Chapter 15: There’s a difference between knowing the path and walking the path.

2024 January 3, Tuesday

Jessica stepped out of the mobile store onto the pavement and sighed. She had gotten her number updated and was getting ready to text the two or three people who cared about her new number when her phone buzzed. She pulled it back out of her pocket and unlocked it to see a new message from her stalker.

Unknown: we should meet

She nearly dropped her phone, but she managed to catch it. “Fuck!” she shouted out loud right there on the sidewalk. What in the fucking hell? How? she thought glaring at her phone. She turned quickly around and went back inside. She was pissed, and the nearest person was the clerk who had helped her, and she fixed her glare on him. “How the fuck did this stalker get my number already?” she shouted at the terrified looking employee. “I literally just changed it!”

The clerk looked stricken. “I, I don’t know!” he stammered. “It wasn’t us! I swear we would never do anything like that!”

The manager saw the commotion and started heading over towards them. “Is there something we can help you with, Mrs…?”

“It’s Ms Whittaker,” she said shortly, glad it wasn’t his name anymore, even if it had been a pain to change back. “And I changed my number today because some asshole stalker got ahold of my old number and kept texting me creepy things. And now he’s got it again somehow, immediately after I changed it.”

“Can I see?” the manager asked holding out his hand.

“Fine, whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes. She unlocked her phone and showed him the latest one.

“And you say this person has texted you before?” The manager said, arching an eyebrow. “Did you block them?”

“Yes!” Jessica said exasperatedly. “But every time it’s from a different number! At the same time every day. Then again today right after I changed my number, despite the only people who should know the new one so far are me, and your employee here.”

“And our systems, ma’am,” the manager said calmly. “It’s possible the person hacked your account somehow and was watching for changes.”

“Can you change it again and see if this asshole sees the new number?”

“Unfortunately, ma’am, we have a policy preventing us from changing it more than once every thirty days,” the manager said as he handed her phone back over. “Also, unfortunately, it appears your stalker is using an internet SMS gateway that rotates between countless numbers, very hard to track down. You should contact the police, even if they won’t have much to go on.”

“So now what,” Jessica said, exasperated. “I just get texts every day until this psycho gets bored and comes and murders me?”

“You should still reach out to the police.”

“Yeah. Thanks for nothing,” she growled and stomped out. She wasn’t about to go to the police — they were useless at best and untrustworthy, that much she had learned early in life. She started walking back towards her office when her phone buzzed again. In the commotion, she had forgotten to block the number again. She sighed and pulled her phone out and glanced at the message.

Unknown: so I’m going to take a big risk here. You know me. Or you met me one time anyway. We met at one of your ex-husband’s poker nights.

She hesitated as she navigated to the block page. There had been so many poker nights. Her husband excused it as not real gambling because they played for pittances, and he usually came out slightly ahead. She couldn’t think of any specific person it could be, though, there had been so many. She sighed and slowly typed a reply, unsure why she didn’t just block them immediately again. A small part of her hoped her daughter might still be alive — no matter how foolish a hope it was.

Jessica: that my ex-husband had poker nights is no big secret and your description vague enough, you could be any one of a couple of dozen people.

A possible understatement, even. Even though she was often out with the ladies from church those nights, she was either there at the start or the end frequently. And while there were a handful of semi regulars, there were plenty of irregulars. She started navigating to block again.

Unknown: roughly five years ago, I was perhaps the only gay person to ever sit down at your dining room table for the game. You were the only one who was nice to me.

Oh. Him. What was his name? He had only been there once. She couldn’t blame him, honestly, her husband and the others had treated him like dog shit. He was a soldier of some sort. Her ex-husband’s company had done some marketing work for some security company briefly and invited a couple of the guys he met there over, and one of them brought him along.

Jessica: why the smoke and mirrors?

Unknown: it’s complicated, I have… restrictions… on my activities. I shouldn’t even be texting you, having to do some gymnastics to do that.

Jessica: how did you get my number right after I changed it?

Unknown: I hacked your account

Jessica: is there anything I can say to get you to leave me alone? Change providers? Flee the country? Stop carrying a mobile?

Unknown: This is the last time I’ll say it, I think we should meet. If you don’t want to know what I learned about your kid, say the word and I’ll back off.

Jessica typed out and deleted several expletive filled rejections but hesitated on each one. She had no right to be in her daughter's life. None. But. If she were alive out there, somewhere, she had to at least know.

Jessica: somewhere very public with lots of cameras.

If he really is this secretive, maybe he won’t agree, she thought.

Unknown: agreed. This weekend?

Jessica: Saturday, noon, The Blue Room café in the town square.

Unknown: agreed.

Jessica: how will I recognize you?

Unknown: I’m hard to miss, but I’ll be wearing a red scarf.

She put her phone back in her bag. What the fuck had she just agreed to? This was such an absurdly dangerous idea, but she had to know, and it’s not like she had tons to live for. She quickly sent off texts to the three people who needed her new number, her boss, her best (only) work friend, and her landlord, and finished sending them as she walked back into the building where her flat was.

2021 January 2, Saturday

James had managed to find shelter last night, thankfully — a hostel. It wasn’t the greatest accommodation, but it was better than the homeless shelters that were mostly run by churches. He even knew of at least one with direct involvement from the church his parents attended, and he absolutely was not going there.

He quickly ran through the list of options in his head, as his phone died shortly after finding the hostel. His online friends were mostly scattered to the four corners of the earth, or at least the UK. And James hadn’t really had friends in real life so much as people he was approved to be around by his parents.

There was only one likely option locally, David. He was in his second year at uni and had been a parent-approved ‘friend’ from school and church. James also knew he had been kicked out briefly once by his parents over something he’d never talked about. He hoped that would be enough to garner some sympathy.

James’s phone, though, was dead and he had forgotten in his haste to pack a charger. He worked up the nerve to ask several others at the hostel before finding someone who would lend him one long enough to get David called. He didn’t tell David why his parents had kicked him out, just that they had, and asked if he could crash on David’s couch for a week or two. David, thankfully, agreed readily and even kindly offered to pick him up from the hostel.

The drive was relatively quiet. James knew he wasn’t really covering his upset well, but David thankfully didn’t ask any questions and just put on some loud music that he zoned out to. When they got to David’s flat, he dumped his backpack that contained his meagre possessions beside the couch and sat down hard on his new home for the foreseeable future.

James started thinking about his future — up to two weeks ago, he had been planning on going to Uni in the next year or so. He’d had decent grades, and his parents had said they would help with the cost of housing and such. But that was all in the dumpster now, wasn’t it? No assistance, didn’t even have his books or notes — he hadn’t even sat his A Levels yet — and now he would have to make ends meet somehow. Maybe someday.

He wanted to show the emotions he was feeling, but didn’t dare around David or his flatmates because that's not what men do. That night, alone in the dark on the couch of David and his flatmates’ place, he lay there reliving the past two weeks and crying softly.

His father had gradually lifted the restrictions after the initial grounding. His mum had managed to get ahold of his headmaster at home; he had confirmed there had been a ‘boys vs. girls’ assignment earlier in the year and that some students had taken home some articles of clothing as part of it. It hadn’t been a lie — not entirely, anyway. The skirt had come from that assignment, but the dress had come from the church’s charity bin — stuffed in his bag as he passed by it on impulse, it hadn’t even fit all that well. Seeing himself in his mirror late that night hurt. Nothing looked as he hoped.

He had been expected to spend most of his time that week studying his Bible — a skill he had long since mastered pretending at. He had enough relevant passages memorized he could rattle them off if his dad asked what he’d read lately. It wasn’t like the Bibles the church used were difficult reads. He’d read some from an Old King James Version once, that version was considerably more difficult to read. The verses he looked at though in both seemed like the meanings had been shifted subtly, and not for the friendlier.

James also led prayers at meals, spent time reading and writing in his daily prayer journal — which he knew his father read — and helping mum cook and clean. The cruel irony of doing what his father considered women’s work as punishment for having women’s clothes in his room wasn’t lost on him, but he absolutely didn’t mention that in his prayer journal.

His prayer journal was to be kept in the living room, even when he wrote in it, same as his father’s and his mum’s, not that it would have been considered permissible for him to read their journals. He was always guarded about what he said in it, and now even more so. Ever since that incident in primary school where he wrote how happy he had been playing jump rope with the girls at recess, he’d known not to put his real thoughts in it. In David’s apartment, he shuddered under the blanket on the couch in the surprisingly warm room at the memories.

But, he’d been allowed to go jogging from Tuesday morning on, which was good. It let him get away from it all and just run until the pain was too much to bear, and then he would take his time coming home. He was required to have his phone with him, so his parents could know he was just jogging, and they had locked down the parental controls on his phone, leaving him unable to contact anyone. Jogging did leave him too much time alone with his thoughts — he hadn’t been allowed music back yet — but better alone with his thoughts than alone with his father.

And then Christmas morning came. He woke up early and was excited because with his grandparents around, it would be hopefully less tense today. He put on his robe and quietly headed downstairs, careful to avoid the squeaky steps. James turned the corner to look at the living room and found nothing. The tree and all the decorations were gone, including his mum’s nativity set. There were no presents, and there had been some when he went to bed last night. He sat hard on the couch and curled up into a ball. He pulled his knees in tight and gripped himself so hard he turned white where his hands grabbed hold. James wasn’t crying so much as just shut down.

He knew something must have happened. What had his father found? What could he have found? He tried to be careful. And he had taken steps over the week late at night to remove any last traces. He had wiped the laptop provided by school back to defaults, he had erased the few texts on his phone outside of Consensus to disallowed friends. He had warned his best friend in Closet Dwellers, he would be out of touch for an indeterminate period of time. And finally, he had deleted Consensus, his only real support and friends. He had only even been allowed Consensus due to the school’s use of it during the lockdowns, and thankfully, all use of it was the same to parental controls.

His mum was usually the second to wake up on Christmas to get breakfast cooking, and shortly, James heard her come downstairs quietly, albeit not as quietly as he had. He didn’t acknowledge her; he wasn’t sure if she was in on this, but she almost always took his father’s side in any dispute. He heard her open the door to the guest room, then she shut the door hard, and he heard her come back into the living room. She came around the couch and sat down next to James and pulled his curled up form into a tight hug. He finally found tears, and started sobbing. “I’m sorry, mum,” he said quietly between sobs.

“It’s okay, it’ll be okay,” she said, and then James heard him leave their bedroom upstairs.

His father started coming down the stairs, surprisingly not stomping, but a deliberate sense of rhythm to his steps as he walked down the stairs. He came in and stood in front of them. “Jessica,” he said, glaring at James. “Take your hands off him.”

“Why, Malcolm?” his mum asked, not removing her arms from around James. “Why did you do this?”

“Because I have learned this family is fostering a sinner!” Malcolm said sternly. “We, as a family, do not deserve any largess for this stain on the house. I’ve already informed both our families that James is sick, and they won’t be coming over for presents or dinner.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I don’t even…” James said stammering.

“Liar!” his father spat. “You know exactly what you’ve been doing. I can’t believe I raised a pervert and a liar. A tranny freak.”

“Malcolm, what is this about?” his mum asked, still not having let him go.

“Our ’son’ has been browsing sites of an immoral nature!” he said, making explicit air quotes. “Sites about boys who think they can become girls. And it’s not a recent thing, he’s been doing it for as far back as the logs show. I had a member of the congregation run checks on our internet and his devices.”

His mum released her grip on him and backed away from James. “James, is this true?” she asked, her concern genuine if misguided. “You know what happens to those people. They wind up in hell!”

James couldn’t hold it back anymore. “What’s so wrong about wanting to be a girl?” he shouted and uncurled in a hurry, standing up and started to try to get to the stairs.

His father grabbed him by his arm and gripped hard as he passed. “I’ve already informed Pastor Kyle, and he has generously agreed to come and give you a personal counseling and Bible study session next Monday.”

“No!” James shouted. He broke his father's grip, and knew there would be a bruise from where he had wrenched his arm free. He sprinted for the stairs and up to his room. James heard his father bellow and charge after him. But he was faster and as soon as he was in the room he moved a large wardrobe just enough to block the door from opening.

He heard his father bang on the door and flopped on his bed and buried his face in his pillow; the tears wouldn’t stop flowing. It was all over, any tiny hope he had that he could work it out and keep hidden until he was on his own, gone.

James lay there on David’s couch, and the tears came again. The next week had been hell. He had barely eaten, and he had to take drastic measures to deal with going to the bathroom without having to interact with his father. And then Pastor Kyle, after a fruitless ‘counseling’ session, had suggested a ‘programme’ to ‘correct’ James because he hadn’t made any headway. He was only saved because his father was too cheap to pay for the programme. His father decided that since James was of legal age, he should have to make his own way and showed him an updated will and said the locksmith was on his way on New Year's Day.

James had grabbed a few things in a hurry, his phone, a couple of changes of clothes, shoving it all into his backpack and leaving. He paused briefly on the threshold, and looked at his mum, who had obviously been crying a lot lately, and she merely pointed a finger out the door. He turned and left, and found a café to sit in and be warm while he figured out where he could even stay the next night or two until he figured things out, finally settling on the hostel.

Eventually, he fell into a restless sleep on David’s couch, hoping he hadn’t cried loud enough for him or his new roommates to hear.

2024 January 6, Saturday

It had been five days since he interacted with anyone in any significant way. Sure, the nameless sponsors guiding him to the shower two days ago at taser-point and at meals grunted single-word commands at him, but they never responded to him, their faces neutral at any of his attempts at interacting. It was probably the longest he had gone without any significant interaction in his life. And, if he was being honest, he was feeling it, deep down. He didn’t want to admit it to Maria, though, not yet. He had never really understood how lonely a person could get, but he was slowly grasping at it. This place was bonkers, and Maria seemed intent on carrying out her threats to leave him until he submitted.

Another guard appeared and barked “Cuffs” at him. She swapped out last night's food tray for this morning's and turned and walked away, only releasing his cuffs after she was already on her way back down the hall.

He rubbed at his wrists where the cuffs had chafed when they left him cuffed all morning a couple of days ago after his shower. He had refused to walk back after, and they simply tased him then dragged him back to the cell. They couldn’t break him — he would survive.

***

Ellen walked along the path to Dorley Hall returning from an errand on campus preparing for the semester, smiling to herself about how life had taken such a weird path to wind up where she is. The hall loomed ahead, but it wasn’t imposing to her, just home. Unusual as homes go maybe, but it was filled with her family and love, and a kitchen that was perpetually too warm from the AGA. She walked up the steps and through the lobby, unlocking the doors into the kitchen. Lunch was probably winding down for most people and was surprised to see Nerys there with Sophia, Stephanie, and Mary.

“Oh! Good afternoon Sophia, Nerys,” she said as she stepped into the kitchen. “What brings you both upstairs today?”

Sophia waved at Ellen. “Hi Ellen!” she said brightly. “We’re just up here for lunch and a brief chat, back down to the grind before too long.”

Ellen laughed. “Sorry, Nerys,” she said, smiling. “Forgive me, it’s still surprising to have you up here, even to me.”

“It’s okay, it’s still surprising to me too,” Nerys said quietly and smiled faintly as she sipped at her mug.

Ellen thought she was trying to mimic Sophia’s voice some, but had quite a ways to go. “You’re sounding a lot better than at Christmas, too” Ellen said, deciding a compliment might be good here, and smiled genuinely.

“I’ve been telling her we could talk to Christine,” Sophia said, sighing exasperatedly. “And there are tons of resources on the network.”

“I’m just, it’s fine for now,” Nerys said, her voice cracking a bit. “I don’t think I could do it around the other… the others… anyway”

Ellen didn’t miss the hesitation around what to call the others; for all of Nerys’s progress, she still had a fair bit of road ahead of her. “That is perfectly understandable, Nerys,” Ellen said, and she raised her eyebrows at Mary and waggled them towards the door. “I want to talk to Mary a bit, be back in a flash kids.”

Mary followed Ellen into the Dining hall, tripping the door behind her. “What’s up, Ellen?” she asked calmly.

“I would like your permission to have a one-on-one chat with Nerys,” Ellen said. “Not necessarily today, but at some point in the not-too-distant future.”

“I mean, I’m mostly fine with it, but could I ask why?” Mary asked, tilting her head to one side a bit. “You aren’t just going to fuck with my girl, are you?”

“No!” Ellen said quickly waving her hands. “I know what I did at the intake panel, but I’d never do that to you or her. She actually reminds me a lot of myself,” Ellen said, smiling. “And I think maybe she will need an outside voice that’s similar to her own in the near future.”

“I mean, she’s been progressing great?” Mary asked, smirking. “She’s giving you a run for fastest.”

“But have you mentioned the orchi lately?” Ellen asked, frowning.

“Not since Christmas, and I’ve been a bit worried about that,” Mary said, matching Ellens frown. “In the sponsor meeting this morning, we agreed it needed to be brought back up again with anyone who hadn’t been saying anything about it lately. To remind them. But —” Mary said, pausing, her frown deepening.

“— But Nerys hasn’t mentioned it lately?” Ellen finished her thought.

“Not directly, no,” Mary said, shaking her head. “She’s just been so focused on Sophia and exploring her gender, and I’m worried it could be a big hurdle for her. She made stuff to masturbate to, and by her own admission she sometimes did to her captions, or other’s captions, and we will be affecting that ability.”

“Yeah, a backslide could be hard on her and Sophia,” Ellen said. “So next time you have one-on-one with her, bring it up to her. Make sure she really understands it's coming for her in the not-too-distant future.”

“And when she inevitably has doubts,” Mary said, nodding, “I’ll offer to call you in as someone who’s done it before, but is an independent voice. It’s not a bad plan, Ellen.”

“It was Yasmin for me, bless her,” Ellen said, grinning.

“Yeah, wonder what those two are both up to these days?” Mary said.

“Oh you know, avoiding the big events,” Ellen said. “But she and Julia still hang out with us some outside of Dorley once in a while — it’s nice.” She smiled.

“Just… just promise me you won’t fuck with Nerys just because she’s my girl,” Mary said, grinning.

“Me? Mess with someone else’s charge because of who their sponsor is? I’m offended!” Ellen said, in mock shock. “But seriously, no I wouldn’t. I promise I won’t mess with her, even leaving aside that Stephanie would be very cross with me.”

“Thanks Ellen, really,” Mary said, smiling.

“Now, shall we stop them from worrying too much about what we are chatting about without them?”

Mary laughed. “I can only imagine where Nerys’s mind has wandered in the last few minutes,” Mary said, grinning. “I really need to get that girl some Adderall. At least… once she moves out of the basement.”

“Yeah… that wouldn’t be wise down there,” Ellen said, frowning briefly.

They opened the kitchen door and stepped inside again to Sophia and Stephanie laughing and Nerys looking shocked. “Wait, so you really were a volunteer?” Nerys asked, looking at Stephanie with surprise.

“The very first,” Ellen said, to make their presence known. “Although not the first trans person to crack here, or the last.”

“God, what that must have been like?” Nerys asked, the awe in her voice clear.

“It was… interesting… certainly,” Stephanie said with a wink. “Maybe someday we’ll tell you more about it. However. You two young ladies should be getting back downstairs, and I believe Ellen has a baking lesson to give this afternoon?”

Ellen laughed. “Yes, not that I was any good at it,” she said, winking. “I wish Aisha would come teach them — that girl can bake.”

“They’re all perfectly happy down by the coast, leave them be.” Mary said, smirking. “Come on, you two.”

“Fine, Mary,” Nerys said with an exaggerated dramatic intonation. “We shall return forthwith to the torture basement. Do be a dear, Mary, and see that the rack is at least warmed up for me ahead of time, it was way too cold last time.” The others laughed and Mary rolled her eyes and gently nudged Nerys along with her hand with Sophia following back towards the basement.

When they were out of earshot, Stephanie stayed behind and looked at Ellen with a raised eyebrow. “So, what did you need to talk to Mary about?”

“Oh, I was offering my services to her should Nerys need someone who’s a bit closer to who she is to help her through something,” Ellen said with a faint smile.

“Oh, the orchi reminders, yeah,” Stephanie said, grinning. “Sophia has already spoken with every person she could short of Aunt Bea and Elle about getting hers early. She said Maria and Indira finally convinced her that she needed to wait if she was going to remain in the basement.”

“I still wasn’t ready for mine,” Ellen said, shivering. “I mean, I knew it was coming, and I didn’t shut down or anything, but oof.”

“And then you went and ran with the dark humour, oh mad mug maker,” Stephanie said, grinning.

Ellen briefly frowned. “I mean… would I have chosen this path for my life before coming here?” she said slowly. “No… but… I mean, I love being Ellen, and that was the price of entry.”

“Pretty sure there's like, five mugs with variations on that theme.”

Ellen laughed. “And at least two of them are my creations!”

The second year sponsors knocked on the door and Ellen greeted Charlie and Nell, and Stephanie split to do some studying for a class.

***

Nerys pushed away Sophia’s hand. “Sophia, I don’t think I’m ready, okay?”

“Come on! Just a little blush?” Sophia said, waving the brush in her hand back towards Nerys’s face.

“Soph…” Nerys said, sighing. “I’m just… what if…”

“It’ll be fine, Nerys,” Sophia pleaded. She was getting better at doing that pleading eye thing which Nerys loved, but she couldn’t do more today. “No one’s going to know or care. I’ve got makeup remover stuff here. I just want to practice, and there’s only so much of that I can do by myself before I get bored.”

“Is it even… I don’t know, safe, sharing stuff that you’ve used?” Nerys improvised, hoping it would be enough to get her to back off for now. She had no idea whether that was a concern or not, but it sounded good.

“I convinced Stephanie to sneak me a few more things,” Sophia said, grinning. “So I could have a set of brushes and certain other things just for you.”

“Sophia…” Nerys said slowly. “Remember when you said I could say if you are being too much, and you would back off? You’re being too much.”

“Yeah, I did say that,” Sophia said, smiling faintly at Nerys. “Okay, no makeup. Sorry Nerys, I shouldn’t have even gotten the stuff from Stephanie without asking you first.”

Nerys blushed. “Thanks, Sophia,” she said quietly. “If you want to practice in peace, I can leave you alone?”

“No, it's fine, you can stay,” Sophia said, shaking her head sideways. “Besides, you might learn a thing or two watching me!”

“Mum never wore makeup,” Nerys said, smiling. “She told me it was silly to think women have to.”

“I mean, you’re going to have to learn eventually, to graduate? I think, anyway,” Sophia said, frowning.

“There’s plenty of time for that,” Nerys said, smiling minutely. “Another day.”

“Okay, well, I’m going to be practicing, but you can put something on to watch, and we won’t talk more about makeup, sound good?”

“What do you want to watch?” Nerys asked, fearing the answer given her recent taste in TV shows.

“Ooh, how about that aggressively cheerful musical show?” Sophia asked, grinning.

“Really? Musicals?” Nerys said laughing.

Sophia laughed musically. “I realized I like to sing,” she said brightly. “Now that I can kind of make my voice do what I want it to.”

“Oh fine, if you insist,” Nerys grumbled. She was not a musical person. But for Sophia? She would endure an episode or two.

She actually wound up watching Sophia a lot more than the musical series, the various things she applied where. Nerys was learning bits and pieces, she knew she was, but she was still scared to try it or to have Sophia try it on her. Mary and Pippa had somehow made her look beautiful in a short span of time, but she hadn’t dared to have anyone try since then. She was pretty sure she would wind up looking like one of the less… flattering… captions she had made. A joke. A freak.

Her attention, though, did not go without notice by Sophia. After Sophia finished another attempt, she batted her mascara coated lashes at Nerys. “Are you sure I can’t interest you? You’ve been watching me pretty closely,” she asked sweetly.

Nerys groaned. “Oh, fine,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But I swear if you make me look like a clown…”

“I would never!” Sophia said quickly. “Not intentionally, anyway. I admit I’m still learning, but I think I can do well enough you won’t freak out about it.”

Nerys chuckled nervously, and waited while Sophia got out a second set of brushes and some other things from a drawer and set to work on her face. Sophia started to try explaining what she was doing at first, but Nerys held up a hand. “Please, it’s okay,” she said, smiling. “Just practice on me now, and teach me later, okay?”

“Sure,” Sophia said, smiling, and got back to work. She definitely wasn’t as experienced as Pippa or Mary were, that much was obvious in the occasional tremor of her hand, and nearly jabbing Nerys in the eye once. “I think I did okay,” she said with a faint smile when she put her brushes and things back down. “You certainly don’t look clownish. Do you want to see?”

Nerys nodded slowly positively, not entirely sure if she did, but Sophia would make that pouting face if she didn’t, and she couldn’t stand that. She still had her eyes closed from when Sophia was working on them, and let Sophia helped guide her over to the vanity, and its mirror. “Ready?” Sophia asked quietly from behind her when Nerys was seated in the chair.

She shook her head no, then yes. “I don’t know, I guess,” she said quietly. She opened her eyes. Sophia definitely was not as good as Pippa or Mary, but… there in the mirror was Nerys. She hadn’t really seen her much, not since Christmas Eve anyway, and she had kind of started wondering if that was just a fantasy. A work of magic by the witches that must surely run this place. But she was there right now in the mirror. And if she could be brought out by Sophia — who’s only been practicing a month or so — Nerys shuddered at the thought. Nope, she thought, this is too much.

Sophia was waiting patiently for her reaction as her face kept changing its expression. “Get it off, please,” finally Nerys whispered, her desperation clear.

“Sure, right away,” Sophia said, her voice filled with anxiety. “I’m so sorry Nerys, I tried my best, I’ll get it cleaned off right away.” And Sophia started scrabbling for remover wipes and quickly went to removing Nerys’s makeup, just as Nerys felt tears forming. Just as well it’s being removed, she thought, I would’ve ruined it anyway.

“It’s… it's not that you failed… its…” Nerys couldn’t think of the words to use and fumbled with her hands for a moment while she thought. Sophia sat there patiently, a pained expression on her face. “I’m sorry Sophia, it’s really not you, it’s me, I uh, I think I want to be alone for a bit.”

Sophia leaned over and hugged her from behind, surprising Nerys. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “It will be okay, and I’m sorry I pushed too far.”

“No, uh, I think you pushed just far enough,” Nerys said quietly. “I just need time to think.”

“Sure, do you want me to ping Mary for you?” Sophia offered gently.

“No, uh, it's fine,” Nerys said, looking about nervously. “She or whoever’s monitoring the cameras will see me distraught soon enough, probably.”

“Sure, Nerys,” Sophia said, smiling as Nerys stood and headed toward the door. “Be kind to yourself, okay?”

“Yeah, sure, Sophia, again, and sorry,” Nerys said and with that, she was cycling the lock and in the hallway. She nearly screamed, but she waited until she got back to her room and could muffle it with her pillow.

She wasn’t wrong, and Mary did show up about fifteen minutes later and held her. Assured her it was okay. If she wanted to try makeup on her own, Mary would be happy to teach her. Nerys shook her head no at the offer. “Not yet, just… just a bit more time.”

Mary nodded and squeezed her a bit tighter. “Sure, plenty of time, Nerys.”

***

Jessica sat in The Blue Room Café in the Sheffield town square. She had told her work friend she was meeting someone who was selling a lamp so that someone would know. Just in case she was murdered or disappeared, someone could tell the Yard or whoever this is where she was going to meet the person. Jessica sipped at her coffee and nibbled at a sandwich. She almost hadn’t come; the weather was a very British kind of awful, and she didn’t like getting out in it unless she had a good reason.

Then she saw him come in, he was wearing a red scarf and coming into the café he looked surprisingly nervous. What right did her stalker have to be nervous? Even if he was gay! The nerveof him. She took another drink and set down her mug and waved him over while glaring in his direction.

“Trevor, wasn’t it?” she asked coldly, having managed to dredge it from her memory since they texted. He sat down opposite her, and she noticed a pin on his lapel. They/Them. Oh. Their lapel,she mentally corrected herself. She still didn’t really get it, but as many places had pointed out — including the Oxford English Dictionary itself — if singular ‘they’ was good enough for Chaucer and the Bard, who was she to complain?

“I go by Trev these days mostly,” they said as they waved off the waitress who had approached as they sat down.

“Oh, sure, Trev,” she said and took a longer look at them. They were not how she remembered them. Something was very different about their face, and their body seemed subtly different somehow. Androgynous. And they were definitely wearing some makeup. “So why did you contact me? Why all this cloak-and-dagger?”

“There are people I have ties to who are very secretive and very powerful,” Trev said quietly. “They wouldn’t like what I’m about to tell you.”

“You’re some sort of soldier, right?” Jessica asked. “You worked for that security company my exdid some marketing for for a bit.”

Trev barked a bitter laugh. “Not for several years now,” they said, frowning. “Now I’m just a regular person who works in a shop and studies languages as a hobby. But… I occasionally do consulting on security arrangements still, but no more soldiering.”

“Oh,” she said, unsure what to make of that. They were not who she expected at all. “Why did you contact me?” Jessica decided it was time to get down to the real discussion.

“I have solid reason to believe your kid was… taken,” Trev said quietly, his nervousness extremely clear. “A… friend… mentioned that someone had done a pickup here in Sheffield recently.”

“A pickup?” Jessica asked, confused. “What’s that mean?”

“Someone kidnapped someone,” Trev said flatly. “Look, some of the people I know aren’t always nice people, and I had no reason to think it was anyone I knew. Then I stumbled on your husband’s Facebook post about your kid moving out on short notice and leaving what he thought was a suicide note.”

“Oh, didn’t know he had posted that,” she said, feeling a flash of irrational anger. What right did Malcolm have to care that their daughter had disappeared? For that matter, what right do I have?she thought as a counterpoint.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Trev said, frowning. “He made it about religion and God’s will and how perverts always meet their fate.”

Damn, she thought, must have shown on my face. “Typical,” she said, spitting the word. “So if… he was kidnapped, where did they take him? No ransom note? Nothing? And why think it was him, surely there were plenty of others who went missing in that time.”

Trev nodded. “That wasn’t enough on its own, I happened on a picture and pieces started falling into place. And no, I can’t show the picture, it disappeared before I could save it, but it was your kid, looked just like you, that’s when I decided I had to tell you. I have reason to believe the kidnappers’ destination was Almsworth.”

“Almsworth?” she asked in shock. “You think my da—son was kidnapped and taken to… to fucking Almsworth? Is this a joke? If so, its not fucking funny.” She thought briefly about storming out, but she was too upset to make her body move to stand.

“I’m not joking. Yes, your kid was taken to Almsworth,” Trev said quietly. “I’m afraid I don’t have any specifics, but I am quite certain of that.”

She looked at their face; whatever they were, they were not a great liar. “There’s something you aren’t telling me,” she said, glaring at them. “Tell me all of it.”

“I can’t, I’ve already told you way more than I should,” Trev said. “If it ever got out that I told you even this much…” and she saw a face of pure terror flash across their face. Whoever had power over Trev, who knew the truth about her daughter had them beyond spooked.

“Almsworth?” she asked again, relenting, she knew she wouldn’t get more out of them. “It’s better than nothing to go on, I guess.”

“That’s as much as I’ll say,” they said quietly. “I wish you luck.”

“Yeah, sure, thanks for almost nothing,” Jessica said, glaring at them.

Trev nodded and stood, and they headed quickly towards the door, leaving her alone with her thoughts and her half-eaten sandwich and chips.

2024 January 12, Friday

Ten days. Ten fucking days with nothing but grunted single-word commands regarding food, water, and shower breaks from nameless women bearing tasers. He’d read every scrap of fiction and non-fiction they had brought him a few times with meals, and he couldn’t stand the thought of going back through any of the dreck. Insipid romances, the feminism textbook, and the like. But they hadn’t given him any new material in two days, and he was barely holding it together between boredom and the loneliness.

And then — and then, after they brought him lunch today, he went to pick it up and dropped the bowl of soup on the concrete. It was plastic and hadn’t shattered or anything. But that was his lunch, and now it was just a mess on the cold concrete.

He lost it. Screaming. Shouting. Crying. He wasn’t really sure what came over him, but he wound up curled into a ball on the cot, crying. He was never getting out of here. Randal wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that — time had lost strict meaning about day eight. Even the cycle of the lights and meals wasn’t really enough of a clue anymore. Eventually, there were no more tears left in his eyes, and he couldn’t do it anymore. “Maria, I’m sorry,” he whispered it quietly, his throat was too sore to shout it like he wanted to.

He didn’t hear anything back, the speaker didn’t crackle to life, and no one came walking down the hallway. An indeterminate period later, he tried to summon the energy to say it louder. “Maria, I’m sorry,” he said, but it barely came out any louder. Again, there was no response. He tried to shout it, but all that came out was a gasp and a whisper.

Time passed — he wasn’t sure how much — but eventually, he heard the even tap-tap of heels coming down the cell block hallway. He uncurled enough to look out the glass wall, and saw that the curtains were currently open. Had they been earlier? He honestly couldn’t remember. And then Maria was standing there, her arms crossed in front of her chest, an eyebrow arched. She waited, and he was worried she might leave, so he tried one more time to say it. “I’m sorry, Maria,” he said. It came out barely above a whisper, his throat still incredibly raw. He wasn’t even entirely sure what he was sorry for, but he knew he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Sorry for what?” Maria asked through the glass.

“I… I just am, I don’t know what I’m supposed to be sorry for,” Maria started to turn to walk away. “Wait!” Randal called, trying to engage his brain enough to produce the answer she wanted. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry for calling… Sophia and Nerys, the wrong names.” Every word was hoarse and scratchy, but he couldn’t manage better.

“It’s a start,” Maria said, and sat down on the chair that was still there. “How did this feel? And drink some water for god’s sake, you might have spilled your soup, but your water bottle is still right there.”

Randal nodded, got up and went over and picked up the bottle. He took a big gulp and his throat did feel better. “In the future, when one is probably dehydrated,” Maria chided him from the other side of the glass, “it would behoove you to remember to take it easy at first.”

Randal nodded as he sat down. He had played sports some, and made that mistake once. “How did what feel?” he asked tiredly.

“How about you start with the isolation,” Maria said flatly, her arms crossed.

“It… it was hard… I… I’ve been so angry the last few days. And then the soup…” Randal said, stumbling over his words. Not a thing he was used to doing. He always knew the words to use.

“A minor little thing and you went off like a bomb of emotions,” Maria said, nodding. “Because it turns out, humans need interaction.”

“So?” Randal said, glaring at her. He knew she had a point she was trying to make, but he wasn’t going to leap there on his own.

“Do you know how Lily was murdered?”

“She wasn’t murdered, she took her own life,” Randal stated flatly, automatically, and immediately he knew it was the wrong answer.

Maria sighed. “I guess I will see you in another couple days. Can you even last that long this time?” she said and put her hands on her knees and started to stand up to leave.

“Wait, no,” Randal said quickly. “She was… isolated. That's the point you were making?”

“That is the point I was hoping you would understand. Loneliness kills, Randal,” Maria said and sighed, finishing standing.

“I didn’t make her lonely!” Randal shouted, still somewhat hoarsely. “It wasn’t my fault!”

“Users on your site doxxed her,” Maria said, her contempt obvious. “Harassed her coworkers and boss and claimed she was dangerous until she got fired. They did this twice more. They attacked her family and friends, so she dropped contact to avoid risking any more harm to them. But it left her isolated. You could’ve shut those threads down. You could’ve banned people posting doxxes. You could’ve banned people bragging about acting on those doxxes to harass their friends, family, and coworkers. But you didn’t. And we found multiple instances of you cheering the threads about her on.

“I’m not really sure why we are still bothering with you, Randal,” Maria said, looking him over, her disgust clear. “You’ve shown almost no movement. Apologizing to me for using people’s deadnames is hardly enough to justify continuing to waste time on this.” Maria said, looking at him coldly. He knew he was on thin ice. She hadn’t really threatened washing him out this directly before.

“What do you want from me?” Randal asked, frowning. “To put on a dress? To wear makeup?”

Maria paused. “Those are all things you will do eventually, if you are to graduate,” she said, tilting her head to one side. “For today, if you want out of this box and back out with the others, you will have to agree to never intentionally and with malice use Sophia’s or Nerys’s deadnames, or anyone else’s.” She paused to give him a chance to respond, but he was so out of it he couldn’t figure out how to. “I need you to say that you understand and agree, Randal,” she said, breaking into that commanding voice the sponsors had been barking orders at him the last ten days in.

“I understand and agree,” he said quietly. “I… if I mess up…”

“Then you will wind up back here at the least,” Maria said, looking at him and frowning. “I think that due to your extraordinary stubbornness, I will be adding one more requirement for your return to the others.”

Randal sat there, it was already bad enough, expecting him to go along with these freaks, what else could she possibly want? “What is it, Maria?” he asked tiredly.

“I said I would consider giving you a new name ten days ago,” she said with a smirk. “And that’s just what I’m going to do. From today on, I and the other sponsors will be calling you Ramona. As a reminder of how not being called the name you prefer hurts. And as a glimpse into your future. You will not retaliate if anyone else down here picks up on and calls you Ramona as well. Say you understand and agree, Ramona.”

Randal fixed an angry glare on her. “You want to call me what?” he asked, incredulous. Maria arched an eyebrow and turned to leave. “Wait! I understand and agree!”

“Do you, Ramona? Do you really?”

“I do! Oh god, just please let me out of this cell,” Randal pleaded. Right now, she could call him fucking Cleopatra, the Queen of Egypt, if he didn’t have to be in here anymore.

“Hrm. Perhaps in a day or two, we will see how you behave, Ramona,” Maria said, raising an eyebrow. “Meanwhile, one of the girls will bring you a replacement lunch.”

Randal slumped his shoulders. This fucking place. “Thank you, Maria,” he said quietly.

“For?” she asked with the tone of an exasperated teacher.

“For the replacement lunch,” he said quietly. “For… for the name Ramona.” He felt sick at saying that, but he needed to get out of here. If being called Ramona was what it took to get out and destroy things, he was just going to have to learn to live with it.

“You’re very welcome, Ramona. I’ll see you later.”

He slumped back on the bed, as her heels tapped away. When his replacement lunch came, he put on the cuffs without being asked, and the girl who delivered it actually smiled at him briefly. “Enjoy, Ramona,” she said as she turned and left. He realized she had left him a stack of thin books with the tray.

He got up and went over to retrieve the tray, careful to not drop it this time. Randal looked at the books. He saw the top one was titled Beezus and Ramona, and he groaned as he sat down on the bed to eat. He sighed and picked up the first book from the stack and turned to the first page and started reading, immediately pausing to groan. “Beatrice Quimby’s biggest problem was her little sister Ramona.”

***

Stephanie was sitting in the security office, having watched as Maria talked to Randal — Ramona— on the monitors. She didn’t terribly like this plan of Maria’s, but Indira had backed up Maria and that, for the moment, was that. The last week and a half had been pretty quiet at Dorley. Classes had started back up, Sophia had had her second laser session and Nerys was slowly coming out of her shell, albeit lurchingly.

Sophia had had some rough nights of sleeping lately. She had talked some about her past in more detail with Stephanie, and had also been speaking with Evelyn about it. She shivered thinking about the things Sophia had told her. The things Sophia’s and Evelyn’s parents had done to her. Utterly despicable. She hadn’t told Sophia yet that her parents had divorced, but she knew she would have to eventually. Even the trans girls eventually start getting the update packs on the people in their former life if they wanted them, and that would be in the very first one.

She wasn’t sure how Sophia would take it, even if her mum left her father as a direct result of him insisting on kicking Sophia out. The court records they had gotten ahold of had been fairly clear about that being the primary cause, but in those same records, Jessica repeatedly deadnamed and misgendered Sophia. Even though her mum had no way to know her daughter’s name, that part alone might cause her grave distress for no benefit.

She saw Maria coming up the stairs, smiling, and sighed and shifted in her chair a bit. “Hey Steph, what did you think?” Maria asked as she entered the security office.

“I think Ramona’s going to struggle with it,” Stephanie said quietly. “Too much at once.”

“It is a risk, certainly, but it always is a risk with girls like her,” Maria said, nodding. “She has to start understanding.”

“Also,” Stephanie said, grinning slightly. “I think she’s still thinking she can fake her way through and expose us all.”

“Oh, she definitely thinks that still, one hundred percent,” Maria said, smirking. “But we’ll see as we go along. I’m glad she broke down and came to her senses, sort of, and apologized when she did. I was going to go down to talk to her this evening if she hadn’t. Ten days is too long; even five is more than most should be left that alone.”

“Yeah, but if she hadn’t broken,” Stephanie said, frowning, “then the lesson would’ve been weakened. You’re planning on reintroducing her if she doesn’t fight the name?”

“Likely, yeah. We’ll give it a couple of days, though,” Maria said, nodding. “Wouldn’t do to have her resist it openly in front of the others too much.”

“Do you think she will actually apologize to Sophia and Nerys?” Stephanie asked, arching an eyebrow. “Use their names?”

“She will or her return will be pretty short,” Maria said. “I’ll talk about it with her some more after dinner.”

Stephanie watched as Bella delivered a replacement lunch to Ramona, noting the books on the tray. “Oh, what did you decide to give our newest evil ex-girlfriend?”

Maria laughed. “Definitely not giving her the Scott Pilgrim books,” she said, grinning. “It’s the Beezus and Ramona series.”

Stephanie laughed loudly. “That’s good, you’re good,” she said, pointing at Maria.

Maria curtseyed and giggled. “Thank you. It comes from too many years of making things up as I go until I make a girl out of the boy. How’s Sophia?”

“Oh, you know, impatient,” Stephanie said, rolling her eyes and giggling. “Been begging to know when she can have the orchi, and if it can be sooner.”

“That will never cease to amaze me,” Maria said, smiling. “Zoe practically demanded hers right off the bat, and we allowed Becky right after she ‘washed out’. Have we scheduled Sophia’s already?”

Stephanie smiled and quickly checked the cameras. Sophia was still down in the common room with Nerys. “March 1st, just waiting a couple of weeks to tell her because I know she will be bouncing off the walls with excitement,” Stephanie said, grinning. “And I don’t want her upsetting things too much down there. The others have already been reminded that it is coming in the next few months. Well, except Ramona. Are you going to try to discuss that with her tonight?”

“I think that might be a bit of a stretch for today,” Maria said. “But yes, before she is released, I’m going to remind her. She has to be able to deal with that knowledge as well.”

Stephanie’s watch beeped. “Oops! I have a workshop, you got the monitors?” she asked Maria.

Maria nodded. “I’ve got it, go to your workshop.”

Stephanie closed her laptop and threw it in her bag and headed upstairs through the kitchen, waving and apologizing for not being able to stop to chat. She grabbed her umbrella from the rack as she headed out the door into the drizzling weather. She had a bit of time, and decided to just walk at a reasonable speed and enjoy the sound of the rain falling around her.

2024 January 13, Saturday

Maria came back last night. She mostly made sure he still understood his name and that he had to call Sophia and Nerys by their new names.

Randal lay there in the twilight of the light strip, waiting for breakfast and hopefully Maria to let him out of this cell. He had promised again to apologize to — ugh — Sophia and Nerys. God, those were awful names, but Ramona was significantly worse to him. He’d already read a few of the series because they were short, easy reads meant for children, and he was bored. Ramona, perpetual thorn in the side of her elder sister Beatrice.

One of the nameless women brought and dropped off breakfast, and he grudgingly said thank you when she called him Ramona. He may have to let them do it, but he didn’t have to like it.

He heard Maria walking over after he had finished eating. “So, Ramona,” she started, smiling. “How did you sleep? Better than the nights before? Knowing that you will get to interact with others again soon?”

Randal took a deep breath lest he snarl out what he really thought. “I sleep fine. Perhaps it’s you who hasn’t been sleeping great, given what you are doing to us?”

“Do you want me to pull up the supercut I put together of you tossing and turning all night? Do you want to compare with my sleep tracker data? I’ve been sponsoring for close to twenty years now, I sleep fine. Maybe we should check how some of your site’s victims sleep, with the stress of not knowing if tomorrow’s the day someone comes to their house to just murder them? We could even compare with how they sleep now that your site is gone.”

“They would nev —” Randal started to protest. Maria gave him a look. Thin ice.

“Do I need to remind you of the case of Z?” Maria said, arching an eyebrow. “The baker’s assistant that one of your users bragged about leaving murder dolls outside zir’s apartment?”

“It was a joke,” Randal stated, glaring at Maria. “I knew the person doing it would never actually do anything.”

“Yes, haha, very funny. I’m sure if someone did that to you every week for a couple of months, you would be rolling in the aisles with laughter. Maybe I should leave little murder dolls outside your cell.”

Randal remained silent at her idea. Let her put dolls there, he wouldn’t give her any satisfaction. He didn’t control that users' actions. He had been slightly personally nervous purely from a legal perspective and had stopped interacting with threads about Z entirely. Someone committing suicide because of online harassment? The cops didn’t care. Someone getting murdered? Cops might care.

“I’m curious, do you know how we found you? Or when we found you for that matter?” Maria asked, arching an eyebrow.

“The person who took that picture that leaked on Twitter probably told you,” Randal said, rolling his eyes. “It wasn’t all that long before you found me.”

“Hah, no,” Maria said, laughing. “We know who took it, and someone made contact afterward for confirmation. But we had known where you were for five months before that picture came out. We found you because you are simply bad at what you do, and we are significantly better.”

“Bullshit,” Randal spat.

“Hrm, I think a bit of show and tell is in order,” she said and put a tablet in the holder on her side of the glass, and pulled a photo up on it of Randal. “This I believe was the first photo we got of you. Not great, but better than that blurry one on Twitter by far, and lots more detail to judge where and who you are. Let’s see, here’s another one, a day at the beach, maybe you remember what day that was? Late May? Still a bit nippy out. Here’s another same day, a real candid, wow the contempt she has for you?” He saw in the photo a younger him with a woman he had tried to ask out while he was at the beach, she spat at him but missed, the bitch. He watched as Maria showed him a handful more photos, him outside his house, grabbing the paper. Him with his computer in a café, AltChan clearly visible on screen.

“Bold to view such a hateful website in public,” she said, arching an eyebrow. “Your ‘opsec,’ Ramona, was frankly shitty. When you graduate, you will be afforded certain freedoms, but… we do monitor graduates, and sometimes we place certain restrictions on their post graduation activities. You’re finished Ramona. Even your mother stopped looking for you. Someone happened to tell her what your site really was and what all you had done. She didn’t believe at first, but then that article came out about your site, and that was when she stopped. She even set up a victim’s fund with a fair bit of her own money!”

“You’re lying!”

Maria again tapped a bit on her phone, and the tablet launched a browser, and loaded a news site. ‘Former doxxer’s mum sets up fund to help his victims,’ the headline read.

Randal’s tablet buzzed, and the article was there too. He picked it up and started reading it. His face drained of colour as he read. “It’s a really good article honestly for our press establishment. Didn’t shy away from what you had really been doing and the lives you had hurt. Your mum even comes off as okay in it, which might be more than she deserves, given she has known about your site for a couple of years. Ignorance is not a great defense.”

“She knew it was all just jokes, she loves me.”

“She made excuses for you,” Maria said flatly. “Boys will be boys. It’s just the internet, it's all a joke, right? That’s not the same thing as love. Someone who loves you should be able to see the truth of you. To get you to see it if need be. She only saw the lies you spouted. The ‘jokes’. Now, too late, she finally sees you for what you really are, and has stopped looking for you. She even handed over your equipment to the authorities, they apparently even put out warrants for you after seeing the barbaric nature of your site in full. I hear there was even talk of cooperation with overseas agencies. The moment you try to resurface as your past self, you would go to prison…”

Randal laughed. “I would tell them all about this place,” he sneered. “Going to prison would be worth it to bring you lot down.”

“We would get to you long before they would, and we would not hesitate to wash you out. Even as a graduate. And frankly, I don’t think you’re thinking about how badly trans women get treated in our prisons. Washing out would be the good option for you — if you even graduate.”

She spoke to him a lot more. He knew she was judging his reactions. Intentionally poking at his history. About incidents from his childhood that she couldn’t possibly have known about. About the founding of AltChan, the first person the site obsessed over. He tried to remain neutral at best — contrition was a step too far, though.

Before she left, she reminded him of the coming orchiectomy, and he nearly lost it again. The knowledge of what all they planned for him was maddening. The things he couldn’t get out of short of being shipped off to worse places. He shuddered as she finally walked away. Could he even remotely begin to fake it well enough?