Altered Fates: A Quick Study free porn video

Authors note: This is another story whose initial inspiration was a situation depicted on one of femur's Lovingly Modified Romance Comic covers, specifically af017.jpg. ALTERED FATES: A QUICK STUDY by BobH. (c) 2003 Sitting in his large, elegantly-furnished CEO's office, Eric Peyton Wayne gazed sadly at the framed photograph in his hands. It showed him and Tommy Clark in happier times. They had been fourteen and indestructible when the picture was taken, during that long, carefree summer. Such a short time ago, yet everything was different now. One year ago today, PFC Thomas Clark was killed in Vietnam. Not in combat, but by the bomb thrown into the Saigon bar where he and his buddies were enjoying their first cold beers after returning from several weeks in the jungle. Eric hadn't believed it at first, had refused to accept Tommy was dead, but eventually he had to. His best friend was gone and all that was left were memories, sorrow, and guilt. Sighing, he slid the photo back in his desk drawer and pushed it shut. Much as he might wish otherwise, he did not have time to sit and remember Tommy. He had been given the responsibility of running the family company and he was beginning to suspect he wasn't up to the job. Reaching into the bottom drawer of his desk, Eric unscrewed the bottle he found there and took a swig of the garishly pink fluid it contained. With the amount he was chugging his way through, he was beginning to wonder if it was possible to be addicted to Pepto-Bismol. Getting to his feet, he went over to the full-length wall mirror to check out his appearance. From his not quite six foot height, he scanned his pink shirt, striped blazer, dark flared trousers, and thick brown hair, giving a small nod of approval, though he wasn't entirely pleased by what he saw. He had the same lush sideburns currently worn by most of the men under forty in the Western world, but he doubted many of them had the bags under the eyes he was developing. This wasn't normal for a 21 year-old, surely? Then again, how many guys his age were CEOs? Oh well, enough wool-gathering; he had a company to run. "Gretchen," he said, pressing the intercom switch on his desk, "could you bring in those documents for signature now? I'd like to get them out of the way before that reporter gets here. Oh, and could you make me a cup of coffee while you're at it? Thanks." When she entered his office a few minutes later, a sheaf of documents in one hand and a coffee in the other, Gretchen Jorgensen looked annoyed. "Is there a problem?" asked Eric. "With all the work we have to do," she said, putting everything down on his desk and running a hand through her long, blonde hair, "I shouldn't be wasting time making coffee." "But secretaries have always made coffee for their boss," said Eric, non-plussed, "it's part of the job." "Yes, well it's time that changed. It would be a lot more efficient for you to have a coffee-maker in your office." "This isn't an idea you got from the books by those female troublemakers you're always reading, is it?" said Eric. "I've been worried for a while you could be turning into one of those Women's Libbers." "Feminists," said Gretchen, exasperated, "We call ourselves feminists. And before you ask--no. I'm not burning any of my bras. They cost too much for that." A little later, as he worked his way though the documents she had brought him, signing each one with barely a glance at its contents, Eric reflected on what was, to him, her extraordinary outburst. What was it with women today, anyway? As he was wondering this, the intercom buzzed into life. "The reporter from the Hartford Courant is here to see you, Mr Peyton Wayne," said Gretchen, "shall I send him in?" "Yes, please do," said Eric. "And please get him a coffee. If it's not too much trouble, that is." Eric rose to his feet when the reporter entered, and shook his hand. "I'm Mike Hudson, Hartford Courant," said the reporter, "Thank you for seeing me." "My pleasure," said Eric, quickly sizing him up. Firm handshake, reasonably good-looking, Hudson was about two inches taller than Eric, had thick black hair, and appeared to be about the same age. Pinned to his lapel was a button reading 'FK NXN', a shorthand way of expressing your view of the President without getting into trouble for displaying 'obscene' language that Eric had seen before. It seemed to Eric that everyone under 30 except him was wearing their politics on their sleeves these days. Or, in this reporter's case, on his lapel. "We don't see many out-of-town reporters in Peyton," he said, sitting back down, "probably because not much happens here. The fire last week at Clark Storage, Ethan Clark's long-term storage center, was about the most newsworthy thing to have happened in this town in months." He felt a pang of guilt about that. Tommy's parents had built that business up from nothing and, though their insurance would cover the damage and pay for repairs, Eric really should have called to commiserate. But he couldn't. He hadn't seen them since the funeral. He knew he still wouldn't be able to look Ethan in the eye. "This is as much a profile piece as anything," Hudson was saying, "y'know the sort of thing: unusually young CEO takes charge at major local company and how he's finding the task six months into the job. And, of course, being an arms manufacturer, just how the anti-war movement is affecting your business. Have there been any actions at the plant?" "None whatsoever," said Eric, "not even a single protest. Either we're below their radar, or they figure they wouldn't get any media coverage this far from the major cities." "Could be," said Hudson, jotting down Eric's answer in his notepad. "Anyway, how about we begin at the very beginning? The town was started by your family, I believe?" "In a way," said Eric. "My great-great grandfather, Josiah Peyton--that's his statue in the town square--struck it rich out West. He then bought up most of the land hereabouts, land in and around a tiny town that was already here, farming some of it himself and leasing or selling the rest to other families. He grew very, very rich, built the mansion my family still lives in to this day and made various philanthropic civic bequests that helped the town grow and prosper. The town was renamed in his honor. Most of the family fortune was lost by my great-grandfather, Edward 'Teddy' Peyton, in the Wall Street Crash. Taking what was left, my grandfather, Arthur Peyton, started this company in 1934. It was a huge gamble and it caused a family rift with Arthur's sister, Agatha, leaving never to return, but it paid off." "What was your grandfather like?" asked Hudson. "Unfortunately, I never knew him," said Eric, "he was killed in a car crash on the day I was born. My parents had been married barely nine months by that point, but my father still had to step up to the plate and take over the running of the company, years earlier than anyone had expected." "I'm sorry. So what happened to your father?" "After twenty years spent running the company, twenty years of long days and short vacations, he and my mother decided they'd had enough. They're still only in their forties and I don't think you'll ever meet another couple as obviously meant for each other and as in love as those two. I swear, it's like they're still on their honeymoon. Anyway, the company was in good shape, and I'd been training to take over since I was a kid, so six months ago they decided the time was right to hand over the reins to me. They're in the middle of a year-long world cruise at the moment but, even when they get back, Dad will only be working part-time. Mom says the company has had enough of his time and that now he belongs to her." "The company's current name isn't the one your grandfather gave it, is it?" "No. Originally it was called 'Peyton Machine Tools Inc.' As things turned out, my grandfather's timing in starting it was close to perfect. The company grew and prospered supplying machine tools to defense plants during World War Two and the Korean War. When my father, Mark Wayne, took charge, he changed the focus of the company. We still made machine tools, but now we also produced shell-casings, bullets, and other secondary 'consumables' for the military. Since we manufactured them in the first place, we always had the latest machine tools and the efficiency this produced allowed us to undercut the larger weapons manufacturers when bidding to supply those items. It was my father who changed the company name to the current 'Peyton Industries Inc.' during this period." "Where do you see the company going next?" "Well, I suppose the next logical step in our growth has to be to start developing primary weapons systems of our own. But that's a huge step. It would require a lot of capital investment to achieve and raising that much capital is a daunting task." This was an understatement. It gave Eric stomach pains just thinking about it. He knew he would be expected to eventually take the company to the next stage, but it was all he could do to keep his head above water running the company as it was now. Even that would not have been possible without the skills and tireless efficiency of his secretary, Gretchen. She started working for him a week after he took over as CEO, and in the six months since then had proven absolutely indispensible. It was why he put up with her recent inexplicable, to him, outbursts. And as he was thinking this, right on cue, the office door opened and Gretchen brought in a coffee for Mike Hudson. She gave him a warm smile, but Eric only rated a quick, frosty glare before she turned on her heel and left. Hudson noticed it though. "Problems?" he said, sipping his coffee. "That was some look she gave you." "Off the record?" asked Eric. Hudson nodded. "When I hired her six months ago, Gretchen seemed a perfectly normal girl. Funny, intelligent and, as you must've noticed, a real looker. She shares an apartment with her equally beautiful twin sister, Heidi, who I only met once when she dropped by the office to pick up her sister for lunch. Gretchen has several photos of the two of them together on her desk from when they were little girls. Anyway, I'm not quite sure how they had ended up here in Peyton, Connecticut, but they grew up in Minneapolis. It was probably our milder climate that attracted them, or maybe they heard how beautiful fall is in New England. Whatever, I'm glad they did because I really like Gretchen, and I respect her a lot. Frankly, I'm not sure I'd have survived the past six months without her. The problem is this damned women's liberation nonsense. It's given her all manner of strange notions. I mean, a while back I commented on the fact she always wore trouser suits and suggested she should wear a pretty dress occasionally. That's not an outrageous request, right? What boss with a secretary as pretty as Gretchen wouldn't want to see her in a dress now and again?" Mike Hudson grunted, non-commitally. "Well, she didn't appreciate that at all. She launched into some bit about 'objectification'--whatever *that* is--then said: 'I'm a skilled professional. I wear clothes suited to a professional working environment. If you dress frivolously you're treated frivolously, and I'm not a frivolous person.' That's for sure. A person less frivolous than Gretchen is hard to imagine. If anything, she's too serious, too driven to be super- efficient at everything she does. I grudgingly admitted she might have a point. But I still want to see her in a dress occasionally, dammit. Is that too much to ask? Gretchen never talks about her private life, but from gossip I overheard around the office, I gather she's got a new boyfriend. You have to wonder how he, how *any* red-blooded guy, could put up with that sort of attitude from his girlfriend, though" "I guess it takes all sorts," said Hudson. "Getting back to the interview, can you tell me something about your manufacturing cycle?" Eric did. In fact, he answered a whole lot more such technical questions before the interview concluded. Then he put it out of his mind, and after Mike Hudson left he got back to wrestling the budget requests the various department heads had submitted for the next financial quarter. The rest of the day promised to be long and tedious. And so it proved. At the end of the day, Gretchen entered his office unannounced. She looked oddly nervous. "Anything I can do for you, Gretchen?" he asked. "Actually, yes," she replied, "there is. I was hoping you could drive me back to my apartment. There's something I need to discuss with you there." "Can't we discuss it here?" "Not really, no," she replied. "Please, Mr Peyton Wayne." "Alright," said Eric, both puzzled and intrigued. "Go and wait for me by my car. I'll be down in a minute." The Jorgensen sisters shared an ancient Volkswagen Beetle, with Heidi usually dropping Gretchen off at the gates of the plant before continuing on into the town center and her job as a legal secretary for a small law firm. The contrast with Eric Peyton Wayne's car could not have been much greater. He drove the latest Ferrari, a sleek, bright red dream machine that he could see Gretchen admiring as he drove her back to her apartment. Though located over a flower store in a slightly seedy part of town, Gretchen's apartment came as a surprise to Eric. It was pretty small, with a kitchen that was little more than an alcove off the main room, but still managed a tiny bathroom with a shower over the tub, and a bedroom each for Gretchen and her sister. "Heidi won't be back for another forty five minutes or so," said Gretchen, heading for her bedroom, "which just gives us enough time." "Enough time for what?" said Eric. He was pretty sure Gretchen wasn't interested in him sexually, so what was going on here? "To show you this," said Gretchen, returning from her bedroom with some sort of medallion. She held it out to him. Puzzled, he reached out for the medallion, feeling an odd tingling sensation as he took it from her. Though gold in colour, the medallion obviously was not made of that metal. Indeed, it seemed to be little more than a cheap piece of crap, probably knocked off by some hippy with delusions of being an 'artist'. There was a representation of what looked to be some sort of angel or fairy on the medallion, but it betrayed no great evidence of skill on the part of whoever had made it. Unimpressed, Eric handed it back to Gretchen. "Very nice," he said, "but not really my sort of thing. I hope you didn't get me to drive you here just to show me a piece of junk jewellery." "Oh, it's much more than that," she said, smiling mysteriously. "Now just sit down and relax. I'll be back in a minute." With that, she vanished back into her bedroom with the medallion and Eric sat down on the sofa, wondering what the hell had gotten into Gretchen now. She was getting stranger and stranger lately. If he could run the company without her, he might have had to give serious thought to letting her go. Gretchen returned a few minutes later wearing only a bathrobe, bra and panties in her hand, the medallion around her neck. She looked . . . odd. Her hair seemed both shorter and darker, her body seemed somehow more angular, and Eric would have sworn she was an inch or two taller. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. "Something wrong?" asked Gretchen, innocently, her voice sounding huskier than usual. "You look different," said Eric, puzzled by how odd his own voice sounded. "So do you," laughed Gretchen, "so do you." "What the hell?" said Eric looking down and noticing the changes in his own body for the first time. His clothes were now too big for him, his shirt hanging loosely off his narrowing shoulders yet beginning to feel tight across the chest. In a sudden moment of total clarity he realized what must be happening to him. His hands, hands growing smaller and more slender with each passing second, flew to his chest, encountering soft, expanding mounds of flesh. "Breasts!" he whispered in stunned amazement, "I'm growing breasts!" "Also ovaries, a womb, a pussy and, as I can now say without sounding conceited, a pretty stunning ass," laughed Gretchen. She was enjoying this. "I'm . . . I'm turning into you?" said Eric, now clearly seeing his own form and features gradually emerging as Gretchen's transformation progressed. "That's right, cutie," said Gretchen. "Now just relax and enjoy the ride. It'll soon be over." It took just over half an hour for the changes to slow and finally stop. When they were done, Eric now had Gretchen's body, and she his. "OK," said Gretchen, briskly, "let's have you out of those clothes. I need them and they don't fit you any more." Eric offered no resistance as she undressed him, still stunned as he was by what had happened to him. "Why?" he managed as, at Gretchen's bidding, he stepped out of his underwear, "Why did you do this?" "To teach you a lesson. Here, put your arms through these straps." She slid the bra up his arms, reached behind him to fasten it, then adjusted his breasts in the cups. "Lesson? What sort of lesson?" he asked, dazedly stepping into the panties she had handed him. "A lesson in how the other half lives," she said, tossing him her bathrobe. He draped it over his slender shoulders as she started to pull on his discarded clothes. "You were a patriarchal oppressor, someone whose sexism was as natural and unquestioned as breathing. Oh it's not totally your fault--you're a product of your society, after all-- but it is your responsiblity to change, to grow. A month spent as a female secretary should help raise your consciousness." "A *month*?" said Eric, appalled. "Of course," said Gretchen, shrugging the blazer into place on her now-broad shoulders. "It takes at least a month for a full taste of what it means to be female. But don't worry; modern drugs help control the period cramps, though the mood swings can still be a bitch. How do I look?" She was now fully clothed. It was like looking in a mirror. Or, at least, what looking in a mirror used to be like. "So what happens now?" said Eric, hoarsely. "What happens now is that until I decide otherwise, you are Gretchen Jorgensen, my secretary. I expect you in work at the usual time tomorrow, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. We have a lot of work to catch up on." "Do you really think you can run the company?" "I not only think I can, I *know* I can. I've virtually been running it for the past few months anyway while you moped around in your office slugging back Pepto-Bismol. Without me there, you'd have been in serious trouble." Eric could not argue with that last part, because it was true and they both knew it. "Now, who are you? And remember, if you don't play ball I can extend this switch indefinitely." "I'm . . . I'm Gretchen Jorgensen," came the reply. He..no, she . . . knew that it was true, that this is who she now was. No one would believe she had ever been anyone else. "Good," replied the new Eric Peyton Wayne, "because you have a date with your new boyfrind tonight, your third, and you need to get ready. He'll be over to pick you up in less than two hours." "A date?" said the new Gretchen, horrified, "I can't go on a date with a man!" "You can, and you will, because I'm telling you to. You haven't had sex yet but it's getting to that point. I want you to be an eager and enthusiatic lover with him because I want this relationship to develop and grow ready for me to take over when we change back. Do not, I repeat do *not*, screw it up. Do you understand?" Gretchen nodded dejectedly. She had only been a woman ten minutes but already she was on the road to getting laid. It was all happening too fast. They both turned at the sound of a key being inserted in the apartment's front door. It opened and Heidi entered, a bag of groceries under her arm. "Oh, hi!" she said, spotting Eric. "Gretchen didn't tell me we were expecting a visitor." "It's not really a visit," said Eric smoothly, "I just gave Gretchen here a lift home so that you wouldn't have to drive out to get her. She was all excited about her big date tonight and I figured we could save time and give you longer to help her get ready if I drove her." "That was right kind of you," smiled Heidi. "Thank you." "My pleasure. Now I really must be going. I'm looking forward to actually indulging in some of the luxuries in that wonderful house of mine for once, but first I thought I'd treat myself to a nice long drive in my Ferrari." "Ladies," he said, flashing them a smile. Then he was gone. "It must be nice to have that much bread," said Heidi wistfully. "Yes," said Gretchen, listening to the roar of the Ferrari's engines as the car started up in the street below, "it is." "Right," said Heidi, eyeing her critically, "let's get started. First, take a shower. Be careful not to get your hair wet. We don't have time to dry it." In the cramped bathroom, Gretchen had her first chance to examine her new body as she showered. Running her slender hands over her breasts, those curvaceous buttocks and womanly hips, and gingerly exploring her vagina, brought home what had happened to her. It had seemed unreal before. She had reacted to it all as if in a dream. But soaping her body under the shower in that tiny tub brought home just how real the transformation was. And the only way she would be Eric again was to do what the current Eric wanted her to, that was clear. He had the medallion, and without it she was stuck like this. Wrapped only in a towel, Gretchen sat at the dressing table in Heidi's room while her twin did her hair and make-up. There was no dressing table in Gretchen's room, only a full length mirror, a discovery which had not surprised her in the slightest. It seemed that Heidi was the 'girlier' of the pair. Pastel shades on lips and eyelids, and false eyelashes with lots of mascara were the style of the day. Gretchen was only slightly less alarmed by how odd the false eyelashes felt than she was by the amazing amount of hairspray Heidi used on her hair. This stuff might be a good idea for a night out, but she could see why her predecessor had not wanted to be bothered with it in the office. Having to go through this every day was enough to drive anyone mad. "I'm lending you my favourite Laura Ashley dress," said Heidi, looking her straight in the eye. "Do not, I repeat *do not* get anything on it or in any other way damage it. Do you understand?" Gretchen nodded, mutely. Not knowing what the usual badinage between the sisters was like, she had no idea if she ought to come back with a retort of some kind. Given how overwhelmed she was feeling by what had happened and unable to think coherently, this was pretty moot anyway. At last, Heidi declared herself satisfied and her charge stood and looked at herself in a full-length mirror. There stood Gretchen Jorgensen, in a long, flowing dress; large, thin hoops dangling from each ear; hair and make-up accentuating her natural beauty. It was a sight the person reflected by that mirror had wanted to see for a long time. She had just never imagined that when she did finally get to see it, she would be Gretchen Jorgensen. "You look lovely," said Heidi, beaming. "Which is a good thing because that boyfriend of yours will be here any minute and I still have to get ready for my own date." "You're going out tonight?" "Going out and staying out. Honestly, Gretchen, don't you ever listen to anything I say? I've only been talking about this all week. My boyfriend just got back into town and I'll be spending the night at his place. Which means you have our pad all to yourself tonight, and I won't be kept awake by the noise of you humping away in the next bedroom." "Heidi!" said Gretchen, shocked by an image she had been trying very hard not to think of. "I've got no intention of having sex with him tonight." "Well you shouldn't string him along too long, sis," said Heidi, disapprovingly, "Guys like that don't come along every day of the week and . . ." She was interrupted by the doorbell ringing. "I'll get it," she said, leaving Gretchen with the sudden realization she had no idea what her boyfriend's name was. As it turned out, this was not a problem. "Hi, gorgeous," said Mike Hudson, entering the room. "So are you ready to go?" Mike Hudson? Her boyfriend was Mike Hudson? "I guess so," said Gretchen, with a weak smile, as Mike slid an arm around her waist and led her to the door. So had expected to try and avoid physical contact with him as much as possible, but so taken aback was she by the identity of her boyfriend that she didn't shrink from his touch. Her mind was racing. Mike Hudson. What did it *mean* that he and Gretchen were dating? Another surprise was his car. Waiting for them in the street was a white E-type Jaguar convertible. The British sportscar obviously wasn't new--in fact it was probably ten years old--but it had just as obviously been lovingly maintained. Staggering around beside it, waving a bottle, was a bedraggled figure in filthy clothes. "I saw this car!" he was saying, to no one in particular, "I know I saw this car!" "Get away from my car, you old drunk!" shouted Mike. The figure spun around at this, and focussed blearily on Mike. "You!" he said, pointing a shaking finger, "It was you!" Then he turned and staggered off. "I saw that car!" they heard him muttering, "I know I saw that car!" "Crazy old guy," said Mike, "I thought he was gonna fuck up my paintwork." "That was Theo," said Gretchen, "a local homeless guy. I've spotted him in several parts of town over the years. I wonder what he was ranting about?" "Ah, forget it," said Mike, "Let's not let him spoil our evening." "I love this car!" enthused Gretchen, as Mike opened the passenger door for her. "My pride and joy," said Mike. "I was worried I might have bored you with how much I talked about her on our last date." "No," said Gretchen. "You didn't. How did your interview with my boss go? Did you get everything you needed?" She was feeling guilty about the comments she had made to him not knowing he was Gretchen's boyfriend. "Yeah," he grinned, "That went just fine. Thanks for arranging it. With us only having just started seeing each other and all, I was afraid you might think asking you was an imposition." "No, it was no big deal." So it looked like the interview had just been Mike taking an opportunity that presented itself and nothing more. She was relieved. He drove them to an Italian restaurant just off the town square, Gretchen enjoying the feel of her long, blonde hair trailing behind her in the wind. Since she hadn't anticipated enjoying anything about this evening at all, this put her in an unexpectedly good mood as they sat down to their meal. Over pasta, Gretchen got to know Mike better. He seemed nice, so she decided to treat the evening as if they were just two guys shooting the breeze over beers. "Why a British sportscar?" she asked, "And why an E-type?" "I imprinted on the old 'Avengers' TV show at an impressionable age," he said. "To me, Emma Peel was a goddess, and I thought the E-type you saw in the credits was just about the sexiest car I'd ever seen. Much cooler than anything Detroit churns out. Plus, as a reporter it's always good to have an affectation associated with you. The E-type is mine." "Did you always want to be a reporter?" "Nah, I wanted to be an astronaut. My older brother, Barry, was a reporter with the Courant," said Mike, an unreadable expression in his eyes when he mentioned his brother, "and I followed him into the business. I've only been working there a few months." "So what do they think of you at your newspaper?" "Well," he said, chewing thoughtfully on a mouthful of pasta, "since they turned him down when he applied for a job yet hired me, I'd have to say they think I'm a better writer than Mark Twain." "You're kidding me, right?" "Yeah, I am," he laughed. "The Hartford Courant turned down Twain when he tried to buy stock in the paper. I can't imagine them turning down an offer to write for them. They're not that dumb. Although they did manage to get sued by the President once." "Seriously?" "Yep. Thomas Jefferson sued them for libel. He lost. Nice to see the rights of the press upheld. I can't imagine even Nixon suing a newspaper now unless the story was just totally outrageous and personally defammatory." "Well, if the anti-war people are to be believed, he's guilty of everything up to and including treason." she said, remembering the button he had worn earlier that day. Mike eyed her thoughtfully. "I take it you don't approve of the anti-war movement, then?" he said. "I run..I mean I work, for a company that supplies the military, so I'm not entirely happy about something that could affect my livelihood but, as it happens, I do agree this war is stupid. Most Americans do by now. But I'm appalled by how some of our boys are being treated when they get back from Vietnam. People have actually been spitting at them. I lost a close friend over there, and the thought he could have been spat at if he'd lived and made it home just makes my blood boil. Going there wasn't his choice, and he certainly didn't want to die." She was shaking. Mike put his hands over hers. "Whoa!" he said. "I agree with you. Every movement has its assholes, and spitting at ordinary joes who just did their bit and then got the hell out is unconscionable. They didn't all take part in a My Lai." "OK, good," said Gretchen, mollified. He was a hard man to stay mad at. "I'm glad," he said, smiling, "I don't like having beautiful women annoyed at me." There it was. That reminder they were not just two guys shooting the breeze over beer. Could a man and a woman ever just talk without there being a sexual undertone, Gretchen wondered? Had she when she was male? Not that she had ever dated much. Mike ordered dessert. While he was in discussion with the waiter, she studied his profile thoughtfully. He was undeniably a very good-looking guy, but could she really bring herself to kiss those lips, to lie back, open her legs, and let him enter her? She would have to eventually, she knew, because Eric had insisted on it. There were far worse guys to have to do it with. But not tonight. Third date or not, it was far too soon for her. When Mike drove her home, he walked her to the stairs to her second floor apartment, and there they stopped, turning to face each other. "I'd invite you up, but Heidi will already be asleep and I don't want to wake her," she lied. "But I had a lovely evening. Maybe next time?" "Count on it," he said, gently pulling her to him and lifting her chin. Almost before she registered what was happening, Gretchen was in his arms. He was kissing her . . . and she was kissing him back. It was just a reflex, she rationized wildly as he pulled away from her, grinning at the stunned look she could see he took as proof of his prowess as a kisser. "See you tomorrow night," he said, climbing back into the car. Gretchen could only nod, numbly. Later, sitting in the apartment and sipping a glass of water, Gretchen found her fingers straying to her lips as she thought about that kiss. A reflex action. Yeah, right. She had enjoyed it, had felt it all the way down to her toes. Did that mean she was a homo? On the face of it this was a daft question--he was a man and she, for the moment at least, was a woman. What could be more natural than for a woman to enjoy being kissed by a handsome man? Nothing. Only there was nothing at all normal about her situation. Seeking a distraction from these disturbing thoughts, Gretchen decided to start poking about in the various boxes about the apartment that the Jorgensen sisters had never got round to unpacking since moving in. In one of these she found a photo album, an old Super-8 projector, and a can of film hand-labelled 'Gretchen & Heidi: Coney Island, June 15th, 1959'. On impulse, she set the projector up and threaded the reel of film into place. Hanging on the wall best suited for projecting the image was a poster of the famous 'Earthrise' photograph taken by Apollo 8 astronauts Borman, Anders and Lovell when they became the first human beings ever to fly over the lunar surface in December 1968. That same poster hung from millions of walls across the world, Gretchen mused as she carefully lifted it off the wall, including one in the bedroom Tommy Clark would never return to. Turning the projector on she settled back to view the silent, flickering images dance across the uneven wall. Watching the six-year-old girls enjoying the rides on that long ago day, laughing and giggling and doing their cute little girl vamping for the camera, was an oddly melancholy experience. The film brought back memories of her and Tommy at age six, of two little boys who were just as full of life in the films that existed of them from that time. The photo album was filled with pictures from the same period, and they did nothing to improve Gretchen's mood. Damn it, first anniversaries were hard, she realized, wiping a tear from her eye. This would be the perfect time either to get drunk or go to bed. Since she had to work the next day, she chose the latter. The next morning, Gretchen was shaken awake. "OK, sis, rise and shine," said Heidi, cheerfully. For a moment, Gretchen forget where--and who--she now was, but only for a moment. "You're looking pretty pleased with yourself," she said, groaning at having to get up. Heidi was fully dressed, probably in the same clothes she had worn the previous evening. "You bet I am," she laughed. "I got screwed senseless last night, and I'm going back for more tonight." "So I guess that means I have the apartment to myself again," said Gretchen, not sure whether to be pleased or alarmed by the news. "Yes," said Heidi, now looking serious. "So how was your first night as a woman?" "Wh . . . what?" said Gretchen, feeling as if the ground had lurched away from under her. "You *know* I'm really Eric Peyton Wayne? When did you find out?" "I knew from the start," replied Heidi, sheepishly. "She told me what she was planning to do and told me not to let on until after your date with Mike. I don't approve of what she did to you, but I couldn't stop her. When she decides to do something she can be totally single- minded, and she was determined to teach you a lesson." "How did she do it?" said Gretchen, studying her women's hands as if seeing them for the first time, "How did she turn me into her?" "It was that medallion she found," said Heidi. "It's called the Medallion of Zulo. If two people touch it at the same time it turns each into a physical copy of the other. Or if someone takes a piece of clothing someone else has worn and touches it to the medallion while it's in contact with their skin, they'll also be transformed into a copy of that person. Near as we can tell, once changed it's twelve hours before the medallion will work on you again. You can bet she--or rather 'he' now, I suppose--has got it safely tucked away somewhere." "So what happens now?" asked Gretchen. Heidi sat down on the bed beside her twin and stroked her hair. "For now," she said, "you're Gretchen, my twin sister, and that's how I'll treat you. Which means you need to get your ass in gear if you don't want to be late for work. I took a bath before coming home, but you need to get in the shower. I'll change then make us breakfast, OK?" Gretchen nodded. Her first day as a secretary lay ahead. The thought of it filled her with trepidation. Breakfast consisted of a slice of crispbread and half a grapefruit. "We girls have to watch our figures," said Heidi when she complained. Gretchen was still muttering about this when Heidi brought their VW Beetle to a halt outside the gates of the Peyton Industries plant. She turned to her new sister, looking concerned. "Are you going to be OK?" she asked. "I guess I'll have to be," sighed Gretchen. "It's not as if I have much choice." "Attagirl!" said Heidi, leaning over and kissing her on the cheek. After watching Heidi drive off, Gretchen walked over to the administration building and the executive offices inside. It felt odd to sit at the secretary's desk outside the CEO's office rather than at the antique mahogany desk within. If Eric kept the same hours she used to he would not be in for at least another hour. In the meantime, there were a pile of cassette tapes next to the typewriter that had been dictated the night before. She put on the headphones and loaded the first cassette into the tape player. Best to get started and not give Eric any reason to get annoyed with her. Fortunately, she knew how to type, a legacy of a brief period she had dreamed of being a writer, like her mother had been before her marriage, and escaping the responsibility of taking over the family business. She was half way through her second letter when the intercom on her desk buzzed into life. "Come into my office please, Gretchen," ordered Eric. She did, entering what had been her office until last night. She was surprised to see Eric there, shirt sleeves rolled up, poring over organizational and manufacturing flow charts strewn across the large meeting table. "Surprised to see me in so early?" he grinned. "Well, don't be. There's a lot that needs to be done to shake this company up and I'm getting right on it. I need you to contact all the department heads and tell them to be at a meeting in this office at noon. Tell them they all have to be there. No exceptions and no excuses, got that?" "Yes," said Gretchen, impressed by his decisiveness, a decisiveness she had never possessed herself. "Will there be anything else?" "Just one more thing," he said, smiling. "Make me a coffee, please. Black, no sugar." As she made the coffee, Gretchen wondered whether she should be worried about what looked like major changes Eric was planning in the running of the company. The odd thing was that she wasn't. She trusted him not to mess things up, not to destroy the family business. While not happy about her transformation, she was content to have him take on a responsibility she had never asked for nor wanted in the first place. The meeting at noon was long and stormy. Except for carrying in a tray of coffees at the start of the meeting (and, yes, she was beginning to resent the 'waitressing' part of her job), she did not witness any of it directly, but she did hear voices through the walls. She could not make out what was being said, but at some points things had obviously got very heated. Two hours after it began, the meeting finished and the department heads all trooped out. Some of them were grim-faced, while others looked elated. The former were, to a man, those she had always regarded as deadwood or otherwise had problems with. It looked like Eric could be headed in the right direction. At the end of the day, Gretchen poked her head into Eric's office. He was leaning over the meeting table, scribbling notes on an organizational chart, surrounded by an impressive array of books and folders. So engrossed was he in what he was doing, he hadn't heard the door open. "If it's OK, I'll be off now," said Gretchen. "Hmm?" said Eric, looking up, surprised by the interruption. "Oh, yes, of course, Gretchen," he said, distractedly. "Have a nice weekend." With that, he returned to his task, not hearing her quietly close the door behind her. "Talk about focused," said Gretchen, when Heidi arrived for her. "I swear he barely even noticed I was there." "He always could be very determined and single-minded," said Heidi. "So do you know where Mike's taking you tonight?" "He phoned me at work today. We're going to see a Hammer horror double-bill at the drive-in," said Gretchen. "A couple of horror films!" laughed Heidi. "How romantic! Still, maybe he figures you'll get scared, want to hold on to him, and the two of you will make out. Making out is the whole point of drive-ins, after all." "Hammer films are fun, but these days they're more cheesy than frightening," said Gretchen, pointedly ignoring Heidi's comment about 'making out'. Ironically, the double bill showing at the drive-in turned out to be 'Dr. Jekyll & Sister Hyde' and 'Frankenstein Created Woman', both of which had strong transgender elements. "Something funny?" asked Mike Hudson when she laughed on seeing what was showing. "Just the universe proving it has a sense of humor," chuckled Gretchen. "I'll explain it to you, sometime." But would she, she wondered? What would he think if she told him she used to be a guy? Drive-ins were a new experience to Gretchen, but she let Mike buy them a tub of popcorn and drape his arm over the back of her seat as they settled back to watch the movies. While neither movie was particularly scary, there were moments that made you jump. One of these occurred when Martine Beswick, as Sister Hyde, plunged a knife into someone, sending a stream of blood across a wall. Gretchen duly jumped, grabbed Mike, and he allowed the arm draped over the back of her seat to casually drop onto her shoulder and gently pulled her to him. Gretchen didn't resist, or attempt to pull away. Being cuddled up to Mike felt . . . nice. Nor did she resist a few minutes later when he lifted her chin and moved to kiss her. Her lips parted as his mouth met hers, the kiss that followed being anything but chaste. They were quiet on the drive back to Gretchen's apartment, said little as they entered and started kissing again, undressing each other as they did so. Gretchen hadn't expected this to happen so soon, had not even convinced herself she could do it at all, but it was and she couldn't stop it, didn't want to stop it. She was in the grip of a need, of a hunger, she was powerless to resist. That at least is what she told herself afterwards, as she lay in Mike's arms feeling comfortable, sated, and happy. It was easier to believe what happened was beyond her control and not something she actively wanted, but doubt was creeping in. If it was something she hadn't wanted, something she down solely to a loss of control on her part, then why was she so happy now when she was undeniably in control? Why did she make no attempt to move from the strong, protective arms wrapped around her naked body? "Penny for your thoughts?" said Mike, kissing her forehead. "They're not worth that much," said Gretchen. "I was just fretting over something that doesn't really matter." As she spoke the words, she realized it didn't. In that moment she not only accepted what she now was, she embraced it. She was happier and less stressed than she had been in months, and she wanted to stay that way. For however long this transformation lasted, she resolved to use it as the opportunity it was, and to enjoy the ride. "There is one thing," she said, running a finger down Mike's chest. "What's that?" "I hope you don't think that once you've sweet-talked a girl into the sack you're only required to shtupp her the once," she said, smiling sweetly, "because that wouldn't do at all." "Of course not," he grinned, rolling over on top her. "Why, that just wouldn't be polite." When Heidi got back to the apartment the next morning, Gretchen was already up. Clad only in a bathrobe, she was sitting at their table, sipping a glass of orange juice and smiling thoughtfully. " 'Morning, sis," she said. "You're looking happy." At that moment, Mike Hudson emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. The look of surprise on Heidi's face was so comical it made Gretchen laugh out loud. "You'll catch a lot of flies if you leave your mouth open like that," she said. "I'd better get dressed and take off," said Mike, heading for Gretchen's room. "I have to drive back to Hartford for a meeting with my editor." "You have to tell me everything," said Heidi, breathlessly, as Mike shut the bedroom door behind him, "and I mean *everything*. I want all the details." "OK,OK," grinned Gretchen, "all the details." "Good. We can go out for breakfast," said Heidi, "We have time before our appointment at the hair and beauty salon." " 'Hair and beauty salon'?" "Oh, that's right," said Heidi, "I forgot you wouldn't know about that. It's a regular booking. Once a month, we have our hair, face, and nails done together. You can think of it as necessary maintenance, if you like, but it's as much about being pampered as anything. You'll enjoy it, trust me." After Mike had left, the two women headed out to a small cafe on the town square itself. It was a warm spring day, so they sat at on outside table and breakfasted on coffee and pastries, which came as a relief to Gretchen after the torture of grapefruit and crispbread. As promised, Gretchen spilled the beans on her night of passion with Mike, answering all Heidi's probing questions. "You've heard about my night, now," said Gretchen, "so now tell me about yours. What's happening between you and that boyfriend of yours?" "Neil? Oh, Neil has been tending to my every need, and then some. It's amazing how him being away for a while has improved our sex life and our relationship. It's brought us closer together. I guess maybe it's true what they say and absence really does make the heart grow fonder." "Maybe," said Gretchen, "though I'm in no hurry to test that theory with Mike. He drives up from his pad in Hartford every evening and I want him to keep on doing so." "I must say," said Heidi, studying her twin thoughtfully over her coffee, "you're adapting to all this amazingly well. I thought you might freak out when you were switched, or refuse to play ball, but you've slipped into your new life with barely a murmur of protest." "Well, it's not like it's permanent," said Gretchen, "and since I can't do anything to change my situation, why not try and make the best of it? Looked at in the right light, it's also an amazing opportunity. I mean, how many guys get the chance to sample what life is like for the other half of the human race?" It was a good answer thought Gretchen later, as she sat under the hair dryer while one of the salon's beautician's worked on her cuticles, and it even made sense. So why didn't she believe it? Heidi was right. She had slipped into her new role without protest and almost, if she was honest with herself, relief. Part of this was due to her no longer having to shoulder the burden of responsibility for Peyton Industries, she knew, but that couldn't be the whole story, could it? The next two weeks were an exciting time for Gretchen. Not only was she seeing Mike every day, but there were big changes taking place at Peyton Industries. Eric's innovations were streamlining the operation of the plant and squeezing out inefficiencies, and there was a constant stream of visitors to his office. There were casualties of course, mostly among those who had looked so displeased after that initial meeting and who were being forced either to get with Eric's modernization program or to resign if they persisted in being an obstacle to them. Gretchen could never have been as ruthless, but she had to grudgingly admit that Eric's improvements made a lot of sense. One surprise was Eric's willingness to promote women into a number of the now vacant department head jobs. "Why the surprise?" he asked when she queried this. "I was serious about improving the position of women and my now being male hasn't altered that. When I was doing your job, I got to know most of the women who work here. You weren't the only one being kept afloat by a secretary who could do your job better than you could. I know which women here have what it takes, so of course I'm going to promote them into those jobs when the opportunity arises. I'm also looking at the entire corporate salary structure to make sure female employees of this company are being paid what they deserve, making sure maternity provision is adequate, and setting up a company creche so that mothers who work for us don't have to shell out for child care." "That's all pretty radical," said Gretchen, dubiously. "Can the company afford it?" "A better question, might be: can the company afford not to do these things? We're living in a time of rapid social change, and businesses are going to have to change, too. If we can get ahead of the game in improving conditions for our female employees, a valuable and under-appreciated resource, they'll reward us with commitment and improved company loyalty." Gretchen wasn't entirely convinced, but it probably was worth trying. It was two weeks since they had switched bodies, two weeks that had been an emotional whirlwind for Gretchen. Her relationship with Mike continued to grow and she couldn't help smiling whenever she thought of him. She knew that things were starting to get serious between them, that their feelings for each other were growing deeper, but she was too happy to worry about it. The apparent ease with which she had slipped into the relationship had made her ask some hard questions of herself, however. Sitting at her desk, studying the framed photo she had retrieved from Eric's desk, she looked wistfully at the two 14 year-olds in the picture, at the boy who had been closer to her than any other human being. All her life she had wanted a sibling, and Tommy had been that in all but name. Early that afternoon, Gretchen took some letters into his office for Eric to sign but Eric had stepped out, probably to see some section head or other. His blazer was hanging over the back of his desk chair. Protruding from one of the pockets was a length of chain. Heart pounding, Gretchen yanked the chain from the pocket. It was the Medallion of Zulo. She raced from the office and out into the plant, not knowing where she was heading or why. Having put some distance between her and the office she stopped, gasping for breath. She was in the packing area and it was currently unoccupied. Seeing no one around, she raised the medallion and stared at it. The power to reverse the transformation was in her hand, only she was suddenly unsure that she wanted to change back. Yes, all that wealth was nice, but she was happier now, as Gretchen, than she had ever been. Did she really want to give all that up? It wasn't as if the business wasn't now in better hands, after all. And if Eric had unilaterally taken it upon himself to switch their bodies in the first place didn't that now mean the decision on whether or not to switch back at all should be hers alone? With that, her mind was made up. It was self-justifying logic she knew, but she didn't care. "Trade back with you?" she murmured. "No way. I'm keeping your body . . . and your boyfriend!" She thrust the medallion deep into the straw packing in one of the crates of shell casings waiting for a lid to be nailed on, then turned on her heel, deliberately not checking the destination label on the side. Those crates would be loaded up and shipped out all over the country before the afternoon was over. When Gretchen got back to her desk, Eric was waiting. "Problems?" he asked. "No," she replied, innocently, "just taking a bathroom break." "Fine. I just need you to finish up the minutes of yesterday's meeting and then you can head off, get an early start on the weekend." For once, Gretchen had the VW to herself, Heidi having taken a day's leave, and she drove into the center of town to visit Carlson's, the main department store. Heidi had asked her to pick up a package there. "A very early Christmas present to yourself?" Gretchen had said, smiling. It was still early summer. "No," said Heidi, "and Christmas is my least favourite holiday. Too many bad memories." Though curious, Gretchen decided not to pry. She valued her developing relationship with Heidi enormously and did not want to jeopardize it. While at Carlson's, Gretchen decided to do some clothes shopping of her own. Having inherited a wardrobe overflowing with jeans and trouser-suits, she had been somewhat surprised to discover she enjoyed the feeling of a skirt swirling around her legs as she walked. It also had not escaped her notice that Mike appreciated seeing her in skirts and dresses, too. So, starting to feel uncomfortable about borrowing Heidi's clothes whenever she had a date with Mike, she bought several outfits of her own. This was who she was now, until ther day she died, and she was determined to develop her own style rather than continue with the one she had inherited. No longer having access to the Peyton fortune meant it would take time to re-jig her wardbrobe, but from now on skirts and dresses were definitely going to take precedence over trouser-suits. When she got back to the flat, Gretchen could barely contain her enthusiasm. Heidi laughed at the pleasure her sister was taking in her purchases. "I've saved the best for last," said Gretchen, unwrapping the final package and laying out the skirt, blouse, and accessories it contained. "Mike is going to love seeing me in this." Heidi whooped delightedly. "This is wonderful!" she said. "Hey it's a nice outfit," said Gretchen, "but it would have to be a Paris original to deserve that sort of reaction." "No, no, you don't understand," said Heidi, tearing open the package Gretchen had collected for her. She laid out the outfit within. It was the same as the one Gretchen had put together, down to the last detail. "I don't get it," said Gretchen, puzzled. "I thought two women buying the same outfit was usually considered a bad thing?" "Yeah, but this goes deeper than that. It's a twin thing. We independently bought identical outfits. Twins often do stuff like that. If we're starting to do it, then . . ." Her voice trailed off. "It means we could be becoming twins in reality," said Gretchen, quietly. She opened her arms at the same time as Heidi came over to her, tears in her eyes. "This is wonderful," sniffled Heidi. Gretchen thought so, too, tears in her own eyes, not entirely sure why this was making them both so happy but not much caring. As Gretchen's relationship with Heidi had developed, it had become as important to her as her relationship with Mike. As she hugged her twin, she wondered if she should tell Heidi the switch was now permanent, that she would be Gretchen Jorgensen until the day she died. She decided against it. She would have to tell her eventually, and definitely before Eric discovered the medallion was gone, but not now. This was not the time. Her date with Mike that night was something special. Unfortunately, he had to cover a conference in Hartford on Saturday, so it would be late on Sunday afternoon before she saw him again. To make up for this he had taken her for a meal at a new Ethiopian restaurant that had just opened in Henderson, the next town to the west of Peyton. Sitting cross-legged on the floor and using pieces of bread to pick up food from a central platter was a new experience to Gretchen, but the food was great. They chatted over the meal, Mike telling her about the first time he visited Henderson. "It was about eight months ago," he explained. "I was doing follow-up on a story our stringer in the town had phoned in about the disappearance of a local prostitute and her son. The prostitute, Judy Amis, was in her early forties but, judging from photographs, still a good-looking woman. She ran the whorehouse on the outskirts of Peyton. Do you know of it?" "Well, yeah," she chuckled. "There's no one in town who doesn't. Oh, they don't talk about it, of course, but everyone knows the great and the good of the county have been using it for years. So what happened?" "No one's sure," said Mike, "One day mother and son just upped and disappeared without explanation, and nobody's seen them since. His clothes were missing, but hers were all left behind. There's all manner of theories about it, of course, but no one really knows what happened." "I suppose there's a chance we never will," said Gretchen. "It's beem eight months, after all, and the longer a case is open with the cops getting a break the less chance there is of it ever being solved." "I guess so. So, how did you enjoy the food?" "It was . . . different," said Gretchen. "I mean it's all very hip and bohemian and all, but I really do prefer a table and chairs when I eat out." Mike Hudson laughed at this and, studying him, Gretchen reflected on how lucky she was. Her worry about the timing of her revelation to Heidi aside, Gretchen felt at ease with herself for the first time in a long while. Her life was finally making sense. She could not have guessed it was all about to fall apart. Waking up next to Mike Hudson was something Gretchen had grown to love as much as she was growing to love the man himself. She always woke first and would usually lie there, propped up on one arm, just looking at him and smiling. She would get up, shower and dress, then return to the bedroom and wake him up so that he could take his turn in the tiny shower. She woke him now with a kiss and he smiled as he opened his eyes, putting his arms round her and pulling her to him. "I think I left my purse in your car last night," she said, when she broke his embrace some minutes later. "Can I borrow your keys and go get it." "Sure," he said, getting up, going to where his jacket was draped over the back of a chair and fishing them out of the pocket. "Knock yourself out." Gretchen caught the keys when he tossed them to her, smiling as he padded off to the bathroom. The E-type was parked in the street, directly in front of the building housing her apartment. Opening the door, she fished around under the seat for her purse. It wasn't the only thing she found. Also under the seat was a book, one she guessed Mike had stuffed under there at some point then forgot about. It was a book on the occult by someone named Loretta Stark. Curious, she flicked through it . . . and froze when she came to a particular page. Feeling faint, she stumbled against the side of the car. There on the page was an entry about the Medallion of Zulo. Which meant that Mike knew about it. If this wasn't a coincidence, it had to mean he was in league with Eric. So was their whole relationship a sham? It couldn't be, it just couldn't be. Feeling tears welling up, she shook her head angrily. No, there would be time for tears later. For now the only thing that mattered was discovering just what was going on and what her part in it was. Had this all just been a conspiracy to gain control of Peyton Industries? She had to know, and that meant not tipping her hand until she had the facts. "Any trouble finding your purse?", asked Mike when she returned to the apartment. He had a towel around his waist and was drying his hair with another. "No, it was right where I left it." While Mike got dressed, Gretchen whipped up some breakfast for the both of them. They ate it at a leisurely pace, each of them reading a section of the morning newspaper. For once, Gretchen was glad of the paper. She was convinced he would have noticed something was wrong if they had spent the meal talking. "Well," said Mike eventually, getting to his feet and folding his newspaper, "I have to go now. I daren't be late for that conference." He leaned over to her, they kissed briefly, and then he was gone. Gretchen let out a huge sigh of relief when he closed the door behind him. She had been sure he would notice how tense she was but, somehow, she had managed to get through breakfast without alerting him. Standing at the window, she waved to him, and she stayed there long after the sound of the E-type's engine had faded away in the distance. What now? How did she prove whether or not her lover was hiding something from her? As she stood there, staring down at the street, the answer came in the form of a filthy, dishevelled figure who lurched into view from an alley on the opposite side of the street. "Theo," she whispered. She remembered his altercation with Mike on the day of the switch and tried to recall what he had said. Something about seeing Mike and the E-type somewhere. It might be nothing, just drunken ranting, but it was worth checking out. Theo was rummaging through a garbage bin when the woman appeared before him. He did not recognize her, but he certainly recognized what she was holding out to him. It was a five dollar bill. "Hello, Theo," she said. "There's something I need to know. If you tell me, this five bucks is yours." "Tell you?" he said, suspiciously, "Tell you what?" "Tell me about the white sports car that just drove away from here," said Gretchen, "where you've seen it and the guy driving it before." "In the alley," said Theo, eyes fixed on the five dollar bill, "it was parked in the alley and he was climbing out the window of that building. Got in the car, he did, took off like a bat out of hell." "Alley?" said Gretchen, puzzled, "What alley?" "Behind the storage place," said Theo, "the one where the fire was. It was him that started it." Having told what he had seen, Theo snatched the bill from Gretchen's fingers and scampered off, muttering imprecations. She was too stunned by his revelation to notice. Why would Mike try to burn down the storage center? It made no sense. She was discovering things about her lover she didn't like, but she had to know what was going on. And since this was the only lead she had, that meant visiting Clark Storage and seeing Tommy's parents. It wasn't a visit she was relishing. Nevertheless, a short time later she found herself standing on the parking lot in front of the storage center, taking a deep breath and steeling herself to go in. Clark Storage provided both long and short-term storage to small companies and to private individuals. The building housing the business was essentially a large warehouse with a loading dock and small offices at the front. A bell rang when Gretchen entered through the main door, causing the man behind the counter to look up. It was Ethan Clark, Tommy's father. Seeing him caused her to catch her breath. He looked just like Tommy probably would have done twenty years from now. "Oh, hello," he said, smiling, "it's Miss Jorgensen isn't it? You'll have come to see how the insurance claim is going." He knew her?! "Uh, yes," said Gretchen, momentarily caught off guard, "the insurance." What did insurance have to do with her? "I'm afraid I still don't have any news on when they're going to settle the claim," said Ethan Clark, "but as soon as they do you'll be the first one who gets compensation for her loss." "Can I see the paperwork?" said Gretchen. It looked like there was a lead here after all. He took down one of the clipboards hanging on the wall behind the counter and handed it to her. Gretchen flipped through the forms it contained. The top one was a copy of an insurance claim for the loss of a storage box and all its contents, those contents listed as being primarily clothing and personal effects. At the bottom of the sheaf of forms was the original hire agreement signed several months earlier for the the storage box and the monthly rental. All bore her name and had clearly been signed by her predecessor, the current Eric Peyton Wayne. "Do you know what started the fire?" she asked. "According to the investigators, one of our old free- standing kerosine heaters got knocked over," replied Ethan, "probably by one of the cats we let roam the place to keep the mice down. The insurance company are insisting we replace the heaters before they pay out, which is an extra expense we could have done without." "So there was no suggestion of arson?" "Arson?" said Ethan, in surprise, "Why the heck would anyone want to set