, he accepted that exchange as a conversation. He finished changing into a T-shirt and shorts. Diane breathed a sigh of relief, and turned her attention to the kitchen. The prospect of cooking did not frighten Diane. Jeff, a confirmed bachelor, was used to making his own meals, as long as they were easy. Diane began opening cabinets, looking for ingredients, and checked the refrigerator. She was surprised by the lack of food. Didn't these people ever go to a grocery store? Still, she managed to gather enough to make spaghetti and meatballs, and set to work. Soon, Diane had a pot boiling with water, and was rolling meatballs. She was fascinated with using her own hands, the way the thin, delicate fingers worked the ground beef, almost as if she was watching someone else do the work. She put the spaghetti in the roiling water, and fried the meatballs and warmed a jar of spaghetti sauce. While the food was cooking, she cleared off the table in the nook and set two places. By then, Tom was reclining on the couch with the television on, surrounded by books and hand- written notes, taking no notice of what Diane was doing. Finally, the meal was ready and Diane called Tom to the table. Tom at first seemed slightly surprised that they were eating in the nook, but sat down without comment, and the two began to eat. Tom tried to start a conversation, but Diane was hungry, and used the food she was stuffing into her mouth as an excuse not to talk. After they had finished, Tom went back to his work without even offering to help clean up, but Diane did not insist. It was more time she could spend apart from a person she considered a stranger, and she did not hurry. By the time she had the dishes washed and toweled off, it was early evening. Through that entire time, Tom ignored her. Then, when she was done, Tom suddenly seemed to remember Diane's presence. "Hey, hon," he said. "Can you come proof these pages from my thesis?" It was a statement, an order, more than a genuine request. Diane sighed. She was hoping this could have been the opportunity to have a few moments to herself, but that would have to wait. She guessed that Tom knew that something was wrong with her, and was trying to keep an eye on her. She dutifully strode to the couch and plopped down facing him, folding her legs underneath her. Tom handed her a handful of handwritten notes, and she began to read. It seemed strange to be reading without glasses, but she could see the words clearly. The problem was that Tom's muddled handwriting made no sense to her. The subject was incomprehensible, some dry academic paper on nineteenth century industrial practices. Even worse, the notes were some smaller part of a much larger work, and Diane had no idea what came before or after. Still, Diane focused on the words, and slowly flipped through the pages as if she were doing her best. When she was done, Diane tossed the papers back at Tom. "Fine," she said, and began to rise from the couch. Tom looked offended. "Fine? Is that all? There were no mistakes, nothing you want to change? Usually, when you read my stuff, I can't shut you up until it's just the way you like it. Come on, Diane. What's wrong? You've been nutty since I've gotten home." He reached up and grabbed her hand to keep her from moving away. He stared into her eyes, waiting for an answer. Diane's mind raced. She wondered what she should say. Should she reassure him, tell him everything was fine? He was genuinely hurt and concerned for her. Whatever Jeff would have thought, Diane had to admit that Tom seemed like a nice guy. But the events of the day were beginning to catch up with her. She was tired, confused, looking for a way out of the situation she found herself in. It was time to let her emotions boil over. "I'll tell you what's wrong," she began, her voice rising into full-throated anger. "I almost died today. Did you know that? Did you bother to ask how my day went? No. You did not." She paused for effect. Jeff had heard his girlfriends give different versions of this speech, and knew how to deliver it. Tom, however, was stunned, staring at Diane in wide-eyed silence. Diane's voice rose to a crescendo. "Well, I'm just sick of it, mister. Stop taking me for granted!" With that, Diane turned and retrieved her shoulder bag from the floor. She stormed out the front door without a backwards glance. As the door slammed behind her, Diane could not help but gasp with relief. Moments before, she had felt trapped, stifled. While she felt some regret for having blown up at Tom, Diane needed to leave, to go to where she truly felt safe. It was time to go home. She hurried down the stairs and out of the apartment building to the street. Sunset was full orange and red in the western sky, and the air was beginning to chill. Diane's car, the rusting pile of junk that she had already learned to hate, sat waiting at the curb. She plopped into the driver's seat and turned the ignition key, and the engine wheezed to life. Soon, she was driving on the expressway that looped around the city, heading to the other side of town. As dusk fell, Diane arrived at her destination--Jeff's apartment complex. It was much more upscale than the run down building in which Tom and Diane lived. About five hundred people lived there, though Jeff had only seen a small fraction of them. There were eight large buildings, each one with three floors and several units per floor, a separate office building and a swimming pool. The parking and common areas were well lighted and clean, the lawns mowed and the gardens well-tended. But what concerned Diane now was the fence, eight feet high and monitored with security cameras. The driveway into the complex led to a single, automated gate, which the residents entered by pressing a remote control unit. Diane eased her hatchback into the driveway entrance and stopped. She could not go farther without the gate being opened, and did not relish the thought of climbing the fence. Still, she knew it was only a matter of time before someone drove out, giving her the opportunity to drive in before the gate closed again. Yet, as Diane waited, she had the sense of being a stranger to her old life, of having lost something that she never truly appreciated while she had it. Jeff had lived here, in a good apartment, which he could afford because he had a good job that he enjoyed. And Diane was now on the outside, looking in. Finally, a car stopped on the other side of the gate, triggering the mechanism in the pavement that opened the gate from the inside. Diane waited until the other vehicle exited past her, then drove her hatchback into the complex. In a few moments, she pulled into the space next to Jeff's pickup. It gleamed in the halogen parking lot lights, new and flawless, Jeff's pride and joy. Diane glanced at it wistfully as she exited her car and slammed the door shut with a loose rattle. Diane climbed the stairs to the second floor of Jeff's apartment unit, until she stood outside the door that Jeff had entered so many times without a thought. Now, it was locked. Diane would have to figure out a way to get into the apartment, without the benefit of a key. She felt like an intruder to her own home, but there was no choice but to go in. Diane needed confirmation of what had happened to her that day. She had to see her own dead body. She stood for several seconds, contemplating the problem. When Jeff had entered the apartment earlier in the day, he had not locked the deadbolt or closed the door chain behind him. But the doorknob always stayed locked, and Diane would never be able to force the door open. Then, Diane remembered. The apartment had been stuffy, so Jeff had cracked the sliding door on the balcony. It should still be open. Diane left her shoulder bag leaning against the front door, and went back down the stairs. She walked around the building to the back until she stood below Jeff's balcony. The windows in Jeff's apartment and the one below were dark, and no one in the apartment block seemed to be looking in her direction. She could see the gap in Jeff's sliding glass door, and a light breeze fluttered the drape, which hid the interior from prying eyes. Diane thought that she might be lucky. She might be able to climb the metal balcony railings until she reached Jeff's second floor balcony, and might be able to do it with no one noticing. She began by climbing onto the first floor balcony railing, then reaching for the second floor. With her short stature, she could barely get her fingertips on top of the base of the second floor balcony. Then, as she attempted to lift herself, she found she had little upper body strength, and could only manage to go up a few inches before dropping back down. Her shoes hit the top of the first floor railing as she tried to put her feet underneath her, sending reverberations through the metal. She stopped herself, breathing hard, listening for any sounds that might indicate that someone had noticed. After a few tense seconds, she exhaled in relief. The lights in the first floor apartment stayed dark, and no one came around the side of the building to see what was going on. Diane knew she would have to be more careful. She also had to make it up to Jeff's apartment quickly. It would be hard for her to explain away what she was doing there. She looked around for some help. On either side of the balcony, there were decorative metal railings running to the base of the second floor. Diane realized that the metal flowers and cross beams might be just enough to help her climb. She shimmied across the top of the first floor railing to the side, and began exploring with the tips of her fingers and shoes, looking for places to grab hold. Then, with only the most tenuous of grips in the side railing, she slowly climbed toward the second floor. Finally, Diane could lift one toe up high enough to catch the floor of Jeff's balcony, and she used her leg to raise her torso until she was suspended horizontally in the air. Her muscles strained and shook with the effort to lift herself the last few inches. She lifted her other leg and hooked her foot on the second floor railing, but almost let go when her skirt flipped up, revealing the full length of the sheer white pantyhose on her legs and cotton panties beneath covering her flat crotch. It was a sight that Diane had avoided all day, what lay underneath the clothes, and the sight was all-too feminine. Diane hurriedly forced her skirt back down her legs as best she could to cover herself, and used the sudden surge of adrenaline to grab onto the second floor railing, and pull herself over the top. With a thud, she flopped onto the floor of the balcony, breathing heavily. After a few moments, she exhaled in relief and rose to her feet. The balcony door was open, just a few inches away, yet she hesitated before entering. Inside that apartment, Jeff's apartment, was the answer to a lingering question. Was this real or just a dream? Did Jeff die that day, and his soul transmigrate into a new body, or was it all some terrible nightmare? It was time to find out. Diane slid open the balcony door and stepped through the drapes. The interior was dark and deathly still. A disturbing sour smell tainted the air, despite the breeze flowing in around her. She stepped forward into the living room, reached for a table lamp, and turned on the switch. Light flooded the room, and her worst fears were realized. There, in the hallway to the bedroom, a pair of legs lay skewed on the floor. As the shock of the discovery began to sink in, Diane walked toward the body. The strength left her legs, and she dropped to her knees beside her old self. For several moments, she just stared at the body in stunned amazement. It was the difference between being on the inside looking out, and the outside looking in. Jeff had never seen himself beyond that which he could see with his own eyes, and had only ever seen his face in mirrors or pictures. But now, Jeff's soul stared through Diane's eyes at the body that used to house his soul. This was Jeff in three dimensions, but still and unmoving. The eyes were open and glazed in death. Diane reached forward hesitantly and touched Jeff's neck and wrists, looking for a pulse. But there was none. The man that was Jeff was truly dead. Diane sagged back against the hallway wall, and tears began to form in her eyes. When Jeff had thought of the state of his life, he only focused on the flaws or the unfulfilled expectations--his loneliness, his despair at his cowardice and insecurity when it came to asking out women or finding meaningful friendships and relationships. Now, Diane wept, mourning all that Jeff had lost with his death--his youth and vigor, his well-paying job, this apartment, all the toys that he had bought for himself. Jeff's life could have been more complete, but it was still better than many other people. Time slipped by as Diane grieved. But, at last, she began to pull herself together, and her mind returned to the present. The realization sunk in that she was indeed stuck in this body. She was now a 22 year old woman named Diane Thorton, one who had spent the day began to pull away from the job and the relationship that the real Diane Thorton had made for herself. And that she had just broken into an apartment that contained a dead body. When she had come to the apartment complex, she had still been in denial that this was real, that this had actually happened. She had not thought past what would lie beyond the discovery of Jeff's fate. From this moment on, though, Jeff's soul would live a new life, and she would have to make it, whatever lay ahead. For one thing, she remembered with a sudden fright that her shoulder bag had been sitting outside of Jeff's door for some time. Anyone could have seen it, and the thought of its discovery propelled Diane to her feet and toward the front door. She hesitated a few seconds at the door, listening for any sounds out in the hallway. Hearing none, Diane opened the front door. The shoulder bag, still resting on the floor, tipped over into the apartment, spilling some of the contents out of the top. Diane knelt to gather the loose items back into the bag. Then, her heart stopped as she heard the door across the hall open. It was Carrie. Carrie's eyes widened as she saw Diane crouched in Jeff's doorway. "Uh...hi," Carrie said before lapsing in to quiet confusion. Apparently, the sight of a woman in Jeff's apartment was quite a surprise to her. Diane, however, was glad to see a familiar face, despite her present circumstance. Carrie was wearing an iridescent purple blouse with rhinestone buttons and French cuffs, and black crepe pants and matching black leather mules with two inch heels. Carrie was both taller and with a larger, more athletic body than Diane. Damn, Diane thought, she sure looks good. Diane's grin broadened into a wide smile. "Hi, Carrie. Good to see you." She stood, looking up at Carrie's face. This seemed to startle Carrie even more. "I'm sorry," she said. "Do I know you?" Diane caught herself. She had to remind herself that Carrie had no idea who she was. Diane knew she had some fast explaining to do. "Well, we've never actually met, but Jeff's told me all about you." That drew a wry smile from Carrie. "Really? He doesn't know anything about me. We've lived across the hall from each other for years, and he hardly says anything to me." Diane thought she heard a hint of disappointment in Carrie's voice. Diane leaned forward to shake Carrie's hand. "I'm Diane. Jeff and I have been dating for a couple of weeks now, and this is the first time I've seen his place." She could not resist hinting at more. "If you know what I mean." For the moment, Diane was enjoying the encounter, despite the fact that there was a dead body in the apartment behind her. Carrie seemed taken aback, but returned the handshake. "Hi, Diane." She tried to peek around Diane into Jeff's apartment. Diane suddenly remembered what was in the apartment behind her, and moved to block Carrie's sight. "Jeff's in the shower right now." It was the best Diane could come up with, though Carrie would have heard no sounds coming out of the apartment. "Anyway," Diane continued, "I was just getting my bag." She held her shoulder bag in front of her as if to ward Carrie off. Carrie's face twisted into a look of skepticism. "Oh, Okay." She tried one last glance into Jeff's apartment before retreating into her own doorway. "Tell Jeff I said 'hi'. It was nice to meet you." She smiled a weak smile. Diane's returning grin was wide and friendly. "Likewise. I hope to run into you more often." Carrie just nodded, and quickly closed her door. Well, Diane thought, that was strange. Was it so hard for Carrie to believe that Jeff might have a girlfriend? Maybe, she wondered, it was the age difference. Jeff was a good ten years older than Diane. Diane shrugged. Jeff had never had a good handle on Carrie. As much as he had wanted to know her better, Carrie was still a mystery that he could not unravel. Diane returned inside Jeff's apartment, her mind swimming. Now what? She was alone with her old, dead body, in an apartment that did not belong to her. Still, after a tiring, confusing day, she was finally alone. One thing she knew for sure, she would not be able to stay in that apartment. For a moment, she considered picking up the phone and calling the police to report Jeff's death. Yet, she realized, there would be too much to explain if she were caught there. How did she get into the apartment? What was she doing there, with a dead body lying on the floor? On the other hand, Diane did not want to go back to Tom's apartment. That was too much for her to deal with at that moment. So, instead, she focused on satisfying her more short term needs. After all of her exertions that day, she felt dirty, the clothes clinging to her as if they were stuck to her, and her hair was mussed and stringy. If she could just take a shower, clean herself up a little bit, she would salvage what she could out of Jeff's apartment--money, valuables, personal mementos--and leave. Then, the next day, she would begin her new life. Diane first went through Jeff's wallet and pulled out his money. She also retrieved his stash of emergency money from a metal tin in the kitchen. Between the two places, Diane wound up with a couple of hundred dollars. That should get her started, perhaps even with a motel room that night. She stepped around Jeff's body and headed into the bedroom, flipping on the ceiling light. She was more matter-of-fact now, more determined. She had avoided looking under Diane's clothes all day, as if that were somehow an invasion of the privacy of the woman who used to inhabit that body. But this was hers--that is, Jeff's--body now, and it was time to start taking care of it. Diane stood in front of a wall-mounted mirror and began to strip, slowly, watching herself in fascination. She undid the buttons down the front of her navy blue blouse, and slipped it from her shoulders. Underneath, there was a simple white bra. It took Diane a few moments to reach behind her and undo the clasp in the middle of her back. The bra fell away, and a pair of young woman's ample, though not large, breasts were released from their confines. The cooling air of the room and the sight of her own body in the mirror had a disconcerting effect on the nipples, and Diane felt her breasts becoming erect. Diane had to shake her head in amazement. It would take some time to get used to this. Then, Diane slipped the loafers from her feet and lifted her skirt, then wriggled out of the pantyhose. She pulled her plaid skirt down around her ankles and stepped out of the opening. With only the white cotton panties left to go, Diane hesitated. She was nervous to cross this last frontier, and could feel the blood rushing to her face. To break the spell she was casting on herself, Diane took a moment to remove the rings from her fingers, including her engagement ring, and unclasped the thin sliver necklace, making a small pile of jewelry on the bed. Finally, there was only one thing left. Very slowly, as if she were afraid to do it, Diane slipped her fingers into the waist of her cotton panties and stretched them down around her wide hips, then let them drop to her floor. She stood, naked before the mirror, staring at the body reflected back at her. Besides the breasts and hips, which were full and feminine, the body was thin, with visible ribs and gangly arms and legs. She reached tentatively into her crotch, feeling her way through the pubic hairs until she reached the moist slit of her womanhood. Already slightly aroused, she rubbed her fingers across her clitoris, and she felt a surge of electricity run through her. Diane groaned with pleasure. After several very satisfying moments, Diane had to force herself to stop. She stumbled into the bathroom, and turned on the spigots in the shower stall. In the time it took for the water to warm, Diane calmed her breathing and came down from her self-created high. It was a new and startling experience, one she knew she would repeat in the future. As for whether she would ever be attracted to men, which was an open question that would wait. For the present, Diane was content to explore her new femininity. She stepped into the shower stall, letting the water spill through her hair and down her body. As she applied shampoo and lathered soap over her body, she felt the tension and grunge of the day washing away. Her movements were deliberate, and she lingered beneath the water pulsing from the showerhead. It was the most satisfying shower in her memory. When she stepped out of the stall, she felt clean, but more than that, she was calm, at peace, ready for whatever awaited her. She toweled herself off, then wrapped the towel around her torso. She brushed the wetness from her hair, keeping the part in the middle of her head. Diane would have to learn how to style her hair, to apply makeup, to dress. For now, her beauty derived from the glow of youth. Diane walked from the bathroom. She stood for a moment, staring at the clothes piled on the bed. Her plan was to get dressed and leave, though where to go from there was still undecided. As she savored the peaceful silence, a sudden sound disturbed her. It was the rap of knuckles on the front door, hard and insistent. A husky male voice called out. "Open up! It's the police!" Shock struck Diane like a lightening bolt. The police? How? It was the last thing she expected, despite the fact that she had climbed the outside railing to get in. She looked around, looking for a quick escape. But with a towel still wrapped around her and her clothes still piled on the bed behind her, there was only one thing she could do. She would have to bluff her way out of this mess. She reached the front door just as the knuckles rapped again. Diane gulped hard, then opened the door. Two uniformed police officers stood facing her, with the apartment manager standing to the side. Behind the three men, Carrie peeked in over their shoulders, a look of concern on her face. Of course, Diane realized, Carrie had called the cops on her. The bitch! Carrie hardly spoke to Jeff though they lived across from the hall from each other. Suddenly, Carrie was the neighborhood watch? Still, she was not about to give up on the situation. In a calm, confident tone, Diane said, "Oh, good. I was just about to call you. Please, come in." She stood to the side and gestured for the men to enter. With a last, sour glance in Carrie's direction, she closed the door behind them, leaving Carrie wide-eyed in the hallway. She walked into the living room and led them toward Jeff's body. "He's right here. I found him about a half hour ago, dead. My guess is it was a heart attack." The officers raised their eyebrows and looked at each other with puzzled expressions on their faces, but it was the apartment manager, Mr. Anders, who first challenged Diane. "What?" he croaked in disbelief. "What's going on here? And who the hell are you?" But she remained calm. "Diane Thorton. Jeff's girlfriend. I don't believe we've been introduced." One of the officers was kneeling beside Jeff's body, examining it. "Yup, he's dead. Looks like he's been like this for several hours now." His words came as a relief to Diane. The one thing she had in her favor was an alibi. Jeff had suffered his heart attack, then his soul had woken up in Diane's body on the other side of the city a few moments later. She did need, however, to explain away what she was doing there at that particular moment. "Yes," she said. "I drove here from my apartment. I can't tell you what it did to me when I saw him like this. I cried so much I couldn't breathe. I took a shower just to get hold of myself, and I was just about to dial 911 when you got here." Diane was not much of a liar. The quizzical looks on the men showed that they did not exactly believe what Diane was saying. After a couple of seconds, one of the officers spoke up. "So you say, miss. But when did you arrive, exactly? Did anyone see you come in?" "Well, for one, Carrie from across the hall saw me about thirty minutes ago." Gesturing toward the apartment manager, she continued, "And I'm sure that their security cameras are going to show me driving in a little before that." The other officer cut in. "Yes, ma'am. We can check the cameras. But the next door neighbor had no idea w