Skin Deep: The Dance - Chapter 10 free porn video

Chapter 10 A Dance of the Home Coming Queen Terrence Michales sat in the corner of a small Rouston pub, shadowed in the darkness of the back of the room; hiding from a past, he had all but sealed away in some safe cold place in his mind. He had kept it safely locked away until that God-damned dream. He looked at the glass of vodka on the table before him. He was not a frequent drinker but when it came to hard times, he could hold his own. If he drank much more he was going to have to leave his transportation parked out front. It was not the typical vehicle that he drove. Michales didn't even possess a pilot's license. His was a gasoline- powered dinosaur. There were still several in places like Philadelphia, but his, a 1978 Cadillac Fleetwood, was the last gasoline powered vehicle in Rouston. It had been seven years since he had driven it. When he drove it from the garage today, he had to stop and wonder why the thought to drive today seemed so insistent. It was his habit to walk everywhere now. He enjoyed the quiet time a period of exercise provided. After completing the tasks, he had been instructed to do, after the preparation he had made after as a result of his dream, he had needed a break. So he left for his evening walk shaking and shaken, in need of a drink and feeling foolish he had jeopardized everything he had waited for over an hallucination. As he left, he felt tonight a drive seemed the right thing to do. He had actually dismissed the idea, walking outside and starting down the alley when the desire to drive turned to a desperate need. Today, in the depths of his regret at his unfortunate actions, this just seemed right. To dust off his old friend and take her for what may prove to be her last ride. He had left his dark lair to think about (not dwell) on what had happened after the Shipley family had fled the lab a bitter and broken family. He sat here and he did dwell however. The details of this nightmare plagued him with its sense that it wasn't really a dream, that it was more real than it should have been. There had been too much tactile sensation. The music, the smells and sounds of a dingy little bar filled with college kids had seemed all too real to him to be considered exactly a dream. He would have classified it more of a ... a... What? What would you call that exactly? His mind worked around the problem the effects of the Polish vodka were beginning to do its magic. Spell? Forecast? Portent of evil yet to come? No, No, No! He thought and then a word came to him that felt as if it might fit and he tried it there. A vision! Yes, that's what it felt like, a vision! "Nonsense!" growled Terrence. And what if it was a vision old man? What if what she offered you was real? Can you afford to turn your back on this? Can you afford not to believe? Terrence Michales wasn't a religious man. The concept of God and heaven and an after life were as unrealistic and improbable as natural Passenger Pigeons making a sudden and surprising comeback from extinction. The idea of an afterlife was foolish thinking. Nothing in all his years of scientific pursuit had ever proven the existence of a place such as Heaven. If he thought for one second that dying would reunite him with is beloved he would have cut his own head off years ago. That would have been all the incentive he would have ever needed. Conventional methods may not be enough to extinguish his life but he was certain that decapitation would do the trick. They had been there; you FOOL! They WERE there. You could smell her perfume. Why do you doubt your senses? "NONSENSE!" He cried as his mind wandered the maze of classic denial, a line from Dickens floated into his head as a response. Because, a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. The patrons of the corner bar turned to see who had yelled out. When they saw it was a young man in a corner booth, alone; they all turned back to what they had been doing and did their best to ignore him. They saw you too Ziven! "Don't call me that!" he called out loud to no one. No one answered back. He clutched the drink the girl in the skimpy skirt had brought him and finally brought the glass shakily to his lips, clear liquid danced and bounded within as he raised it to his face. He killed the contents with one deep gulp. He then exhaled deep and long allowing the vapors from the alcohol to float just above the table. The manager walked from around the bar and approached the booth. "One more of these my good man and please keep them coming until I am quite dead if you will." Terrence said without looking up. "Sir, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave or I'll have no choice but to call Police Services." Said the manager as he removed his apron anticipating trouble. Terrence was dumbfounded. He had done nothing except make a few irrational exclamations. Terrence reached into his pants pocket for something. Instead of the kind of trouble John Miles, owner/operator of the Rusty Nail, was used to; a belligerent drunk or a rowdy water ale rotgut construction worker, John Miles got the scare of his life. Without looking up Terrence flashed a red laminated Federal Services badge. The color and meaning of such a badge was well known to almost everyone but rarely if ever seen. The agency that carried such badges had been created over a hundred years ago after a series of terrorist attacks against the then United States of America that started in the later half of the twentieth century. It was a badge of absolute power. For most who carried it, it was a license to terminate with extreme prejudice. Michales had never been such a man but ever since it's issue, he had used it to open doors and disperse the annoying few of this world. Miles took a step back ward, almost like the badge itself had been emitting some foul, replant energy. "I... I..." Miles started and decided since there was probably nothing that he could say that was safe, he had best say nothing at all. His family was here; upstairs in the quarters they shared as a home above the small bar. Miles' thoughts turned to getting his family out before something awful happened. He had no idea why a SHOP agent was here but he could only imagine it had to do with him. He turned and walked back toward the bar to figure out how to get his family to safety when Terrence said. "Bottle! Please bring the bottle to me. That will do my good man." Miles rushed to the counter and fetched a fresh unopened bottle of vodka for the man. He placed it on the table and backed away quickly so as not to be infected by some invisible spreader of death the man drinking there might have been carrying. Terrence fumbled for his account card and tossed it on the table. "No!" said the John, "It's yours. On the house!" "I will pay for my drinks...." "Your money's no good here. On the house, just leave my family alone!" "Sir, I'm not here to..." "Please! Take it." Terrence could see the man was on the verge of hysterics. His eyes darted left and right, the eyes of a cornered animal looking for a small route of escape. "I assure you..." Terrence began. Then he realized nothing he could say would change the way this man thought of him. Michales fell silent. He was tired of appearing to be a monster and worse, he was tired of acting like one. He would leave cash chips hidden for this man, some place, in the seat next to his own perhaps. The argument would just circle around to this bottle and the man's desire for no further trouble if Terrence persisted. Michales waved him off and the man scurried like a mouse back to his bar where he avoided the looks and whispers of the patrons that hadn't fled when then badge made it's grand appearance. He cracked the seal on the new bottle and poured a generous helping of the warm oily liquid, the lip of the bottle clanking on the rim of the glass as his shaking hand poured. Terrence didn't want to think about the vision any longer but his brain was uncooperative today. Again he was subjected to a replay of the events after the Shipley's had fled the lab. Is that why you made all those entries to the CITREG. Is that why you have a box of falsified documents ready for someone to use? You've completed most of what "she" wanted you to do and still you deny what you saw, heard and felt. Maybe it wasn't the vision he was afraid of but what failure would mean if the vision were real. He pulled a long draft off the glass and the vodka burned as it went down. He pinched his eyes against the burn and exhaled. His thoughts turned back to almost two days ago and the moments after his short-lived victory over the thieves of his family. He had felt victorious for a moment as they ran for their miserable lives, the three of them, and then the horror of what he had done crashed in on him. He had condemned this family to his living hell. Without yet knowing it, he had condemned himself. He must have fallen asleep there as he wept. He had woken seated at a table to the left of a small semi-circular stage. On the stage was stool. On the stool was a girl. She had a guitar but she was not playing it or performing in any way. Instead she was bent over talking to the empty table next to him. More precisely, her lips were moving but she was not saying anything. She was miming as if she were talking to the table next to him. He stood to get his bearings and the girl on stage spoke to him. "Please, remain seated Terrence, you do prefer Terrence do you not?" He looked around in surprise. "Do I know you?" "In a way, yes you do. I'm connected to your family in very special way." He shook his head slowly; the recognition didn't come. "I don't recall you," he said. "I suppose I should clarify. I was there when your wife and child... crossed." "What kind of foolery is this? They were alone when they died. There was no one with them." "No, there was another." "Impossible I would..." then he remembered. There had been another, a young girl in the other HOV. All drowned in the harbor. His wife's HOV had hit and dragged the HOV of a teen-aged girl into the water with her when she had been unable to stop or steer her HOV after rounding a corner on a road that sloped near the water. "You are having much fun at the expense of an old man's mind. "How do I get out of here?" "You get out when I'm finished telling you what I need you to hear. Now, will you answer my question?" He sat down unsteadily. He had the feeling that if he walked out the door behind him he would be lost in this place forever trapped in some formless white void with no door back to this or any other world. "Huh? Question?" The girl with the guitar smiled her sweet smile and again appeared to be talking to the table next to him; still no sound came from her moving lips. She then turned to Michales and said, "Yes, your name...do want me to call you Terrence or Ziven?" He was shaken to the center of his being. "Terrence," he replied. She spoke again soundlessly to the neighboring table and then back to Michales. "Very well Terrence, I have an offer for you." He couldn't resist asking. "Who do you keep talking to at that empty table?" "It's part of my deal with you. Would you like to see?" The girl asked cheerfully. He was suddenly not so sure if he truly wanted to see. He wanted to run. He wanted to run out that door even if it meant he would be lost in limbo forever. Michales felt certain that if he looked at what this girl revealed to him he would go perfectly and totally insane. Just the same; he could feel his mouth form the word and then release it. "Yes!" he could almost see the word float out and away from his lips, It had the appearance of musical notes and when it was out there a veil; a cloak of invisibility seemed to shed in a shimmering summer's day heat and fall way from the table next to him and there before his stunned and unbelieving eyes were his wife and child. They spoke and laughed in silence. The seemed excited...happy about something and he could see the face of his daughter clearly when she mouthed the word 'Father' and smiled that golden smile that used to light up his day. Terrence's throat constricted; closing off his airway. It made little difference if he could breathe. The SKIN he was trapped in would keep him alive indefinitely. He may become unconscious but he would live. Oh yes, he would live much longer than anyone might ever dream. "You're excited; drink some water, Terrence," said the girl on stage calmly. Terrence looked and there was water. He lifted it to his lips and drank. It was real! If this were real then... His head whipped back to the girls sitting at the table next to him. He reached out to touch the one with her back to him, the one with the auburn hair and he knew, emerald green eyes. His hand only made it so far. It vanished before him-just out of reach of the woman he knew was his wife. "You've been allowed to see, nothing more. They cannot see you or hear what I'm saying to you. Nor can they travel outside of the sphere of their experience. They have crossed, you have not." "I cannot!" he wailed miserably. "If death could come to me, I would have welcomed it ages ago." "Yet, you have found a way," the girl said simply. "Yessssssss," Michales said with a snake-like hiss. He had found a way. His device could deactivate one of the three SKINs that had their "mortality factors" sequenced out of the genetic programming. He had had to use material from his own SKIN to sequence out these same factors for the SKINs he had intended his family to use. This process linked the genetic matrix of the three together so that one could never be deactivated at one time, Further, all three had to be activated to push the matrix of one back. Research into the problem revealed that the inboard genetic storage space couldn't indicate that the matrixes were in fact one SKIN not three individuals. If one SKIN was "deactivated" the system thought that the whole was deactivated and process could not be completed. Then what he had done came flooding back to him. "Oh NOOOO!" I cannot! I have freed another." Terrence pulled at his hair in anguish. "Pity," said the girl simply. She waved her hand and his family was once again cloaked from his vision. "No wait! I... I..." He searched with the wild eyes of a starving man offered fresh cooked meat only to have it withdrawn from the table whilst looking for a plate before he could secure even a morsel for himself. The vision was restored. He stood hovering over them; his hand balanced over that space where he knew they were still in this reality, wanting to plunge in and touch their faces. His mind wailed in agony, So long ... It's been so very long! Why do you torment me so, sprit? "You can be with them. I will take the stress of doing it yourself from your hands." The girl promised. "I have to find, Him!" the word Him spoken as if it were some evil thing that might rise from the grave and consume all that had spoken of Him during the day light hours. "Then do it old man." A thought occurred to him, "You know only one can be freed then? You have come here to get me to reverse what I have done. Why?" "It must be," the girl said. "They will never be free of those bodies if I die. Neither one of them will ever be free. They shall live forever and never be free," Michales said just barely over a whisper. "It must be." "DADDY?" came the sound of an excited teen-aged girl. His head spun in the direction of the sound. The voice was unmistakable. Even when she had spoken Russian with her parents, it had been spoken with an English accent. The music was sweet. As sweet as it had been earlier when this same girl had walked into his lab just hours ago. Her beautiful radiant face glowed beneath a cascade of flaxen hair. But that wasn't really your daughter; only a genetic copy driven by someone else's life force. Not your daughter. But this, this was his child. His child. To prove it, she recognized him. They were standing, arms out, each woman wept and he felt like collapsing from the raw emotion of hearing them again. "Oh God! My Leese! My Beth... Oh GOD! I missed you both so much!" As he reached for them an idea was planted in his head. The idea was a clear set of instructions on what he must do to have his family back again. As the idea formed and became clear, the vision broke up around him and he found himself back on the floor of the lab where he had been when the Shipleys left. "No!!" he shouted. He searched the room madly for the table, his hands splayed out on the floor grasping for anything that might return him to that place. "NO! NO! Please God! NO!" He trembled with the force of his anxiety and anger. "BRING THEM BACK!" he begged pitifully, "Please, All I've ever wanted was my family. Please!" But the lab was silent. Terrence Michales stood and raced for the door from which the Shipleys had exited. He dashed out into the alley in hopes of catching them but they were gone. God only knew how long he had been out while the vision had taken place. Michales dashed out into the street beyond but they were gone from sight there too. He had to get the young man back. He knew what had to be done but he had to be his self to do it. He had to be Ziven Rocov for this to work; he had to shed his SKIN in order to die. He gassed up his vintage Cadillac and motored it out of the garage and over to his favorite corner pub. He was to wait there. For what he did not know, he did know that he would understand when it was time to leave. Michales was now feeling freer in his head, the alcohol was doing it's magic on his brain. This bargain had come after he had made it impossible to become his former self again. He was now the one who was stuck and he had one clear mission. He must find that man he had freed without raising an alarm and before something happened to him. If he didn't then all would be lost. He could not use SHOP resources. It also meant that if this man had been using the SKIN long enough to have a child, then the person he once was had long ago been declared dead. Where does a man that long dead go to find shelter and comfort? He poured another vodka and prayed for the first time in his long, long life. He prayed for a miracle. -*- The two raced into Rouston under the eyes of HTC. Beth's face was awash in the light of the VID in the slightly darkened HOV cockpit. The strain she was under was clear from sight of her clinched jaw and worried eyes. Randy could hear what the reporter was saying but he could only glimpse at the screen and then back at his chosen route of flight. The FMS was not programmed to fly this low, Randy was at risk of hitting more than just buildings. There were HOVs taking off and entering the HOVways just above them. This air space was for approach and departure not horizontal flight. "Mr. Shipley was apprehended early this morning around 7:00 A.M. Our cameras were there when police led the prominent restaurateur and property owner from his lavish Old Town apartment to a waiting Police Services HOV," the reporter said. The image on the screen flashed to a disheveled and raw looking Gary Shipley being led from what Beth recognized as her home. To Beth, her father looked as if he were a homeless man that had been living on the fringe for years. Not the man they had left only hours prior to his arrest. There was stuff caked into his hair, which stuck up at impossible angles, and there were stains on his rumpled clothes. His face also has some kind of dried crust on it and she realized it was vomit. She gasped an audible and horrified gasp that made Randy steal a glance at the screen. "God!" he whispered. "I think you've seen enough, Beth." He reached to turn the unit off and Beth tenderly stopped him by placing her hand over his. "Please," Randy begged, "this is more than I can handle. What must it be doing to you?" "I won't break, Randy. I'm not so fragile. I need to know what they intend to do with him. It's the only way I can help him." Then she added distractedly, "If it's not already too late for that." "You can't give up hope. You said it yourself; you think you found something you can use. There's hope." "I know in my heart Randy, this is what we needed to find, but I can only do so much and the clock is ticking. My mother has to do the rest. She's the only one now who can truly convince the police that nothing has happened. I can't do it. We have to bring my Mother back and I don't even know if that can be done." As in confirmation of this statement Randy caught the reporter on the VID saying, "The search continues for Mr. Shipley's wife and three children for questioning. The investigation was kicked off when the Shipley's son was reported to have gone to Germany early for a planned summer vacation. When a routine check turned up no travel records or reservations, police were called in to investigate the welfare of the child on the Shipley's behalf. Now it appears the Shipley family has mysteriously disappeared as well. As you might recall, Mr. Shipley was the focal point of the most famous missing persons case Rouston has ever known..." "On the Shipley's behalf my butt!" Beth cried. "That's what that old fart was doing at school that day. He was checking my school records, Randy." Beth was pointing at Callahan on the VID who had put Gary in the HOV and was waving for media personnel to back away from the area. "He was at school?" Randy asked surprised. "Sure was." Beth shuddered as Callahan's dead, flat stare crossed her face from the VID screen. It made her think back to the day he had stared seemingly right through her in the main lobby of the school. It had been the look of a person who has a moment of unexplained recognition. The officer had seemed to be trying to put a handle on the moment when she had been thankfully swept away into the crowd. "That's the guy who was pressing everyone to arrest my father for Mike's murder." "He was almost on top of it wasn't he? He knew your dad had something to do with it alright." Randy shook his head amazed at how close he had been. "I guess they were missing a few of the pieces. The just didn't know that Mike was still right below their noses. Worse, Mom had to interview with the police, give my dad an alibi in her own disappearance. They never knew they were interviewing the victim." Beth sat and considered the impossible task ahead of them. Once those thoughts were brought to bear, it seemed more than humanly possible. Her personal quest was over now. Her selfishness had done this to her mother and father. Fixing this now was all she could think about. She considered how hard it had been for two people that had lived with her fate for twenty some odd years to think of a way to reverse the process for their child, something they had been unable to do once before. Now, as she thought about her task and the ultimate goal, she wondered if people like her mother, her father and herself had any control in this. She shook the thought from her head. One thing at a time, find Mom, then tell her what you think you found. Randy touched the back of her hand, "What are you thinking?" She looked at him and smiled. "That my mother did awfully well with her fate. She seemed to be happy and she loved her family. She had been a hero as Mike and she just put all that on a shelf and made something new out of what she had. She's amazing." Tears were welling up in her eyes. Randy nodded. How could one add to a statement that said so much? It couldn't be done. He kept silent. Beth curled her fingers around Randy's. "I was also thinking that you're pretty amazing too." She didn't look at him; she couldn't bring herself to do that. She knew if she did she would start to cry. The stress of the last thirty-five or forty hours (not to mention the last two weeks) were starting to have an affect on her emotional state. When she felt she had herself more under control she told Randy something she had half hinted at the night before as they had both read Michelle's journal. "I'm not going to try to go back anymore. I'm in the CITREG as Beth Wright. It would be too much risk for my parents to reverse this now. If I can get them back, I'll just stay Beth. If I can do half as well as my mother did then I think I'll have a pretty nice life a head of me. " Randy had a serious look on his face as he piloted his HOV low above the approaching Rouston skyline. Beth was about to loosen her grip on his finger, worried that he was not interested in her now that he understood her past. Maybe the incident last night was not noble or gallant but rather, an act of self-preservation. As she started to release his hand he tightened his grip on her hand slightly holding it in his. Then Randy spoke. "I understand your desire to want to want the trouble to end. To not be the cause of so much heartache and pain, but your parents did what they did for you not because of anything you said or did; but rather because they love you." "I know but..." Randy squeezed her hand a little tighter and Beth fell quiet. "I know this is not the time or place for such things, however, if you decide to stay the way you are. I hope you can build a little space in your life for me. Because I think I'd like to stay in that place with you if it's alright. If you decide later you can't do this then I'll do what I can to help you get back to your old life." Beth bowed her head, grateful and happy. Her amazement with him was complete. No matter where she turned there were these people taking risks and fighting battles for her. Were they doing this when she had been William? She recognized that they had been there the whole time. She was ashamed that she had never seen it before. She couldn't make Randy believe right now that she wasn't going to ever consider being William again. She couldn't tell him just now that she had fallen hopelessly in love with him. She was afraid and uncertain that someone could actually love her after all she had been before. She sat silently and squeezed his hand. They sat in silence and then the FMS beeped and Randy made a heading correction. "OK, Rouston is up ahead. We'll be there in five minutes. Where am I going again?" Beth pulled up the book-marked NewsChip article stored in the public information net. It was an article of "Where are they now?" that had been published in the Pittsburgh Electronic Gazette on aging pop-stars and where they had faded. This one was on the phenomenal overnight success of a star that never was, Mike Vello. The interview had been given by his mother; Rose. At the end of the article the reporter had described in detail the squalid conditions the pop-star's mother was living and gave her address as evidence to that fact. "West side. Down where Washington branches to the southwest. 2716 Washington Ave." Just one lucky break after another Beth thought. Then why do I feel like we're being led by our noses, like something out there was waiting for the pieces of the puzzle to fall into place before collecting us. Randy looked at her. "That is not a good part of town. I hope you're right, I hope Mike's mother still lives there." "Me too Randy. Me too." It was all the hope they had. As thin as it was, they clung to it as tightly as if it had been a life-rope. Somehow though, Beth didn't think they had much to worry about. -*- Mike shambled from his bedroom out into the small, poorly lit living room. His attempt at rest had failed and now it felt as if his brain was failing as well. His trouble with walking and maintaining his balance seemed to be washing from his system. Mike reasoned that the fatigue and shock must have been wearing off. That, however, was the least of his problems. Mentally, Mike was deteriorating. He was becoming more and more agitated as time went by. He could not sleep, and dimly understood that the problem was getting worse. A state of paranoia had begun to lightly entwine its fingers into the fibers of his being. He was grappling with himself, struggling between what he had been and done and what he became. The mental gymnastics of memory are so deeply ingrained with our image of self that it was making Mike's self-image collapse in on its own weight. The effect was similar to a yellow giant or a common star collapsing in on itself. What was left was a black hole where nothing of self could escape to satisfy Mike's need for sanity. His maternal instinct was too deeply part of his being to be reversed it seemed. His thoughts flew around his children and his mind tried to reject the idea they were his. He could not have given birth to two girls and a boy and yet he knew he had. He remembered every part of his life as Michelle. Why not? He had lived every moment of it so richly and deeply. Yet, the pendulum of his being had swung in the other direction again, back to where it had started forty some years ago. He was male again. He was male and he hated every single cell of his existence. Mike could not explain this torment either. He could not form the words that he felt anyone else would understand. His was an internal struggle, a fight of the mind and the subconscious. He was back where he had once been and part of him wanted desperately to hold on to that, to reverse the deeds of the past and be who he had been born to be. In his mind however, too much time had passed. In a way he had been Michelle much longer than he had been Mike. Was it not true that one only remembers so far back into one's childhood? His earliest recollections were from the age of about four or five. After all was said and done, he had been Mike for only 19 years. Michelle was nearly twenty-one years old since her inception. That put almost six years on Michelle that Mike either didn't have or couldn't remember. The fact was that he simply WAS more Michelle now than he ever would be Mike. "Can't sleep?" Rose asked. "I think I slept too long before, Mom." Some of his statement was in fact truth, however, he felt tired and fatigued. If he had been able to, he would have closed his eyes and allowed time to flow around him. He understood one frightening fact: if he didn't get some help soon he was going to go insane. He didn't want his mother to worry now. No, there'll be enough of that happening when the police get their hands on you to take you away. There was nothing more that Rose could do for her son except try to comfort him. If she called the hospital for him, there would be more questions than they could answer. The silence was staggeringly uncomfortable and finally Rose decided to turn on the VID to a resonance broadcast. What came from the crystal tower speakers hammered Mike's fragile psyche in to a mashed and bloody pulp. It was a song. It was almost over but there was just enough to drive Mike in the ground like a nail being driven into a coffin lid. So what do I say to the man Tell me, Who hold my whole world within his hands Help me, Make him understand the way I feel I just could not bring myself to go ahead and turn way Suddenly, Then suddenly I know, I know exactly what to say. You Are... The brightest star that lights my way For me, Always showing me the way You found the deepest love inside of me Struggling and fighting to be free You changed "just me" to "we" So I come to you thankfully to say You Are! It's just because my love; You are. The voice of Michelle came down to both of them. Mike had tried to get up and leave the room but had fallen to his knees weeping his face buried in his hands. Rose had gone to him and knelt beside her son and did her best to soothe him, but he was helpless. She understood what Mike had lost to a small degree. It was exactly the same thing she herself had lost, her family. They were very much alike now and her heart opened up for him for what seemed like the very first time. Gone was the selfishness of guilt and regard for her own pain. In its place was the need of a mother to restore her child. Mike had become a good person in the woman he had been; and that had been striped from him. In that one act, he had lost all the identity he would ever have or ever want. He could not go back to being the person he truly was and his heart would not let him go back to being Mike. "Mike..." she spoke softly to him. "Mike, you have to go back to that man. You have go try to get back home to your children. You're going to die this way." Mike groaned into his hands. She pulled his hands way from his face and felt, oddly enough for the first time, something attached to his finger. She pulled his left hand forward and touched the three-carat stone that was mounted there. The ring the stone was mounted in bit viciously into to skin of the ring finger of Mike's left hand. "Mike!" Rose said in a worried voice. "Does that hurt honey?" "It doesn't matter if it does or not, Mom. I can't get it off. It's been stuck there since Gary put it on my hand." Mike worked at it as if to prove it but Rose could see that it wasn't going to come off. Mike's fingers had always been slender as a boy, but this ring was designed for someone with a much smaller hand than his. If it had been stuck then it would be hopelessly stuck now. "Honey, please," she begged him. She could feel him shaking uncontrollably beneath her touch. She leaned in closer and whispered in his ear. "You have to go back to your true life as Michelle." Mike arched back and wailed like a wounded lion. "I can't Mother. It doesn't work like that." "I know what you've told me, but you have to go to him and make him understand," Rose said sweetly. The announcer on the radio said something, half heard, about a Gary somebody and Rose stopped talking to listen. She tapped Mike on the shoulder and whispered, "Honey, listen." Mike did and he was aghast at what he heard. "As I'm sure most of you know, that last piece was of course our own local heroes Tidewater with the beautiful and radiant Michelle Shipley singing. That song goes out to the Shipley family and all the fans Michelle has in the area I know are hoping that the rumors aren't true." "Later today we'll rebroadcast an interview I had with Michelle as part of our Light a Candle of Hope broadcast. Michelle told me herself that she wrote that for her husband Gary but she had never actually said it out loud before. There's no dedication on the chip cover. She said it was kind of her secret." The jock sighed a heavy sigh and then continued "For those of you who may have just tuned in, some of you will already know this of course but it seems now that there are anonymous sources within Polices Services that are claiming that Michelle's husband and owner of The Red Fish restaurant chain will be charged with murder some time later today or tomorrow. Right now there is a desperate search going on for the children of the family. One, their son William, is believed to already be dead and the rest of the family is missing, including Michelle." "I know you join with us in extending our prayers to the family and friends of the Shipley's." The announcer sighed again. "It just boggles the mind. I hope it's not true but it's hard to ignore what happened to Mike Vello so very long ago now. Michelle's husband was connected to that as well. If you'll remember he was Mike Vello's best friend and a major suspect in the crime but when no body was ever found the case went stale and Gary Shipley was cleared. "I happen to have part of that interview spooled up right now, why don't we listen to just a little of it. This was recorded shortly after Somebody Save Me was released oh... what was it, eight nine years ago? Anyway, let's listen." The voice of a ghost flew out of the crystals; "Oh I could tell you quite a bit about the influences of that song. I wrote it for my husband and best friend Gary." "You're nervous;" the Wild Bill the jock said. Wild Bill Hatman. Mike remembered this interview so very well. "Yes... I am. I'm afraid I don't do too many interviews. I can sing but I'm an awful speaker." "You're doing fine Michelle. Don't be nervous, we're just a couple of old friends here. You and I have known each other off and on now for three or four years, right?" Mike listened, he could remember giving that interview. He could remember how reluctant he had been to do a speaking engagement of any kind. He worked him self up so in the interest of protecting his identity that he didn't even give thought that there would be no video with it. He had been terrified of doing more than an album publicly. "Yes, I'm just being silly. Anyway, the song You Are." Michelle changed the direction of the conversation. "Yes," Bill said. "Gary didn't want me to record it. He kept telling me that he didn't want me doing anything special for him like that. I think he felt self-conscious about having a song recorded just for him. He didn't think he had done anything to deserve a song on one of Tidewater's albums. Lame excuse...he's very modest about almost everything except his ability to create. He's quite vain about that." Mike could almost hear the grin on ghost Michelle's face, he could still feel what that smile had felt like. "But I told him, it's how I feel, would you have me deny the way I feel about you?" "And what did he say to that?" "Well, it's not so much what he said...." and Michelle laughed a loud and nervous laugh. "Oh my! I can't believe I just said that on the air." "Did she get dropped?" Bill called over his should to the engineer. You could tell because his voice sounded faded. "Tommy says you're fine, well within the guidelines of a family show." "Good. Well, the song was recorded and mixed in about an hour. I think it was the fastest thing I've ever produced. Heck, it didn't even take me twenty minutes to write it, lyric and verse. It wasn't even supposed to be on the album; but the studio chief heard it and insisted that it go on at the last minute knocking off Foggy Heart which I don't think ever got released." "Not a bad payday for an hour twenty," Bill said, impressed. "I guess, but I wasn't really concerned about pay. This seemed like something I needed to do; something I needed to say to myself. I mean; it was bouncing around up there in my head but it somehow needed to be out on paper and flowing back into my ears. Maybe one day I'll hear that song again and remember, I don't know, something I forgot. Does that make any sense?" "The meaning of this song isn't lost on me. I'm sure there are many others out there that will identify with it," Bill said. "I hope so. But I have to say that where the jet wash cuts the air, it will really only have its true intended meaning for just one person. In that way I guess I was being rather selfish. I just wanted to do something that would always remind him how I feel and where I'm supposed to be." Michelle was done. Mike looked at the ring on his hand, held it up and watched the explosion of color as the stone refracted the light of the room. He remembered a time when that color had memorized him so. When he feared Gary might not propose and he would deliver a child as a single woman. He remembered how warm and loved she had felt all that day and wonderful night. That's right, she, you were certainly loved. You were loved no matter who you were but you know something. You felt it more when you were Michelle. You appreciated it more when you were a woman. Rose turned down the resonator. When she turned, Mike was standing. "I have to go, Mom." She said nothing, she understood. She went to him and held him; he was tall and rather handsome for a man in his early forties. Had he not been so racked with emotional pain and metal illness he would have been a most striking man. She knew that no matter what happened now, she was going to lose him, most likely to the police. She was proud of him though. She could not claim bragging rights to character. He had become the person he was all on his own. She would not stop him. "I want you to know something before you go." Rose said, not taking her head away from her son's chest to look at him, instead she simply listened to the sound of his beating heart. "I already know, Mom." "I want to say it anyway." Mike said nothing; he only waited. "I love you Mike. I always have." The resonator broadcast dimmed, Mike held his mother firmly in his arms. Again, Mike was struck by the frailty of her old body and wondered just how much longer she had left. This thing had given him the chance he had been looking for, a way to tell his mother what had happened. If there was to be any good from this gained, then perhaps this was it. They spent a peaceful moment together. It was a moment long overdue. Mother and son in each other's arms, Norman Rockwell couldn't have painted a more touching scene. Rose and Mike jumped when there was a harsh, rapid knock on the door. -*- "You don't seem to understand Shipley. Everyone is saying I've got you this time. I don't need you to talk. In fact, I'd prefer it if you didn't. I don't want explanations. I don't want to find out that I'm wrong, even though I know I'm not." Gary sat in the small gray room, his hands in magnetic manacles on the table. His face was drawn and pale. It was clear he was not well; for the most part his appearance was due to lack of sleep and a monstrous hangover. There were a few cuts and bruises on his face from where he "fell down in his cell" when he first got here. No one really expected less. A surprising number of Callahan's collars had fallen down in their cells early on back in the days when Callahan was actually arresting people. Many remembered it well. His appearance would get worse however, as reality set in, his mood started to be pulled down even further than his disheveled appearance might suggest by the idea that he was going to jail, not for murder. Compounded by the fact that Callahan was the officer responsible for escorting Gary to and from his cell. Gary had to be realistic. He had forwarded the notion years ago to Mike when Gary Shipley and Mike Vello vanished from the face of the earth along with four other young men from Rouston, Pennsylvania. Only five of those teens came home. The resultant investigation never found out if Mike was indeed still alive and well and trapped in the body of Michelle Donavan, which was an invented persona. They never charged anyone with the murder. Marion Callahan had been gunning for Gary Shipley ever since. Gary knew that but didn't particularly fear Callahan. It was rumored that Callahan was as crazy as they come, driven insane from the pressure to solve a case that would never be solved; from the ridicule and the shame. Now, however, he was facing jail for a murder that never happened and it was with a sense of historical irony that the man that was the State's best suspect years ago now was implicated in his son's and wife's disappearance and could not produce travel records, financial documents or VID recordings that his alleged alibi was in fact true. William WAS in the company of friendlies from the UFS in Germany on a skiing trip, had become injured and his wife had gone to care for him until such time as he could be brought home safely. So the conclusion in Callahan's mind was murder. In so far as William had been the suspected victim here, he was the only one confirmed missing. The confusing fact was that they had found blood in the master bath and the fact that it matched Michelle type and genetic cross match was going to seal his fate. When Michelle didn't show up then Callahan would have him again, for killing Michelle. For that, he deserved to die. Gary knew Callahan would personally see to that. He reflected briefly on his life and found he felt no pity for himself. He did however feel pity for his children. They were unwitting victims here. Hindsight told him that perhaps Michelle and he shouldn't have had children. Perhaps they had been playing Russian roulette with the lives of the innocent, people that had no interest or business knowing the world as it was for Gary and Michelle. Children expect their parents to be what they appear to be, not to be traumatized by the harsh realities of a world turned upside down. They hadn't believed at the time that Michelle's SKIN could be reversed and Michelle sent to her grave so unexpectedly. Gary felt the irony of his confidence in his belief he would die before Michelle. He felt sick to his stomach over it. He should have protected her better; he should have gone into the chamber with William. What had he been thinking? The desperation of his soul played over and over again the scene in the chamber. The way his wife had gone in an instant to a person this world had not seen in a generation was more than shocking. It was beyond belief. Mike had simply burst out of out of the dress like some animated overstuffed cartoon animal that had been inflated with air. Now their children were on their own. They would have to stay that way unless Beth turned herself in. The only help they could offer as their parents would be to stall the authorities. He would have a chance to talk to his attorney soon, he would set up a safe haven in Miami and then on to Lima or Caracas or some place like that where they would be relatively safe. He could provide assets from the sale of their properties funneled in to some fake charity. He would have to let his attorney know what was really going on. He would need the information to be able to think strategically, to get his children the most help he could get them. Gary barely heard Dirty Mary's ramblings. His main concern was surviving this beating so he could finalize the plans for the kids. He felt bad for Mike as well. It was from Mike that the friendship in his relationship with his wife bore its life from. He understood that better than even Michelle/Mike. They were the same life force in a chameleon-like existence. He knew that he would go crazy with the maternal instinct that she had fostered for so many years. That Mike would not be able to shed that feeling from his soul. He would be confused and tormented for the rest of his days if it was true, if he could not return to being Michelle. That is, if it were possible and if he wanted to. Mike spent one long year trying to find a way to get that SKIN deactivated. Now the feelings that had driven Mike Vello in his own life were free to influence the choices and decisions that this person now made. He might not want to go back to being Michelle even if it was possible. Whatever the outcome, his one focus had to be sharp, clear and steadfast. If he couldn't dodge this one on his own then he would have to fall on his sword to make sure that it was never discovered that Beth was really William. That way, in time, Mike might find a way back or find the will to go back or find some other solution. They were his children as well. Gary knew that would gnaw at him until he did something to return to his family. Suddenly Gary's chair was kicked out from underneath him. "DID YOU HEAR A FUCK'N WORD I SAID SHIPLEY?" shouted Dirty Mary. Gary hit the floor, his hands stretched out on the table above him. He winced away from the noise and abruptness of the screaming but Callahan grabbed his hair and turned his face skyward to face Dirty Mary. "No sleeping when God is speaking to you Shipley..." "CALLAHAN!" came a shout from beyond the table that Gary could not see from his kneeling position on the floor. "Outside if you will, Detective. Williams help Mr. Shipley up and back into his chair." Gary heard footsteps approaching as Callahan took one last sneering look at Gary and then tossed his head aside. Beside Gary was a pair of legs. "Upsy daisy," said a voice from somewhere above the legs as someone took him by his arms and lifted. The chair was pushed back close to the table and Gary sat in it. It was a strange feeling not to be able to leave, not to have the freedom to just take his wrists off the table. "Thank you," Gary said to the officer. "Sure," was all the man offered before he too left the room. 'Be grateful!' a voice deep in his soul said to him. 'This is where you would have wound up had it not been for Michelle. She saw more potential in you than anyone else. She was the only one that could make you believe it too. Maybe this is fitting. You have come full circle now. The mistake has been corrected and you're where you should have wound up in the first place.' "God Michelle, I wish you could hear me. I'm so sorry!" "If there is a case here Callahan, and I'm not convinced there is yet, you're going to blow it with stunts like flagrant abuse of power. You want him to charge police brutality in the middle of the trial? Duress perhaps? I can see a mistrial heading at us like a steaming locomotive and you've put us all in smack dab in the middle of the tracks!" Captain Martin shouted in soft tones at Callahan. One junior officer asked another in a whisper, "What's a locomotive?" and his compatriot waived him off. Martin ignored them both, choosing to focus instead on the man he wished he had fired weeks ago. But now a Federal Court was involved and an investigation must follow. Callahan had very cleverly gone around his bulldog keepers and managed to pull of the illusion of sanity when speaking to the judge on this matter. So much so that he had been granted a court order for search and seizure with consent to arrest. Martin felt that Shipley was no more responsible for Mile Vello's murder than Santa Clause might have been. But Gary had made mistakes when he was younger and got on Callahan's bad side with his glib humor. He had even embarrassed him once in public during to the Vello case, on VID camera no less. Callahan had issues with Shipley now. Never mind that he was now a famous and wealthy business owner and contributor to the community, that his girlfriend, now wife, had verified his whereabouts that weekend. "Now God-damn it, Callahan. If you can't give me a body, or something more than a God-damn missing listing on a Jump Shuttle for William or Mrs. Shipley to verify they didn't really travel to Germany, then I'm going to turn him loose before you get him into the system and I'm going to use my authority to do it. Do you fucking understand me?" "Captain... if you'll just calm down..." started Callahan in a causal style that was almost enough to cause Captain Martin shoot Callahan where he stood. "Don't you ever talk to me like we're equals, friends or co-workers. You're here because that the powers above me feel that you should retire with full benefits. But I can tell you with confidence that they won't let you embarrass them with a man of this stature and power. If you're wrong, then you'll have no friends in the department high or low. I don't like you, and if I could I would cut you loose and have you committed here and now. You just get me the evidence I told you get and keep your mouth shut around me." "Did you hear what Shipley said after I left?" demanded Callahan pointing at a VID screen that showed an image of a beaten and miserable Gary Shipley. He said he wished Mrs. Shipley could be here. A clear admission that she can't be..." "You're an idiot!" Martin blasted back. "I believe I remember him saying that he wished his wife could hear him. Since she's not here, I take that to mean that he understands that she can't hear him. That certainly isn't an admission of a crime. He's done nothing in fact to make me believe anything to the contrary that he fully believes that she is alive and simply away and unaware of the mess you've created. As far as I'm concerned, there's a good reason for the presence of the blood and I'm just waiting for someone to come forward with proof if it and blow your piece of shit case to pieces again. I have yet to see any tell me that the amount of evidence found suggest a massive loss of blood. It could be Mrs. Shipley simply cut her foot on a broken piece of glass. It's not uncommon Callahan. We're fragile; when you cut us do we not bleed? I'm telling you now Callahan, if you caused the Shipley's to bleed unnecessarily then this time there'll be no saving grace from above. I cook your liver for you and feed it to you. He turned to Officer Williams who had joined the four other officers in the hall. "You," Martin said point a finger into Williams's chest. "You are officially his babysitter. He does nothing any longer unless I approve it. No more court orders unless I find reasonable cause to warrant one. Then he can go to a judge and ask for one. But you report to me if he decides to do any more sneaking around behind my back. Understood?" Williams nodded his understanding and agreement. Martin finished by slamming his hat on to his head and marching off without waiting for a reply. "I understood that to mean that you are to be my new assistant, isn't that right son?" Callahan prodded. "No sir," responded Williams. A scowl clouded Dirty Mary's face. "You aren't a team player officer. Now..." "No Sir. YOU are NOT a team player. You may be a big dog because of your rank, but Captain Martin is a much bigger dog than you, and he sharpens his teeth. You might want to remember that." Callahan only grunted. The noose was tightening. He was going to have to get slick if he wanted to pound Shipley the way he really wanted to. Williams added before he walked away, "Consider your self watched, and return that man to his cell." He finished pointing to the interrogation room. "The world is filled with pussies!" Callahan said and threw his hands skyward. "Well, if you want to make a fucking omelet, you have to break a few heads!" Callahan opened the door, conscious of the fact that someone may be watching, and began by saying... "So Gary... where were we? Oh yeah, I remember." Callahan again kicked the chair from underneath Gary, this time Gary's chin hit the table improving the size of an already substantial bruise and creating a few new lacerations to Gary's cheeks in the bargain. Callahan chuckled to himself. -*- "Randy, I'm scared." Admitted the small blonde girl. She stood at the gate of a small modular home. The house was rounded like an igloo. It had several narrower igloo shaped extensions or annexes attached to it. The yard was very small, a foot an a half of dead grass and withered plants that looked like someone's failed attempt to grow vegetables to supplement a their diet. To Randy, despite her earlier admonition, she looked just like someone who might be fragile enough to break. He stood before her and took her hands and rubbed them lightly. "What are you afraid of?" "What if he doesn't want to be our mother any more?" she bent her head so he wouldn't be able to see the uncertainty in her eyes. Randy didn't answer her concern. He couldn't. What kind of answer could he offer to such a question? They would move forward from here if that were the case. They would leave and figure out some other plan. But he would not leave her, not now, not unless she asked him to. "We'll do it together then." He said. "OK." She said but she waited for him to make the move toward the door first. He did, picking up his cue from her body language; which came in quick, tight jerks of her arms and shoulders. She was visibly upset. When the reached the door. It was Randy that knocked. He could feel her pull away almost like she wanted to run back to the HOV and wait. He held her hand gently but firmly in his own and kept her with him. When the door opened a small older woman stepped into the frame of it and asked, "Yes? Can I help you?" Then Mike walked up behind her with a weary look on his face. It was Randy that he saw first; Beth was hidden by his mother, Rose. "Randy, what on earth are you doing here?" Mike said coming around his mother. "Mom?" Cried Beth from some place where he couldn't see. "Beth? My God!" He raced around from behind his mother and there she was. "Oh God!" he bent and swept the girl up in his arms. He squeezed the girl and Beth squeezed back with powerful might. "I almost lost my nerve." She whispered to Mike. "I'm glad I didn't." She kissed the man on his stubbled cheek. "I missed you Mom." The two hugged for a brief moment and then Mike looked at his mother who was looking around nervously. "We should all go inside. Randy, keep an eye on that HOV through the window." "Yes Ma'am." Randy said blushing slightly as he closed the door behind him. "Mike, who are these children?" Rose asked. "One of them is mine. The other... might as well be mine too." Mike smiled and Randy smiled back feeling more comfortable by the minute. Rose asked. "Is this William?" It was clear she had missed the names in all the confusion. Rose approached Randy with a smile, her arms out as if she wanted a hug. Randy looked around to Beth and then to Mike with a confused, 'Hey, somebody do something' look on his face as the old woman closed on him. "Mom, no." Mike put a hand on the old woman's arm. Beth stepped up and before anyone could stop her she said. "I'm William." Mike shut his eyes and grimaced Rose looked at the girl in confusion than a dawning horror enlightened her features. Rose turned to her son with a look of bitter distaste on her face and breathed, "Michael ... what's going on here?" "Excuse me ma'am, but it's not her fault." Said Beth stepping forward and speaking of Mike referring to him as 'her'. "It's my fault. I don't know how much my Mother told you but it's clear she told you some of what's been going on." She turned to Mike and said. "I read your diary Mom." "My what?" Mike asked. "The diary you wrote when you got stuck. The one you gave to Dad." "Oh my God." Mike said mortified. "No Mom, it's good. I think we found something." Beth assured Mike. "Found something? Like what?" "Mrs. Shipley, Beth and I were reading the book, when the other boys shed their SKINs, for lack of a better word, you wrote something about ashes at their feet. That the SKIN's kinda burned off." "Yes, that's right, but I don't..." "Mom, there were no ashes on the floor when he changed you back to Mike. There was nothing on the floor." Beth explained excitedly. Mike's eyes shifted back and forth lost in thought as he tried to remember the events in the warehouse, his face was set in a mask of stern concentration. He rolled his tongue between his gums and lips. It looked as if he were working loose a piece of food that may have gotten stuck in his teeth. Then he asked of Randy, "You found this there?" Randy shook his head. "No, not me. Beth!" Mike looked at Beth and smiled. "I guess I should go see a man about a makeover. What do you think?" "Mom, there's more... It's Dad." Mike crossed the short open space that separated him from his daughter. "I just heard, just before you arrived. I was actually going to go turn myself in and explain... as much as I could." "Well, now you don't have to." Beth insisted. "With any luck, no, maybe you're right. We'll go and talk to this man. See if he can put me back where I belong. I'm not hopeful that he'll do it. He was angry about something, and smart enough to find out about me when I thought that secret was very well hidden. What you found about the ashes may be true, but we need a tool to convince him that he needs to consider changing me back and give you back your life too. I think I know what I can use to..." "No Mom." Beth said suddenly. "No Mom what?" Mike asked confused. "We get you back. I've changed. My life is very different now." Beth said moving close to Randy. Mike recognized what was happening. "You're confused honey. You don't know what you're doing. I know that your feelings are so very overwhelmed right now but I think that in time..." "I'll feel the same as I do right now. Did you feel any differently about Dad? Even when you tried to deny it Mom, did you really feel differently? Do you now?" Beth was talking about love. Beth was making it clear that even though Michelle had tried to hide from it she had been in love with Gary from the very start. But she was also drawing a correlation bet Michelle's story and her own. She had fallen in love with Randy. Something else occurred to Mike. He was being given another chance to choose, this time from scratch, from that place where he had always wanted to make that choice. Never mind that the deck was stacked on the house side. The stakes were the same as before. The stage had been set for him. Gary's life hung in the balance, how would he choose this time? He didn't' have to go back, he knew that now. All he had to do was turn himself in to free Gary. He could explain everything. He could do it to the news services and probably not go to jail. Plead his case in the court of public opinion and walk; break it all wide open. He could stay as Mike. He knew he would gain nothing. He would lose all that he had come to value, his family, the closeness and the love of those that cared for him. His children would be lost to him, his husband too. Even as Mike the sound of it didn't seem that alien any longer. He understood that Michelle was still very much alive inside him. Now he was no longer a man sealed inside a genetic reproduction of a woman, quite the opposite. He was now Michelle trapped in the body of a dead man. Mike knew also that what Beth said was a doubled edged sword. She was asking him to let William go. Beth was asking her to reach back into her memory and remember what it had been like when she had first fallen in love with Gary, the way Beth now loved Randy. Even in the midst of knowing that he had to try to return to his life as Michelle and the happiness that idea brought to him, there was great sadness. He was being asked to in essence to release the sprit of his son from his mothers grasp and take this child to his breast as his own. Mike would let the subject languish where it was for now. Once he was back to normal again he knew he could convince her son to reclaim his place in this world. It would not be easy for either Beth or Randy but it was right. Mike knew it was the right thing to do. A sad knowing smile crossed his features. "What Mom?" "Nothing... Let's go get your Father." Mike turned to his Mother. "I'll come back. You know about me now. If this works, I'll come back, but Mom, I'll be different." "I'd be proud of you, daughter or son, it makes no difference to me. I'm proud of you." Rose said and hugged her son for the very last time. Mike kissed his mother. "Mom, we have to have a plan on how to explain why I'm, er... rather William; why William isn't coming back." "Don't worry about that, I have a feeling that a guarding angel has that figured out alre