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The Guest Belladonna [Author's Note: As with every January in recent years, I try to do something different for my first story of the New Year. That being said, I hope you enjoy it. The boss to secretary stories start next month; I promise!] A knock on the duplex's door prompted Fran to force a smile to her face. She had long become accustomed to the act she had to perform for her guests. It was something she had become well skilled at since she began renting out the empty bedroom of her city duplex as part of the Airbnb she ran. She had never thought it would come to this for her. Her lifestyle had irreparably changed after the death of her husband years earlier. The man who had purchased the home she maintained had left her with little resources to pay the bills that remained after his death. Her own lack of education had limited her opportunities to make money since his death. Their only child went to work as early as possible and spent most of her time out of the home working as a waitress and aspiring actress, like many girls in the city. It was that daughter that made Fran careful about who she allowed to room in her home. She had a strong preference for only allowing women, given how easily her early 20's daughter attracted men. As Fran drew the door open, the smile left her face. She gawked for a second at the decidedly male face beneath the minimalist makeup he sported. She was revolted by the sight her eyes could not tear away from. "Um...." Fran stammered as she looked at the figure before her. "Hello, are you Fran Sturges?" The cringing stranger asked with a gruff voice that struggled to sound remotely feminine. "Yes," Fran answered after a pause. "I'm Steph Arzner." Fran swallowed hard. She nodded to herself as her lips moved but not a word came from them. "Oh, very nice to meet you," Fran lied as she found the will to speak and motioned for Steph to enter her home. As Steph walked past her, Fran looked her guest up and down. She had not realized that he was born a man when he booked with her. The picture she had found of her guest bore some resemblance to Steph. She knew that she could not claim it was not him. She sensed that the picture had to have been retouched or at least out of focus. The blonde hair atop Steph's head was reminiscent of her daughter's. Steph's feminized masculine form made her instantly uncomfortable, but she figured she could get through it. From the looks of Steph, he was clearly no threat to her daughter. His body was sporting a pleated, gray midi-skirt and a cream colored, allover cable knit detail, mock neckline, raglan sleeved, pullover style sweater. Her eyes were drawn to the 2-inch stacked heel, pointed toe, brown mules she felt were a poor choice. That was not unexpected, she figured. 'The poor fool doesn't know any better,' Fran thought, fighting the urge to smirk at his fumbling attempt to pass himself off as a presentable girl. Fran's instant distaste for Steph began to dissipate as he flashed a smile at her and spoke to her in a kind, soft voice. Fran nodded in response to his question before she said, "Let me show you to your room." "Thank you, Miss Sturges," Steph replied. "Please, call me Fran." "Will do," Steph responded while he followed Fran up the stairs to the second floor with his luggage in hand. Steph looked around the room and gave Fran a smile as he said, "This is nice." "Thank you. We redid it about a year ago." "It's lovely," Steph forced himself to say. "Thanks," Fran replied as Steph put his bag down. "So, what brings you to the city?" "I'm just visiting." "Friends, family?" "A little bit of both," Steph replied. "They didn't have any room for you?" "I'm not the sort that they want around," Steph answered with a sheepish look. "Oh...uh...I understand," Fran responded, figuring that Steph's transitioning had estranged him from his friends and family in the city. She could not be sure how she would have responded if it was someone in her life had done something like Steph had. She did not doubt that many in her life would have ended up just like Steph. Steph and Fran stood in silence for a few moments. Fran then filled it by saying, "I don't know if you've heard the news, but being blonde is not a good thing these days." "Oh..." "Yes. Some bastard is going around the city targeting blondes. You must have heard about it! It's been all over the national news!" "I've heard of it, but I don't think I'm at risk," Steph replied coolly while he put his bag on the bed and unlocked it. "I wouldn't count on it. He's already been confused once and killed a tranny." Steph froze in the face of Fran's words. Fran caught herself and said, "I say that meaning no offense." Steph forced a smile to his face as he lied, "None taken." Steph paused before he added, "Although, for the record, we don't like that word." "I know. I'm just of a different generation, Steph. Back in my day, that's what we called your kind." "And what'd your mother call black people?" Steph countered. "Now, that was offensive," Fran said with a laugh, slightly peeved to be questioned in her own home. "Yes, it was," Steph replied with a nod. "Well, here's your key, and I'll let you get settled," Fran responded, wanting to end the conversation before it got unpleasant. She then handed Steph the key and turned and walked out of the room. Fran went downstairs and tidied up the home until she heard her guest coming down the steps. She gave him a curious look as she asked, "Can I get you anything?" "No. I'm just heading out for dinner. I'll be back later." "I would really recommend getting a wig before sundown. Go with black. At least dark brown or red, the darker the better. You don't want to be his type." "I'll take my chances, but thank you," Steph responded with a smile as he exited the duplex. "Suit yourself," Fran replied while Steph stepped out of the apartment. "Your funeral, faggot," Fran muttered as the door closed behind Steph. Several hours passed before Steph returned to Fran's door at 11 P.M. Fran waited anxiously for the door to open. She was disappointed to see Steph entering, instead of her daughter. Steph caught the crestfallen look on her face. He gave Fran a concerned look as he asked, "What's wrong?" "The killer struck again." "I heard. I came straight here right after I got word." "Oh, he never strikes twice in one night," Fran replied as she shook her head and gave Steph's words a dismissive wave of her hands. She took a deep breath before she added, "I just haven't heard from my daughter." "Is she a blonde?" "A natural one," Fran replied with evident angst that made Steph fear for the worst. "Well, I'm sure you would have heard something by now," Steph replied, hoping to soothe her fears. "I know, but you can't understand unless you have a child." Steph nodded as he said, "I can imagine." "I don't think you can," Fran retorted. "I'm sure she's okay. Have a good night, Miss Sturges," Steph responded, realizing that nothing he could say would pacify the woman. "You too," Fran forced herself to reply out of courtesy before Steph started for the stairs. Fran turned her attention back to the television while she waited for her daughter to return home. As she heard a key in the lock, she exhaled, muted the television and got to her feet. As Sam stepped through the door, Fran rushed towards it. She embraced her daughter as Sam closed the door, surprised by her mother's ambush. Fran shook her head while she demanded to know, "Where were you?" "I just went out with some friends after work." "And your cell phone was broken?" Fran asked as she released her daughter from her grip "Mom. I'm 22 years old. I can't stop and call home to Mommy." "How about texting me that you're all right?" "Why?" "You know he struck again today!" "He did?" "YES!" Sam cringed as she put her head down. There were moments she was sure she was being watched since the first murder, but it never came to anything. The fear was always there, even as she and the other young blondes she knew were certain that the odds remained in their favor that they would not end up on the victim list. "I'm sorry I didn't text you," Sam replied. "Please! You have to let me know where you are until the bastard is gone" Fran pleaded to her daughter. "I'm sorry. I will, Mom." "Thank you," Fran said before she saw her daughter's eyes turn towards the ceiling. "What is that?" Sam asked. "That must be Steph." "That's our new guest?" "Yah, Steph's a queer little fellow," Fran answered with a disgusted shake of her head. "So is that Steph...Stephanie or Steph...Steven." "I suspect it was the latter before it was the former," Fran noted with a scowl. "What?" Sam asked, confused by the statement. "He's a transsexual." "A he or she?" "A he who thinks he's a she," Fran explained. "So, a she?" Sam countered. "You can put lipstick on a pig, sweetie, but it's still a pig." "She's a girl, Mom! Get with the 21st Century," Sam said with a disgusted shake of her head. "That was just Steph's attitude." "Because it's right, Mom." "Well, I'm glad that you're okay with it," Fran rejoined with evident sarcasm. "How long has she been up there?" Sam inquired as the click, clack continued above their heads. "At least two hours." "And she hasn't taken off her heels," Sam inquired as the familiar clicking continued to be heard through the ceiling. "Huh. What kind of girl stays in heels in her room?" Fran inquired. "Maybe she needs practice," Sam answered with a shrug, finding it believable under Steph's possible circumstances. "That's the kind of crap that happens when a she's really a he," Fran retorted. "MOTHER," Sam said with a shake of her head. "Let's call a spade a spade, dear. That's why he's not staying with his family while he visits." "That must be hard," Sam replied with a pensive look. "He's making it hard on them," Fran countered. "What if I wanted to be a boy?" Fran laughed at the suggestion. Sam scowled at her mother before the older woman replied, "I don't have to worry about you because I raised you to be normal." "Yah, we've lived a really normal life." "That's your father's fault." "Very nice, blame the dead." "It doesn't make it any less true." "Well, you didn't make it any easier," Sam retorted. Fran shook her head at her daughter's tone before they both heard the continued click of their guest's heels on the floor above them. "Why doesn't she relax?" Fran inquired. Sam shrugged in response, but she was determined to find out. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- As Steph came down the stairs, Fran was helping her daughter fix breakfast for their guest. Sam put it on the table and set a place for herself while Fran cleaned up in the kitchen. "Good morning," Sam said to the startled guest. Steph took a step back before he said, "Oh, you must be Fran's daughter." Sam nodded with a smile before Steph noted, "I'm glad you got home alright." "I could say the same about you," Sam replied with a smile still on her face. "I suppose. I didn't catch your name." "It's Sam." "Hi, Sam. I'm Steph," Steph replied as he held out his hand. "Very nice to meet you, Stephanie," Sam responded. "Thanks, but I prefer Steph," Steph replied with a forced grin. "Okay. I can respect that," Sam said with a nod before she added, "Are you going to join me for breakfast? We set a place for you." "That'd be nice," Steph answered while he sat down beside Sam without smoothing out his skirt. Sam furrowed her brow at his failure. Steph seemed too rough and unable to fully adapt to the femininity he had taken on later in his life than a cisgender woman. "So, what brings you to the city?" Sam inquired as she cupped her hands and leaned across the table. "I'm just visiting family and friends." "Where about?" "Here and there," Steph replied. "You don't see them much?" Sam asked in the face of Steph's evasiveness. "They don't have much use for me," Steph answered with a smile. "I'm sorry about that," Sam said as she put her soft hands on Steph's. Steph's member stirred from the feeling of her hands. He knew that it was inappropriate so he moved his hands away from hers quickly. Sam was startled by the quick movement. The smile returned to her face once Steph thanked Sam before he went back to eating. "So, do you have any brothers or sisters?" "I had a sister," Steph replied. "She disowned you?" Sam assumed. "I wish," Steph answered. "Oh, I'm sorry. She passed?" Steph nodded. "My father passed a few years ago. I know how tough it is to lose someone." Steph nodded again before he asked, "How have you dealt with it?" "I try to make him proud." "Me too," Steph reciprocated with a sad smile to match Sam's. "She would be proud of you," Sam noted. "I hope so, but there's so much more to do," Steph responded. "Like what?" "It's just something I have to do." "What?" "I can't talk about it," Steph replied with downcast eyes. Sam nodded to herself before she said, "I get it." Steph doubted that she did. He thanked her regardless before Sam glanced down at the mismatched outfit and the pair of shoes that were far less stylish than the rest of his clothing. "You know that's a really cute top and that skirt is gorgeous, but they're really not made to go together." "They don't?" Steph asked as he looked down at his pleated, organza cocktail skirt with rose-print that he had paired with an orange top. Sam shook her head in reply. "That's why I try to stick to dresses when I can," Steph admitted as his eyes darted away from Sam's. Sam smiled as she said with a grin, "Why don't you let me see what you got? I'll show you what works with what." "You'd do that?" Steph replied, surprised by her kind offer. "It'll be so much fun," Sam responded as she finished eating. "I would love that," Steph said with a smile. "Well, do you mind if I take a look now?" "No. I'll take you up there," Steph answered while he got to his feet. Sam followed Steph up to his room. She gave him a curious look as she watched him ascending the stairs. His gait seemed to her to be entirely mannish. She struggled not to pity him as he was clearly in over his head when it came to his transitioning. Once they reached the top of the stairs, Sam walked with Steph into his room. She stood aside as Steph drew open the doors to the closet where he had hung his clothing. Sam's jaw dropped as she looked over his wardrobe. She shook her head while she gave his clothing an envious glance. The clothing was all more expensive than anything she could afford. "What's wrong?" Steph asked as he saw the look on Sam's face. "Some girls have all the luck," Sam remarked with a laugh and a shake of her head. "I wouldn't call myself lucky," Steph rejoined, certain in the fact that he was not lucky at all. Sam cringed as she realized that Steph likely envied her for having all the experiences he would never get the chance to have. She hastily added, "I didn't mean anything by it. It's just that your clothes are so nice." "Yours are pretty," Steph countered. "Thanks, but they're not designer. You really have good taste," Sam replied as she looked over the clothing that was beyond her means and Steph's apparent ability to select them. Sam turned on her heels to face Steph and ask, "Did you have any help shopping for these?" "My sister picked out everything you're looking at," Steph admitted. Sam nodded as she thought, 'That explains it.' She smiled as she said, "She really had a good eye for fashion." "She was good at a lot of things," Steph said in a wistful tone. "Did you she ever show you how to pair an outfit?" Sam asked. Steph shrugged as he answered with a sheepish look, "Maybe a time or two, but I didn't pay too much attention. I always thought she'd be there to help with that sort of thing." Sam gave Steph a comforting smile as she heard the sad laugh he used to punctuate his remark. She nodded as she asked, "You always thought she would always be there, right?" Steph only nodded in reply. "Well, let's do a little refresher," Sam said with forced eagerness, hoping to raise the spirits she felt she had dampened. Steph smiled at her apparent enthusiasm while she reached for a silk, flutter-sleeved, pastel blue blouse. She held it up in her hand and said, "First tip, always keep it all in the family. Match pastels with pastels, earth tones with earth tones, jewel tones with jewel tones. It's the easiest way to get it right, besides jeans and anything or black shoes and bottoms and anything." "You make it sound so simple," Steph countered, already wondering what the various tones she was describing actually were. "It is, once you get the hang of it. Now, the next hint I've got is the ombr? test," Sam explained with a smile and a wag of her finger. "I don't think I'm going to look like a bad hombre in anything in that closet," Steph joked. "No, but maybe you could pass for a sweet senorita," Sam kidded back before she continued, "Ombr? is not a person. It's the gradual blending of one color hue to another." "So, it's a color blend test?" "Si, senorita," Sam joked in reply before she added, "different shades of the same color or similar colors almost always look good together. Think like pairing red and pink or a pretty sky blue and cobalt." Steph nodded before Sam continued, "And there's always the easiest way!" "What's that?" "Pair black and white. It always looks good." Steph nodded again before Sam noted, "Why don't you try to pair a few outfits?" Steph approached the closet with nervous steps. Sam gave him an inquisitive glance as he took hold of the pale pink top and reached for the dark pink skirt. She clapped her hands as she squealed, "Now, you're down with the ombr?, senorita." Steph laughed at her light teasing before he paired another outfit. Sam nodded as she said, "You're a quick learner." "Well, I've had good teachers," Steph replied with a smile, happy to have pleased the attractive and kind girl. "Thanks," Sam responded as she dipped her shoulders from side to side before he put the black and white outfit back. "Now, that you've got the basics, maybe we'll try something harder," Sam remarked, touching her pointer finger to her chin as she did so. She paused in front of the closet before she pulled out a printed, square, silk scarf. She held in front of Steph's face as she explained, "With a print, you have to break it down into different colors. You want to rank the colors in the print from most used to the least used. The more prominent your clothing is, like dresses, coats or tops, they should be in the main color, while your accessories should be in the least-used colors." Steph nodded before he tried to follow Sam's advice. He looked over the scarf and determined the main colors were white and pink, while the least prominent colors were orange and mauve. Steph paired a top and bottom in the primary colors and said, "I've got to get orange shoes." Sam gave him a shake of her head as she added, "Be careful when it comes to shoes. You've got to make sure that they go with the outfit style you chose." "Huh?" "If you go with the ombr? look, you've got to go with a different shade for your shoes so you don't look too matchy-matchy." "Kay," Steph replied, feeling that Sam was speaking a different language before he inquired, "What about black?" "That goes with anything. The jeans of the feet," Sam joked in reply. Steph then thanked Sam for her help before he started towards the door. Sam acknowledged his gratitude while she followed Steph towards the hallway. "We should go out together one night," Sam said while they walked out of his room. "You go out at night?" Steph asked, surprised that the night prior had not been an aberration. "Yah. So, what?" Sam answered with a shake of her head. "Do you go out with a boyfriend or..." "Sometimes my boyfriend is with me. Sometimes I'm with my friends. My boyfriend works a lot of nights." "It's so dangerous out there," Steph told her, wincing at the thought of her walking the streets alone. "It's never been safer to live here. It's just one killer. We can't live in fear or he wins." "Do you at least wear a wig?" "Oh, now, you sound like my mother," Sam said dismissing his concern with a roll of her eyes, but finding it nice that he cared. "Well, I don't think it's a bad idea." "Oh, really! I didn't see any wig in that bag or in the closet." Steph shrugged before he answered, "I don't think I'm his type." "I wouldn't be so sure. He killed one t-girl," Sam reminded Steph. "I heard that," Steph admitted. "So, don't bother me about a wig if you're not going to wear one, girlfriend. You're just as much of a target as me," Sam noted before she gave Steph a playful elbow. "Okay," Steph relented, feeling that it was not an equal comparison. "Do you have anything to do today?" "No. I'm free until tonight," Steph admitted as they walked passed Fran. "Why don't I show you around?" Sam asked as her mother grimaced at the thought of her daughter spending any more time with a transsexual. "That would be great." "Let me just freshen up and grab my keys. Mom, we'll be back in a bit." Fran sucked her lips into her mouth while Steph took a seat and waited for Sam to emerge from the bathroom. After a few minutes, she came out. Sam caught the disapproving look on her mother's face in the kitchen. She gave her a shake of her head in response before she flashed a smile at Steph. "Ready to go?" "Sure," Steph answered as he followed Sam out of the door. As they walked down the sidewalk, she began to show him around the neighborhood. They chatted as Sam pointed out various restaurants and stores and gave her opinion on the quality of each establishment. Steph thanked her for her time and insights before they started into a shoe store. "What are we going in here for?" Steph asked. "We need to get you some nice shoes," Sam answered. "What's wrong with my shoes?" Steph inquired as he looked down at his green, faux-suede, military style booties. "They don't quite match the quality of the rest of your clothing," Sam replied with a guilty look. "I get that. It's hard to find shoes in my size," Steph responded. "They're a little big for a girl, but a size 12 is not something that's too hard to find," Sam lied. Steph smiled as he followed the girl into the store, knowing that she was trying to make him feel good about himself. It was not working as she hoped, but Steph found the girl's relentless positivity more endearing by the moment. They walked through the shoe store that catered exclusively to women. Steph felt eyes upon him the moment he entered the store. It was not an uncommon occurrence. It was the rule, not the exception. In such close quarters and good lighting, he was certain that he was undeniably recognizable as a transgender woman. Sam noticed the glares he was garnering from some of the patrons and gave them disgusted looks. Most of the patrons, however, showed Steph only a passing curiosity that quickly ceased when they found a shoe they liked. Steph's eyes veered down at the shoeboxes, looking for his size instead of at the shoe itself. Sam shook her head as she asked, "What are you doing?" "I'm checking to see what's in my size," Steph explained. "Even if you don't like it?" Sam inquired. "Beggars can't be choosers," Steph responded with a sheepish grin. Sam shook her head as she advised, "We're here to upgrade your collection, not add more crap." "Got it," Steph said as he flashed the okay sign at her with his right hand. As he dropped his hand back down, Steph began to look at shoes and lifted a pair up. Sam shook her head at his first effort. "What?" Steph asked as he held the purple, glitter pump up. "That doesn't really go with anything you have," Sam answered, trying to be kind. "Well what does?" Steph inquired, feeling that he needed the direction. "Anything black for starters," Sam counseled. "Is that it?" Steph asked, wondering if his shoes choices were that limited. "No. You have some clothes that work with white shoes, beige shoes, brown shoes, even some nice silver glitter shoes would work, just not purple. You're not Prince...or a princess," Sam replied, catching herself making a reference she sensed was inappropriate. Steph's laughter put her at ease before he noted, ""I don't want to draw too much attention." "You got to put yourself out there, girl," Sam replied with a nod of her head. "I'm not ready," Steph admitted. "Well, I'll help you get there," Sam said before she helped Steph pick out a pair of white, peep-toed Platform pumps, 4-inch block heeled, black booties and a pair of silver, metallic, ballet flats. Steph accepted her rationale about why each worked with the clothing he had. With the shoeboxes in hand, Sam and Steph started towards the register. As the cashier processed the purchases, she told them the amount that was due. Steph reached into his purse and retrieved the amount in cash. Sam gave him a smile as she shook her head and said, "You carry that much cash?" "It's not that much. You can't be caught short," Steph answered. "If I had to spend that much, I'd be paying with my credit card and paying it off for months," Sam noted with another shake of her head. Steph was not sure how to respond. He took the packages in his hands as Sam said, "You're a lucky girl. I wish I had that kind of cash. How did you get it?" "It's family money," Steph admitted. "From the family you don't see?" Sam inquired. Steph nodded as Sam wondered if the money was part of a payout from his family to stop him coming around too often. Given his silent, distant look in response to her inquiry she was all too certain that her conclusion was correct. 'Way to go, big mouth,' Sam fretted before she cursed herself. As they walked towards the door, Sam heard her phone beeping. A smile came to her face once she saw the text from her boyfriend telling her that he was going to stop by her home. They hurried back to Sam's duplex before Sam helped Steph put away his new purchases with his wardrobe. Their chatting was broken up by Fran calling up the stairs to announce the arrival of Sam's boyfriend. "You've got to meet my boyfriend. He's so great," Sam squealed. "I'd love to," Steph lied while he followed behind her. From his interactions with men since he began dressing, he sensed that Sam's boyfriend was likely going to be far less nice than she was. It would hold true to Steph's realization that men treated him worse than women. Steph's heart raced as he walked down the staircase behind Sam. He feared the potential confrontation with the man. It was the thing he hated most about his feminized state. As he reached the base of the stairs, he saw the immediate look of disdain on the face of Sam's boyfriend regarding his appearance. "Al, I want you to meet my new friend Steph. Steph, this is my boyfriend Al." "Nice to meet you," Steph said as he forced a smile to his face and held out his hand. Al responded in a curt tone, "Same," while refusing to shake Steph's outstretched hand. Sam glared at her boyfriend as Steph pulled back his hand, knowing well that Al was too disgusted with him to shake his hand. Trying to change her boyfriend's tone, Sam noted to Steph, "We met at the gym a little over a year ago." "Can you even go to the gym?" Al inquired with a snarl. "Why couldn't I?" Steph answered with a glare. "Well, what locker room would you use?" Al retorted with a stern look and a short nod. "AL," Sam shrieked. "It's a fair question," Al replied, dismissing his girlfriend's anger offhand. "He's my guest," Sam countered before she told Steph not to answer the question. Steph nodded as he bit his tongue. With Steph silent, Al relented while he shook his head before he inquired, "So, what do you do, St..ep...h...?" "I'm between jobs," Steph answered. "Well, do you know what I do?" "You're a cop." "How did you know that?" Al inquired while he glanced over at his girlfriend. "Who else would ask that question?" Steph countered. "I'm actually a detective," Al rejoined. "Oh, that's great," Steph lied as he thought, 'That explains why you're a dick!' Al glared at Steph before Steph strained to bring a smile to his face as he said, "If you'll excuse me, I have to head out to meet up with some friends." "Enjoy yourself," Fran forced herself to say before Sam walked Steph to the door, peering over her shoulder to give Al a glare while she did so. "Have a good time," Sam said before she closed the door behind Steph. As the door closed, Sam stormed towards Al. She shouted, "WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT?" "He's a freak! WHAT DID YOU WANT ME TO DO? You could have warned me!" "She's a nice girl." "He's not a girl," Al protested. "Even if she's not, that doesn't mean that you can just treat her like she's a freak," Sam shouted as she threw her arms to her sides. "It's what he is! He's pretending to be a woman." "Because she is one!" "Because he's mentally ill," Fran chimed in. "MOTHER!" "Don't turn this on her, she's right," Al retorted. Sam was irritated by the statements. She shook her head, realizing that she was not going to convince them otherwise. With a hint of resignation, Sam withdrew from the argument and changed the subject. Al and Sam then chatted before he walked her to the restaurant where she worked. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- As Al settled in at his desk the next morning, he saw the photograph that was on every television newscast in the country. It was on the front page of all the local papers. It was the first photograph of the city's most wanted killer in action. The photographer had spooked the killer. The single shot he fired had merely grazed his intended victim instead of killing her. The killer had fled the scene, but the image of him was there. It was grainy and poorly lit. Many speculated that it would be of little help to apprehending the figure. It was more of a benefit to saving his latest victim's life. The grainy image simply met the profile of many white and Hispanic men in the city. The city police commissioner confirmed as much on a national newscast. Al stared at the photograph that had been manipulated in every way imaginable by the department to make it clearer. The more he focused on the face, the more familiar it became. Al jumped up from his seat and started to his supervisor's office and told him that he had a lead on the killer. The captain gave him a curious look, prompting Al to explain his theory. "We're going to need a lot more than that." "I know, Captain, but I think I can get it." The captain nodded as he authorized Al to look into the lead. With that clearance, Al called Sam and asked if she was home. "Yah, I'm here with Mom," Sam answered. "Are you going to be around for a little while? I want to stop by." "That sound's lovely," Sam replied with a laugh, always enjoying when Al stopped by her home while on duty. "Is Steph there?" Al asked. "No. He went out." "Do you know where he is?" "What does it matter?" "Do you know when he'll be back?" "Al, if you can't stand him being here that's..." "I'll explain when I get there, but for God's sake don't say I asked about him," Al replied. "Why? You don't want him to get the wrong idea about you?" Sam tweaked her boyfriend out of anger. Al grumbled in response before Sam said, "Aw...did that hit too close to home?" "YOU KNOW THAT I'M NO FAG!" "So, you say, but you've got a pretty big hang up on Steph," Sam teased, enjoying her boyfriend's irritation. Al responded by saying he would see her soon as he hung up the phone. He cursed about his girlfriend's teasing under his breath as he exited the precinct. Al got into his car and started to drive over to her home. After double parking outside the building, Al headed for Sam's duplex. Sam greeted him at the doorway before he asked, "Is he back?" "Who?" Sam asked, not willing to play Al's game and call Steph by any pronoun that did not match the gender identity Steph presented as. "Who else?" "Are you talking about Steph?" Al nodded his head before Sam answered, "No. She's not here." "Good," Al responded as he walked inside the duplex. Sam gave Al a concerned look before he said, "I have something to tell you." "What?" "It's about your fruity little guest." "Don't call her that," Sam insisted as her mother came out of the bathroom. "She's a suspect," Al explained. "For what?" Sam said before she put her hand over her mouth. Al nodded before Sam added, "SHE'S A HOOKER!" "WHAT?" Al asked with a confused look as he shook his head. "It all makes sense. She had so much cash on her. Girls like her don't have..." "She's not a hooker." Sam breathed a sigh of relief as her concern for her new friend diminished. Al grabbed Sam's arms prompting a new look of concern from the girl. She froze as she stared into Al's eyes before he said, "He's the killer." "WHAT?" Sam shrieked while she fought to free her arms from Al's strong grip. "I knew it! I knew something was wrong about him the minute I saw his face," Fran insisted. "How do you know?" Sam asked, nearly sobbing. "Look at this photograph," Al said as he pulled up the grainy photograph of the killer on his phone. "That's a man," Sam replied, growing angry that her boyfriend was playing with her emotions so carelessly. "HE'S A MAN." "She never leaves here..." "He could have clothes stashed anywhere in the city." "This could be anyone. This picture is terrible," Sam added as she focused on the image that bore only a passing resemblance to Steph. "Sam, it's obvious to me," Al insisted. "It would be. You don't know how sweet she is..." "Honey, he may seem sweet, but we don't know him. All we know for sure is that he's mentally ill," Fran interjected. "She's not mentally ill. She's a woman." "He thinks he's a woman. He's a man. If he's that detached from reality, he might think killing people is normal," Fran explained her rationale. "It's not even close to the same thing, Mother," Sam snapped in reply. "Sam, listen to yourself. Think about it. Buffalo Bill, Norman Bates. They were all..." "FICTIONAL! Mom, those were movies!" "BASED ON FACT," Fran bellowed. "And how many live perfectly normal lives...." Sam countered. "None," Al retorted. "That's because of people like you two who just won't understand..." "How do we know what's under that dress? We know he was out that night," Fran reminded her daughter. "About five million people were out at the same time last night. We don't know where she was..." "Well, HE was out while the murder was done." "Again, one in, like, five million...." Sam countered. "Sam, don't you understand. He has the perfect cover. A harmless little fairy. "SHE'S NOT A FAIRY. SHE'S A WOMAN," Sam screamed as she slammed her palms down on the table. "SAM," Al yelled while she grabbed her keys and started to walk towards the front door of the duplex. Al followed after her, but she pushed him away. Al feared that Steph might be near. He grabbed her arm. "Let go of me," Sam snarled "If you see him, call me immediately," Al retorted as he looked into her eyes. "Sure," Sam lied as she gazed back into Al's cold blue eyes. "Look at me, I'm fucking serious," Al added while he pressed his fingers into his girlfriend's arm. Sam cringed from the crushing feeling. She fought the urge to let him know he was hurting her as she responded in a calm, monotone, "I said I'd call you." "Good," Al replied while he let go of her arm. Sam rushed away from her boyfriend and started down the street by herself. She felt relieved to be away from Al and her mother. She could not believe that they were going to convict Steph based on an inconclusive photograph and a broad coincidence. She continued down the street until she saw Steph walking out of a sushi bar. She smiled as she called out to him, "Steph!" "Oh, hi, Sam," Steph replied with a smile. "Where have you been?" "I saw how upset your boyfriend was about me yesterday. So, I didn't want to get in the way." "You weren't in my way. He's just being an ass." Unable to disagree, Steph laughed before he inquired, "Where are you heading?" "I haven't decided." "You just couldn't stay in the house?" "I get that way sometimes. I just want to go out and live my life," Sam admitted. Steph nodded as he responded, "My sister was like that." "She must have been pretty." "Why do you say that?" "Because you're cute." "Well, she was much cuter," Steph replied with a wistful smile. "How did she die?" "It was sudden," Steph responded, not wanting to give away too much about himself before he asked, "How about your Dad?" "Cancer," Sam answered with a shake of her head. "That's a tough way to go." "It was quick," Sam replied before adding, "Too quick." "It always is," Steph responded with a sad look. Sam nodded in agreement before she saw Steph's head rise. "Oh, look at that," Steph said. "What?" "That," Steph answered as he pointed at the mother walking her young curly haired girl. "She's so cute." "I know right," Steph replied, remembering when his sister looked similar to the girl. "So, why did you come back?" Sam asked, breaking Steph's concentration. "What?" Steph asked. "Why did you come back here? I know there must be bad memories," Sam inquired. "That's why I came back." Sam gave him an inquisitive look that he answered, "You have to face the past or you can't move forward." Sam nodded as she said, "So, you need closure?" Steph nodded with a smile as he said, "That's the way I like to think of it." "I hope you find peace." "I have to. I can't go on like this forever," Steph admitted. Sam put her arm around Steph. She could sense his difficulty expressing his emotion. She felt that it was a holdover from his days being raised as a man. "It's okay, Steph. Girls do cry," Sam lightly teased, hoping to put him at ease. "I'm okay," Steph said trying to compose himself. "I get it. It's the hormones. You should count yourself lucky you don't have a period," Sam teased before she slapped her hip and said, "I'm so sorry, Steph. I didn't mean any offense by that." "None taken. I never really wanted menstrual cramps anyway," Steph joked with a grin. Sam laughed in response. She looked into his eyes as they continued to walk. The kindness in his eyes and good-natured smile on his face made Sam sure that there was no way that he could be the killer. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- While Steph and Sam meandered around the city streets, Fran let Al back into the apartment. Fran whispered, "He's not here." "Is Sam?" "No. She's out." "Good. She's too confused. She'd just hold us up." "Well, this is my house. She can't tell me what I can do with it." Al nodded before they started towards the stairs. They went into Steph's room and Al froze. Fran looked at Al and said, "It's okay. I want you to search the place." "We'd need a warrant to use it. The judges in this city throw out evidence over nothing!" "Just look first. If there's something here, I'll stall him until you can come back and get him." Al nodded as he put on white, latex gloves began to look through Steph's closet. There was nothing in it but women's clothing. 'Fucking sick prick,' Al thought as he looked through Steph's wardrobe. After his fruitless search, Al turned his disgusted eyes towards the dresser. He looked at Fran and asked, "Do you know if he keeps anything in there?" Fran shrugged. She looked around the room as she said, "I only check when they leave. I don't check when they're here." Al nodded, understanding her point. He pulled open the first drawer and saw that it was empty. The second drawer revealed the same thing. Once Al confirmed that all of the drawers were empty, his eyes focused on the luggage bag that was resting on a chair in the room. Al's eyes darted to Fran as he asked, "That's his bag, right?" "Who else's would it be?" Fran countered with a peeved look over the obviousness of the answer. Al nodded at the woman. He hated the way she spoke to him at times, but he always bit his tongue given his relationship with her daughter. He knew that making an enemy out of her would never be in his best interest. Al grabbed the bag and began to unzip it. His hands reached into one section and found nothing but bras. He quickly pulled his hands away and started to brush his hands against his pants. Al struggled not to vomit as he realized that he had been touching Steph's intimates. The sight of another section containing only panties turned his stomach. Al moved onto a small pouch and saw that it contained socks. Al then went into the main pocket and poked around it. It was mostly empty except for a dress. Al lifted the dress and saw something underneath it. Al snatched it from the luggage to give it a more inspecting look. Fran watched as Al's jaw dropped as he looked it over. Fran froze as she glanced at his expression. She slowly approached and looked over his shoulder at the photograph in Al's hands. After a moment, Fran inquired, "Who is she?" "Sophia Ford," Al answered. "Who's that?" "She was a bit part actress. She had an occasional role in a play and TV here and there." "How do you know her?" Fran asked with a hint of hostility. "She was one of his first victims." Fran's heart sunk as she looked over the beautiful woman. Like all the victims, the young blonde reminded her of her daughter. "That sick fuck," Fran said, fighting off tears. Al nodded as he put the picture back in Steph's luggage. "Why would he have that?" Fran asked. "It's a publicity shot. They make the girl look as glamorous as possible." "That wasn't what I asked!" "It's a memento. The other girls he killed were not actresses. They wouldn't have this kind of thing. She was returning from an audition. She probably had a whole bunch of shots in her purse." "Is that enough to arrest the freak?" Fran asked with a hopeful tone. "No. You have to do more than know someone," Al admitted while he put back the picture and covered it again with the dress. "Is she using the guest bathroom?" Al asked as he finished making sure that everything looked as it did when he found it. Fran nodded before Al walked past her. Al looked over the various items in Steph's toiletry bag. There were razors, shaving cream, but little else of notice until he saw the brush containing strands of hair. Al pulled a few strands of the hair from the brush and put them in a sealed container. Fran gave him an inquisitive look. Al gave her the answer her eyes demanded, "We found some hair at the scene of one of the crimes that didn't match the victim." "So, if that hair matches?" "It places him at the scene of the crime." "Is that enough to convict?" "It'd be enough to indict." "THAT'S IT! I'M GETTING HIM OUT OF HERE, RIGHT NOW," Fran shouted with a shake of her head. Al gave her an alarmed look as he said, "No. You can't do that!" "WHY NOT?" "We need to know where he is," Al reasoned. "But what about my daughter?" "He's been killing strangers. Nothing in his past says he wants to be caught. He's not going to leave the bread crumbs leading right up to his own door." Fran accepted Al's theory before she inquired, "You think you can get a warrant?" Al nodded as he said, "The judges are all elected. If they refuse this warrant, and he kills someone else, they know they're finished." Fran felt slightly relieved by the statement before she asked, "What should I do if he comes back?" "Try to stall him." "What if he tries to kill me?" Fran shrieked. "You're not his type," Al retorted. "What's that supposed to mean," Fran rejoined as she put her weathered hands on her hips. "I already told you, he doesn't want to get caught. He won't do it because everyone would know it was him," Al responded, trying to be kind to the woman. Fran felt less than relieved by Al's theory. It seemed too dangerous for her and her daughter, but she was confident in Al's professional judgment. Fran trembled as Al told her he was leaving to get a warrant to search Steph's belongings. She struggled to try to keep her mind off the idea that the killer could be coming into her home at any minute. She thought about calling her daughter, but decided against it. She was certain that she would just tell Steph what was happening. She imagined that that alone might cause the monster to snap and eliminate them both. She let out a sigh of a relief when she heard the bang on the door before the police identified themselves. They showed her the warrant as she said, "You didn't need that for me." The detectives started up the steps to Steph's room and began to search through his belongings. Fran stood aside with one of the detectives who was talking to her about Steph. The detective tried to learn everything he could about him from her as the other detectives ensured that every inch of the room was checked. One drew open the compartment of the luggage containing Steph's intimates. His gloved hand tossed about the bras, panties and hosiery before he saw something else stashed amongst them. His hands reached down and clasped it. He pulled out the silk garment and gazed at the ink that was staining it. "What is that?" Fran asked. "It's a silk map of the city," the detective answered while his eyes stared at the black circles that marked where each victim had been killed to date. They were connected by thin lines, not unlike those the homicide office had drawn. The near complete image of the swastika matched their own. The detectives knew that Steph was tracking the killings. "Ma'am, what has your guest told you about why he's here?" "He says he's visiting family," Fran answered. The detective shook his head. While he knew that the map alone was not enough to convict, he might be able to get a warrant for his arrest from a judge scared of losing his or her next election by letting the killer stay free. With everything they thought was useful in hand, the detectives left the apartment to go to the court. Fran called her daughter as they left to tell her what happened. There was no denying it anymore. The cops told her they were sure they would get a warrant for Steph's arrest. She fretted as she heard the phone go straight to voicemail after one ring. Sam put her phone back away as she continued talking with Steph on their way to Sam's workplace. They kissed each other goodbye on the cheek before Sam went into the restaurant to start her shift. Not long after she began to wait on the tables, Al walked into the restaurant and made his way into the kitchen. He greeted a waitress he knew well and told her to make sure that Sam came into the kitchen soon. Sam looked at her coworker with alarm as she relayed Al's message. Sam finished taking a table's order and put it in before she moved into the hot kitchen. "What's going on, Al?" "I told my superiors about what I found." "What are you talking about?" "Your mother let me search your place." "What? Did she talk to Steph?" "She couldn't do that. He would have hid it. I found what I needed." "Illegally," Sam retorted. "There's nothing illegal about it. We had to get him off the streets." "So, you caught her?" "No. We don't know where he is?" Al replied, growing tired of his girlfriend's liberal sensibilities. "How can you arrest her? What do you have?" "He meets the description; he's got the perfect cover, he had a picture of a victim, and her hair was on his hair brush..." "How do you know that she didn't know the victim?" Sam asked before she paused and said, "Oh, my God. It could have been her sister." "What are you talking about?" "She told me her sister died suddenly. Maybe she was a victim. That's why she came back to see her family. They already lost one child, maybe they thought they could bring back another..." "CUT THE DISNEY, HALLMARK BULLSHIT, SAM! HE'S A MURDERER!" "You don't know that. You don't have anything that says that your theory is anymore right than mine." "We'll find out, but we've got a warrant for his arrest." "Based on what? Coincidence, happenstance, prejudice..." "We're not taking any chances. If you see him, let me know immediately and get the hell away from him. If he doesn't surrender, we're shooting." "She's not armed." "HOW COULD YOU POSSIBLY KNOW THAT?" "She's too sweet." "DON'T YOU SEE IT'S ALL AN ACT? HOW CAN YOU BE SO DENSE?" "Did you ever think that your hatred may have blinded you?" Sam countered. "DON'T GIVE ME ANY OF THAT LIBTARD BULLSHIT. THIS IS REAL LIFE." "Why don't you just leave?" Sam retorted with a shake of her head. "Sam, I'm doing this for you. I'm doing this for the city," Al explained himself. "You've got the wrong person," Sam rejoined. "Sam, promise you'll call me," Al demanded. "Fine, I'll call you." "Thank you," Al said as he turned and departed through the back door. "Fucking asshole," Sam muttered while she returned to her work. As she tried to focus on her work, her mind kept being distracted by what Al and the cops would do when they found Steph. She feared the worst would happen. All they saw was a guise. She was certain that she saw the person Steph was. Sam made a call to a coworker and asked her to cover the rest of her shift. The girl quickly agreed and came over to the restaurant. Sam turned over her tables to the woman before she thanked her and headed out, telling her boss that she was feeling sick. Sam started out of the restaurant and wondered where Steph might be at that moment. She had no idea where he was going to be. Still, she was determined to find him before Al did. She started down the street and began to rush around the neighborhood. She was certain that Steph was not far from her. She could sense that he was near. As she hurried down a sidewalk, she saw his lonesome visage. She paused as she looked at him dressed in a black A-line, twill skirt and a three- quarter sleeved, white, lace-up tunic. The outfit had been paired just as they talked about. A smile came to her face as she noticed that he was wearing the booties she picked out for him too. His eyes searched around the sidewalk in silence. He looked nervous to her and out of central casting for one of the killer's victims. His eyes seemed intent while he took in his surroundings. Sam took a few deep breaths before she reaffirmed to herself, "She's a friend." As she neared him, she saw him continuing to look the strangers over as he stood sipping on a Styrofoam cup of coffee on the sidewalk. Steph looked over the various young women. He saw not a single blonde-haired girl in his vision. Although, he figured some of the girls were wearing wigs to hide from that truth. He turned and started towards the corner. He froze as he heard his name called out loudly. Steph's eyes veered towards the face of the source of the familiar tone and blurted out with alarm, "Why are you here? It's so dangerous." "Why are you?" Sam replied, with a demanding glance. "I'm not supposed to be at work," Steph retorted. "Do you know what Al told me?" "What?" Steph replied while his eyes searched the street, growing increasingly nervous. "He told me that he got a warrant for your arrest!" "Wearing a dress is not a crime, last I checked," Steph replied in disbelief. "He thinks you're the killer," Sam explained. "THAT'S INSANE," Steph shouted. "He says that you're sick, and I told him how sweet you and are and..." "Why do they think I'm the killer?" "He says the outfit is a cover and...They found a picture of one of the victims..." "My sister," Steph replied. "Your sister is a victim?" Sam responded, hoping that her suspicion had been true. "My sister was the fourth victim." "You have to come with me and let them know." "I can't do that." "Why?" "It isn't over." "What are you talking about?" "This is my sister, Sophia," Steph replied as he showed pictures of him with his sister on his phone. "Is that you?" Sam asked as she saw the man standing beside her with what appeared to be the girl's parents. "Yes. That's me." "You were handsome." "Thanks," Steph said with a laugh. Sam shook her head before she recognized the clothing on Steph's sister from his closet. She gave him a concerned look as she said, "Are you trying to be your sister?" Steph shook his head as he said, "I wish I could." Sam gave him a confused look before he said, "I told you I have a mission." "What?" "I'm going to find the man who killed my sister, and I'm going to pump 6 bullets into him." Sam gave him an astonished look as she fought back tears. The forcefulness of the reply and the certainty in Steph's steely eyes seemed unlike the girl she thought she had befriended. "Al's right. This is a cover. I'm trying to bait the killer out by looking as much like my sister as possible." "I don't believe you. You wouldn't kill..." "I can't sleep knowing he's out there, breathing," Steph retorted while he opened his purse to show Sam his handgun. Sam shook her head before Steph added, "As long as he's out there, I can't live with myself knowing that I'm not doing everything I can to stop him." "That's what the police are for," Sam countered. "Yah, what a crack force they are! They think I did it for Christ's sake! That tells me I can't rely on them," Steph retorted. "That's unfair..." "Look, they see me as a criminal because they think I'm a transsexual." "But you're not," Sam noted in a solemn tone. "No," Steph admitted before he continued, "I'm sorry for lying to you, but it's all part of my cover." "I don't think the killer is striking here," Sam said. "You're probably right. He's usually struck by now," Steph said as he looked at his sister's rose gold-tone and pink analog watch. "Why don't we get a drink?" Sam asked as her eyes darted towards the sign for a bar. "Sounds like a plan," Steph replied before he started towards the door with her. They walked into the establishment and sat at a booth together in an isolated corner of the bar. They ordered drinks and meals from the waitress before Steph paid and they began to talk. Steph explained his situation again. He told her about how his sister was an aspiring actress too. "Your parents were okay with that?" Sam asked. "They hated it. They hated that she changed her name to one that was easier to pronounce. They didn't want her in the city. They wanted a normal life for her. She had a lot of options." "You must have loved her." "She was my little sister. I always had her back." "But she wouldn't want you to throw your life away..." "My sister didn't understand everything," Steph countered. Sam clasped Steph's hand as she said, "You're a good brother." "I tried to be, but..." "But what?" "I didn't protect her from him." "That's not your fault. You can't predict this sort of thing." "But I told her that I supported her choice." "What?" "When my parents told her that they didn't want her to be an actress, I said follow your dream. I used those words. Literally, the most clich?d words I could have used." "So, now, you're giving a 110 percent to catch her killer?" Sam kidded, trying to lighten his mood. "Exactly," Steph said with a smile and slight laugh. "I think you're sweet for trying." "I don't think that's the right word," Steph admitted. "I also think you're insane," Sam added with a serious look. "When your heart is ripped from you, you do crazy things." Before Sam could respond, their meals were dropped off in front of them and they ordered another round of drinks. As they continued to talk, Sam found Steph letting down his guard more. She felt that he was the girl she talked with. There was no difference in his personality. He was still the same, just with a slightly different pitch to his voice. Once they finished eating, Steph paid the bill with cash and they started towards the door. Sam took his hand in hers on the way. Steph was confused by it. She stopped, causing Steph to pause before she got onto her toes and pushed her lips to meet Steph's. Steph kissed her back. It was the first kiss he had in sometime. As their lips parted, Steph saw the confused looks on some of the patrons as he whispered, "We should go now." "Okay," Sam said while she walked out with her fingers still clasping Steph's hand. Steph's eyes searched around the street as he heard sirens coming closer. Sam gave Steph a nervous look, unsure if they were for him. "You should go," Steph said in a calm voice. "I'm not leaving," Sam insisted while she started to pull him down the street. Steph followed behind her as the sound of the sirens got louder while they came around a street corner. The sounds of murmuring were soon heard behind them. Steph peered over his shoulder and saw the men descending upon them. "Are they here to protect us?" Sam asked. Steph froze as he saw the menace in their eyes. He looked down at her and shouted, "Run away from me." "Why?" Sam said as Steph started to move quickly "STOP THAT FAG," one man screamed as they began to charge them. Steph rushed as fast as he could in his four-inch, blocked heeled booties. His steps felt even more awkward than usual as he hurried down the uneven pavement and concrete. Sam kept pace with him as they heard the slurs being hurled at Steph before one screamed, "THAT FAG'S THE KILLER." The words made two men start to charge Steph from across the street. Steph tried to pivot but turned his ankle. "STEPH," Sam shrieked while Steph fell to his knees as the vigilantes descended upon him. Before Steph could get to his feet, a kick to his ribs sent his palms to the pavement. The men began to kick Steph from all directions as the sirens grew closer. Sam sobbed as she watched Steph take blows from his head to his ankles. She heard cracking as Steph lay motionless on the sidewalk with blood beginning to stain his assailants' boots. The sound of police yelling at them made the men cease their assault. One screamed to the cops, "We've got the bastard." "Who?" "The killer," one said as he dumped the gun out from Steph's purse while Sam rushed to Steph's side. "We just arrested the killer two blocks over," the cop rejoined. The men froze before they one inquired, "How do you know?" "Someone shot him while he was trying to a shoot a girl with the same gun that was used to kill all the others," a cop explained in a gruff voice before a detective pulled up to the site. Al's eyes widened at the sight of Sam cradling Steph. "Sam," Al yelled, shocked that she had left the restaurant. Sam's reddened eyes darted up towards Al's. She glared at him, seeing in him the same malice that the vigilantes had for Steph. The crowd began to disperse as the vigilantes realized that they could not stay at the scene. Sam saw the panic on their faces as they began to hurry away. "Why don't you arrest them?" Sam shrieked as the departing men's pace quickened. "There's too many," Al argued before he continued, "We can't know who did what for sure." "There's got to be video somewhere," Sam yelled while she looked around the street. She shook her head at the cameras and barked, "You see that! I can tell you, now, they're all guilty." Steph forced himself up. He coughed up blood as he said, "I don't want to press charges." "THE HELL YOU WON'T!" Sam shrieked, almost as outraged by Steph's stance as Al's. "I'm no better than them. I would have done the same thing if I thought it'd save you," Steph admitted while he wiped the blood away from his lip. Steph's words angered her, but she knew that they were true. She bent down and opened her purse to retrieve some tissues. She wiped the blood away from Steph's nose. "Come on, Sam, I'll take you home," Al said as the paramedics nudged her aside to begin to attend to Steph. "I'm not leaving him," Sam responded. Sam's choice of pronouns for Steph was not lost on Al. He felt a pit in his stomach as he sensed that he had lost her. "Sam, I love you," Al said as he looked into her eyes. "But you don't trust me," Sam replied. "I trust you completely." "So, you just think I'm stupid," Sam retorted as she saw Steph being lifted onto the stretcher. Sam rushed towards him before a paramedic said, "You can't go near her, Miss." "I'm his friend," she replied. The paramedic gave her a disbelieving look, given her choice of pronouns, before Steph called out to her. Sam answered before she tried to get close to him again. "Miss, step away," the paramedic said. "She's with me," Steph replied. "Miss, be still," another paramedic ordered Steph. "I'm not leaving her here," Steph responded as he tried to force himself up. The paramedic forced his body back down before the other said, "Just let her ride with her." Sam rushed towards Steph and got into the ambulance behind him while the paramedic began to attend to his wounds. She sat to the side of Steph and held his hand as they continued towards the hospital while the paramedic took a seat. Sam stroked Steph's bandaged head as she joked, "It's lucky for you a black eye looks more endearing on a man." Steph laughed, which made him cringe as he felt the pressure on his broken ribs. As the pain subsided a little, he replied, "It's about the only thing that does."