Skin Deep III - The Vulture And The Sunrise - Chapter 10 - From The Ashes free porn video

Chapter 10 From The Ashes The Cleansing Gary didn't have time to waste precious seconds with what had happened to Loudon. Once the initial shock of realizing that Loudon was in fact one of them had worn off his thoughts turned instantly back to his ailing wife. Someone please help her!" Gary wailed. "Please, Please, Please!" It was becoming evident to Gary that he was not going to be able to wake Michelle. She had gone someplace he could not now follow. Behind them the doors of the chamber burst open. A young ParaEMT came into the room, assessed the triage of the wounded and began quickly examining what were left of the injured in a triage capacity. There were fewer people now, both inside the court and out. The quantity of people screaming or crying outside the windows seemed to be thinning. Even the EMT's were having trouble really finding genuinely injured people. Most of those "OVER HERE GODDAMN IT! My wife needs help." "Sir! If you-" "-RIGHT NOW!" Gary screamed. She broke off what she was doing with a resigned sigh, brought her kit over to where Gary held Michelle's lifeless body. The woman in a baggy uniform began her evaluation starting with Michelle's vitals signs. "I thought you looked familiar," she commented as she worked. "I couldn't tell from the WR though." The statement wasn't all that odd considering they had all just outted themselves. "I met you at the Jumpport," the young woman finished taking vital signs and offered Gary an apologetic look, "I'm sorry Sir, she's gone." "No. That's not possible. DOOO something," Gary insisted. "There's nothing I can do. The entire city is in a panic... I've got a pile of problems myse-" "I don't give a rat's ass what you're problems are..." Gary leaned in and read the name tag to offer emphasis to his pending comment and was shocked to see the name Roger Kimbolt there. The image of his wife fainting at the Jumpport and the two EMT's that attempted to treat her leapt into his mind "Roger? You're the EMT from a couple of days ago?" The woman nodded her head and swallowed deeply. "I'm still waiting to wake up... " Roger admitted as she began to unpack her enhanced medical kit. Gary couldn't say anything, and Roger didn't seem to really want an explanation. He now knew that the man had been like his two daughters, a Halfling, only something in his physiology had rejuvenated the middle aged man into a young adult woman when the wave effect had crossed her. The same thing obviously that had happened to Loudon. Gary neither had time to wonder or worry about what else Carol's transmitter might done. He was losing his wife, might have lost her already in fact. Suddenly the woman grabbed him but she didn't have nearly the strength Gary commanded in his male body, "You people are responsible for this." Roger said gesturing at his now youthful, female body. His stunned look of bewilderment vanished in a flash and her face turned into that of a snarling tigress. She stood, latching on to Gary's coat lapels and hoisting him up, "You CHANGE ME BACK." Roger screamed in his face! "CHANGE ME BACK TO A MAN RIGHT FUCKING NOW!" Gary's face contracted into a threatening mask of defiance. He grabbed the woman's delicate wrists and jerked them off his coat. Her surprise was utter and complete. Instead of letter her go, he pulled her hands down, her arms forming a "V" before her as Gary held her wrists easily in one hand. He pulled her close, nearly nose to nose and snarled so only Roger could hear him plainly, "We didn't do ANYTHING to you." He jerked her arms hard for emphasis as he spoke. Roger, while no stranger to the perils of public service; was not used to being man handled and completely subdued this way. The woman struggled to free her hands but it was soon apparent that she was as much stuck in Gary's grip as he was now in a woman's body. Gary continued, "I can't get you out of this mess any more that I could get my wife out of it two hundred fucking years ago. I can't get anyone out of it." "You're hurting me..." Roger pleaded. To Gary it looked as if she might actually begin crying. He ignored her plea, "You want someone to blame? Then look down your own family tree. Somewhere down there by the roots is someone just like her!" He pointed down at the prone, unconscious figure of his wife on the courtroom floor. "Someone that probably didn't want what they had become any more than she did. That is not our fault!" Roger searched Gary's face with large brown eye of bewilderment. A look crossed over her face, one of resigned determination. "No, that can't be true, if they were like you, then I'd know about. They'd still be alive." Gary knew better. Not everyone remained trapped in their SKINs. Many that had simply wanted to see what it would be like to live as someone famous, took the off when they were done. But there were plenty of stories of men impregnating their wives while SKINNED. The eroticism of it was sometimes too much to resist. Wouldn't these people also inherit GEM's? His own kids had. Who knows how far removed down Roger's genetic line the culprit may have been. "You want to blame someone, I can find plenty of people for you to blame, but my family isn't among them." With one final jerk, Gary released her. "If I could help you I would. I would love nothing more. But right now you're going to get on that God Damned floor and help my wife." Disgusted, terrified, unsure of what was really happening but understanding that this would leave no life untouched. You would either die, or live, younger, changed to a man, a woman, perhaps your race would change or you might simply be a younger version of yourself. Or as he had see out in the hall of the court house, a young man she could have sworn looked about 15 years older than he was acting. Even that beat the Hell of dying as she had seen the way the dying were presently engaged in doing so. It wasn't their fault. This man was right about that, and the woman didn't deserve to die because of it. Roger turned his attention back to Michelle with unbroken determination this time, "God damn me..." she said and knelt, resuming to unpack her med-kit. "Thank you... Thank you... I'll hold her for you..." Gary said peacefully. "Sir, I'm going to try to start her heart. You have to set her down now." Gary quickly complied as the ParaEMT hooked Michelle up to a series of sensors and patches that would conduct electricity through her body. She did not tell him that there was no sinus rhythm in Michelle's heart. It had stopped completely. The ParaEMT knew this was nothing more than an exercise in futility. In ten minutes the results would be the same. Starting a human heart that had no rhythm at all with a defibrillation kit was more than simply unlikely, it simply didn't happen. That was all Hollywood and night time drama. In the real world, things like that, even now weren't possible. This poor man's wife would still be dead. But even with the frustration of the unanswered questions of why there seemed to be wide spread gender swapping going on, even with the fear she felt at finding she was now a young woman after spending fifty-three years as a man, her first call was to save lives. She had to try something for this young man. "Clear!" cried the woman. She looked to make sure all were clear of the patient and pressed a button on her monitoring unit. Michelle's body shuddered reacting to the current that was sent flying through her, then she lay still. The woman quickly checked her instruments while the pack recharged. "Clear!" she cried and pressed the button. Michelle body convulsed again. Then she gasped a deep painful gasp of air, cried, "Gary!" and coughed a disturbing volley of coughs. "Goddamn!" cried the ParaEMT. She seemed as surprised as the woman on the floor. "Come here and give me hand," the ParaEMT cried, "Do exactly what I say." The woman looked at her partner, "I need to get her some oxygen, get an IV in her and start her on saline," she shoved a small oxygen generator into Gary's arms while she prepared an IV bag and medications. Gary slipped the mask over his wife's confused face and spoke to her as he turned the oxygen on. "Michelle! Oh God, Baby!" Gary cried. Carol cried great sobs of gratitude but could say nothing. Her hands remained fixed covering her mouth. Gary laid his hands on her face. "Don't leave me... Please don't leave me." "I'm sorry..." Michelle cried, mumbling through a small clear oxygen mask that covered her mouth and nose. "Michelle, you stay with me," Gary demanded. "Gary... I love you." "SHIT!" Roger cried, "I'm losing her. She has some heart damage. She's going into V-Tac." "MICHELLE! You stay with me now," Gary cried. Carol reached out with one hand, Carol's left still covered her mouth. She squeezed Michelle's hand with her right. Carol's eyes begged, "Please." But Michelle's heart was so badly damaged by the plasma that had used her body as a conduit that she couldn't hold on. Roger spoke into her independent portable WT, "We need transport for a critical. Possible heart damage, we have a weak BP but it's falling. There was a buzzing in return and Roger quickly unpacked a litter from the back of the of their field kit. The two of them quickly loaded Michelle onto the litter and prepared to carry her from the building. Gary bent and kissed his wife's cheek. "I love you," he cried. The tears fell on her cheek. "I will always love you." He smiled the best smile he could muster for her. "Thank you for loving me back." She began to languish in and out as her the arrhythmia that was shutting her heart down became painfully erratic. In a moment of clarity, as her heart once again briefly assumed a normal rhythm, Michelle smiled and Gary felt his heart crack completely in half at the sign of that smile. She was not going to hold on for him. He knew her too well and understood that she felt she could not survive what she'd been through. She was letting go so he could begin to let go himself. "Don't you fucking dare die on me Michelle," he insisted. She smiled again with complete knowledge that he was not upset with her. "No... MICHELLE, NO! You can't do this... Don't do this to me... please.... Oh God.... NO..." Panic, like black bile rose in his throat. How was he going to convince her to hold on, to fight with so little time? Gary helped Roger move the litter out to the street where a MediHOV waited. They had placed Michelle on a gurneyfloat and were preparing to levitate her to a waiting MediHOV. Gary would not leave her side. "Sir! Please... we have to move her outside to the..." Ignoring them Gary continued to try to convince Michelle to fight, "God damn it Michelle, don't you let go. You're not doing me any favors by giving up. You have to believe that if you let go, I won't live through it." "Gary, you have children you have to look after. You have to let go. I will see you again... I will be w..." She faulted, lapsed into some sort of dream like state and became distant. "NO!" Gary screamed at her. "MICHELLE...." It was enough to make her open her eyes once more. She freed her hand from Carol's who was still holding her left hand and fumbled for Gary's face. When she found it she seemed as if she had found some deep and grateful peace. Her breathing was deeply labored. Gary could see that her body was starving for oxygen. Her heart wasn't going to pump enough blood to meet her body's demand. It was then that Gary knew there was nothing, nothing anyone could do. His face cracked into a million pieces with the knowledge of what was coming. "Oh God, I'm going to loose you." His panic was total. Still, he knew he had to hide that from her. She reached desperately for his hand. Trembling mightily, he quickly took hers and she squeezed tightly. "I am-" she said laboring to breathe "-Michelle Shipley." She paused and closed her eyes, breathing deeply. "I always... will be." She whispered. "No one can take that from me now. I love you so much... my sweet man. I'll be ... waiting." Mike and Roger lifted Michelle as she exhaled one final breath. Michelle's heart stopped at 4:04 p.m. March 4th 2261. In the grief and commotion of the past several days, no one was aware that it was also her birthday. She was 199 years old. Home Again March 4th 2082 - 7:00 p.m. ? Rouston, Pa. The scream in the well let room went out with a gasp as Mike's eyes flew open, "GARY!" The pain in his chest was tremendous. He found himself doubled over listing to the left. Eventually, clutching his chest he toppled off the threadbare couch on to the vinyl flooring, sweat beading off his head. It was full twenty minutes before he could place himself in his dorm room on the campus of City College in Rouston. "No..." he whispered, holding his head that felt it had split open during the fall. "Oh no... This..." He ripped off one of the sofa pillows and sent if flying across the room "NO!" "Hey, shut the fuck up Vello, some of us are trying to study!" some one yelled from a neighboring apartment. Clutching his head, planting it in the space where the pillow had just been, he cried, "Shelly... Beth... Oh God Gary...." In his head thoughts flickered and died like floating embers from a summer night campfire, hot and alive but for a brief time before breeze burned their fuel away and carried them off into the night. Most were a confused mess, half remembered dream state shadows of something Mike felt were terribly important but when he turned his attention to them they flickered out of sight. The pain was gone, but his heart still pounded so. It beat for something lost that he'd never really had to begin with. Even now he was not completely of exactly what he had dreamed, he was not even sure that this wasn't the dream. How can someone dream so much, so vividly and it not be real? Knees drawn close to his chest now, he said nothing. He sat and stared into the un-sterile bachelor's bathroom. "That felt so real. It had to be. Oh please let me fall a sleep again. Take me back." But back to what now? Hadn't he just died in that dream? It certainly felt as if he had. The pain had been excruciating, he had not been able to draw a single full breath. Was he in hell? Could it be that he had really died and now he was living his worst nightmare in Hell. God wouldn't do that would he? Had he screwed up so badly that this was his reward? A feeling of incredible sadness swept across him, much like grief. It flooded his senses. It overpowered him with an abysmal awareness of disconnection. He groaned with the pain it filled his heart with. In moments he was weeping uncontrollably without reason. In his head were the faces of children, three children to be exact. The image of their faces floated in and out of his memory as ghosts in a darkened room might. He struggled to remember everything he could about them; desperately trying to cling to something he felt was rapidly slipping from his grasp. He remembered once helping the youngest, the child, the one whose sweet face most resembled his own, playing dress up in his closet. She had bought the princess gown for her on a whim, knowing how much she would cherish it. It had come with its own tiara and paste-jeweled shoes. The smile of wonder on the child's face when she saw herself for the first had thrilled him so. He had often wondered what it would have been to grow up as a normal girl each time he saw her lovely face. He could almost imagine how it might have been growing up as her own daughter, meeting Gary and falling in love with him the way other girls do. An angry, frustrated thought occurred to him, Her name was Shelly. She's your daughter for God's sake! Stop thinking of her as if she's someone else's child and YOU weren't her mother. Other images plagued him, the sight of his/her firstborn child in a prom dress, waiting at the door for her date to arrive and take her to the Junior Prom. Her blond hair would soon be short, but for the time being, it flowed over her shoulders and down her back. Her face was sweet and kind. She was standing on the edge of change. Before much longer she would become angry and hurtful. Her dress would change to something ugly and rough and she would hate her mother for making choices she felt were stupid and wasteful. Tonight however, there was nothing but love in her eyes for her mother and father. Mike understood that for the first time in this young girl's life, she felt as if she were growing up. Mike also knew that this girl before her was frightened of that. She was unsure of herself and worried about how the world would see her, the way girls always worry, God knew that he spent a good deal of his time worrying about herself too. The middle child left a series of confused memories in his head. He felt that this child was most like him. This child was strong willed but tender, she was a user of people. This child didn't hesitate to chase what it was she wanted and yet, this child was mild and meek, a submissive to her mate and loving wife. "Uh God," he moaned. "What's happening to me?" Mike whispered, running his finger though his brown hair in a distressed fashion. He started to push the memories from his head and found he didn't want to do that, no matter how disturbing they might have been. These memories were all he had left. Memories of what though? He wondered. Maybe he was sick, really sick. Dreams weren't tangible, they weren't real. Was he was going insane and the symptoms of that illness had been hidden to him until now. Maybe this was the first visible manifestation of that illness he could see? Just the same, he wept for his loss of them. They had meant everything to him, he knew that. Now they were gone, lost to time and circumstance. They were something that could not now have the opportunity to be born. How could any of what he was thinking be real? He was nineteen. He couldn't have had children. He couldn't have bore children anyway and yet, he knew the children whose ghosts he remembered were his, borne of his own body, flesh of his flesh. "They're not real!" he insisted through his tears. But to him they were the most real thing he had ever experienced in his life. It put all things that had come before in a light of such unimportance that he could not bring himself convince himself that his statement was the truth. These people he had dreamed of had been his family and they had loved him not for what he was, but for who he was to and for them. The grief for their loss was almost unbearable. It pulled him into the blackness of a burning tar-pit from which he could not free himself. That feeling threatened to suck him under and strangle the very breath from his body. Nearly an hour passed before Mike Vello managed to pull himself back under control enough to get up and go relieve himself. He trudged the short expanse to the bathroom across the room. As he did, he recognized things, the objects and icons of a life he was so very familiar with and at the same time each of these things seemed so out of place with his existence. There on his desk were the text chips and hand written notes from his geometry and cyber-law classes. There, in the plastic envelope it had come in was his tuition cash chip he had forgotten to deposit earlier today. The desk itself seemed so old to him and out of place. That old desk should be long gone... The thought popped into his head unexpectedly. Why should it be long gone, he thought? It's the only desk I have to study on. I just bought it two months ago! In his dingy bathroom were all things a young man needs to carry on his bachelor life style, razor (he didn't have the money for one of those fancy shaving boxes like Gary had), a few towels, soap and eighteen different bottles of aftershave, most of them empty. Mike went to the toilet, dropped his underpants and sat to pee. He didn't question how he was peeing until he pulled a small amount of paper off the roll next to the toilet to wipe with. He sat dumbfounded and stared at the wad of tissue in his hand. What in the hell did you think you were going to do with that? I always wipe after I pee, came an answer in a richly feminine and oddly familiar voice from deep in his head. He knew voice and still it sounded so alien to him hearing as other would have heard it, from outside his won head. "Okay... It was dream Mike." He waited to see if the lesson took. It didn't. "This is reality. I know it is. It's Friday night." He stumbled out of his bathroom and gazed out of his kitchen window to the street beyond. Everything was as he left it when he had come home to take a nap. Car's and trucks motored about on surface streets two blocks over. American Bara ground HOV delivery vans entered and exited loading areas behind the buildings of the street. Students, venders and casual on- lookers passed by, crystal resonators and wrist VID's all on to entertain them as they walked. Through his confusion, Mike still experienced a deepening sense of grief. There was no explanation for it. Last night, he had felt fine, just fine. He had been at the College Knights when Gary had popped in looking to con him out of the use of his apartment as a leaping off point for Danger Ranger's latest exploits. Class today had been exhausting. So he had come home to take a nap before... Mike inhaled and then exhaled deeply. He felt he was standing on the edge of something that would mean the end of his life. Was he about to die? It didn't feel like that to him. It felt more like he was waiting to be born and somehow, might miss the opportunity because he wasn't able to see the door he was meant to pass through to do it. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the feeling that his life was about to pass into something terrible. There was dread in his heart over something that maybe he missed? Could that be it? He had a recording session Saturday, another chance to cut a couple of demo's for the big boss at a minor recording label, but hay, any chance was better than no chance at all. Soon, he was resolving himself to the idea that somehow the incredibly complex dream he'd suffered had worked its way so deeply into his head that he felt it had been a genuine existence. It wasn't the first time anyone had suffered such a dream. So often, many of us find ourselves waking from dreams in which we believe we have killed or stolen only to find ourselves sitting upright, hearts pounding, trying to sort reality from dream. Sometimes it take a while to put the pieces of life back in place. This however, this feeling he had would find no pidgin hole in which to be stuffed. Mike's stomach rolled over and surprised Mike when his fish and chips from earlier came rumbling up the road they had gone down not too long before. He dashed back for the bathroom, pressed the button to activate the toilet and just made it to the edge of the small bowl when his supper came blasting out. When he was done he sat on the cold floor, his legs curled under him, his bare back against the wall. Mike relished the cold of this floor and wall on his legs and back. He gasped for air and waited for the nausea to pass. "God Damned Marcus must have gotten a bad batch of rotgut Waterale." Mike grumbled. The sour side of the belligerent man he would become already showing through. Mike' thoughts turned again to the band and their upcoming session at Caribbean Shores Records. Again Mike's stomach turned and convulsed, this time with such force he didn't have time to move the eighteen inches to the bowl. Vomit splattered on the seat and in every direction. "What the Hell?" Mike asked no one as he wiped his mouth. He turned his thoughts once more, gingerly toward the idea of the opportunity to cut another demo and instantly felt his stomach turn with anxiety. "This is not happening to me... I'm suffering from acute stage fright? NOW?" Was that it, he wondered? He searched his mind for memories and found one there that shouldn't have been there, a memory of him, at least of being behind the mic at the College Knights club. Watching the crowd, watching... No, not the crowd exactly, he had been watching the bar. Gary was there. He could see him clearly but not in a contemporary sort of memory. Gary was dressed in a suit and tie, an expensive one from the recollection of it. The memory made him smile warmly and think of just how much he loved Gary. Mike's eyes flew open and he shook the idea from the place where it had tried to root itself in his brain. He stood up and grabbed a towel, "What the Hell is happening to me?" The fear and concern in his voice was evident even to him as he talked aloud. He wanted to feel the same gut wrenching sensation he had gotten from thinking about the recording session. But when he allowed his mind's eye to turn to that memory, he felt warmth and peace. "Gary in a suit." Mike chuckled nervously, trying to dismiss the feeling in his heart by attacking the ridiculousness of the image in his head. "See, what a joke!" But it wasn't a joke, Gary had looked... like a grown man. He had some distinction about him, a measure of dignity that Mike could not ever remember seeing Gary carry before. Mike's heart ached for something that he likened to a look or a touch. His skin pimpled up in goose flesh at the idea of it. Mike rubbed his arms vigorously to make the goose pimples recede. He tossed the vomit-stained towel out of the bathroom window and out into the alley behind his building. As the towel fluttered out of sight another memory that was not his, and yet felt like his just the same, blasted it's way into his mind. He could clearly hear the voice of a man he felt he should know, but the face was different. Still, even this was familiar. Mike felt safety associated with the image of this man's face in his mind. He was outside, in the alley behind his dorm room. It was his dorm room he could see illuminated behind the man. The man had a pair of hands that stretched out from the very window he had just thrown the towel from. His arms were outstretched upward to clasp those that were reaching down toward his. Only his arms seemed too slender, too soft and hairless to actually be attached to his shoulders. The dimensions of the limbs were all wrong. He could remember the man saying, "Come on, one foot at a time. Just take it slowly." He remembered his response back as well but the memory of the voice was as startling "I'm trying Gary, but my slaps are slipping." It was that girl's voice from before, the one he recognized. But he had no flip- flops and yet he could remember the flip-flops slipping off the brick wall and his body slamming into the wall forcing all the air from his body. He could remember how sore his breasts had been afterward. Mike shook his head wildly to eliminate the memory. Still they came. Each one had a taste, an image, a feeling, a smell or a distinct touch to it. And while they wanted to fade into soft focus, Mike could not seem to bring himself to let that happen. In spite of how much he wanted them to simply leave him alone, he could not let go of them. He found he did not want to let go of them, not in the least. "God!" he stumbled away from the bathroom and out into the bedroom of his flat. "I'm going crazy." He ran his fingers through his dark hair and found he was sweating profusely. "Someone slipped me something. That's it. That's got to be it. Someone slipped me some heat or something at the club." Thud! Thud! Thud! Mike spun wildly around, his heart thudding powerfully in his chest like the pounding at his door. "Who is it?" he called out. "Cute Mikey. Open the fuckin' door why don't chya?" It was Frank. It's time. Time... Frank was here because? Oh yeah, something Gary wanted to do. They needed a jumping off point, a place to meet. Somehow that sounded contrived to Mike. Why not just meet Fat Boy's Doughnuts or Brew's Coffee Shop? "Ah... yeah, hold on for a sec." Mike did his best to pull himself together. He threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, raced back into the bathroom and cleaned up the mess he'd made while Frank continued to complain outside the door. "I'm coming, I'm coming..." Mike shouted as his neighbors began to grow restless with the disturbance. He threw some cold water on his face. He came back and opened the door. Frank stood there with an annoyed look on his face. "Bout time." Frank said irritated. Frank gave Mike a good once over and found something disturbing, "Shit Mikey, you look like Hell." Frank made his way in to the room and looked around. "Place is a fuckin' mess too." He turned back to Mike as Norman strolled in, completely oblivious to his surroundings. "You Okay Mikey?" "Been a little sick is all. I'm fine." Mike was jolted by another false flashback. The image of a much older Frank being called to a VID screen someplace by a woman, her name is Amanda, but they haven't met yet. He was going to have to tell Frank that Gary had died. He was going to have to do this until everyone he knew was told that Gary had not survived- ?Survived what?' Mike wondered. This recollection drove razor edged blades of raw pain into his stomach. The bottom of whatever foundation life was built on fell away leaving Mike to free fall through grief unlike any he had known before. Not even when Erin had died just a couple of years ago had he felt this bad. Mike turned away to keep Frank from seeing he was about to break down over something he didn't even understand. Frank laid a comforting hand on Mike's shoulder and asked, "Mike, what's wrong man." "Nothing, I've got something in my eye, that's all." When Mike turned around he saw that Frank had not come alone. Norm had apparently followed him in from the hall and had taken a seat on Mike's tattered couch. Disoriented and disheveled, Mike said the only thing he could think of to change the subject. ""Well, it's been a while hasn't it?" "Yeah!" and "Hell yeah," were the responses from each, "Long time ..." and "Hell yeah, too long ..." then silence. Mike looked from one to the other and back several times. He needed a distraction from the memories that were damn near driving him insane. Frustrated and in as much to prompt some sort of conversation he said, "Damn, you boys talk too much!" Norman laughed nervously and Mike felt that all of this felt awfully familiar. He probed the two for more information. As afraid as he was of what he might find, he needed to remember. Something pivotal was going on here. He wanted to know what it was. He felt he had to know. The risk of missing it felt as if it might cost him something very precious, something as of yet undefined. "Come on... what's going on tonight? Frank, what is it that Gary feels I'm not ..." someone knocked on the door and Mike could see the look of relief on Frank's face, the look of a boxer receiving the beating of his life, about to be saved the bell sounded the end of the round. This is something I should already know... Why can't I see it? "Door's open," Mike shouted. He got up to greet whoever came in, then looked at Frank and added, "We're not done." For now the blasts of memories seemed to have abated some. Mike didn't know if that was a blessing or a curse. He felt now as if he were on the periphery of throwing something away, something he wanted more than anything else and he couldn't define it. It was driving him mad. Mike opened the door and Kit Garrison floated into the room. Kit was an enigma and Mike like that about Kit. Next to Gary Kit was perhaps his next best friend. He's in love with you; you know that don't you? It was that voice again. He felt he might faint dead away through his dorm room door into the hallway. Where were these ideas coming from? For Mike he felt he'd been blind-sided, slapped in the face with a dead fish. He felt revolted, humbled, flattered and embarrassed all at the same time. It was such a mixed bag of emotions that Mike felt if he were surprised by any more of this he would just collapse in a heap on the floor until the men in the white coats came for him. Mike did his best to push on through this insanity. "Hey, Kit! How are you pal?" To Mike, Kit's eyes had a slight glassy look to them. "Feelin' no pain I see." He said nothing, just stuck out his hand and shook Mike's, grinned and moseyed off to the corner of the room to start listening. Mike was reeling from the inside out. He wondered briefly if thoughts like these could be caused by a brain tumor. They seemed to be too organized for dementia. If they were random thoughts pulled from the nether-reaches of his brain randomly and assembled in some sort of cognitive manner, then they were terribly detailed. The memory of being in Paris was so vivid. He could remember eating part of a sandwich on a fresh crusty loaf of French bread stuffed with all sorts of luscious meats and cheeses and the taste of the French Bordeaux Gary and he (not he, you were not there were you) had shared right from the bottle as they sat with their legs dangling over the river Seine. He could still sense the feel of the rain on his legs and the way it made his hose stick to them as they walked to the Arch Du Triumph. But Mike had never been to Paris let alone worn panty hose. How was it possible he remembered what felt to be every little detail, passing the sidewalk venders with their green plywood stands of postcards, pictures and old out of print magazines so clearly? How could he have remembered stopping to admire the paintings of the artists who had set up on the sidewalks of the bridges that spanned the river Seine just across from the Louvre Museum. In his mind's eye, he could see out across a large plaza. To his left were the great steeples rising in the air close by. Below him people milled about, they sat at tables in the plaza set on large gray stones with brightly colored umbrellas. The balcony where he stood over looked this place where gardens grew, street musicians played and artists painted. To his right, a great green and white canopied market place. It was Gary's favorite and he waited for his return with French style pastries call Beignets and rich dark, bitter coffee brewed with chicory. This was Jackson Square. But he had no idea how he knew that. There was even a bronze statue of the General whom the square was named after, sitting astride his horse as if charging into battle smack in the middle in the square. This was a chance to prove to himself that this was contrived, made up in his head because of illness or a drug induced hallucination. Now he had a name, Jackson Square! In fact he had two names, because Jackson Square was in New Orleans, At least in his mind they were. There was a way to confirm this immediately. "Hey, guys," he told his guests, "I need to hit the VID and look something up. I'll be right back." He excused himself, going to his desk. He hoped it would settle his unease. He had never been outside of Pennsylvania in his life. He had never even been across the river to Easton before. There is no way he could know anything truthful about the New Orleans area. Even if he'd read it or seen it somewhere, there was just too much detail in his false memory to be genuine. He could even smell those things his head told him were called Beignets, all doughy and piled with sticky/sweet confectioner's sugar. Mike queried the VID for "New Orleans" and "Jackson Square". The image that flooded the screen appeared exactly as he felt it would look. There were the large white and gray spires of St. Louis Cathedral rising high above the buildings that framed the magnificent gardens below. There was the majestic Statue of General Jackson on his rearing mount. Throngs of tourists milled about in some, in others, were the open air caf?s and the street artists on the sidewalks. Then, with no chance to prepare himself he found the second story wrought iron balcony of the Upper Pontalba Building, it's rounded corners where he'd love to stand and watch the people walk up and down Chartres St and St Peter St. This was his home. He knew the floor plan, the layout of every inch. Down Charters St there was a small store front that would become his... no her restaurant, Jennifer's. It wasn't hers yet, but it would be, in about 38 years or so. You also know it was once a museum an old apothecary museum that went bust or rather, will go bust. It's less than a block's walk from home He typed, apothecary, museum and watched. What came up froze him to his chair. BUILDING ARCHITECTURE & HISTORY Louis J. Dufilho, Jr. Apothecary & Residence 514/516 Chartres Street, New Orleans, LA Louis J. Dufilho, Jr. purchased the 514/516 Chartres Street lots on June 5, 1822 from Philip Sadler. The original Creole townhouse was constructed between 1822 and 1823. Dufilho officially opened his apothecary for business in 1823. The courtyard originally had several structures that do not exist today. In 1837, New Orleanian architect, J.N.B. DePouilly proposed and constructed the updates to Dufilho's building ? three-story masonry porte cochere building with an entresol level. According to City Records, in 1855, Dufilho sold the building and the contents of the apothecary to Mrs. Celestine Pauline Fleitas, widow of James Dupas. She in turn, sold the building in 1875 to Peter Boehm who opened the Crescent City Paper Warehouse on the site. The building changed hands several times and was vacant for several years. On December 15, 1937, Mayor Robert S. Maestri purchased the building from the Interstate Trust and Banking Co. in liquidation. Mayor Maestri donated the building to the City of New Orleans in the same year to be used as a Napoleon Museum . Officials confused the history of 514 Chartres Street with the history of the Nicholas Girod House at 500 Chartres Street. The Girod House was the home designated for Napoleon's exile, not 514 Chartres. After additional research, the City of New Orleans realized the significance of Louis J. Dufilho, Jr. and of 514 Chartres to the history of pharmacy and designated the site as the New Orleans Pharmacy Museum. After some building repairs and artifact collection, the Museum officially opened its doors in 1950. "Jesus Christ," Mike whispered. The image of the fornt of the building was the same three story building, orange/red brick fa?ade with arched bay windows and narrow doors, That's the place. I know the inside of that one too. "What ya lookin at?" Frank asked, and began to approach Mike's VID. "Oh ah, nothing..." Mike said and quickly erased his screen display. He was shaking badly, alarmed that "Just some research for school. Sorry." Mike got up came back into the main area of his single room flat where his guests were. "Just something I forgot to look up earlier." Now his mind was working on overdrive. There was San Francisco- He could also remember a loft apartment in Seattle with its beautiful view of Mt. Rainer to the east and the Pacific in to the west had the most spectacular view of any place they had lived before. That one wasn't there yet. The building didn't exist. They had purchased it new. It wouldn't be built for another eighty-seven years yet. Shelly had loved that one best and they intended on giving that one to her when they moved to..." "... Florida." Mike whispered. "Huh?" questioned Frank. "Whatdya just say?" Mike turned alarmed that he'd been speaking these thoughts out loud. Erasing the display from his VID screen, Mike shook his head to clear the cobwebs. "What?" "It sounded like you said something about Florida." Frank responded. "I did?" he asked as innocently as he could manage, "I must have been daydreaming. But Mike was no longer sure it was anything of the sort. The memory of a woman, a girl flooded Mike's mind. When he saw her face however, it was a face staring back at him from a reflection. Somewhere there was a dressing table in a bedroom where the west wall was nothing but a bank of large floor to ceiling windows. Home! The woman was only partially dressed, Gary had come and touched her, every so lightly and how crazy that would make her. This was Gary's woman. Then why could he feel Gary's touch on his skin. What are you hiding from? You know that this woman is you. He had honestly not put two and two together yet. When the voice told him who the image in his head was, it literally staggered him as he rejoined his friends, threatening to take his legs out from under him and send him sprawling on to the floor. Mike's mind, his intellect, his talent and nineteen years of personal history were pushed out of his head. It was replaced momentarily with the gentle love, the warm moments with all her children, even Jessie, her dog that she had gotten that first Christmas. The place she loved so much was where this happed, had happened, would happen? It was one of only two homes she had ever loved, he had ever loved. The others were nice, comfortable if you will. Mike was tempted to race from his dorm room down to Oldtown and see if the building was really there. He knew it would be, with its large and ancient, ceiling to floor windows. It had once been a factory of some sort about two hundred years ago. It was there! He didn't have to go to confirm it's existence. Besides, if he left then he would miss his chance to... To what? You're an idiot. You've seen that building before, driven past it a thousand times. That's why you dreamt of it! You've incorporated the real with the unreal. That's why it all feels so- but Mike wasn't so sure of his facts now. Not speaking, only vaguely listening, Mike's ear's detected something that felt worthy of his attention. "Gary's", "bringing them", Skin's here?" Mike now registered what Norman had said, and fear permeated his very being. So that's how it happens... "God damn Norm. You limp noodle." Frank was complaining. It felt as if he were actually responding to Norm and Frank, but Mike was in such a fog in his own head, he couldn't tell if he was actually speaking or just listening to Norm and Frank argue. All three slowly raised their hands to something, a question perhaps. Mike didn't know. He did know he felt a soothing sense of calm wash over him, It's not too late, I can still go home. "I am home." Mike said absently. The words were hollow. They meant nothing to him. This had stopped being his home long ago or so it felt. The guy's looked at him strangely. "Ah... yeah Mikey... whatever you say pal." Frank said. Kit floated over in his smooth and seemingly motionless way. He took Mike by the arm and asked, "Mike, are you OK?" "I'm supposed to go with you guys aren't I? That's what Gary had planned all along isn't it? He just hasn't told me yet." "Know him pretty good don't you?" Kit said amazed. "I think he just want's to hang out with you one last time buddy. Everything's changing now. Soon you're going to be the guy we'll all look back and say, we knew him when..." Kit slapped Mike on the back but Mike could only groan with Kit's misplaced prediction. Regardless of what he knew he'd be gaining, Mike was scared shitless. He remembered suffering the indignity of losing his identity, of becoming female and being the object of other eyes for as long as he could think through the dream. He had been discontent with his existence in the beginning. It hadn't been until he discovered he was pregnant that he really let go of ever seeing a return to his life as Mike Vello. Even then, when William had... THERE IS NO WILLIAM. He doesn't exist Mike. You're not thinking about doing this are you? Come on... It was a dream. An incredibly accurate and informative dream, I'll give you that. But a dream is all it was. If you follow this hysteria through to the end, then you won't be going back to anything. Nothing has happened. You'll probably find yourself arrested and in someone else's identity forever. This thing will not come true. It can't, it's a piece of fiction concocted by your over active imagination. That was probably all true. Even now, things weren't going exactly as he remembered them happening. Maybe it was just a case of the fucking jitters. He had probably heard Gary say something that let the secret slip. Now is imagination was running around with the idea, driving him crazy with conjecture. It's time to make a choice Mike. You must choose your life or your life. Mike swallowed hard. He knew what was going to happen to him. He remembered the search parties, the questions from police. Mike gasped with the recollection that Gary would be accused of having something to do with his death. Mike couldn't keep from chuckling. What an absolute asshole he would look like if nothing happened. You have a lot to lose here. You're going to be a star one day soon. You know it, everyone knows it. You pack people in to any place you play. The fans really hound you, not Nate, and only Jimmy little. It's you they come to see... Don't fuck around with this. You could lose everything. I already feel like I have. Mike answered himself. Somewhere in his head he could hear that other half of him huff in disgust. Outside a van pulled up. Doors slammed and Mike could hear Gary and Rod laughing to each other. It was a laugh that was too loud and strong. Mike sensed Gary was nervous about something. "Good, Gary's here," said Frank as he got up and made for the door. Moments later there was a knock on the door and panic rose, acidy sweet and burning in his throat. If Gary came in, he'd have no choice because he'd have no will left. Mike moved to keep the door closed but was too slow. The door burst open and in walked Gary and Rod. Gary was holding a small cardboard box under one arm. It appeared to be damp in a few places. Steam appeared to be coming from inside. Seeing the box, Mike thought he might actually wet himself. As Gary crossed the tiny room, the faces of the others in the room lit up with relief like light bulbs. Hands were stretched out in greeting and shaken. Rod followed close behind. Mike shied back into the kitchen out of reach. For the first time in his life, Mike was intimidated by Gary. Not out of fear not exactly. Mike was struggling internally with a new emotion. Now he needed time to figure out exactly what and why he was feeling. Mike wanted to tear his own hair out. It didn't seem to matter that the dialog didn't match what he remembered writing about this moment in the dream. The exchange that matched was still relevant, only in a different context. He was that anxious. He wanted to scream. Okay! Okay, If I can't get off this fucking train then let's stop wasting time and get it the fuck over with! I can't stand this any more. I feel like I'm having a heart attack. Gary locked eyes with Mike and saw right away there was trouble with his plan. He glanced over his shoulder at the others to see who had betrayed him. Mike watched as Norm dropped his head and blush. He thinks I'm angry. Mike observed. He doesn't know I'm on a high speed HOV that is headed for the sunny state of insanity. Why would he, he hasn't lived the last two hundred years as my husband. Not like I have as his wife. Mike felt a feeling of vertigo return as his memories split into two separate realms again. His wedding day materialized before him. What seemed like tons of white and pink roses placed so thick that a few of the guests had actually been overwhelmed by the aroma. She had not been famous yet, but she was popular. Her popularity had happened fast, fueled by a media festinated by Mike's disappearance. But today wasn't about tidewater. She was with Karen, Gary's mother. Standing before a mirror in a white lace and satin gown. "I'm scared Karen." The words had simply fallen out of her mouth. "I'm scared to death. I don't think I can do this." "You'll do fine Sweet heart." "No, I'm going to screw this up. I'm not even really a girl... you know, not a REAL girl." Karen had been smoothing out Michelle's dress, not really paying attention to her nonsense. "You're pregnant Michelle. I don't know how much more real it gonna have to get before you realize..." "You know what I'm talking about." This Karen did stop and meet her gaze, "I want you to look in the mirror, take a real good look." "I don't see..." "I know you don't Michelle. This is exactly what you need to do. Now look." Michelle had reluctantly done as asked. She knew what she was going to see, the same face she'd see for a year now. Being stuck inside that face however didn't make her legitimate. "If you were still Mike and I suspect some of what he used to feel for girls is somewhere down there, even if it's just a memory, but if you were Mike, what would he see?" Michelle sighed, "I can't explain that," she began. "I don't even feel that way any more." "Try," Karen encouraged. "Well, I guess she looks Okay." Michelle said trying. "She's a little fat. Her dress doesn't exactly fit..." her face began to crumble, "Oh my God, I'm a pig!" "Okay, stop." Karen said waving her hands. She thought for a moment and soon began to grin. "Now tell me what Gary sees. I know he's told you so don't bother trying to be modest. Michelle had turned back to the mirror and took a second look. For just a second, she stopped breathing assessing her self taking no fresh air. She cocked her head to one side after a moment, quizzically, but showed no emotion. She ran her hand down the length of her dress holding tightly to her body. "I think I want to see what Gary thinks for myself." "And just how do you plan on doing that? The groom is not supposed to see the bride until she walks down the aisle." Michelle turned and picked up her bouquet and held it tightly to her. "Then I guess you'd better call Frank in. Tell him I'm ready. I don't want Gary to get bored and take off somewhere." Karen smiled, "I don't think you have to worry about that Michelle. He's been waiting on you his whole life." Now as Gary entered Mike's apartment, Gary never skipped a beat. He crossed the room precisely as he had remembered documenting it as part of Gary's Christmas present. Gary took Mike by the shoulder and escorted him roughly to the far side of the room where the kitchenette was. Smiling and making small talk the whole way the two of them parked in the corner to talk. Mike shook with fear and helpless tension. "Let me go," Mike asked with a pathetic whine. "Please." Gary released him. "Mike, you look white as a ghost," Gary said. Mike realized that this was the script as he remembered it as well. You look white as a ghost! Sure I do and I thought it was just the idea of SKINs that scared the shit out me. Once more the context as changed. The words are still appropriate, the still work in the moment, but now, for me, there's a new reason for them to be spoken and no one is the wiser. Gary shoved the box he was carrying in to Mike's arms. It was much heavier than it looked. The damp spots were in fact damp spots, but the steam coming from the box was not because the contents were hot. "What's this?" Mike asked harshly. Why did you ask that? Just say IT'S BEER! Scare them they way you're scared! Predict the future! "Open it up and see," was all he said. "I know what's in there, it's beer." "That's... right..." Gary acknowledged as Mike peeled back the corner of the box. Inside he could see the red and white markings of a six-pack of Stromsburg Beer. "How did you know that?" "I don't think you'd believe me if I told you. " Mike said. If the similarities had ended here, if the dream had ceased to be accurate, then Mike thought he could go and do this and be happy with whatever happened. But a decision needed to be made now. Bow out and change everything he thought he had lived for two hundred years that had yet to happen. Or go into some unknown something with no idea of what might lay a head of either of them. "Why didn't you tell me Gary?" Gary scowled at the group of friends standing around and Frank pointed out Norm who sat oblivious to Franks betrayal. "I know this is a bribe." Mike said. "Mikey, I'm hurt! I wouldn't do anything to you that would require bribing you. That would suggest that I would knowingly put my best bud in danger." Gary shuffled his feet a bit. "I'll be honest with you. We need a sixth. I wanted you to come along before we all split up and went our separate ways. It's happening you know." "Gary, just tell me you want me to hang out for a little while. That's all you have to say." "Would that have worked Mike?" Gary asked. There was not much to say to that. Mike knew that they would not be breaking up and going separate ways. Tonight, they, he and Gary would be inexorably linked together forever. How could he say that to Gary? No one would believe him. Mike said nothing. Was he supposed to say? Oh and by the way, before the end of the weekend, you and I will be helplessly in love with each other, good thing too cause I'm about to give up my identity for you. Oh yeah, that will work just fine. Why don't you tell Gary that? Gary then said something that completely surprised him, something that he didn't remember from his dream. "You're right. That was dishonest Mike. Look we'll find someone else. You stay here. Besides, if anything happened to you buddy. Well, I don't know what I'd do. I understand if you don't want to do this with me. I think it would be fun, the adventure of a life time." He smiled a broad Gary smile that made Mike weak in the knees. "If you want to back out, then enjoy the beer and we'll ..." There it was, the train was derailed. He could get off now. Somehow, the future had been changed, if this indeed was the future, his future. But now that it was in his hand Mike was petrified by the opportunity. Mike realize that what he had felt up this point had not been fear. It had been doubt. What he felt now was genuine fear. It gripped him as the words spilled from Gary's mouth. The faces of his three children haunted him. The image of being held and feeling safe and loved beyond anything he could have ever imagined took control of his mind. The love he felt in return for all of them overwhelmed him. He was being given a chance to say no to that. Choice is everything isn't it? Mike could feel a door closing some place. Mike stuck a mental foot in that door to keep it from closing on him until he had time to sort out whatever was really happening here "Wait..." Mike said. "I never said anything about backing out." Gary blinked in surprise. "What?" "I just... I kinda thought... Look, something... I don't know, if something happens, promise me something." Mike said. "What could happen?" Gary asked. "Just promise me," Mike demanded. "Sure pal, anything," Gary promised. "Don't leave me alone. Don't get squirrely and run off." "When have I ever done that?" Gary challenged. Mike held up one hand, fingers splayed and began counting. "Well, not that I was there but there was that incident on the bank tower down town. There was that time you decided to take Mr. Parish's HOV to New York. There was the trip to Philadelphia and there was... Gary chuckled, "Okay. Okay. I get it. I promise. No matter what happens, I'm at your side. Count on it." "I will." Mike said and smiled. Peace filled him. Part of him was very sad. He was getting the chance to say goodbye to his life. Not much time granted but more than the dream had given him. Mike found it wasn't much of a life anyway, living alone here, estranged from his parents. It was probably just a dream anyway. No one can tell the future, not from dreams anyway. Before Mike could dwell on that thought much, Gary surprised him by adding something he remembered very well. "Mike, seriously, if something happens I'll do whatever I can to make it right. If I can't make it right, then I'll make it as right as it can be." Mike shook his head. "I can't believe I'm going to do this." "It'll be a lunar walk. You wait and see." Gary said and flashed that huge grin of his. "No Gary, I don't think it will be. But it will certainly be better than anything else we've had. But I can guarantee it will be anything but easy." Gary looked troubled. "What's eating you Mike?" "Just remember your promise Gary. That's all I'll ever ask of you. Ever." The two shook hands as Gary and Mike for the last time in that kitchenette. They broke their grip and Mike popped a beer, mostly because he needed it. When they reentered the living area, Rodney asked after explaining how things would go, if everyone was ready? Mike was the only one that didn't speak up. Even if he wanted to, he felt like there was no way to derail the train he was on. If he did, then he'd be lost in the quagmire of these memories for the rest of his life. He would die miserable and alone and not to blow things out of proportion, he felt it would probably happen at his own hand. The door was open now to go home, he could chose to walk through it or forever knock on it knowing it would never be answered. Mike never once looked back at his dorm room when he left. Why bother, he'd be back in a couple of hours. During the van ride to Rodney's family warehouse, Mike was sullen and withdrawn. He had almost half convinced himself there was a rational explanation for his dream and the astounding accuracy with which it had seemed to predict the future. He knew his friends all to well. He could almost anticipate their movements when they were around. Why would his subconscious not be able to do the same thing? These things were only stored information based past history. In the building where the SKIN's were being stored (actually hidden, though no one knew it at the time), Rodney made his greater than thou speech, voice his contempt for Mike, who cared less than none for Rodney or his speech. Gary gave him one last chance to back down, grasping the package Mike's SKIN was packed in and said, "You don't have to go through with this. I have to say, you're acting pretty fucking weird Mike. I think I'd feel better if you just went home." Mike reacted by snatching the package from Gary's hand, "Don't touch it. You don't understand Gary. Just..." Mike finally trailed of and dismissed his friend with a wave of his hand. Breathing heavily, Mike had held the poly-wrap bag in his sweaty hands. Doubt now clouded all that he had considered only moments before back in his cramped little dorm room, ?Why am I here? I don't want to put this thing on. I want to go hoooooommme.' Home however was not here. In spite of the fear he felt at letting go, if the dream was some how a revelation, a portent of sorts, then Mike could not turn his back on it. There had been too much lost upon waking. If the dream wasn't a prediction of the future, he was in seriously deep trouble. If it was, he was in seriously deep trouble. He squeezed the thing in the bag and felt the biowire that coursed through the device within. He then set the bag on the desk in front of him. He began to undress and slowly slipped the device over his body. He could not find the courage it would take to face the unknown, turning his back forever on what little he still actually remembered. However, tonight he had decided to change in private because he knew what was going to happen this time. He wanted privacy. He could at least maintain his dignity, and the modesty of who he was about to become. It was what amounted to a locker room setting, only women shouldn't be in the men's locker room should they? Mike was still uncertain of what might really happen. It could be a dream after all, Mike thought to himself. Sure a dream, a dream that to this point had very nearly followed the script of your dream to a tee. Mike touched the contact points behind his neck together. Twenty minutes later, Mike stood before the poor reflective quality of the glass in Vinnie's office that looked out on a darkened warehouse. She had tried to remove the SKIN twice, fighting to drive the panic back and succeeding, but only just. Some of her dream was still alive with in her, but it too was fading. Mike thought she understood what was happening here. She made no real struggles however to free herself. It wasn't coming back off. There was a morsel of an idea that someday something would happen that would come close to returning her to her form as Mike. But that incident felt to be short lived and unwanted. She crawled around the idea in her head to get a better view of it, but it twinkled out and died before she could managed to get her mind wrapped around it. There were two memories that remained fresh in her head however. The first was the feeling of being roasted from the inside out. She could not feel the floor in this memory. She could feel nothing in fact, except raw heat and the stench of cooking girl. There were no feelings attached to this. It was a long way away. She could take action to change this eventuality when the time came, if it came at all. The next had great and powerful emotion attached to it. She could see and old woman, not much more than dry skin stretched over a frame of old bones. And no matter what form the old woman could take, she was as beautiful to Michelle as the day she had been born. She would be the second Erin in Michelle's life to bow out of that live before Michelle. Her departure would bring even more heartache than the death of her namesake. But like her namesake, she would be just as brash and headstrong. "I'm scared." she told her reflection and the girl in the glass mimicked her. "Yeah, me too," she agreed with the girl in the glass. "Did you ever think for a second that the dream was real?" they asked of each other. "Neither did I?" "I think we may have made a mistake." This time there was no expiration of her body. She knew her self better than anyone. Unlike some girls, she didn't put separate emphasis on her mind, her body and her soul. They were one, seamless, cohesive thing. And she was those things. She ran her hands down the flat of a familiar belly trying to remember what it had (or rather would) be like when she became pregnant with Erin. Half an hour ago, there was no way I could have gotten pregnant. In a year, maybe a little longer, I'm going to be so big I'll be scared I won't be able to push her out. Once remembered, that memory died out as well. For a moment she wasn't even sure who she was staring at in the glass. When she remembered, the panic tired to take her away once again. Why had she done this? She couldn't remember. There had seemed to be a good reason at the time. But this? A girl? Did I know already that this would happen? "I've got to go out there and have Gary get me out of this... This isn't what I signed on for." Still, the girl in the glass was almost hypnotically beautiful. Maybe I should make Gary just a little uncomfortable before I change back. The thought made her smile warmly and even made her a little slickly wet between her legs. Am I getting horny? "Too bad there's no real time to explore that condition." She said to the girl in the reflection. She seemed to smile a Mona Lisa smile back that suggested, Don't bet on it girlfriend. The idea, the voice in her head that had spoken it were disconcerting. "I gotta get out of here and get this off," she said. "Why do you say that baby sister?" The voice was all too familiar. Mike spun around and uttered a startled "Eek!" as her green eyes fell on her ster Erin. She sat comfortably on the edge of the desk she had just hit her head on as the SKIN she had put on was changing her. She dropped the clothes she'd been gathering, her hands over her mouth to stifle the scream. "Ea... Erin?" "Yes Sweet heart, I'm dead. I know. And how much of the precious gift do you still have left?" Michelle looked around the room for the projector or holographic imager but found neither. She finally turned around and said the only thing she could think of to say, "I'm a girl Erin." Erin smiled knowingly. "Wor