Fugue Parts 1 2
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Fugue: Parts 3-4 free porn video
Fugue
By Liam Slade
Originally posted to Fictionmania, to be reprinted only with author's permission
http://www.liamslade.com
Part 3: The Memory of You
One morning, Jane Doe lay in her bed as Nurse Barton came in to serve
her some breakfast.
"Morning," the nurse said cheerfully.
"You're half-right..." muttered Jane Doe, not fully awake.
"Hm?"
"It's not so good," groaned Jane Doe.
"I didn't say 'good,' just 'morning,'" answered the Nurse.
"Are you sure?"
"Uh, yeah," she said, laughing a little and going about her business.
Jane Doe yawned and stretched, asking, "so, how's your boyfriend?"
"I haven't got one," answered the nurse.
"Oh really?" chirped Jane Doe, "Well maybe when this is all sorted out
and I get my life back, we can go out sometime?"
"I don't think so," answered the nurse, "I only date men."
"Well you're in luck! I am a man, remember?"
The nurse laughed again, more softly, "not as far as the hospital is
concerned, Jane."
"Please, call me Dean."
"That's not your name."
"Sure it is."
"There is no Dean West. You should know that."
She should have. The very day before, they'd returned their search
results for a Dean West in the area, and the results were extremely
contradictory to Jane Doe's claims that she was, in fact, Dean West.
"If you insist on playing this game, would you at least call me John
Doe?"
"I'm not going to play along, Jane," answered the nurse, opening the
curtains.
"I know, you're a pretty level-headed woman. That's what I dig about
you," remarked Jane Doe, tinkering with her breakfast with her
utensils, "I think we'd be good together."
"Look who's full of himself!" the nurse joked, making for the door.
"Aha! You just said 'him!' Admit it!"
"I was being sarcastic."
"Listen, while I've got you, do you think you could do me a favour a
little later? This hair is driving me crazy. I need it cut, short."
"What do I look like, a barber?"
"Well, somebody's gotta do it! They won't give me scissors, they still
think I'm crazy."
The nurse sighed, opened the door and said, "I'll see what I can do.
You've got a visitor."
"Ugh. Can't I just eat?" relented Jane Doe, "Send 'em in."
A moment later, after the nurse left, a man appeared at the door,
standing about 6 foot tall, in jeans, a clean flannel shirt, and a
brown leather jacket. His hair was neatly cropped and was clean shaven.
He hovered, nervously by the door, until Jane Doe finished her mouthful
of dreadful breakfast. It had been something grey and unidentified.
"Aaron, right?" she waved him over, "come on, sit down. What's on your
mind?"
"Oh, nothing, nothing, I just wanted to see how you were doing," he
shyly answered, taking a seat in the chair next to the bed.
"I'll level with you, Aaron. I've seen better days. You haven't been
around since I woke up. Where've you been all week?"
"Oh, I had to go away on business."
"Really," she snorted, "and what does Aaron do?"
"Computer tech, I was at a seminar."
"And here I thought you were just afraid to be around me."
"Oh, no. No, no, no," he shook his head vehemently, "I really wanted to
see how you were doing."
"Well, now you know."
"Well, you didn't give much of an answer. What does that mean, 'seen
better days'? Not treating you well? At least you're conscious..."
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Try me."
Jane Doe groaned, exasperated. She'd repeated herself so much, and was
tiring of incredulous stares. "I don't want to go through it again. All
the disbelief and shit people give me when I tell them, they look at me
like I'm bat shit insane, but it's the truth."
"Hey, whatever you say, I'll believe you."
"You won't."
"Hey, I'm here to listen. Go ahead."
"Okay, fine, but what I'm telling you is impossible to believe, unless
you're me. And you're not. I know this sounds weird, but before I got
here, I was a man."
Naturally, Aaron took a moment of awed silence before responding. "So,
what, did you have an operation or something?"
"Not that I'm aware, unless it was a quick one while I was asleep."
"When I found you, you were decidedly female."
"Ugh, this is going nowhere," groaned the Jane Doe, "I knew I wasn't
going to convince you."
"I'm sorry, it's just--"
"Hard to believe, I know. Jesus. Just get outta here."
"No, listen, Jane--"
"Don't call me Jane." She interrupted, "Get out."
"I'm sorry."
"Leave. Now."
Sullen, Aaron did as she commanded. As he got to the door, he let out a
heartbroken sigh. He took one last look at her beautiful face, fine
cheekbones, grass-green eyes and soft lips, contorted into a scowl, and
knew that he couldn't let go. He just needed to give her some time.
She spent the next day sitting by the window, watching raindrops
splatter against the pane. She was, for the first time, beginning to
feel utterly alone. She liked the hospital because of the security it
offered, but knew that outside, the world was a cold, unfriendly place,
who was going to treat her like someone she knew she wasn't. She felt
she had not a friend or ally outside. She didn't remember enough about
her old life, and had nothing in this new one that had been thrust upon
her. Or so she thought.
That night, she got another visit from Nurse Barton, who was becoming
her only friend at the hospital. Even if she didn't believe, she was
the only person willing to put up with her antics on a personal level.
Jane Doe felt a kinship with her, not unlike love.
"I've got news," she told the patient, sitting quietly in bed watching
the Price is Right.
"Yeah?"
"We found some people who want to talk to you. Up until now, we didn't
have an identity for you..."
"What happened?" answered the Jane Doe
"Well, after a great deal of searching, we managed to find your
family."
A shocked look of enthrallment came across Jane Doe's face. Her eyes
lit up and her mouth finally stretched into a smile.
"They'll be here Wednesday. Your parents are flying in from Florida."
"I'm from Florida?"
"No, your parents moved there."
"Oh, uh, right. Retirement, I guess."
This was all a little much for Jane Doe to handle. Finally, some
sanity. Once she explained to her parents what had happened to their
son, it would all be set right. She breathed a heavy sigh of relief
that this nightmare would soon be over and she could somehow piece her
life back together.
On Wednesday, two heads poked their way through the door. It was hoped
they would be able to clarify the details of her life, but to tJane
Doe, they only added confusion.
"Oh lord," softly muttered her mother as she entered. She was an older
woman, but had dyed her hair close to its original brown tone. She wore
all the old cosmetics and perfumes you'd expect of a woman of over 60.
She put her fingers, with their red-painted nails to her lips as she
gasped, whispering to herself (though quite audibly) "what did they do
to your hair?"
Jane Doe had indeed had it cut to a very short, more manageable way,
not unlike a young Winona Ryder, the way it was close to her scalp and
swept across her forehead. In response, Jane Doe said nothing, and
merely stared at this older woman, whom she was coming to realize, was
supposed to be her mother.
She was followed by an older man, with an old plaid shirt with the
sleeves rolled up and a noticeable beer belly. His hair was salt and
pepper but his beard still had a faint brownness to it, as if it was
slowly and surely being drained of youth over the years.
Awkwardly, the pair hovered by the door, until finally Jane Doe spoke.
"Mom, Dad," she started, "how's it going?"
"They told us," said the mother, on the verge of tears, "they told us
you wouldn't remember us."
After a moment, Jane Doe added, "I don't. I'm sorry, I look at you two,
and it doesn't ring a bell. But they told me my parents were coming. So
I figured..." she trailed off, before finally adding "what else did
they say?"
"They said you didn't remember who you were," answered her father in a
gruff baritone, "that you thought you were somebody else."
"They would say that."
Jane Doe was very gradually coming to the realization that she,
perhaps, was not who she thought she was. If she had been a woman her
whole life, however, she didn't want to know. However, for her own sake
and for the sake of all parties involved, she had to ask the question,
"So, who am I?"
Her parents had no idea how to respond. Everything they'd known about
parenting in the years since they had been blessed with a child had not
prepared them to remind her of who she was, so they were utterly
clueless on how to begin answering such a question.
Sensing this, Jane Doe rephrased, more specifically, "what's my name?
What do I do?"
Choked up with tears, her mother, being held around the shoulder by her
husband, answered, "Diane, dear." She sniffed and wiped tears away with
a handkerchief before continuing, "Diane Hill. You'd been studying at
University of Toronto... Psychology... you just finished the semester,
and then this happened." Her mother broke down into uncontrollable sobs
and had to sit down. She couldn't continue.
Deep in realization, Jane Doe finally said, "That's really not what I
thought." In her mind, she was searching for some evidence that they
were mistaken, that they were lying, that she was not actually their
daughter. But looking at the faces of these two people, her supposed
parents, she could sense only honesty and grief. They were genuine in
everything they said; Jane Doe could see the recognition on their
faces.
The hard fact hit her. They were her parents. She was their daughter.
Immediately, she felt sick to her stomach.
At the end of the reunion, which lasted all of 8 minutes, neither
parents nor their daughter was truly satisfied. The parents, because
they felt they had somehow lost their precious daughter; the daughter,
because she, too, felt her very self had become irretrievably lost.
Part 4: A Later Session
First, a click is heard, followed by the hissing of tape spinning, and
finally the muffled sound of a microphone being placed.
A gruff male voice announces, "May 5th, 2005. Dr. Harold Bekker, MD.
Please state your name."
A softer, female voice was heard to sigh, before replying, "Dean West."
The male voice added, "A/k/a?"
With a note of reluctance, the female voice added, "Diane Hill. Or, if
you'd prefer, Jane Doe."
"Whatever you'd prefer."
"Dean," shot back the female voice, "please."
The male voice consented, "Very well. How have we been this week,
Dean?"
Sarcastically, she snapped, "oh, it's been perfect. Having the time of
my life. I just found out everything I thought I was is a lie, that I
can't go back to the life I thought I'd lived for years, and oh, yes, I
started menstruating. Want to talk about that?"
"Only if you would."
"Well, it's awful. That's all."
After a period during which neither knew what to say, the doctor
continued, "You met your parents this week."
"Yeah."
"How was that?"
"I don't know," she snarled, "it wasn't right."
"You didn't recognize them."
"Not at first. But they left some pictures and I was looking at them
later that night, into the picture of my mom, her eyes."
"And that sparked something for you?"
"Not really. But I recognized them as my own. I mean, it was so weird.
There's no way they're not my parents, but the memories just aren't
there." She began to sniff.
"Tissue?" he offered. There was a rustling of objects on the track.
"Please," she sniffled who proceeded to blow her nose in a rather
dainty way.
"Is this difficult for you? We can take a break if you'd like."
"No, no, I'm good. It's just hormones, y'know?" She tried to laugh, but
it was hardly audible.
"In our previous sessions you've spoken of how you believed you were
not female."
"That's right. I woke up and the face in the mirror didn't look like
mine." She paused, adding "how would you feel if you woke up tomorrow
and you were a garbage man? You thought you were a doctor, but you've
got a jumpsuit and a truck to drive. So everybody tells you you're a
garbage man, even though you remember paying all that money for med
school."
"That's a rather unlikely scenario," said the doctor, with not a hint
of sarcasm in his voice, only an attempt at comprehension.
"So is mine," she scowled, "but guess what? It's how I feel. My whole
body feels wrong, okay? Or at least..." she sighed once more, more
heavily, and sniffling, "it did."
"You're beginning to cope with your body?"
"Yeah. I mean, I didn't think that was going to happen, but I woke up
this morning and for the first time in weeks, I didn't feel utterly out
of place."
In the conversational void, the doctor remarked, "fascinating."
"I mean, until today, I didn't know what I was going to do. I don't
know if it was because of my parents, or what, but this morning I
looked at myself in the mirror... and I didn't mind it. Not at all. In
fact, I think I'm kinda cute, don't you?"
Awkwardly, the doctor responded, "Well, your features are, rather..."
trailing off while clearing his throat.
"And I really wish I hadn't cut my hair. It's just so weird, you know?
I still feel really masculine inside, but there's this part of me...
this part, that is really fine with this. And the more I think about
it, the more I am."
"You're coming to terms with your reality. That's good."
"I guess it is. I just don't feel like Diane Hill."
"One step at a time."
"I mean, they told me a bit about what Diane was like, and that doesn't
sound like me at all. And the things I like, I don't think Diane would
like at all."
"Such as?"
With a smirk that was even detectable on the tape, the she said, "Nurse
Barton," followed by a laugh that was short and soft.
"I see. Well, if there's nothing else, I think we've had a very good
session today."
The sound of bodies shifting, as in two people standing up from the
table.
Click.
To be continued.
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