The Great Shift - Summer's End Part 4 free porn video

The Great Shift - Summer's End (Part 4) by Limbo's Mistress Tyrone began to stir about three minutes before the police arrived. I noticed it first, the twitch of the fingers of his left hand. Instantly, the memory of that massive hand being slammed against my face, and the harsh way they had groped and fondled me, rushed forward, drowning out everything else. As if I were reliving it all over again. Huddled beneath the blanket, I curled tighter in on myself, and a hoarse whimper, as far removed from Douglas Thomas as the sun was from the center of the universe, squeaked out of my mouth. Juan, sitting next to me on the sofa, glanced down at the awakening man on the floor before us. She slipped her strong arms around me, hugging me protectively against her. "Roberta," she said in a gruff voice that was surprisingly soft, then nodded at the prone figure on the floor. Before the Shift, Roberta had been one of my best drywall installers, Derek. She strode forward with a gait that reveled her inexperience with moving her new, bulkier form around. However, as she passed Tracy, she took the bloody wrench from her hand. Tyrone moaned as he regained some level of consciousness. "Ugh. Fuckin' bitch." One of his arms slid across the floor closer to his body as he prepared to push himself off the floor. Roberta paused next to him, glancing down. Then her mouth twisted into an angry grimace before she dropped down onto Tyrone's back, driving her knee right into his spine to send him back onto the floor. My would-be rapist hit the tile beneath him hard, the air whooshing out of his lungs. The former woman on top of him placed her still-dusty hand on the back of Tyrone's head and leaned over as she brushed the business end of the wrench in her hand along his scalp. Right below the lump that was already visibly rising next to his ear. "The cops are going to here soon, you rapist asshole," she said in a voice heavy with the threat of violence. "You're going to go to jail. The only thing you need to ask yourself is if you prefer to be awake when they arrest you. Or unconscious." To accentuate her point, Roberta tapped the wrench on the floor next to Tyrone's head. It made a light 'thunk-thunk' sound. "I'm already a little pissed I wasn't the one to brain you the first time. So, I have no problem with being in second place." Tyrone grunted, but remained flat on the floor. I watched the exchange from my spot, my entire body shaking uncontrollably. Even though the logical part of my mind was completely convinced the threat to my physical safety had been eliminated, the other part still reacted in response to memory of the way he'd touched me. Threatened me. My employees may have stopped him before he could follow through on his plans, but damage had been done all the same. "Do not look at him, Senior Thomas," Carlotta said, reaching up to place her gigantic hand in front of my face. "He does not deserve even a second of your attention." For the next few minutes, the tension in the small area of the trailer remained palatable. Then the sound of tires stopping on the gravel outside accompanied a set of flashing blue and red lights that streamed in several of the windows and began to reflect around the room. Car doors opened and closed, and Tracy stepped back to allow two uniformed police officers to step inside. One was a heavy-set woman with dark eyes and graying black hair. The other a young man in a blonde crewcut who looked to be about seventeen or so. Once they were through the doorway, they both glanced at the man on the floor, then raised their gazes to look at me. The warmth that had faded from my cheeks reignited, causing me to be unable to look at the two of them. Instead, I turned my face closer to Carlotta as another wave of shame slammed into me. I heard Tracy talking to them in low voices. Even though I couldn't hear the words themselves, it was obvious she was giving them a run-down of the incident and the aftermath. In my periphery, I watched as the two of them crossed over to where Roberta had Tyrone pinned to the floor. The bulky man stood up, leaving the wrench on the floor. I guess so there would be no worry on the officers' part that she might attack them with it. The woman reached down, grabbed Tyrone under one arm, and hauled him to his feet. For a second, I honestly thought the idiot might try to resist. The odds of him overpowering the two officers were slim, but not beyond the impossible. When he had been attacking me, he had seemed impossibly large. An unstoppable force. A monster. However, the odds of him overpowering the two officers in a confined area with several huge construction workers standing around were beyond astronomical. Snowballs had better chances of lasting in Hell. Still, while he obviously knew physical resistance was out of the question, it didn't stop the punk from running his mouth. "Get your fucking hands off me, dyke," he shouted, glaring at the woman holding his arm in a vice grip. Her partner moved forward before the last syllable left Tyrone's lips. With a precision and speed that belied his youthful appearance, the male officer had both of the perp's arms behind his back and was clicking the titanium manacles into place. The motion was so fluid that it was nearly a blur. If his apparent age hinted that the officer had been involved in the Shift, his actions practically screamed it. Keeping her hand firmly on Tyrone's arm, she spun him around to face her. With her free hand, she pulled a small, laminated card from the breast pocket of her uniform. Holding it up closer to her face, she began to speak. "You are under arrest. By the order of the Amended Miranda Act of 2019, you will be incarcerated, without legal counsel, until your identity has been officially authenticated. Until such time, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can, and will, be used against you in a court of law. Once your identity has been officially authenticated, your right to legal counsel will be reinstated. If you cannot afford legal counsel, it will be provided for you. Do you understand these rights as I have just read them to you?" Tyrone tried to turn around to look at me, but the cop holding his arm was stronger. She kept her prisoner facing in her direction. Never having been one of the sharpest kids I'd ever known, Tyrone gave the warning he'd just received about a second's consideration before his mouth opened. "You might be safe now, Dougie, But rest assured, I'll be back one day. It might be a year from now. Or even five years. Not that it really matters. One day when you least expect, I'll show up. Then I'm going to fuck that slutty pussy of yours raw." The younger officer stepped in on Tyrone's other side and pushed something in his hand against his ribs. "One more word out of you, shitheel," he growled in a low voice that reeked of anger and age. "And I'm going to light you up with fifty thousand volts until you piss on yourself. Got me?" The pair of them escorted Tyrone out of the trailer. It wasn't until I heard the door of the police car open and close that I released the breath I'd been holding without realizing it. The relief of knowing my assailant was securely contained within the vehicle broke over me like a wave. I slumped back into the sofa, a fresh round of hot tears spilling over my eyelids to slide down my cheeks in rivulets. Carlotta rubbed my shoulder, shushing me several times like a mother comforting a distraught child. The embarrassment of her having to do that was noticeable, but the way it seemed to soothe my aching soul overrode the shame. I wanted to be comforted at that moment, I wanted to just curl up and try to forget the whole thing had ever happened. A few minutes later, I heard someone clear their throat, drawing my attention away from my own misery back to the world around me. Lifting my head, I stared out through slightly blurry eyes to see the woman officer standing before me. "I'm sorry to have to do this right now," she said in a voice so sincere that I instantly believed her. "But I figured you'd prefer to answer some questions here," she gestured at Carlotta, Tracy, and Roberta, "among friends. Rather than down at the station." I stared at her for a second, processing her words. Then, with a slowly developed understanding, accepted the fact that I was going to have to recount what had just happened. So she could write it all down to be used at some future date in a trial against Tyrone. "Here," I agreed, my eyes flicking to the closed door of the trailer. She nodded, grabbing the chair from my desk and rolling it over so she could sit down across from me. She tossed me an apologetic look and pointed at her knees. "Wife had to go through two replacement surgeries over the past five years. Some days I can manage four or five hours before they start yelling at me. Some days, less." She sighed, tapping on the small tablet in her right hand. "Damned Shift is going to make me have to take early retirement." I blinked a few times. "I thought the Shift Job Protection Act ..." She nodded. "Yeah, the SJP means the force can't fire me based on my body change. So long as I can prove an ability to do the job. Bum knees sort of trump that." A small smile creased her face. It was the smile of a man. One of the things that you didn't notice until an event like the Great Shift happened was the little things that were different from person to person. Not just across genders, but also across culture and age. It was in they walked. Or talked. The way their eyes moved around a room during a conversation, the points of interest that captured their attention. The way they sat and carried themselves. The way they smiled. Of course, a lot of us that had swapped genders had practiced trying to fit in as our new selves. Sure, ninety-three percent of the planet wasn't in their birth bodies, but it seemed that no one really wanted to call attention to it. As if we were all subconsciously trying to "blend in" with the non-Shifted population. Even I had contributed, adopting an appearance and mannerisms more suited toward my new body, rather than the person living within it. "First of all, let me introduce myself. My name is Sergeant Michael Willis." She looked down at the tablet. "You are Douglas Thomas, correct? Owner of this construction company?" I nodded. "That's correct." "Mr. Thomas, I understand that you've been through a ... rather trying ordeal. But any help you can give us will be appreciated. Now, do you have any knowledge as to the identity of your assailant? Whether it is physical or mental?" "He is, uh, was Tyrone Davis. The body used to belong to his father, Roger Davis. Roger is ... was ... an employee. And a good friend. His son ..." Tyrone's boasts came back to me. "Tyrone is supposed to be doing time in Powhatan." "One second," Willis said, tapping on the screen. Unbelievable chaos reigned throughout the world during the first few days after the Great Shift. Then countries began the began the daunting process of finding out who had switched with who. Luckily, this was an easier task in the United States and other nations with advanced technology and infrastructure. Unfortunately, straight swaps, where Person A and Person B, both related, exchanged bodies, only comprised about ten percent of the Shift. Another thirty-five percent of affected people shifted with someone within five miles of them. Usually in a round-robin pattern with people they knew or had recent contact with. Person A into B, B into C, C into D, and D back into A. The remaining swaps were so random they could barely be categorized. Person A into Person B. Person B into Person G, three thousand miles away, Person G into Person W, on the other side of the world. So, the United Nations took action and the International Shift Identity Database was formed. Participating countries linked their social, economic, and legal databases together, with varying levels of access. Top government agencies supposedly had unfettered access to the information, since they were the ones who verified someone's new identity and provided them with the necessary updated documentation. In my purse was a hard plastic card that looked like a driver's license. Only it had two pictures instead of one. The man I'd been before the Shift, and the pretty young girl I'd become. Of course, privacy advocates went nuts. Screaming about Big Brother overstepping its bounds. Their argument actually gained traction for a while. But as the weeks went on and it became more obvious that unscrupulous people were using their new bodies to do shady stuff, the voices of those in favor of the database won out. From what I had read, local police and other law agencies had a much more restricted level of access. They could only review the identities of those who had already been vetted by the Federal government. Or who had criminal records. Such as Tyrone. The woman frowned at the data before her, then looked back up to me. "Mister Thomas, do you happen to know why Tyrone attacked you? What I mean is why he might have targeted you specifically?" I felt my mouth drop open. Was she implying that I somehow brought this on myself? That I had done something to cause Tyrone to try to rape me? Memories of a thousand news stories from before the Shift leapt into my brain. Stories of women being accused of leading their attackers on. Women who had obviously been "asking for it" because of the way they were dressed. Or looked. Or existed. Women who couldn't be a real victim because they had been drinking before the assault. My embarrassment morphed into anger, and I stared hard at the woman before me. She must have read my fury because she immediately held up her hand in defense. "It is not my intention to imply that you might have done something that led to this incident. What I mean is, did he come here to rob you? Or was sexually assaulting you his primary objective?" My ire was still roiling through me, but I managed to answer in a civil, if still trembling tone. "He came specifically to ... hurt me. Tyrone was a horrible kid. Violent and dangerous. I convinced his parents to press charges against him. Which led to his incarceration." She nodded, pointing at the tablet. "According to the ISID, Tyrone Franklin Davis, Powhatan Correctional Inmate Number 43345 is reported as 'Current Location Unknown'." A frown creased her face as she glanced back down. "It seems that his body went to one of the prison guards." I gasped, covering my mouth with my hand. "Oh god..." Willis' head snapped up, her eyes focusing on me Roger..." I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Tyrone ... he was bragging, uh, that his father Shifted into a girl he knew. One that lived in his parents' neighborhood. I ... I think ..." Bile roiled in my stomach. "I think he raped him, too." A hiccup, tasting of sauerkraut for some reason, escaped from between my lips. The burning turned into a cough that quickly morphed into a gagging sound, like a sorority girl who just tried to show off by guzzling a Solo cup full of cheap liquor. Stinging bile rose up into my throat, causing me to throw off the blanket and drop to my knees on the floor, scrambling to get to the white plastic wastebasket sitting nearby. I just managed to get my arms around it as the remains of my lunch surged out of my mouth and splattered the inside of the container with a nausea- enhancing echo. Carlotta was quickly at my side, her hands at my neck. For a second, I thought she was going to choke me. Maybe to try and get me to stop throwing up. However, I quickly realized her goal was to scoop my long hair away from the danger zone. For a second, everything was surreally still. As if life had been placed on "pause". Then the absurdity of the scene struck me. Here I was, a former burly man in the body of a pretty young girl who was having her hair held back by a former petite housewife currently existing within the massive body of her husband so she could puke in response to being questioned about nearly being raped by the son of a good friend. Questions being asked by a male officer stuck in his wife's body. I wasn't sure if the religious nuts were right about the Shift being God's work. But there was no way the current wasn't the result of sadistic shenanigans of an insane deity. It was just too out there otherwise. A laugh tried to cut through the vomiting, but only made me gag and dry- heave a little more. After a few minutes, my stomach was empty, a heavy sweat had broken out on my brow, and my back ached worse than my cheek. I pulled my head out of the bucket and sat back against the front of the sofa, wincing at the bitter taste in my mouth. Carlotta stood up and walked over to the water cooler near the door. She returned with a clear plastic cup full of water. "Sip on this, Senior Thomas. It will help." I brought the cup to my lips, but her hand touched my shoulder before I could drink. "Sip," she repeated, fixing me with a stern, very matronly stare. Which, coming from Juan's rugged face, nearly made me laugh again. Sergeant Willis waited patiently while I sipped from the cup and recomposed myself. "The address for the Davis Residence was attached to Tyrone's casefile. I'm requesting a unit to swing by and check it out." Then she sighed in a compassionate manner. "I'm also requesting an ambulance accompany them. Just in case it's bad." I knew what she meant by bad. If Tyrone hadn't been lying to me in an attempt to scare me further, then god only knew what sort of condition, physically and mentally, Roger might be in after all this time. The merest attempt of my brain to go there caused my stomach to churn again. "Is there anything else you need?" Carlotta asked, standing almost between me and the officer. Willis' shook her head. "Not at the moment." She stood, looking down at me. "Mister Thomas, I would like to come by your home tomorrow to get your official statement and make sure that we've got all the information we need. If that's okay with you." I shrugged, still fighting the urge to vomit again. "Yeah. Okay." She gave me the standard, non-committal smile of a law officer then turned around and walked to the door. Before she stepped outside, she turned back. "Mister Thomas? Try to get some rest. I know that sounds stupid, but it will help. What will also help is the fact that Tyrone Davis will be back in his cell at Powhatan before the sun rises tomorrow." "How?" I asked. "Don't you have to book him or arraign him first?" This time, her smile was genuine. "Normally. But he's a convicted felon and an escaped prisoner who did not turn himself in during the Amnesty Window. Which means he gets to go back to living his cage until he stands trial for any crimes he's committed since the Shift. He won't be able to hurt you anymore." Her words were little comfort. After Sergeant Willis left and I heard the squad car leave, I pulled myself to my feet. My trembling had subsided, but the disorientation from everything that had transpired refused to be so easily dispatched. When I turned to look at Carlotta, the cool air across my chest reminded me that Tyrone had destroyed the blouse. Which meant I'd had a whole conversation with the police with my nearly bare chest exposed. I sat down hard on the sofa, sighing as I closed my eyes. I just wanted to curl up and sleep. For about fifty years. After a few moments, I heard the sound of Carlotta moving closer to me. "Senior Thomas?" "Yes?" I didn't open my eyes. "Come. Let's take you home." I shook my head slowly. "I think ... I think I'm just going to sleep here tonight." "No," she said. "I think that is not a wise choice." I opened one eye to look up at her. "Why is that?" She frowned, looking away for a bit to the two men standing by the door. Tracy and Roberta had been nearly invisible during my discussion with the police. Now, they stood as silent guardians, protecting the entrance of the trailer against any who would dare trespass. Carlotta looked back to me. "You shouldn't be in here right now. Too many bad things this evening." I sighed. "This is my job, Carlotta. I'm not going to let that piece of crap chase me away from a place that is mine." There was a rush of anger in my tone as the feelings bottled inside me tried to break free. She sighed. "Yes. I agree. However, for tonight, maybe tomorrow as well, you need to be away. Come," she held out her hand. "We will take you home." I let her pull me up to my feet. Using my free hand, I held the two halves of my shirt closed. I looked from her to the mess around the trailer. The sofa was slightly disturbed, pushed off-angle during my struggle with Tyrone. The wastebasket was already starting to stink from where I'd thrown up. My panties were nowhere to be seen, though. I turned my head left and right, trying to remember where I'd lost them. Of course, I didn't "lose" them. They were ripped off me and tossed somewhere. "Uh," Tracy said, her face turning slightly beet. "If you're looking for your underwear, I picked them up before the police arrived. I didn't think you wanted them, uh, lying out." She put her hand into the front pocket of her jeans. I shook my head violently from side to side, looking down at the floor. "No. Just ... throw them away. Or something. They're torn and ... and ..." A fresh wave of tears started streaming down my cheeks. Carlotta put her arm around my shoulders and guided me toward the door. At the bottom of the steps, I tried to turn in the direction of my car, but the strong man next to me pulled instead toward a dark red F-150. "Roberta and I will take you home," she said softly. "It is not good for you to try driving yourself right now." "But I need ..." She continued to guide me toward the truck. "Roberta has your purse. Tracy found your keys on the ground and will lock up the trailer. You can come back for your car later. Right now, you just need to go home and be with your family." I stiffened at her words. My family. How could I face them? Carrie would be beside herself with worry. Probably even blame herself a little for insisting that I start dressing like a twenty-year-old woman and not a forty-something construction worker. Not that I think that would have mattered to Tyrone in the least. He arrived with hurting me on his mind. A suit of armor wouldn't have dissuaded him. However, I really didn't want to see Mels. As bad as it was to think, she would find perverse enjoyment in hearing about what had happened. She had already teased me about the effect my new appearance would have on men. As well as warn me that some men might decide that they wanted what I had, regardless of my feelings on the matter. Once again, though, I knew that I could have been an unattractive older woman, and Tyrone still might have tried to rape me. Demented people such as that didn't take personal preferences into account. To them, it was about power. Carlotta opened the passenger door, allowing me to climb up into the cab before closing it. Roberta slid into the rear seat behind me. "Here," she said, passing my dusty and scuffed purse over the seat. "Your phone had fallen out, so I put it back. You, uh, you missed about five calls from your daughter. Carrie, right?" I nodded silently. Carrie was probably getting freaked out with me not answering. Before the Shift, I was known to swing by a pub for an hour or so after the day to have a drink with the guys. Now, though, I didn't think Carrie would believe that to be the reason I wasn't returning her calls. Carlotta climbed in behind the wheel and started the engine. I leaned to the side, resting my head against the glass as she backed up and pulled out of the site. My eyes tracked the trailer as we passed it and drove down the street. It sat there, dark and foreboding. I honestly wasn't sure if I'd ever be able to forget the incident that had taken place inside its walls. Halfway home, my phone rang again. Carrie. Again. Pulling the device out of my purse, I realized my hand was shaking. I swiped a trembling thumb across the screen and put the phone to my ear. "I'm coming home," I said, surprised as just how flat my voice sounded. Almost robotic. "Daddy?" she asked. "We were getting worried." We? I was pretty sure that plural pronoun was meant to indicate her and Joseph. I doubted Mels worried about much of anything where I was concerned. "I'm coming home," I repeated. Then, before she could start asking questions, I hung up and dropped the phone back into my handbag. "Senior Thomas," Carlotta said when I ended the call. "I think you should talk to them. About what happened. Family is there for you to lean on when you need them." I frowned, resuming my stare out to the world slipping past the truck. "I can't," I said. "My daughter is fifteen going on forty. My son is having enough of a time walking the line between relief that he's a Sevener and guilt that he's a Sevener. And my wife ..." I just shook my head. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "But if you keep this bad moment bottled up inside, it will eat at you. Fester like a sore." I shrugged without answering. When we pulled in front of my house, I sat in the cab for a few moments, staring at the structure. The people who meant the most to me in the entire world were inside, but I felt far to upset to face them. At least, right then. Neither one of my kids had looked at me differently since the Shift. Even though I looked nothing close to the father they had grown up with. Now I knew they would see me as weak and helpless. Much like I used to look at other young women. It wasn't until Carlotta killed the engine that I snapped out of my thoughts. "Senior Thomas?" she asked, putting her hand on my arm. I nodded and climbed out of the truck. As I trudged slowly across the grass toward the front door, I heard Roberta and Carlotta exit the vehicle and follow along. I nearly turned around and ordered them to go home. I didn't need any assistance making the thirty foot journey to my own house. However, the numbness that had taken root in my heart refused to let me get angry. The door opened before I reached it and Carrie stepped out on the porch, a huge smile plastered on her face. A smile that immediately fell when her wide eyes landed on me and my appearance. "Daddy?" she asked, covering her mouth with one hand. "What happened?" A fresh wave of shame rolled over me at seeing her reaction. She'd come out to greet me with the grin that, despite her new face, I recognized. It was the same look she used when she had exciting news to share. However, it had vanished in an instant when she saw the state I was in. As her hand lowered, I simply shook my head and walked past her, stepping inside. I didn't want to talk about it. Couldn't bear to see the concerned and worried expression of my wife's face with my daughter's heart. I pulled the blanket tighter around me and crossed the living room toward the stairs. There was light spilling out of the doorway of the kitchen down the hall, and the still-present aroma of pizza hung in the air. Apparently Carrie and Joseph had waited as long as they could for me to come home before finally eating dinner. My stomach, still churning from the bout of vomiting, protested loudly. As I ascended to the second floor, I heard Carrie speaking to the two women. The gasp my daughter let out was like a shard of ice to my heart. However, I didn't stop in my quest to get to my desired sanctuary. Back in my bedroom, I closed the door and leaned back against it. Fighting a fresh round of tears. The fact that I couldn't stop crying was just salt in the wound. Not because I thought tears were only for the weak, but because I didn't want to continue to cry because of that low-life son of a bitch, Tyrone. I threw the blanket off my shoulders and shuffled to the bed. Sitting on the edge, I removed my boots, letting them drop to the floor with a careless thump. Then I stripped off the ruined blouse, replacing it with a faded Virginia Tech t-shirt left over from my pre-Shift days. The burgundy and orange material fell down halfway to my knees, reminding me just how much shorter I was now. Peeling the jeans off was the hardest, mostly because the lack of underwear beneath really drove home the evening's events. I sniffled automatically as I grabbed a clean, undamaged pair from the drawer and pulled them on. I pulled back the covers of the bed and slipped beneath them, snuggling down until only the very top of my red tresses peeked out. My face, buried in the pillow, still bore the remains of the light smattering of makeup I'd put on that morning. Despite it all, I heard Carrie's voice in my head, warning me against the effect that sleeping in it would have on my complexion. At the moment, I really didn't care. My mind, free from the distractions of the world around it, began to replay the horrible nightmare over and over. I found myself flinching when I recalled, with crystal clarity, the sensation of Tyrone's hand on my breast. The way his voice had a little reverb to it as I bent, face-down, into the sofa. The memory of how cool the air was over the bare flesh of my freshly exposed bottom. My heart raced as the scene looped repeatedly in my skull. Each time, that nasty part of my brain kept trying to inject fantasy into the reality. To show me what might have happened if Carlotta and the others hadn't shown up when they did. To present to me the terrible possibilities. Would Tyrone have simply left me there after violating me? Or would he have forced me to go to wherever he was holding his poor father? It was all too easy for my imagination to picture both myself and Roger, trapped in our new, feminine forms, being abused and tortured by his demented child. Of course, there was also the chance he would have raped me, then just killed me. No muss, no fuss. Just a dead girl in a trailer. No witnesses or leads. A knock at the door made me jump and nearly cry out. I shifted further beneath the covers and ignored the visitor. "Daddy?" Carrie called. "Can I come in?" I didn't respond. "Carlotta told me what happened." She continued through the wooden barrier between us. "I'm sorry. Please, can we talk?" No, I thought. I am not going to subject my teenaged daughter to having to comfort her father on nearly being raped or murdered. I'd rather remain trapped in my own twisted thoughts than do that. After a few seconds, I heard muffled voices in the hallway. Probably Carrie and Joseph, debating on whether or not to leave me be. I knew I should at least get up, open the door, and tell them that I was okay. Sure, it would be a lie. Mostly likely one that they would recognize as such. However, I also knew that they wouldn't stop worrying until I at least let them see that I was unharmed. Mostly. Physically, at least. I threw back the covers and stood up. The motion sent a fresh burst of pain flaring in my face. "I should probably put some ice on my cheek," I mumbled to myself. I crossed the room and put my hand on the knob. I stood there for a few moments, taking several deep breaths as I attempted to compose myself enough to address my children. I could feel the tacky stickiness of the drying tears on my cheeks and knew that my eyes had to be completely bloodshot. Steeling myself, I twisted the handle and pulled open the door. "It's not as bad as ..." I said, already rolling into my rehearsed spiel. Then I stopped, staring at the person standing just on the other side of the doorway. I had expected to see Carrie standing there at least. Joseph could have been with her, but since my son hadn't completely come around to my new physical state, I wouldn't have been surprised to learn that he split as soon as he and his sister attempted to check on me. Mels, even, wouldn't have been a complete surprise. Though, her presence would have come with a nasty onslaught of verbal abuses and taunts. Still, she would have been more of a likely visitor than the girl I found looking up at me through the open door. Her face, so youthful, was one I could pick out of any group photo taken over the past decade and a half. It was a face I knew almost better than any other on the planet. A face I had watched travel through the years from maternity ward to driver's ed. A face I'd last seen three months ago beneath a beach house in South Carolina. The brown hair, formerly shoulder length, was cut in a cute pixie style that actually seemed to add a year or two to her actual fifteen. Her clothes, consisting of a pair of faded jeans and a peach V-neck sweater, might be more the style of a college student than a high school sophomore. However, it was the way that she stood that made her look older than I knew her to be. Speechless, I simply stood there as the former owner of my body smiled up at me and nodded. "Hello, Doug," Kara said. "Can I come in and talk?" Author's Note: First of all, I want to apologize to everyone who has been waiting on the next installment of this story. This chapter was really hard to write. Dealing with sexual assault and the aftermath isn't something that I feel can just be thrown about. I wanted to give it as realistic a portrayal, at least from the victim's side, as I could. I sort of had to guess at the police procedure, so my apologies if I got it wrong. To give myself time to process and ponder, I worked on other projects. Now I think I'm finally read to complete Doug's story. I want to thank you for taking the time to read this chapter. As always, comments or reviews are greatly appreciated. Either here or at [email protected].