Life For Rent. (Sequel To 'Lie To Me.') Part 1 free porn video

Life for rent Mid July 2016 Parkville, Melbourne, Victoria. (Winter in Australia) Chapter 1 I pressed down harder on her throat. It was effortlessly easy really. She wasn't breathing at all now and her hue of blue merely darkened with each passing moment. It required so very little from me, just the ring and pinkie fingers of my left hand to push back on her windpipe to achieve the effect I desired. I still held the cold steel blade in my palm too. There was fear and there was panic. Not from me though. I had done this enough times to be immune to any such feelings. I was cold and I was clinical. It was better to be like that in these moments. I still felt the sense of temporal distortion, everything slowing as a life was about to end. No amount of doing this ever seemed to desensitise me to that. I felt tired. I was tired. I wondered if I looked anything like how I felt. I hoped that I wouldn't, but worried that I would. I had never completely come to terms with the vanity that was an inherited part of me. Although I tended to believe it was more an element of professional pride. It was easier to justify that way. Was it concerning that I had allowed my thoughts to drift in this direction? Was this the arrogance of the proverbial pride before falling? I was performing the task at hand competently nonetheless. Should I be more focussed? Probably yes. I redirected both my attention and my efforts to the dying human before me. I silently slid the metal blade into her mouth and down the back of her throat. I held the handle of the blade between my thumb and index finger, still of my left hand, whilst my third finger, the remaining one not yet occupied, tilted her chin so I could peer down the little hole I had created and see what I needed to see. My 4th and 5th fingers adjusted slightly to bring her tiny vocal cords into view, and my right hand introduced the plastic tube it was holding in over the laryngoscope blade, behind the tongue and into the newborn's trachea. "Tube's in," I announced to Linda, beside me. Matter of fact-ly rather than triumphantly. "She's brady-ing down," is her reply. Her fingers around the baby's umbilical stump. Signifying a falling heart rate. There was no concern in her voice though. She, likewise, is blas? about my actions. It was the comfort that came with familiarity and trust, even in circumstances others would consider extremely dire. "Hook her up." She knew I meant to the Neopuff. "She'll pick up." Linda complied and I manually assisted the newborn's breathing. Within a minute the baby was a nice shade of pink and her heart rate was increasing. She was still a bit stunned though. Not really making any effort to move or resist me. For the first time in this encounter I felt unease. How long was she hypoxic? Before we arrived I meant. Where were the 'Code Blue' team in the first place? Is this all too late? My instincts, and probably my experience told me it wasn't. Everything would be Okay. She just needed more time. She wasn't an extreme prem by any stretch. Truthfully, she was a reasonable size. Which meant more robust; in the world of neonatal medicine, size truly did matter. This generalisation was the prompt for me to do what I always did. I glanced at the still naked baby. 2.928 kilograms. I stated internally. It was my game. After the best part of 2 years I still hadn't grown tired of it. Sometimes I played with others. Sometimes just alone. I suppose it was not dissimilar to 'Guess the weight of the hog' at the country fair. My derivative was "Guess the weight of the neonate." The longer I'd been doing it the more accurate I had become. Guessing down to the gram was perhaps a little too specific, but it was always nice to see how close I got. The problem was, in spite of our metric society, everyone still loved pounds and ounces. I was hopeless at the conversion. At least in my head. 6 pound something I imagined. Anyhow, by the size and the look of this little one she was out a little early, but not much. It made me think of the sequence of events that had brought us to this Operating theatre. Was this an elective Caesar rather than emergent? I wondered internally, but did not bother to find out definitively. It was the time of day that it could well have been elective. Scheduled on the morning list. Linda and I had only just staggered back into the hospital, after our somewhat torrid night, so the preceding circumstances were a mystery to us. I looked at the mother, on the operating table, being put back together by the obstetricians. She was unconscious. Intubated too. Just as her daughter now was. If this was elective, which are usually done under spinal, or high epidural, then things had taken a turn for the worse necessitating sedation and intubation. It probably wasn't that important as to the why. But a repeat Code Blue to the Perry theatres, called within a minute, was enough to force Linda and me from our previous task, packing our stuff away, to our current one, resuscitating a newborn. We, Linda and I, were the only ones in the operating theatre not in surgical scrubs. No hat. No booties. No mask. There had been no time for that. The neonatal code blue team were missing. Completely. Without a trace. They just hadn't arrived. An inexperienced obstetrics resident and a midwife had been left holding the literal dying baby. We had come, in the nick of time. Thank God Linda had insisted on it. I really hadn't wanted to. Figuring the 'Code Blue' team were surely on their way. But they weren't. We were all there was. Unsterilized street clothes and all. Some luckless cleaner will have to decontaminate after us. I wore what I had been wearing since yesterday. Some work pants and my fitted "NETS" polo. A blue one. I had white ones too but they were for day shifts by my reckoning. Linda was dressed similarly. Virtually identically. I liked that. Not for some sort of OCD matchy matchy co-ordination thing but so that, as had happened several hours ago, when we rolled up to a tin pot hospital in the middle of nowhere to save the day, and save the baby, we were indistinguishable. Who was the Doctor and who was the nurse? There was no way of knowing unless we told them. And sometimes we didn't. There were very few tasks that were job specific. There was very little Linda could do that I couldn't. And vice versa. Sure maybe what I had just done, intubating this child, was a Doctor only task, but the job we had just returned from hadn't required that. I liked the de-identification of roles though, because first and foremost we were a team. I had wondered off and on over the years, were it Anthony that arrived to a neonatal retrieval, with one of the nurses, instead of me, how florid the preconceptions would be that he was the Doctor. I had encountered it enough as an undergraduate and Junior Doctor, even in this day and age, of a certain gender expectation re occupation. I wondered if I should be more perturbed by it than I was. But I wasn't. It was immaterial to me whether people thought me a Doctor or a nurse as long as I did my job. The point was moot though, with regard to my ponderings. I couldn't remember that much about him to be honest, but I was fairly certain Anthony would never have ended up where I was, doing what I did, were he still a sentient being. There came a lull in our resuscitative tasks at that moment, given that stability was now attained, and Linda's eyes silently indicated the looming shape close behind me. A man in theatre gear, probably about my age, maybe a touch older, but clearly not belonging in it. Uncomfortable in his current attire. He was awkward, angst ridden and pale. I smiled reassuringly. Even looking like crap, which I may have, my smile was still powerful enough to assuage fears, particularly in men. "You're dad?" I enquired gently. "Yes," he stammered uncertainly. "Come closer," I indicated he approach me and take up a spot beside the Resuscitaire. "You can touch her if you like. She'd like that." He didn't. He seemed overwhelmed. I guess that was understandable. "Is she going to be alright?" He asked with uncontained fear. He had quite a physical presence. Tall and solid. Quite attractive in a chiselled jaw sort of way. Not that this had any effect on me. Well not really. Yet he seemed as meek as a lamb right now. Not unexpected I supposed. "She's got a strong heart beat and her breathing's getting better all the time," I began. "So she's rallying well. But things were pretty bad when she first came out, so we're just waiting for her to wake up a bit and put up a bit of a fight." I did not think I was being foolishly optimistic. The signs were positive. I was confident this girl was not brain damaged. "Thank you," he squeaked. Close to tears. "Who? Who are you?" "I'm Kimberley, and this is Linda. We're from NETS. The Neonatal Retrieval service. We were kind of passing by when we heard there was trouble," I quip. Trying to be reassuring. The acronym, NETS, actually stood for Neonatal Emergency Transport Service, but it was easier to just say neonatal retrieval. It was true though. We were just passing, and even though this hospital was our base of operations, we weren't supposed to be here, in this operating room, saving this baby. As if timed to perfection, at that moment in bustled Alice. The Neonatal Fellow. My friend. A proper friend. In my life outside of work friend. Actually, truth be told, my best friend. But the only greeting I had for her right now was a scowl. She noticed and acted suitably contritely. "Sorry." "Where were you?" I hissed in a whisper, turning away from the dad so as not to reveal the dissent, as further bodies scurried in behind her, the belated bulk of the Neonatal code blue team. "Sorry," she repeated. A little intimidated by my surliness. "Dystocia in the public. It was prolonged." It was offered as an explanation. It was thankfully a rare thing, two neonatal code blues at once. But I guess it did happen. Today was the proof. I did not let her off the hook however, but went into formal handover mode. I moved away from the Resuscitaire as the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) nurses and junior registrar made their way in. "This little girl." I began. "Do we have a name?" I addressed the father again. "I.....I" His face contorted into perplexion. I took that as a not yet. "Is about 3 kilos - probably close to 36 weeks." I glanced at the father for some sort of confirmation but he still seemed stuck on the name question. "Came out pretty flat and needed some PPV and compressions. I don't know much about antenatal, you could ask them when they're finished stitching." I vaguely indicated the obstetric team working on the mother. "Coz we arrived late, on account of not even supposed to be here, and we needed to act quickly." Again I made no effort to hide my agitation. I was tired, and the rest, but I knew I would have to ease up eventually or Alice may bite back and I do not want a stand up fight with my best friend. It was out of character for me, and a sway from the norm for us. She was the feisty one. I was supposed to be the calm one. "So she's coming good." I try speaking a bit more collegially. "Nice heart rate and good resp effort. You may be able to extubate soon. If she gets a bit more lively. " Alice watched me silently. I knew I would cave. I always did. "I'm sorry Ally. It was a shitty night and the last thing I wanted to do was a resus when I got home." "Did something happen?" Alice was concerned. "With the baby?" I address what seems to be her interpretation. "No, he was fine. Routine pick up and dump at 'The Kids' really," I reassure, referencing the slang name for the 'Melbourne Children's Hospital.' "No, the landing lights wouldn't come on in Omeo so we had to land at Bairnsdale and drive up some windy mountain road for seemingly hours in the back of a local ambulance in the pitch of night. I nearly spewed and I'm pretty sure they hit a wombat!" I exclaimed. Alice studied me for a moment and then burst out laughing. Which was of course infectious. I didn't quite have the energy to join in but I grinned at the preposterous elements of my tale, and my own attitude to it. I still felt bad for the wombat though, who had probably given its life in the pursuit of a safe outcome for the child we had retrieved. "You need to get some sleep you grumpy bitch." Alice quipped. "I'm well aware of that." I concede. "Which bit?" "Don't be a cow!" I laughed a little now. I was mindful that although we'd stepped away from the baby for handover, leaving Linda to do similarly with the late arriving NICU nurses at the bedside, the father may still be in earshot. I increased my volume ever so slightly to ensure it and continued with a professional sounding handing over of care. Except for the last whispered sentence. "Let's go out and get drunk Saturday." To which Alice enthusiastically nodded, and added, for good measure, an equally softly whispered "Fuck yes!" That was the thing with my best friend. Angelic looking, courteously professional, but secretly a foul mouthed tart at the heart of it. Now, with our conversation and handover of care completed, I took a moment to again reassure the father, emphasising what capable hands his daughter was now in with Alice on the task; and wished him all the best. Finally Linda and I were free to leave and go back to the NETS office where we could finish our tasks, and eventually get out of the hospital. I had a few days off so it was not like there was time pressure to get home and sleep, in preparation for my next shift, but I felt decidedly stale. We were both fatigued by the night's travails yet the moment we left the operating suite Linda was bouncing up and down beside me like an eager puppy. "Do you know who that was?" "Who was?" "The father," she meant of the child, "that's Peter Studley." I had no idea who that was supposed to be but I saw an opening. "I suppose he was a bit studley wasn't he?" I cringed the moment I said it. Linda ignored it anyway. "How can you not know who that is?" She asked a bit like I was stupid. "You know," she continued. "The retired footballer. Star of 'The Footy Show.' " "What?" Blank looks were so easy when you are beyond tired. "Oh God! From.. you must know it!" She said again, expressing exasperation, even though I thought it was clearly evident I didn't. "The Footy Show." Only sounding it out slower, like she was dealing with a simpleton. "On a Thursday night." As if that would make all the difference. But I suppose it did a bit. "Is that the misogynistic one? That's always hating on women?" "No." Linda begins but not convincingly. "Well yes. But not him, he's the nice one." "Oh well." I begin. Hoping to terminate the topic. It was fine for Linda to be crushing. I just couldn't be bothered with hearing about it. "You know that means nothing to me. I know nothing about AFL. New South Wales girl remember. It's all about rugby there." "Oh yeah." Linda stated challengingly. "Name an NRL side then?" NRL stood for National rugby league. Which was Sydney based and the capital the bulk of the teams came from. There were a few token teams from other state capitals. This was distinct from AFL, (Australian Rules Football League) which was Melbourne based and although more widely played throughout the land, it was a football game unique to Australia only. Hence the point of distinction. It was an area of great contention in the rivalry between Australia's two largest cities. As to naming a rugby side, I could of course. I was confident I could name several. Perhaps not all, but I could make a reasonable fist of it. Yet she was calling me on my perceived lack of knowledge. I thought it would suit my purposes to play along. "The Chickens?" I say uncertainly. But that was probably too ridiculous. Then again, wasn't one of them 'The Eels'? So maybe "The Chickens" was not so preposterous. "You mean the Roosters!" she corrected. She really must believe I have no idea. "God Kim. You're such a prissy girl. If you ever have any hope of getting a guy you've got to at least do your research. Learn a bit about footy for God's sake. It's like their religion. Show a bit of interest in what they'd be into." She began to lecture. "You need to give the superior pseudo intellectual vibe a bit of a rest. You're just scaring them off." I was not strongly opposed to criticism, constructive or otherwise. It just seemed like a strange place and time for this conversation to be happening. "Linda." I replied, but lightly. "Did you really just say to me: 'Boys won't make passes at girls who wear glasses'?" "Well no." She's more flustered. "Not exactly." I do manage a full laugh now. "Poor me." I jest. "Destined to forever be a spinster because I don't like the footy. Cruel fate indeed." "Stop it." Linda peeves. "This mockery is exactly my point. You think you're so superior." She'd called me superior twice in twenty seconds. Did she really believe I thought I was? This made me both concerned and conciliatory. "I'm sorry Linda. I didn't mean anything. I just had bad experiences with footballers in the past. I'm just being discerning is all." "Too damn fussy I reckon." "I've got to have standards." It was a prompted response, not a view I strongly held. "The pretty Doctor who thinks she's too good to date anyone." She really must believe it. I'm instantly mortified. "That's not true. That's not me." "I know that. I know you and I'm not trying to date you. But that's how you're perceived." It was not the first time I'd been accused of this, and it wouldn't bother me normally but I had the amplified emotions of the sleep deprived. "But I'm not like that. I'm friendly. I'm okay to work with aren't I?" My insecurities seemed to suddenly be pouring from me. "Of course Kim. We all love working with you. It's just you're this social ice queen." "Like Elsa?" I suggest, trying to lighten the moment a little. "Hates footy. Loves Disney Princesses. You'll never get a man!" Her response is only half jest though. We were roughly the same age, Linda and I. Early 30s. But the truth was our priorities were very different. She was probably projecting. I knew her well enough to know that right now there was nothing more she wanted than to settle down with a husband and start a family. Whereas, whilst she would never know the specifics of why, Linda knew me well enough too to know that this was far and away the last thing I would ever contemplate, let alone do. For the past 13 years I had kept my heart safely protected. Living an asexual existence had made it so much easier to get where I was from a professional standpoint. No distractions. Linda's accusations had merit though. I prided myself on being friendly, but was pretty clear when it came to shutting down potential suitors. I may well have come off as aloof. I was generally quiet and fairly shy though, specifically not wanting to draw attention to myself. I would have said reserved rather than bland. I didn't consider myself boring. But I tended to imagine boring people probably didn't actually think they were boring. So who knew really. As an aside, philosophically I strongly resented the whole pretending to be something you weren't as a lure. I felt there was absolutely no need for a woman to do that in modern society. It disheartened me though that many of us still did. Linda being a prime case in point. It seemed like an appropriate point to terminate this conversation, for fear of escalation so I redirected it back to the whole incident that instigated it. "I'm glad you didn't ask for his autograph. That would have been totes inapropes." Wondering as I said it if I was beyond the acceptable age for the use of such jargon. "Oh. I'm planning a follow up visit for that. " "LINDA!!" Is she serious? It probably doesn't matter. And we both laugh. "Let's hurry and pack up." I said. "I want to go home." Chapter 2 It was only a short drive back to my Carlton North flat. One could make a strong argument for the more environmentally friendly methods of work commute. But not on night shift, and not in mid winter, but ultimately because I still never felt safe alone after dark. After my teenage experience. I didn't like that I was forever a victim, but it still felt sensible and prudent that I never again allow myself that vulnerability. Thankfully short enough a drive that I knew there would be no time to overanalyse my exchange with Linda. I'm sure I would in due course. I decided talking to Ally about it over wine on the weekend was the most appropriate time for that. I could alternatively broach it with my flat mate. Any time, day or night. But that seemed distinctly unwise. I suspected I knew what she would say. And equally that I didn't particularly want to hear it. I hated referring to her as my flatmate anyway. She was so much more than that to me. Yet that was how society perceived us, what all our friends merely thought us. It made me resentful at times that no-one could know, well almost no-one, who we truly were to each other. As I parked I decided on stealth because I was not sure if such person, my "flatmate" would still be asleep. I did not want to wake her if she was. She'd been tireder than me lately. It would be nice if she was awake though, it seemed like days since I'd seen her properly, and I felt in desperate need of her company, and a good chat. As I crept inside the house remained dark and silent. Indicating, that although it was now approaching 10am, that its soul occupant was indeed still fast asleep. I was disheartened. I was tempted to make a bit of a clutter of noise in the kitchen, to see if I could stir her, but I knew this was totally self serving and mean. Instead I sat at the kitchen bench with an instant coffee, thumbing listlessly through yesterday's paper, which I'd stolen from the Ressie's quarters on the way home. I was vaguely tempted to get out my iPad and Google Peter Studley, to see what Linda's fuss was all about, but even this seemed like too much effort. Instead I engaged in some warm loving thoughts about the person sleeping in the next room, and then for no particular reason, possibly because I figured she'd be awake, began to think of the only other flat mate I'd had since moving to Melbourne 12 years or so ago. And whether she'd be too busy to talk if I called her right now. Caitlin and I had arrived in February of 2004, late summer, to begin our biomedical science degree at The University of Melbourne. We had rented a place not far from where I was now, but it was far less salubrious, and we both worked bar work to afford the rent. We had breezed through our 3 year course, as we envisaged we would. Caitlin's fierce intelligence was at times intimidating, as was her drive. I was carried along with it nonetheless, and was smart enough to comfortably get by. At the conclusion of our degree, Caitlin felt strongly that to be a proper medical researcher, we needed the back up that a medical degree would give us. To be taken seriously, she explained, and to open up more opportunities. So without too much thought about it on my part, we were medical students, with a further 5 years of study before us. Another 5 years of grungy student living to endure, my fear then, at the age of 21, was that we were in danger of becoming perpetual students. My father, Kimberley's original father, certainly helped out financially as a result of my protracted life without a decent wage. We continued to have a good relationship, at least in my student years. Of course I preferred to work when I could, earn my own keep. It was not that I felt beholden, and with time I kind of did just think of him as my dad, but I was all about the independence. It was around this point, early on in our Medical degree, that I felt a divergence begin between the two of us, Caitlin and me. It had always been a shared dream, between Caitlin and Anthony, to be trailblazing medical researchers. That had been one of the motivators for our original escape from our childhood sleepy hollow. Sure, it was probably a very minor one for me at that particular point in my life. I had so many other reasons to run away. But it was a great incentive for Caitlin to run away with me, which served me so well. There was no way I could have faced the world on my own at the time. The science of our medical degree further enticed Caitlin and solidified her career path, but I found myself getting lost in the art of it. When I had been transformed into Kimberley I had undoubtedly foolishly and misguidedly obliterated and erased my old personality, Anthony's, and replaced it with a new one. One that I thought was more akin to what the world expected me to be. Thankfully, and not without Caitlin's help I was able to reclaim parts of me that I had lost, but I was never able to be, or destined to be, Anthony, in a female guise. To the world I was Kimberley. Even to me. Albeit the new Kimberley. Who certainly used to be Anthony. But I could no longer live the life Anthony had envisaged for himself. Nor did I find myself wanting to. Being couped up in a lab no longer held the appeal it once may have. I was more social now. More interactive. Part of that was probably an incorporation of the way people related to me as the bubbly blonde, and that my brain was different now, and processed and communicated differently. If there was a scale it would have had the original Kimberley up one extroverted obnoxious end, and Anthony down the opposite shy introverted end. I seemed to have ended up squarely in the middle. So, in 2008, two years into our medical degree, when Caitlin had opportunity to return to New South Wales, Sydney specifically, to continue with her research endeavours, and to be closer to Bethany, I did not go with her. The fact that Lucinda lived and worked there now, in Sydney, was perhaps further disincentive. Although would I really have ever run into her, in a city of 4 million people? Unfortunately, knowing my luck, the answer was probably yes. It's not like I'd never seen her, since that day at the lake all those years ago, since I left home. But I preferred not to think about the one interaction we had in the interim, and the unpleasantness of it. Caitlin leaving me was a big blow. I had friends amongst my medical student set, but no one knew me like she did. Specifically the truth about me. And I'd never really needed to get close to anybody, because I always had her. There were rumours we were a couple; which I'm sure Caitlin would have quashed had she heard them, out of respect for Bethany more than anything else, but it served me greatly that people thought that, so I specifically avoided telling her of such whispers, and did nothing to dispel them. Even consciously exaggerating our closeness when we were out with a crowd. But soon after announcing her intent to leave, and her appreciation of my decision not to follow her, she was gone and I could not hide behind the fa?ade of a pseudo relationship that never was. As luck would have it, I would not be alone in my flat for long, because a week or two after Caitlin's departure I had a virtually unannounced guest crash at my place. 2008 (8 years earlier) Clare Wilkins had completed Year 12 in 2007. We had stayed in touch, just as I had promised and strongly hoped. Keeping her life in order had proved far more challenging. My naivety that one afternoon of sage advice shortly after her "brother" fell into a coma would set her straight was perhaps unrealistically optimistic. She had persisted at the private boarding school for a while but absconding and truancy meant ultimately her parents had to bring her home, and she ended up finishing her schooling at the local High school I had gone to. More specifically Anthony had gone to, I suppose. From what she told me her parents were happy to have her close. She had reluctantly inherited the mantle of only child, but described in detail that it was very much like Anthony was still the elephant in the room. Clare felt like her parents lives had stopped when Anthony lapsed into a coma. Which filled me with a sickening guilt, but something I felt powerless to do anything about. Sometimes she said she felt like her life had stopped too. She had done well enough in year 12 to do whatever she wanted, post schooling, but she had no desire to do anything. She had deferred further study for the time being and had spent time travelling and doing menial jobs. She was adrift really, and that worried me further. She had stayed with Caitlin and I before, on numerous school holidays over the past few years. Her parents were still very wary of me, but felt it safe because of the presence of Caitlin, who they knew to be one of Anthony's dearest friends, pre coma. But Caitlin had left now, and somehow my former parents knew that, and plans for Clare spending a month in Melbourne, just chilling, had been rescinded. Or had been attempted to be. But Clare was 18 at that point and refused to heed there wishes and came anyway. I found myself dragged from my present, slumped exhausted at my kitchen bench, back to that day in 2008 when she had appeared on my doorstep, an angry teen with an axe to grind. "Clare." I had enthusiastically declared as I swung the door wide. "Kimberley," she said gruffly and harshly as she stormed past me into the flat. "Are you okay?" I enquired gently. "I'm not staying here," she said as she dropped her bag to the floor. "Oh okay." I was a little deflated. "Because of your parents? They still don't trust me?" "Ha," she laughed sarcastically. "Who'dve thought they'd turn out to be right about something after all. But no. It's not because they don't trust you. It's because I don't," she glared. "What? Why?" It was a completely unexpected blindside. "All these years I believed your bullshit. That you were my brother's secret lover. You two were so close and in love and you knew everything about him," she's so full of bitterness. I'd closed the front door but stood near it as she continued to unload. I could feel a fear building up inside me. "The rest of the town, including my parents, were all so adamant you poisoned my brother. But you were so kind to me, and I just couldn't believe it. You so totally sucked me in. And I spent the last 5 years thinking we were friends. Looking up to you. And you were just lying. You're truly evil," she began to tremble with rage. "Clare." I try to remain calm but I'm anything but. "What's brought this on? Why are you suddenly believing these lies 5 years later. You know me. You know this isn't true." "It has to be true. There's no way it can't be." "I don't understand?" "Do you remember Jack Nimbin Kimberley? He certainly remembers you." "No," I lie. I can't be certain Kimberley ever knew Jack. I know he sourced her phone and address for me, for Anthony, when I'd shared the details of my crush with him, a week or so before the transformation. I hadn't thought too much about how he'd got that information. "Ha. Now I know what a liar you are. You used to buy weed from him. Several times. You'd ring him and he'd come to your house." Shit! Okay, so that explains how Jack had her address and phone. But yes it does look like I've got something to hide. "Oh him," I offer vaguely, unconvincingly and too late. "I couldn't remember his name. But yes, I do know who you mean. But I gave that stuff up. Pretty much when Ant fell into a coma. And with all that was going on, and being years ago I'd forgotten." "How convenient," she hissed with bitterness. "Well I ran into him last week. I didn't really know him but he must have recognised me. He asked after my brother, and I told him things were exactly the same. But we got to talking and I mentioned how I was coming to stay with you and he went off his tree. He told me that Anthony didn't even know you. Up to the day before his collapse he'd never even spoken to you. I told him about the secret lover bit and he scoffed in my face. Said that was pure fiction. He firmly believed you poisoned him." "But Clare, he's a self confessed stoner. How could you believe him over me. I'm surprised he even remembers 2003." "Well of course I was dubious. But it made me doubt. So I tracked down some of your old cheer squad. They confirmed that the first time you and Anthony ever met was just an hour or two before he collapsed. And that you were brutal to him. So you've been caught in your lie at last Kimberley." "It's not true!" I need to get off the back foot. "How could you explain the past 5 years then? Do you think I befriended you to slowly poison you or something? Can't you see the ridiculousness of that? Why can't you just trust what you know?" "I don't know. Maybe you felt guilty about what you did, so took me under your wing to make amends." "Well that's hardly the actions of someone evil is it? Besides, if we'd never met, Anthony and I, then how come I know so much about him." "Again. I don't know. Maybe you'd been stalking him," her words remain bitter and terse. "Clare none of this is true," I repeat. "I loved Anthony and I never hurt him. And our friendship is real. Yours and mine I mean. And very important to me. Please believe me. Maybe we need to talk to Caitlin. She was Anthony's friend and she believes in me." It does sound a little like a frantic plea, probably because it is. "I already have." "What?" I'm exasperated. "I rang her this morning." "And what did she say?" This wasn't boding well. "She told me to tell you it was time to tell the truth. The real story. So even she knows you're lying." "Is that it?" Caitlin had considered this option from time to time. And suggested it. Not that I hadn't considered it also. Now it had suddenly become more pressing as an option. But surely Caitlin wouldn't have landed me in it so deeply with a sweeping stand alone statement such as that. "Well that and that when you do tell me, no matter how unbelievable it seems, it is true. So I'm here purely at Caitlin's encouragement and behest, to give you that chance. And if you can't come up with a plausible explanation then I'm hopping on a plane to Sydney, to see Lucinda Taylor. Who also was one of Anthony's friends. And who's a top class lawyer. To see what sort of a case she can make against you." "Lucinda won't help you." "Why not?" "Well for a start she's an articled clerk. That's like an intern in law world. The firm may be top class but she's got a long way to go before she is. But mainly because she knows the truth too. And although we're not really friends anymore. She won't let you hurt me." "You were never friends." "Yes Clare we were. Best friends. For the first 18 years of our lives." "That's such crap Kimberley. Anthony was Lucinda's best friend. Always." "Yep. That's what I meant." "What are you talking about?" "I'm talking about the truth that Caitlin was alluding to. That's too unbelievable to hear. That we both need to be seated for." Clare complied. This seemed to be a positive sign. She was open to the concept of an explanation. "I just want you to know Clare," I began. Seated away from her so as not to intimidate her, if she thought me sinister, but leaning towards her with sincere intent. "This is a conversation I've wanted to have with you for the last five years. But I didn't know how. And now because I've been too afraid and left it this long it's become an adversarial one. And I shouldn't have let that happen. But I want to start at least by trying to make it less adversarial. And that's to start with an easy truth. I love you Clare. And hopefully this will become so much clearer after what I tell you, but you truly are like a little sister to me." I paused for a moment to regather. I can gauge from her expression that she still wants to believe the last of my statement, but is not sure she can. "As to a plausible explanation. I'm not sure I can give you that. But I will tell you the truth. And the only thing I want from you is that when I'm done is that you ring Caitlin back to confirm it. She'll verify everything I tell you. And at least open your mind to the possibility that it is the truth." I paused again and Clare remained unmoved and unspoken. "I feel like I should get on with it," I reply to her silence. "But I don't know if I should blurt it out all "Luke I am your father" like or build up a back story. I mean I've only told the truth to two people, and that was 5 years ago. So I'm out of practice. And even then, Caitlin worked it out by apparently seeing my soul through my eyes or some such guff and Lucinda knew the moment she kissed me." At least she was attentive now. My last sentence seemed to have entrapped her. "Do you have a preference?" "Just fucking tell me Kimberley. You're talking around in circles." "Ha. Lucinda said similarly when I told her. But she thought I was some sort of soul destroying demon at the time, so surprisingly enough that actually made her more receptive to the actual truth." Clare braced slightly. I had to do it now or I would lose her. "Okay," I announce, as if to start something momentous, which I suppose it was. "Clare Wilkins," I formally address her. "That body. In the coma. In the hospice. That's not your brother. He's actually alive and well. And he's right in front of you." "What the fuck?" "That's the real Kimberley. In my body. In the coma. And I'm in here. We were the unfortunate victims of a wayward body swap spell generated by Caitlin's girlfriend Bethany, and she can't swap us back." I leave a more significantly lengthened pause now. Wondering if she'll say anything. She opens and closes her mouth a few times like a fish on land, but no sound comes out. "I didn't tell you five years ago, when I found you at the train station, because you wouldn't believe me, just like you don't now." "So.." It's a slow start. "You're trying to tell me you're really Anthony. Trapped in this body. For the last 5 years?" "Aha," I affirm. "I mean I can't prove it. Apart from you quizzing me about our childhood I suppose, and me trying to answer stuff only Anthony would know, but I don't think we knew each other as well then as we do now. And if you're going to say I don't behave anything like the brother you remember then to be fair I have been a woman for 5 years, so I've changed quite a bit. And even initially, when it happened, I went a bit psychotic and completely lost sight of who I was all together." More awkward silence. I didn't know what next to say. I mean I could go on. Explain how it couldn't be reversed because of Kimberley's coma. But what was the point in throwing more words out there. If she didn't believe me now extra self justification was pointless. "You're a bitch." "Clare.." "I mean the audacity! For 5 years my brother has been in a coma. My parents holding vigil. Their lives completely on hold. My own life destroyed because he was posthumously perfect and I could never live up to his myth. And now I find that you, who I thought was my friend, have been lying to me the whole time." "I'm not lying. I am your friend." "No. You're not. Apparently you're my brother." "But it's true. I am your brother. Well; maybe used to be is more accurate. I don't have much in common with Anthony any more. But I was him. For 18 years. Before the coma. So apart from saying this, telling you the truth, honestly Clare I don't know what else I can do to make you believe me." "I didn't say I didn't believe you. I said I'm not very happy with you." "Then you do believe me?" I can't hide the optimistic expectation that creeps into my voice. "Well I don't see that I have much choice. You and Caitlin both warned me enough that I was going to be told a far fetched story and she did give me a little bit of a hint. Still I'm happy to confirm this fits the bill for outlandishness. Besides it makes a lot more sense to me that you'd actually be Anthony. Anthony would never get a girlfriend as hot as you." "That seems mean. And somewhat confusing." I say, but lightly. "It seems like the sort of thing a sister would say to her brother." "I'm sorry Clare. I wanted to tell you. Over these years. But I didn't know how. But I've tried to be a sibling to you. Even if you didn't know it." "Well of course I've known it. Like you pointed out. You have been like a big sister to me. Now I understand why. But the things we've talked about. The things I've confided in you. Eeek," she squeals the last. "I feel a bit sick. That feels like a betrayal. It's stuff. I could never have discussed with you as Anthony." "But why Clare? Look at me. That's my point. I was Anthony but now I'm exactly the same as you. What we talk about, the advice you've sought, the candour we've shared. Isn't that what sisters do?" "I suppose. But are we really alike? I mean you haven't had a boyfriend for 5 years. As long as I've known you. I assumed that it was because you were holding a torch for my comatose brother. Which I suppose you are. But I can't talk about girl stuff with you now. Now that I know you're not really a girl." "Well if I'm not a woman in your opinion; what do you think I am? God Clare. You can't really think I'm still Anthony in a dress?" "I don't bloody know. I don't even know what to call you." "Call me Kim. No one calls me Anthony any more. Not even Lucinda." Especially not Lucinda, I'm thinking but not saying. Given our last meeting a couple of years ago as a yardstick. "It's just easier really. And I don't really have a choice. But having this happen to me changed more than just my appearance Clare. I've had to re-establish a new identity. That's why I left home and came here. If I'd have stayed the risk was I'd just become the old version of her." "This is all so confusing." Her intonation reflects her content. "And it won't be resolved in a single conversation. You need time to digest it all. And you'll have questions. So stay with me." Part plead, part instruction. "Just like you'd planned. The only difference is you know you're staying with family now. And it should feel more like home." "I suppose it explains why your best friends are a pair of lesbian witches." And I know her topic change is agreement and consent. "God. I'll be looking at all that Harry Potter nonsense in a new light. It's still a fair bit to swallow though. If I end up in therapy over this you are so paying for it Kim." "Fair enough. But at least I can say something I've been wanting to say to you for 5 years." "What's that?" "I love you little sis." "And I love you too. Big sis. Apparently. Freak of nature that you are." "I prefer hapless victim of a backfired curse." I quip. "Okay." She says slowly. "Which I'm sure I'm just about to hear all about in explicit detail." "I thought you'd never ask." I laugh. And I begin my tale for her, my attentive younger sibling, sparing almost nothing. ******* July 2016 8 years later my little sister is still living with me. And it's her I don't want to wake, even though I'm missing her company right now. I need a shower. Nothing in the newspaper really interested me. At this time of year countless pages at the back of it were focused on that stupid opium of the masses that is football so I avoided that like habit. But I drifted through the paper from the start again, and this time, disconcertingly near the front, I came across the photo of a beaming handsome man, that even though differently attired, was unmistakably the man I had dealt with only hours earlier. Well that saved me googling him I suppose. The accompanying article described how Peter Studley would be taking leave from his footy show duties because his wife -at a mere 36 weeks had unexpectedly been admitted to hospital due to pregnancy complications and a fear of premature labour. Even though I was alone I did an eye roll and found myself actually vocalizing at the newspaper. "36 weeks is actually term you moron!" It seemed to be such a little known fact when it should be. Term technically is anywhere from 36 weeks and beyond. Nonetheless, mindful this was yesterday's paper, the feared premature birth had indeed ensued. Perhaps the reason the baby had come out so flat was that her mother had laboured for the 24 hours since the article was written. The photo was of him dressed in a tux, beside a woman dressed in a ball gown. I assumed it to be his wife, although she was not evidently pregnant in this photo, and it gave a pretty clear indication that she wasn't by how tight it was. The caption confirmed this, as it was his wife but taken last year at something called The Brownlow medal. She looked very different from the woman I saw this morning, eyes taped shut, intubated, sliced open. I shuddered at the comparison. The wretched things pregnancy and childbirth does to us. How easier it would have been for me, as Anthony, to reproduce, to procreate. Simply ejaculate. The enormity of the difference seemed farcical. The good news for me though is I have no intent to do that to myself. Nothing, and more particularly I suppose, no-one will ever inseminate me. Tick away biological clock. I care not. Working in neonatal Paeds certainly quells any maternal instincts that I may have inherited with this body. Not only is the whole process horrifying but the end result so fragile. And although no-one is as good at saving them as I am, I would never want to be in the position where it might be my own. A creaking door interrupts my thoughts. Clare tiptoes into the room. Her stealth, and the fact that she's wearing her best 'Agent Provocateur' nightie in mid winter tell me all I need to know. "Hi," I whisper. "Is Mark over?" "Aha," she affirms. "Then why are we being quiet?" I mock, yet still quietly. "Shouldn't we wake his arse up?" "We were up pretty late." "Doing what?" Then. "Oh God Clare don't answer that. You guys were having a sesh weren't you?" She grins, but doesn't blush. I don't know why I expected her to. I think that maybe because I was. "You really should try it some time," she teases, when she senses my discomfort. "I don't think you should be offering me your boyfriend like that." I lightly laugh. "It seems disrespectful." "Joke all you want Kim. One day, for one reason or other, you're gonna have sex as a woman and you're gonna love it and then you're never going to stop." The implication from Clare was that I had in fact had sex as a man in my former life. This was an error I chose not to correct. Instead something else comes to the forefront of my mind. "I've had sex as a woman," I say dryly and bitterly. "Don't do that Kim. You always do that. You know that was anything but sex. And it was thirteen years ago. And you're letting it define you." "I'm not. I'm letting the fact that I was never supposed to be a woman in the first place define me." "Well you shouldn't be doing that either." I sigh. "How did your sexual escapades suddenly become a conversation about my inadequacies?" "I'm not sure exactly." Clare laughs. "Shouldn't you be bathing in some warm afterglow and be all serene this morning?" "Yes I should. Were I a Victorian maiden. See this is the problem Kim. Your views and conceptions are so archaic because you've never actually experienced it." "I'll be sure to put it on my to -do list. How does the eighth of Never sound?" "Smart arse cow." "Charming! Anyway, it may be sooner. I met a footballer this morning." "What?" Clare exclaimed a little. I recounted the events of my earlier encounter with sufficient embellishment to make it interesting. "I suspected this is why you chose that field," Clare comments when I'm done. "The only men you ever meet are expectant fathers. No single men on the maternity ward are there?" I choose to ignore her baiting. "So have you heard of him?" Is my redirection. "Linda was virtually cumming at the concept of him." I'm crasser than usual and make myself uncomfortable. It's all the sex talk I'm sure. "Yes. Because I live in the real world Kim. Unlike you." "Linda said something similar. She said I was Elsa the aloof ice queen." "Let it go Kim." "That's funny. You must be related to me!" "Only allegedly. Real brother, pretend step-sister. You're my ugly step-sister really." "So mean!" "I surely get that from you, you.....what did Linda call you, cold hearted ice queen?" "Melting ice queen. I need a shower. I'm sorry if I wake your boy." "Just don't sing." "Can't hold it back any more Clare." "Touch?. Wake him up if you like, with your monotonous bellowing. Besides, if you do, maybe we can squeeze one more shag in whilst you're beautifying yourself." "Eeew! Am I supposed to be offering sage advice at this point, about safe sex, or at the very least dangers of vaginal friction burns from overuse. I'm pretty sure that's how people spontaneously combust you know. And furthermore, my singing voice is so much better than Anthony's, and I shan't be silenced." She just laughed in reply and I headed for my bathroom. I liked living with my sister. Sure we fought from time to time, but we were honest and open with each other and had the relationship I'd always hoped we would. When we thought it was safe to do so we told select people we were step sisters. Hence the different appearance and surnames that we had. Because we were from interstate no-one had any reason to ever doubt our back story. Which of course truthfully was that technically we weren't related at all. But in our hearts we were and that was what really mattered. The danger was getting caught in a lie. Flatmates to some, step sisters to others, sometimes even cousins, which was still harder to disprove. Mark was a prime example. We both perhaps had the sense that when they started dating there was potential, so we had to be select. What if there was a meet the parents moment in the future and I'm mentioned as the step sister. Anthony's parents would go ballistic given how much they despise me, and Mark would be left confused and distrustful. So for him, we were cousins. Which could be downplayed in the future if required. When I emerged post shower, fresher, and in my comfy trackies, Mark was indeed awake. He was in the kitchen wearing only pyjama bottoms. He wasn't buff particularly, but he wasn't scrawny either. "Oh for God sake put a shirt on," I announce light heartedly. "Need I remind you you're a guest." "Yes wicked step mother," he retorts. "What is it with today? I've been called a bitch, a cow, an ugly step sister and wicked step mother all practically before 10 O'clock," I reply whimsically. "A clear indication you're pre - menstrual," Mark provokes. "Oh Fuck off!" I bite gently. "I'll have you know I've already saved two babies lives today while you were lying around banging my cousin." "Does anyone say bang anymore?" "Well I do. And I'm sick of the double standard. I don't get to wander around topless when you're here, and it's my house." "Well you can if you want." "Clare," I yell. Not sure which room she's in. "Your boyfriend's trying to seduce me again." "Tell him he's wasting his time," a voice emerges from the direction of her bedroom. I poke my tongue out at him when he grins at his girlfriend's response. "How come you two aren't working? I don't remember having so much time to lounge around when I was an intern," I ask him. "Is this another 'back in my day' story? Do I need to remind you it was only five years ago? We're both on late shifts ol' Doc Jacobs. We don't start till 2. If that's okay with you." "Clare!" I yell again. "Now he's being rude. Can you dump him please?" "Not a chance. The sex is way too good!" She echoes through the house. "Good grief," I mumble so that only Mark can hear me. I do like him really. He got together with Clare when they were halfway through medical school. He's a decent guy. Sort of how I imagined I would have turned out. They had been together about 3 years, and it was cute they were still enamoured with each other. I was ever mindful, now as they approached halfway through their intern year, and were earning a wage, not an exuberant one, but enough to afford rent, that they may want to move in together. The thought of Clare moving out, and me being alone, after 8 years together filled me with more fear than I care to admit. But I wouldn't stop her. I would just have to cope. Maybe it will be the impetus for me to get the first of many cats! "Did Clare tell you?" I address Mark to get away from that unsettling thought. "One of the babies I saved today was the daughter of a minor celebrity." "No," Mark replies with interest. "Yep. You'll definitely know him. Being a Victorian and such a blokey bloke after all," I say a tiny bit snidely. "Peter Studley from the Football show." "The Footy Show," Mark corrects. "Same difference," I slang it up. "Did you get his autograph?" "God no!" I'm incredulous. "Although my nurse wanted to. But I told her that was unprofessional." "That'd be right. Grinchy girl." "She was panting at him Mark. She needed to be reminded to show a bit of decorum." "Well, they say he's a good looking rooster." "I bet that's exactly what they say. Well I didn't notice," I lie. "He looked like a scared little boy when his daughter was about to die." It came out sounding meaner than I intended. "Anyway. I thought that could be my morning trivia." And I thought that would be the end of it. The last mention of Peter Studley and the last time I'd ever think of him. Little was I to know it most certainly wasn't. Chapter 3 As planned, Ally and I dolled up and went out Saturday night. Like me she was early 30s, and single. Unlike me she was unhappy about that. Although that was overly simplistic. There was a different level of urgency to Ally's hunt than perhaps there was to Linda's. Alice said she would settle down if she found the right guy. And she wanted to. But she still felt she needed to increase the size of her sample set. There appeared to be no rush. So, as often, but particularly tonight, we both had very different agendas about what we hoped to achieve on a night out together. I just wanted her to myself, to have a few wines and unwind about the week, particularly to mull over Linda's comments. I think specifically I wanted Alice's reassurance I wasn't a stuck up bitch. But it wasn't long before we attracted the attention of men. This was not uncommon, and did nothing but reinforce my belief in the predatory nature of them. I fended some off with my usual officiousness, appreciating fully the irony of my conflicting self belief. I suppose perhaps I was a conundrum, even to myself. I supported Ally, like a suitable wing- woman, till she found one she seemed happy with. I then did what I hated doing, but seemed to do all too presently. Pretended to go to the loo, and then simply ghosted, catching an Uber home. She wouldn't be mad. It was our established routine. I had warned her in the past if she looked like picking up I wouldn't stand in her way but I'd go home. She also knew that she just had to make one call and I'd be back in a second for a rescue if required. The combination of Clare's potential, even though still theoretical departure, and the likelihood Ally would not be single for much longer made my circumstances weigh on me more heavily. At home, getting into bed, the place to myself and slightly buzzy from the booze, I was in the dangerous mindset where self pity was able to overpower me. I felt like I was looking down the barrel of lonely days ahead. Did I need to rethink my plan? Did I really want to stay single forever? Was it time to give up on the ludicrous fantasy I seemed to hold so tightly? It wasn't like Clare and I hadn't thrashed out these scenarios though. After I had told her the truth eight years earlier, she had, like I remarked, moved in and never moved out. It wasn't so much that she idolised or emulated me, but saw that I was enjoying my life as a medical student, so it wasn't long before she had enrolled in a university degree, and transferred across to med school through the GMP (Graduate medical program) as soon as she was able. Effectively she was starting med school just as I was finishing it. Now, five years further on, she was an intern whilst I was a Fellow in Neonatal Paeds. Growing up in our rural New South Wales city, our school teacher parents had always said to Clare and I we could do whatever we want, except teaching. Not that they knew it but both of their children had ended up Doctors. They were so proud of Clare, having had to inherit all their hopes and dreams. I knew they would be proud of me too, if they knew who I really was. Instead I was always to them, the girl who was somehow responsible for Anthony's coma, and a possible bad influence on their daughter. Why they still thought that after 8 years of looking after Clare and leading her into medicine annoyed me greatly, but it was clear that would never change. Clare had suggested over the years, on a few occasions, of giving them the same truth I gave her; but they were beyond ever comprehending that, and I felt likely it would just cause them disbelieving resentment and confusion. So the truth of me had never gone beyond Beth, Cait, Cinders and Clare, and it had been years since I'd had any contact with Lucinda at all. Back in our home town, 13 years after the transformation, Anthony remained alive, suspended forever in the coma, with the help of Beth's magic. In 2013, 10 years after the change Beth and Caitlin had made the trip down together to stay with Clare and me. But they came with an agenda. Clare particularly, was increasing troubled by the fact that her parents were forever trapped in Wullendonga, fussing over their comatose son, when in fact both their children were getting on with their lives some 1000 kilometres away. There was a strong argument from all of them to withdraw Beth's life supporting magic and let nature take its course. Give my parents the closure and freedom they so desperately perhaps needed. Even being kind to the original Kimberley in setting her free from the suspended animation state she was perpetuated into. I reared backward at their suggestion vehemently. Even though it was a passive undertaking it still felt like active suicide. That was my original identity they were talking about. I couldn't consent to just killing me off. I still hung onto the hope of them waking up and, just as I always wanted, getting Lucinda back. I didn't feel it mattered too much to explain why, I would have thought it was inherently obvious, simply letting Anthony die just didn't seem right. I guess my one dissenting voice against planned euthanasia was enough to scuttle the plans, for Beth's magic stayed in place and it hadn't been spoken again since. I was forever in fear that it may come up again. In fact I was sure it would. At 15 years? At twenty? Clare was the least happy about it, and the revisitation will no doubt come from her. Three years on I remembered exactly what she had said to me. 2013 (3 years ago) "This is so selfish Kim. How can you claim to have once been Anthony and yet be so willing to let his parents, my parents, our parents suffer like this." "I hate it too Clare. Of course I do. But I can't let my body die. I can't let my identity perish. I can't be trapped forever like this." "Fuck Kim! Don't you see? You are already trapped forever like this. This is who you are now. Who you'll always be. You keep thinking this life you are living, is just temporary. That it's a life for rent. That you'll have to give it back one day. That you'll be able to give it back one day. But it's not and you won't." "But if Anthony wakes up, Beth can swap as back. She promised she would. I'm pretty sure the old Kimberley would be adamant about it." "She's never going to wake up. Don't you see? But even if she does; what do you propose? So she takes over your life as a second year resident Doctor, and you become a woken up coma victim. Losing everything you worked for. And she can't live your life. This life. She can't be a Doctor. She'll still be the vacuous bimbo she always was and will just carry on with her narcissistic ways. So the world loses out as well. All because you think Lucinda will have you back. Which she won't. I'm pretty sure she's long moved on." "She will have me back Clare. She promised at the lake. She made me promise to find a way back to her. I can't let the only possible avenue to that happening just die." "That 'day at the lake' you are so fixated on Kim. Need I remind you that was 10 years ago. And how many times have you seen her since then? Remind me again how that went?" "That was kind of exceptional circumstances. We were put in a situation where we had to be enemies. Competitors at least. I don't feel like what she said, her attitude that day, negates her promise." "That's purely because you see what you want to see. Rightly or wrongly, and in my opinion probably rightly, she has given you up as Kimberley, and closed that chapter of her life." Clare seemed to be increasing frustrated by me. "You of all people know what she meant to me Clare. Means to me, I mean. You were there for almost the entirety of our childhood friendship. You know how important she was to me. You know how much I loved her, even if I was too thick to realise it till too late," I whined. "Of course I know Ant. And I think it's the saddest thing for you that she can't love you as you are now. But like I said. This is who you are now, and who you'll always be. And by the very nature of that, you and Cinders can never be, so you have to move on." "I can't. I won't." "You're so stupid Kim. You should be looking forward, not back. You have a great life if you'd just be fucking willing to own it. Accept who and what you are and just live. Decide if you like boys, or girls. It really doesn't matter. But just decide. And then just open your heart up to the possibility of love, and a future. You're not renting this life Kim. You have bought it, and it's yours to keep. Forever. And your view is so skewed that you'll think this is a negative thing, but this life, you deserve it." "It's not as simple as that Clare. The fact remains, actively or passively, I can't condone killing off Anthony. I still have hope, and so do our parents." "Oh Kim. But it's a forlorn hope. And it's destroying my entire family. All three of you. Everyone I love. Just think about it okay." I'm not sure if I won the argument but Clare certainly relented then. Anthony persisted in his vegetative state, alive for now. But really it was just a resetting of the countdown clock, and it had been ticking away since. And maybe the alarm had sounded already. And I just had simply not heard it. Chapter 4 Late July 2016 It had been nearly a fortnight since the morning I had returned from Omeo and found myself an unwilling first responder to a neonatal code blue on the Perry ward, the private hospital part of 'The Women's.' I'd all but forgotten about it. There'd been plenty of other babies to save in the interim. I was preparing a presentation, sequestered away in the hospitals education centre, on a non descript Tuesday morning when my mobile phone rang. It was hospital switch. I assumed it meant a job. The calls could come from there if I wasn't in NETS HQ at the time. We had a hotline in our NETS office that all the hospitals in Victoria were supposed to know and use, and part of the job of our NETS educator nur