Chapter 16: I know that you’re afraid.

2024 January 15, Monday

Nerys and Sophia had been herded into the common room after lunch by Mary and Stephanie on threat of a revoking of privileges. They had started heading towards Sophia’s room when they finished lunch; they both knew what was coming, but she really didn’t want to be there for it, and Sophia agreed with her. Stephanie and Mary strongly insisted, though, that attendance was mandatory. She sat on a couch with Sophia, and they clung to each other. It had been a nice few weeks without Randal; even Grant and Carl had been occasionally joining in almost pleasantly with banter about the crummy TV programs. But he was coming back today, and nothing she or Sophia had said to Stephanie, Mary, or Maria had helped.

Maria had been the scariest to interact with — Nerys hadn’t spent much time with her yet. She could see her scars, both faintly on her wrists and on her head where her hair grew a bit different, and knew she must have had a painful history that she never talked about. She had asked Ellen about Maria yesterday, and Ellen simply smiled, and talked about her sister as if she were an entirely different person to the Maria that Nerys knew. Then Ellen’s face suddenly flashed grim and told Nerys that she wasn’t entirely wrong, and that she shouldn’t rush to learn Maria’s history.

Mary had reminded her last Saturday about the orchi — made sure she acknowledged it, made sure she understood it was still coming. She hadn’t taken it well. She knew it was coming. Of fucking course, she knew it was coming. But even with her burgeoning girlhood, it scared her deeply. Surgery terrified her, and she still didn’t feel anything she could call dysphoria about her dick.

She had shouted at Mary, and said some extremely mean things. Nerys apologized later that day, and Mary simply smiled and accepted her apology. Mary said she had just wanted to be certain because sometimes those down here repress the knowledge quickly. And that was when Mary offered to have someone else come talk to her about her time in the programme, someone who might share a different perspective. And Mary introduced Ellen to Nerys in the dining room yesterday after lunch.

Ellen was a sponsor but had no major involvement down here — although she was Stephanie’s fiancée, which was a bit small world. Ellen told Nerys about her past, about how she wound up here, her history of harassing women. About coming to this place, and how she met and fell deeply in love with Stephanie despite this place. About how Stephanie was wholly different from the others in their cohort, or any cohort that came before them, and changing the programme. Ellen had helped Nerys understand it was going to be okay, that she wasn’t broken for doubts. Ellen told her she had also chosen her name on Christmas Day, and that Nerys was doing very well for where she was in the programme.

Sophia poked her. What? Oh. Right. She nodded. The doors opened, held open by a pair of sponsors who had their tasers out. Randal stepped into the common room and let Maria guide him over to a stool near the doors to the dining room and had him sit. Oh. That’s effective, Nerys finally realized, a person can’t move as quick from a seated position. He didn’t say anything initially, just sat there glaring at the assembled boys, girls, and sponsors. Eventually, after what felt like forever but was probably at most a minute, Maria nudged him with the tip of her taser.

Randal took a last glare at Maria before turning back towards the assembled cohort. “Sophia, Nerys,” he said devoid of emotion. “I apologize for not respecting your names. I’m going to try to not do that from now on.” His voice was a bit hollow, he didn’t really sound as if he meant it. Nerys couldn’t decide how to respond, so she just leaned into Sophia harder.

Sophia next to her seemed similarly at a loss for words. After another minute or so of dead silence, and Maria again prodding Randal, Randal spoke. “Are you two going to say anything in response?” he asked, clearly annoyed.

Sophia finally found words. “I don’t know what to say to you, Randal,” Sophia said, frowning. “You didn’t attack me physically like Brent did, but you are an odious troll of a human who runs, no, ran a site that hurt numerous people. So, no, I don’t accept your hollow apology.”

Randal flashed something, anger? No. Fear. Odd. Randal had never been afraid. “I don’t accept it either,” Nerys said firmly, bolstered by Sophia’s confidence. “Actions speak louder than words. Prove you can actually use our names, and maybe eventually I’ll believe you.”

Randal looked again at Maria, who once again waved with her taser. “Go on, Ramona, say the rest,” Maria said calmly.

“Ramona?” Nerys said shocked before Randal could continue, and then laughed. “That’s a nice name for you, Ramona.”

Mary nudged her shoulder with her hand and when she looked up at Mary the look was not nice. “Please excuse me for laughing, Ramona,” Nerys said, grinning. “But, I mean, come on, you’re such a Ramona!”

Sophia giggled. “It’s a pretty name for you, Ramona.”

Randal’s eyes flashed anger, and then the fear was quickly back, and he took some deep breaths. “Yes, Maria gave me the name Ramona,” he said, his voice thin. “Yes, you can call me that. But please, it’s not my name, and… please be kinder about it than I was about your names.”

Nerys looked at Sophia, and they exchanged a series of expressions. “Understood, Randal,” Sophia said, grinning. “We can respect you don’t like the name.” Then her face twisted into a smirk. “Yet.”

Nerys nodded. “Join the femme side, Randal,” Nerys said, winking. “We’ve got nicer clothes!”

Randal rolled his eyes. “No, thanks,” he said, frowning. “Do I have to stick around here, Maria? Can I just go back to my room?” he asked, turning to Maria.

“Sure, Ramona, you can go back to your room,” Maria said, turning her head to one side. “I just thought you were lonely and might like to spend some time watching Wedding Disasters with the others.”

“Pass,” Randal said quietly.

“Okay Ramona, back to your room,” Maria said, and gestured towards the doors with her taser, and he got up and started walking.

When he was finally out of the room, Nerys frowned and then laughed at the absurdity of it. “That was unexpected.”

Derek said with a laugh. “Seriously, way more of a Rachel than a Ramona.”

Owen leaned up and whispered something at Edy, and they too departed the room. Grant and Carl were sitting there quietly, looking just slightly this side of complete terror. Had their sponsors threatened them with names too? Randal had seemed… if not docile… certainly cowed. What could they have done that broke him like that? Every time she thinks she might be coming to terms with what the sponsors are planning for her — for all of them — something new and terrifying would come up. She could feel herself starting to spiral, she realized Mary’s hand was already on her shoulder and leaning down closer. She looked up at Mary. “Can we go?” Nerys quietly asked.

Mary smiled at her. “Sure,” she said quietly. Sophia nodded and patted Nerys leg as she stood and waved as she left.

They got back to Nerys’s room and Mary sat with her on the bed while she cried. “What… what the fuck did you do to… Randal to… to make him that afraid?” Nerys stammered out.

“Well, Ramona was being very uncooperative,” Mary said, hugging Nerys. “And he’s still thinking he can get through this without really changing. So, Maria decided to leave him alone until he was ready. He spent ten days with no more significant interaction than one word barked orders. Loneliness kills Nerys, just as sure as a bullet — it’s part of how he and AltChan’s users hurt people.”

“And the name? I mean, I admit I laughed about it… but…” Nerys frowned. When she had wanted to go back to being Kirk on Christmas morning, Mary and Sophia had both instantly been supportive.

“Names are important, foundational, you understand that,” Mary said moving to where Nerys could see her face, to see her sincerity. “It’s why I was willing to let you go back on Christmas morning. The programme sometimes uses humiliation as part of the process, but this was a special exception — we don’t normally do this. AltChan’s users and Ramona took joy in deadnaming trans people. Taunting them with their past selves. But he can’t see that yet, and he has to start understanding. How would you feel now if I trotted out your past and confronted you with who you are working at moving away from being? Truly rubbed your face in it and never letting you forget or move towards being better even for a second.”

Nerys sniffed. “Not great.”

“Exactly. And you don’t have to call him Ramona,” Mary said, smiling. “Although the sponsors will be, including me, okay?”

Nerys nodded. She was trying to understand their reasons, even if she didn’t totally agree with them. Isolation? For ten days? She’d read something about how solitary broke people. She cried in Mary’s arms. Randal was awful, horrible even, but the sponsors, the programme are doing things to him and the others that none of them had asked for.

2021 January 3, Sunday

Jessica hadn’t spoken to her husband much since New Years; there hadn’t been much need, and she couldn’t keep how much she was hurting out of her voice. She spent most of Friday and Saturday in their room, curled up in the blankets, trying to hide her tear stained eyes from him. She had faith Malcolm had selected the correct path, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to lose her son like this.

Malcolm insisted she come to Bible Study despite how ill she looked and felt last night. She grudgingly got out of bed and made herself presentable to go. Several of the wives commented when they arrived that she looked as if she required more sleep. She didn’t want to talk about it, but then Malcolm just went and told them all about it. Came right out and announced it; he didn’t gloss over what he had done, and then they all cheered his commitment to his faith first. She excused herself before she lost it right there in front of them and made her way to the bathroom.

She wanted to throw up, but she hadn’t eaten anything today and all that came up was a little bile, and it felt awful. Jessica heard the door open and a couple of the others start to come in. She quickly rearranged herself to be sitting on the toilet, so they wouldn’t see her kneeling before the toilet. They asked through the stall door if she was okay, and Betty shakily admitted she couldn’t have done that if it had been her son. Not that her little arsehole of a son would ever, she thought bitterly, briefly thankful the door had no gap on the sides that they could see her expression through.

She responded as politely and as shortly as she could to each of them, lest they pick at how she was really feeling any deeper. Did we make the right choice? she wondered as she sat there waiting for them to leave.

Shortly after James was gone, she had asked Malcolm if their son could come back if he repented shortly after James was gone. “Yes, of course he could,” he responded, with a faint caring smile. But his tone read another way: absolutely not. He had used that tone often enough when denying a request by her or James for something. She hated that tone.

She got through the evening, barely, mostly by shutting down and letting rote take over as they sang and prayed and participated in the discussion minimally. This wasn’t her church, not really; it was the one Malcolm had picked after they got married. Her parents had raised her in a rather laid-back Anglican parish — dress was casual and everyone was welcome. Then she went off to university, and a friend introduced her to a Bible study on campus. It had seemed normal enough, the kids were friendly, and Malcolm was very handsome, and she thought he had kind eyes.

Their romance had been a whirlwind, and they were engaged before he graduated. He was a year ahead of her, studying marketing, and tried to convince her to drop out of her course in art history and get married as soon as he graduated. Jessica insisted, though, that she needed to finish what she started.

She didn’t understand what he was doing back then, but he called most artists of modern times just dreadful things. Her focus had been on past masters with an eye towards preservation, who he praised for their gorgeous work, and inwardly, she had kind of agreed with him about modern painters. She didn’t see back then that it wasn’t about their art style, but that he longed for the return of a past that never was. Just as she now longed for a life that never was.

After graduating, he had gotten a job at a marketing firm, and been working from his flat in the city near campus. A “good Christian one,” he called it; it was out of the States and was starting a European arm. Based out of England, of course, because heaven forbid they have to interact with people who don’t even speak English.

In her final year at Uni, she had reached out to a few galleries about positions in the city, either doing restoration or being a docent. When Malcolm found out, he reminded her they had agreed to kids when they got engaged, and they would need someone to raise them, and she stopped her search. Besides, his salary was enough for both of them to live comfortably on — especially as his company was big on the newfangled idea of ‘remote work.’ They could live somewhere cheap and wholesome, nearer to their families farther north, and start a family together.

As a graduation and wedding present from both their parents, they spent a long weekend in London, sightseeing, a bit of shopping, and she insisted they had to see the National Gallery; they had some Van Gogh paintings she had been dying to see in person. Only to have Malcolm sneer at the paintings, and call Van Gogh a degenerate for having taken his own life. It should’ve made her pause more, but she did believe suicide was a waste — life was precious, too precious to throw away.

They found a quiet little Protestant church in Sheffield after trying a few that Malcolm quickly dismissed and settled in to start their life. She satisfied her passion for art by painting murals at the church, although she was often frustrated by the approval process before she could actually paint them. The men on the deacon council had to approve each one, and they were quite picky in their interpretation of the scenes from the Bible she wanted to do.

The church was maybe a bit harsher sometimes in the sermons than her parents’ church, but the music wasn’t quite as dusty and the members were very welcoming to the young couple. It wasn’t too terribly long before they had their first; Malcolm was overjoyed his oldest was a boy, and declared he would be named James, after the apostle. The congregation quickly helped the young couple out with clothes and toys, and Jessica’s parents gave them Jessica’s crib from when she’d been a baby, although Malcolm insisted it be repainted from pale pink to blue.

And then the old pastor retired; he was a kind man who had done a lot to help set them up in the area, connect them to the church, to the community. And then The New Church came along with an offer, and the deacons voted to merge with them. They became a satellite church, with the same choir and music at first, and Pastor Kyle’s sermons piped in over a video screen. At first, it wasn’t so bad, although she missed having a local pastor somewhat; it felt hollow, but it wasn’t her place to say that.

She hadn’t met Pastor Kyle from The New Church but a couple of times, once shortly after their church joined. And he would do a circuit of the smaller satellite churches once in a while, usually leaving comments with the deacons about the music choices or how communion was run. He didn’t know the good local grocer or the local pub, and the church was no longer growing a little, it was shrinking. Contracting. Her life felt smaller than it had just a month before, and smaller than she had hoped her life would feel.

And then the news, they had been trying for several months after James to have another kid, and she desperately wanted a girl to share all the joys of being a woman with. But after repeated failure to get pregnant, they went to doctors to find out what was wrong. They learned that James had been a bit of a miracle — she wasn’t infertile, just a hostile womb. It didn’t stop them from trying, not right away, but two early miscarriages and a couple more years of trying, she beggedMalcolm to stop trying. She couldn’t bear it any longer, she had to focus on what she had, Malcolm and James. He relented, but wouldn’t allow using any kind of control for either of them, so instead they mostly just stopped.

As she sat there, she tried not to burst into tears again while getting ready for church this morning. It was early, just as it was every Sunday. Every day really. That will change. Less to do, probably, without James around, she thought with a deep frown. She didn’t wear makeup, the church frowned on such frivolous adornment. It wasn’t forbidden, and she wore it sometimes for date night because Malcolm liked her to look good, but she would rather not wind up on the gossip news for more reasons this week. The news about kicking James out would be more than enough to deal with today.

“Jessica! We need to go! What’s taking you so long?” Malcolm bellowed from downstairs.

“Sorry dear, coming!” she called back. She quickly finished putting her hair up before heading downstairs, grabbing her coat from the hook and her purse from by the door as she headed out the door to church.

2024 January 26, Friday

Paige came into the office, grinning big. “Hey, you all finished?” she asked. She’d been looking forward all day to dressing her wife up and taking her out to show her off.

“Yeah, just finished typing up my notes from the last lesson,” Christine said as she started closing out windows on her array of computers. “Are you ready?”

“I am, but you aren’t!” Paige said grinning. “You promised we could go to the club and that I could dress you up however I wanted. And all of our friends are in town!”

One of Christine’s computers made a loud sound, a submarine dive alarm. Paige knew that sound, and immediately her face flashed to annoyance. “No! Come on! Not tonight!” Paige pouted. “Christine you promised!”

“Let me just see what it is, it can probably wait, though.” Christine switched to the relevant box, and Paige recognized the Dorley alerting software she pulled up, with a lengthy message on it.

“So what is it?” Paige asked impatiently.

“Apparently Sophia’s mum has been researching Almsworth and kidnappings off and on the past few weeks,” Christine said, frowning, her brow furrowed deep as she continued to read.

“What? Why?” Paige asked, suddenly confused.

“Elle’s people are unsure as to initial motivation,” Christine said, still scanning the report. “It’s not been specific to Saints or Dorley, but kidnappings and Almsworth together is still a dangerous leap. They want me to investigate. ASAP.”

“Uggh. Tonight? Any particular reason?” Paige asked huffing. “Isn’t she, like, a couple of hundred miles away? Surely, it can wait until the morning.”

“She booked a hotel today, in Almsworth,” Christine said, leaning back in her chair, but continuing to open ancillary windows of evidence from the alert. “She’s going to be here tonight, and for the next couple of days.”

“What?” Paige said glaring. “Of all the…”

“Yeah,” Christine said, her voice drifting off.

“And what can you do on this short of notice?” Paige asked, her frown deepening. “It’s unfair to leave this at your feet like this, and besides, why the late warning? Surely they should’ve known about this already.”

“Well, for one, I can probably get into her phone, check recent messages,” Christine said, sighing. “If I can get ahold of it, that is.”

“She’s an innocent woman who’s lost her entire family, we can’t do this to her!” Paige protested and stamping her foot.

“And is for an unknown, not-work-related reason traveling several hours south to the same city where her daughter is currently living in our basement after we kidnapped her,” Christine said. She started to shuffle various things on her desk, then turned to dig in various drawers beside her desk as she spoke. “She doesn’t have family or friends in the area, it’s too much to just be a coincidence.”

“Well, if she knew anything of worth,” Paige said, hoping to dissuade any late night amateur sleuthing. “She would be researching Dorley directly, right?”

“Maybe, but we have to know Paige,” Christine said, turning to another bank of drawers and pulling out a few more things for her bag. “I know that you know this, this isn’t our first time having to do this.”

Paige sighed. Christine was right, of course she was. And for all she was annoyed at Christine’s continued official involvement in Dorley, the programme had to be protected. She had gone ballistic at Aunt Bea, though, over that stunt with Brent; having Christine, of all people, do the wash-out speech — it was infuriating. Maria was there, Indira, Bea herself for christ’s sake. Bea had simply replied that she still saw Christine as the future, and that it had been just a request. As if requests from the person who had control over not just your stipend but your other job, and connections enough to disappear you could ever be just requests.

“All right, okay, fine,” Paige said, throwing her hands up in the air. “What, we find her at her hotel, grab her phone and let you scan it, then we’re out?”

“Yeah,” Christine said, nodding. “Although it’s probably a bit more complicated than that; have to figure out how to get her phone first.”

“Fine, but after we are going to the club as planned. Got it?” Paige said glaring.

“Absolutely,” Christine said and smiled weakly. Paige hoped that it wouldn’t take too long to get the phone and dupe it, they had dancing to do! Christine followed her back to their bedroom and she let Paige get her all glammed up for a night out at the club. Walking out the front door they were a bit incongruous, with Paige and Christine both in their finery, but Christine was carrying a surplus military rucksack with various pride patches stitched haphazardly on it.

They loaded into the car and started heading to the hotel — Paige had agreed to drive, provided she got to stay in the car when Christine went inside. They got into the parking lot and parked a discreet distance from the entrance; then Christine pulled out her phone and laptop from her bag and started checking various things. Her frown deepened as she scrolled. “Elle’s people now say that Jessica arrived, checked in… ate in the hotel restaurant,” Christine said mostly to herself as she read. “And then she asked the person at the front desk about… Nightclubs? That’s odd.”

“How do they know these things?” Paige asked. “Wait. No. I do not want to know.”

“Yeah, it’s for the best to not think too much about it,” Christine said. “The latest update says she took a ride-share to Mythos.”

“Great — the club we were going to be at anyway,” Paige said, slapping the wheel a bit harder than she intended. “And now we have to sneak your equipment into it? And ruin our night of dancing, kissing and generally making everyone super jealous of us with what, spycraft? Surely, Elle’s people can handle this if they know so much already.”

“They don’t have someone here,” she said with a sigh. “And I’m going to have to get her phone out to the car, I think, to get it duped. I hope Mythos’s emergency exits have the same flaws that Legend’s did.”

Paige sighed and pulled out of the hotel lot. She found a parking spot absurdly close to Mythos’s back exit. The exit she knew they had used for pickups a few times, even after its name changed. She shivered briefly, remembering her own ‘pickup’ from inside a club very much like Mythos. She got out of the car and checked her phone as soon as she was upright. “Pippa texted that everyone else is inside already and wondering where we are, let’s just go in and get this over with.”

“Yeah, sorry again.” Christine said quietly.

“I’m annoyed, but I get it, even if I don’t like it,” she said as she started walking around to where the line was.

They got in line, not that it was a terribly big line — it was, after all, still just Mythos, popularly considered the worst nightclub in Almsworth, albeit second best to the Sisters. Is that why Jessica had picked it? Quieter? Cheaper? Or was it because several disappearances of boys in Almsworth over the years had at least peripheral ties to this place? “You have a recent picture?” she whispered to Christine.

Christine pulled her phone out and showed her a couple of photos, not the most recent, but good enough. Black-haired, tall, too thin — and not in a healthy way, in a not-taking-care-of-herself kind of way. She quickly memorised details and then nodded. Christine put her phone away.

It wasn’t long before they got inside, the bouncer grinning as he let them past. It wasn’t hard to spot their tribe; a group of gorgeous women who mostly didn’t have interest in guys stood out in this fairly hetero place. They went over and greeted the others warmly; after drinks had been ordered, Indira gave Christine a look, and nodded her head in the vague direction of the bar. She must have been alerted as well, Paige thought. Paige turned gently in the direction Indira had nodded, and yup, that was Jessica— standing at the bar, alone. Jessica’s eyes were flicking about looking out at the crowd.

“I’m going to go pick up our drinks, be right back,” Christine said over the din and wandered over towards the bar. Paige watched as she positioned herself carefully, and introduced herself to the older woman, who looked more than slightly out of place here. Nervous. Anxious. Paige suppressed a very inappropriate laugh at a thought: A bit like a second year on her first time out at a club. Before long, both Christine and Jessica were on their way back over, and she quickly gave a look to the others in the know about Dorley at the table. All of them knew what she meant without any words passing between them. Best behaviour.

“Hey everyone!” Christine said a bit loudly over the din. “This is Jessica, she’s a bit of a fish out of water at the club, and she seemed interesting, so I said I would introduce her to my kind and wonderful friends.”

“Hi Jessica! I’m Indira,” Indira said enthusiastically and held her hand out, and Jessica nervously shook it across the table. The others quickly followed suit in greeting her. Christine gave a nod out of sight line of Jessica at Paige. “I have to run to use the loo really quick,” Christine said. “Watch my drink for me?” she asked, turning to Paige.

“Of course, sweetie,” Paige said, smiling sweetly at Christine. “So, Jessica, what brings you out to Almsworth’s worst club?”

“Oh, uh, I haven’t uh, done anything like this in a long time,” she said nervously. “I wanted to see what it was like.”

“Well, you picked a great night! The DJ tonight is spectacular, or at least for this place, he is,” she said, giggling.

“So, where are you from?” Indira asked with a look of pure curiosity on her face.

“Oh, uh, Sheffield,” Jessica said nervously.

“That’s a hike!” Pippa said and whistled.

“Yeah, I came into town looking for… a friend, a long-lost friend. I know… she probably won’t be here, and I’m not even sure she’s in Almsworth, that was just a rumour I heard from a former acquaintance.” Paige picked up on the odd emphasis on the pronoun, if Jessica really was here looking for her son, then why did she switch the pronoun? Her looking for a lost guy friend wouldn’t be that odd, but still, she switched it.

“Oh! What’s her name? Never know, we might know someone who knows someone,” Pippa offered. Too helpful, Pippa, Paige thought, she probably didn’t know who Jessica is. Technically, she probably shouldn’t either.

“Oh, uh, it’s…” and the noise drowned out here response.

“Well, if we see someone looking for a Jessica,” Indira said brightly. “We’ll be sure to let her know.”

They chatted for a bit, about the girls’ jobs, and how they were out for a bit of a mini reunion with each other, after most having been dorm mates at uni. Eventually, Christine walked back up, laughing loudly.

“How’s it going?” she said, grinning. “Sorry I took so long, there was a bit of a line.” Christine picked up her drink and took a big swig of it.

“We were just speaking with Jessica about a lost friend of hers,” Indira said, looking sad. “I hope you find her, whatever her name is.”

“Oh! I love this song!” Paige said as a new track started up. “Come on, you, let’s dance!” she said, and tugged on Christine.

Christine laughed. “Absolutely. Watch our drinks, Dira?”

“Yup! We’ll be here,” Indira said brightly, waving as they hurried on to the dance floor.

Paige dragged Christine out on to the dance floor. “What took you so long?” she asked, leaning into say it directly into Christine’s ear when they started dancing.

“It’s bad, Paige,” Christine said, smiling outwardly, but Paige could tell from her tone the truth. “But Elle’s people agreed this was it for me tonight, okay?”

“Okay, do we have to keep interacting with Jessica?” Paige said, frowning as they got close again. “I feel like this is absurdly dangerous.”

“We don’t,” Christine said, nodding. “But we will until she wants to leave because she’s lost everything, and it wasn’t entirely her fault.”

“Yeah, okay,” Paige said, resigning herself. It wasn’t the night she envisioned — being stuck playing observer to a family member of a girl in the programme — but Christine had a point.

They danced, they laughed, they smiled, they chatted with Jessica about life in general. She worked in an accounting office, just as a secretary, but it kept her busy, kept her occupied. And then she shut up about what it kept her occupied from. She lamented that she probably had no chance of finding her friend. And before too long, as the girls rotated to the dance floor, she declared she was tired and headed back to her hotel. Paige breathed a sigh of relief.

When she was finally gone, and Rani was off to the restroom, Pippa looked at Paige and Christine with an accusatorial glare. “Okay, who the fuck was that?” she asked, frowning. “Why were we playing fast friends to a forty-something?”

Indira looked around before scooting closer to Pippa and leaning in close. “That was Sophia’s mum,” she said just loud enough for Paige to hear as well.

“What?” Pippa hissed. “What the hell is she doing here?”

Christine leaned in as well. “We’re not entirely sure, we can talk more later.”

“Yeah, okay, I guess I get checking that kind of thing,” Paige said, nodding. “At least none of us said anything too revealing, I don’t think.”

Rani walked up. “So, what were you all talking about with me gone?”

“Oh you know, wondering why Christine brought Jessica over,” Pippa said, and Paige appreciated her just going for honesty.

“So why did you bring her over?” Rani asked, looking curious.

“I just remember being alone and nervous in this place. Occasionally, it’s nice to just have someone reach out,” Christine said, smiling sweetly.

“You will never make friends if you don’t try!” Indira said grinning.

“True,” Rani said. “Was almost wondering if it was some Dorley thing.”

“Nah! Never met her before in my life,” Christine said, grinning.

“Well that’s good. Come on Pip, let’s go dance!” Rani said, taking Pippa’s hand and taking her out to the dance floor.

“Are we sure we don’t have another me situation with Rani?” Lorna asked, looking as they walked on to the dance floor.

“Pippa’s handling it so far,” Paige said, nodding. “She’s talked with me some about it, says Rani wants to be supportive and is annoyed she doesn’t know what really happens at Dorley, but she’s dealing with it.”

“That’s good,” Indira said. “Just be certain she knows she can come to me if things start going sideways.”

“Enough Dorley!” Vicky declared and dragged Lorna off, and Paige, Christine and Indira headed out to the dance floor as a trio.

2024 January 27, Saturday

Stephanie knew she looked as tired as she felt as she walked into the security room. She hadn’t slept well after Maria had told her about Jessica’s arrival in Almsworth; she agreed they couldn’t tell Sophia, not yet at least. She collapsed on the couch and closed her eyes. So far, only Tabby was in the room, and she was kind enough to not say anything. Before too long, though, noisier people started arriving. And finally, trickling in at the last, Christine, Indira, and Maria. They were rather disheveled for three usually put-together women, which surprised her.

Maria sighed and shooed Tabby out of the nicer desk chair and sat down gently. “So. We have some unfortunate news,” she said, her scowl deeper than Stephanie had seen it in quite a while.

“What’s happened?” Tabby asked. “All I’ve gotten through the rumour mill so far is that there was a breach.”

“Someone talked,” Christine practically spat the word. “Someone contacted Jessica Whitaker, Sophia’s mum, and somehow put her on the trail of Almsworth and the possibility that her ‘son’ — Sophia — might not be simply dead. From her searches and the texts, we can surmise that whoever it was told Jessica that Sophia might have been kidnapped and brought at least to the general vicinity of Almsworth.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Monica breathed. “Who?”

“We… are not sure yet,” Christine said, frowning. “We burned the midnight oil with Elle’s people trying to figure it out, but whoever it was, was very cagey. The texts they sent her all originated from an SMS gateway that uses random numbers to send texts from. We’ve had no luck so far in tracking who might have sent them, and I’m doubtful that’s a viable front. We know they arranged to meet at a café in Sheffield, but it was a couple of weeks ago already, and getting footage back that far from disparate systems proved fruitless.”

“Does she know anything specific?” Tabby asked. “Anything that ties to the hall?”

“We don’t know for certain. The hall didn’t factor into the searches we know she did,” Indira said, frowning in her uncertainty. “We do know that Mythos, or rather, Legend that it replaced, came up in her searches some because she was searching about disappearances in the area and a few incidents that tie more or less back to it.”

“We think that she’s just taken whatever little she’s been handed and going on desperation more than anything,” Maria said. “Her texts to her boss indicated she was feeling ill and couldn’t be in yesterday before getting in her car and driving down here.”

“And her conversation in the club sounded like she didn’t really know where to look,” Indira said, nodding.

Stephanie had listened to all of this in a state of shock and finally found words again. “What the flipping hell?” she said, her face strained. “Who would even know? Who would remotely want to do this to Sophia — to us?”

“Our strongest supposition is that it was someone tied to the PMC outfit that we use for security here, as well as for backup with the pickups,” Indira said, looking at the folder she carried. “We had a pair of them with you in another car nearby when we grabbed Sophia. Only them, Ellen, Stephanie, and Monica were there, and you three are all here, and we know none of you would’ve or even could’ve done this.”

Monica snorted. “So why haven’t we wrung these guys out yet?”

“Elle’s people are looking into it,” Christine said calmly. “However, we don’t think it was either of them, at least not directly. They simply didn’t know enough. They knew they were to drive behind the van by quite a way, and if there was trouble to get to the van quick. We checked the van’s cameras — they did. Besides, they didn’t know who we picked up, why we picked them up, or where you were headed after you three got on the motorway.”

“Who would?” Tabby asked.

“Someone in the logistics arm of Peckinville, perhaps the person who had arranged orders,” Maria said. “But even there, none of them know both ends. One person arranged the backup for the pickup, another person entirely handled the guys down here who helped get Sophia into the cells. And none of them know details of the job.”

“So, someone above them?” Stephanie asked, feeling worried.

“That’s the fear, certainly,” Indira said, nodding. “That could wind up exposing us to a lot worse because you have to get up pretty high to know details.”

“Any idea how we figure out whom? Without, like, kidnapping and torturing it out of them?” Tabby quipped, followed by a very awkward silence. “Okay, yeah, that was over a line.”

“Elle is leading the investigation of that on her end personally, while we need to mainly keep an eye out here locally,” Christine said, pulling her phone out. “If you spot Jessica on campus, ping the sponsor channels immediately.” Christine tapped a button on her phone, and their phones all pinged with a series of photos, both from the files and last night. “And for christ’s sake, don’t pull that photo up to compare — memorise it! I know our opsec doesn’t look great right now, but let’s not make a bad thing worse.”

Evelyn raised her hand, sitting beside Stephanie. “I wonder if I might ask, for those of us who are not as familiar,” she asked quietly. “What is her situation now? Jessica’s that is.”

Maria nodded. “Jessica Whitaker is divorced from her ex-husband Malcolm Sutton; it was finalized sometime early last year, but had been separated since February 2022. She no longer attends church, although evidence from her phone indicates she likely still believes. And there’s one more thing we found on her phone…” Maria’s voice trailed off.

“Oh?” Evelyn asked, taking Stephanie’s hand and squeezing it.

“She’s been researching trans people,” Maria said flatly.

“Like, in a creepy stalker murder-y way?” Tabby asked.

“I don’t believe so,” Christine said. “Most of the sites she visited are at least nominally supportive. What she’s reading isn’t perfect, but she’s had no help or guidance.”

“And things are rough out there for unguided learning about trans people, yeah,” Stephanie said, frowning. She had had to provide her mother a significant primer to get her to stop spouting nonsense that had sounded good but was really just bigots twisting things.

“So do we think she might try to be supportive of Sophia?” Evelyn asked, ever the hopeful one, and Stephanie squeezed her hand back in response.

Indira frowned. “Try would be the operative word there,” Indira said grimly. “She might try, but how well she would succeed? And now is a terrible time for Sophia to be thinking about such things.”

Evelyn frowned. “Shouldn’t we want to reunite them? Do we think they won’t reunite in the end if her mom would be even at least as supportive as your mom has been?” she asked, looking at Stephanie.

Stephanie sighed and then smiled faintly. “Yes, in the end,” Stephanie said strained. “But not now. Sophia’s fragile, and her mom? Her mom is an unknown element. She could try to be supportive, slip and say or do the wrong thing. She could set Sophia back months, if not years. Sophia has to be ready first, more confident in herself.”

Evelyn nodded. “Yeah, I can understand that; I wasn’t going to tell her anyway. I just…”

“Yeah,” Stephanie sighed. “Just. I want her to be happy, I want her to get reconciliation and closure and all that. But today’s not the day. Please, I’m begging you, none of you say anything to Sophia about this, not yet.”

Evelyn nodded. “She won’t hear a word from me until you think she’s ready.”

“We want to hold this one pretty close,” Maria said, nodding. “Keep discussion of specifics to this year’s sponsors channel or smaller. For now, outwardly the rumour mill knows there’s been a breach, but not specifics, and we would like it kept to that.”

The sponsors all joined in nodding. “We won’t let her have any inking,” Tabby said.

Christine’s phone buzzed. She pulled it out and read the text quickly. “Well fuck.”

“What now?” Maria said, rolling her eyes skyward.

“Jessica’s now searched for info about Dorley Hall on the hotel internet,” Christine groaned. “She even downloaded the application form.”

“What the hell!” Indira said her tiredness clearly affecting her usually cheery demeanor. “We were with her the whole time last night, I don’t think anyone mentioned Dorley, just having been dorm mates.”

“Did we get recordings of last night’s encounter?” Monica asked.

“It’s a freaking club,” Christine said, shrugging. “There was simply too much noise. Someone might have been reminiscing and slipped, it was a bit of a reunion.”

“You think she would come here?” Stephanie asked quietly.

“I mean, we aren’t connected to any kidnappings,” Maria said with a slight grin. “But anything’s possible.”

“Oh shit, the girls downstairs are starting to stir towards breakfast,” Tabby said, looking at the monitors. “We need to wrap this up soon.”

“All right, remember all, keep an eye out,” Maria said. “Don’t breathe a hint to the girls in the basement, and try to keep it quiet upstairs. And sound the alarm if anyone sees her on campus.”

Stephanie nodded resolutely. “Yup! And I think I know how to distract Sophia today,” she said, grinning. “Fair warning, it’s going to make her insufferable around the others for a while, though.”

“Going to spring her orchi date on her?” Maria asked, smirking.

“Yup! She should be like a little fusion reactor after that for a while, oblivious to everything.”

“Girls these days, wanting to know their orchi date ahead of the orchi, what has this world come to,” Maria said with a laugh and a shake of her head.

Stephanie giggled and grabbed her taser and headed for the stairs to help with breakfast.

***

Jessica sat in her hotel room on the end of the bed. Indecisive — where could she even look for her daughter? What even was the point of this? There wasn’t anywhere concrete, no leads. Sure, boys disappear here, whether walked off never to be heard of or suicides with notes or a few thin rumours of kidnappings which mostly just turned out to be custody disputes. But those happen everywhere. Trev’s words implied to her that they thought it was some sort of organized kidnapping ring. But who the hell would run one with Almsworth as a hub? It’s not a port, it’s not a major air destination, it’s just fucking Almsworth.

And what was up with that group at the club last night? The young women had seemed nice enough, but why had she (Christine, was it?) brought her over to the table with her friends in the first place. What was the place one of them had mentioned as having lived at when they went to uni? Dorley Hall? She hadn’t heard of it, but that wasn’t that surprising, lots of schools had named dorms.

Curiosity got the better of her, though, and she pulled her ancient laptop out and decided to look it up quickly. Jessica quickly found a link from a page on the Royal College of Saint Almsworth website that described a history of varied uses, albeit vaguely. The site said that since 2005 it served as a dormitory for disadvantaged young women to have an affordable and safe place to stay while attending a good university. It was privately funded and there simply wasn’t much information on it, on this site or any other. Among the scarce contents of the site, was a link to an application form to apply to live there, as well as one photo of the outside, and some example photos of the rooms, and that was about it.

None of the photos had any people in them, which was a bit odd, but by no means the oddest thing about the last few weeks. Trev had stuck by their word, and hadn’t made any further contact; her phone remained stubbornly silent. In a weird way she kind of missed it — even if their texts had been infuriating, at least it had been contact.

She studied the photo of the building briefly — Dorley Hall was a large, imposing brick building half a dozen stories tall, and had at one time apparently been a ‘hospital.’ She strongly suspected what they did back then would hardly be considered medicine by today’s standards. Out of curiosity and lack of any other ideas, she downloaded the application form; it was fairly standard stuff, places to write in name, address, date of birth, as well as instructions for attaching an essay and letters of reference. She was surprised to see a section near the top which asked for pronouns and gender, providing a few basic options, and a write-in slot for each.

After puzzling about it for a moment, Jessica realized it made a certain amount of sense. The way society was acting about trans women lately, it’s a wonder that any weren’t disadvantaged. She shuddered and set her laptop aside and lay back on the bed. Would her daughter have tried to get into such a place in a better world? She should give up on this goose chase and go back home to her lonely life of penance.

She thought briefly about going to Dorley Hall — maybe they might be able to help her understand her daughter better? — but discarded the idea quickly as silly. They wouldn’t want to waste time on teaching an old woman who had messed everything up. She decided to go do some research at the local library in their paper archives for a while. Perhaps there was something to find there, but she doubted it. Any group that hid this well wouldn’t be advertising in the damn paper.

She got up, putting her laptop back in her bag, and finished getting ready for the day. She slung her bag over her shoulder and left the room and walked out to her car.

***

Sophia was sitting with Nerys this morning in the dining room, eating porridge — at least they were letting them have some fruit and cinnamon with it these days for variety. The sponsors had been down later than usual, their morning meeting must have run longer, Sophia thought. She could tell the sponsors were a bit tense for some reason as well, nervous expressions and strained glances. Maybe the meeting length had been the result of an argument, or the shipment of estradiol was delayed, or the coffee makers were all busted. She suppressed a giggle at her thoughts.

Stephanie and Mary were in the dining room with them and chatting quietly about something between themselves next to the wall. Randal was eating at the other end of the table and Maria was against a wall near him, having watched quietly as the others interacted at breakfast. They were the only ones left in the room, the others had left to shower or sit in the common room or sulk in their rooms.

Randal had been mostly kind of quiet since Maria had agreed to let him start eating in the dining room again. He had slipped with her name a few days ago with Maria there, and he actively flinched as he rushed to correct himself and apologize, which was still surprising to her.

The name thing troubled her deeply still; Stephanie had told her once, back when she was still asking to be called James, that names are foundational. An important part of self actualization of the participants becoming women.

And then came Maria introducing Randal as Ramona, who clearly didn’t like or want the name. Sophia confronted Stephanie about it later in her room when they were alone that it was clear that Randal hadn’t requested a name like Nerys had, and it wasn’t okay. Stephanie had sighed, crossed her arms and frowned, and said an exception had been made because Randal’s sense of identity needed to be shaken harder than most. Sophia hadn’t once called him Ramona since realizing he didn’t want it, and neither had Nerys — to his face anyway. In private, Nerys still joked about it some, but hadn’t for almost a week due to the glare Sophia gave her each time.

Sophia had spoken with Derek as well, who had talked it over with Owen and both had mostly been convinced to usually refer to him as Randal. They sometimes slipped, but not generally maliciously, and corrected themselves after. Sophia felt it was mostly understandable, the sponsors kept using Ramona, and it even confused her sometimes — but she was making extra sure to always call him Randal, in every setting, regardless. Until he asked them to use a different name, he would be Randal to her.

Grant and Carl, though, latched on to it like a pair of pit bulls fighting over a chew toy. Stephanie had told Sophia their sponsors weren’t terribly amused, but that it was ultimately serving a purpose for all involved. Randal did react to them, but never that strongly, often just walked away with a scowl; Maria had him on a pretty short leash, and had given him a couple of time-outs over pretty minor infractions already.

Sophia had also been noticing his behaviour when she called him Randal, but especially how he acted when Owen or Derek messed up and corrected themselves. Like, the light that was mostly gone from him would return, albeit different and only for a brief moment. Gone was the cynical asshole, and now there was him, appreciative of someone else treating him with a tiny bit of dignity.

She still had doubts whether any of his improvement was real, and he still mostly gaveawfulanswers in Indira’s lessons; but now only when called directly. Anything he said or did that was wrong now, Maria, Indira, or another sponsor would hit him with a stern and pointed “Ramona.”

“So, what are we up to today?” Sophia asked Stephanie after eating another bite of her porridge, smiling. She hoped Stephanie would give her a day upstairs, getting to be herself away from Randal and the other boys.

“Oh, nothing planned for today, Soph,” Stephanie said quickly. “I’ve got some class work to catch up on this afternoon.”

“Aww,” Sophia said, frowning. “Okay, hope classes are going okay overall.”

“They are!” Stephanie said brightly. “Looking forward to being done with my degree.”

Randal apparently finished his breakfast, got up quietly and Maria followed him into the common room, leaving the four of them alone at last in here.

Stephanie smiled when the door had shut and she heard the lock cycle. “However…” Stephanie said, grinning, drawing the word out. “Sophia, I have news, and because you absolutely would tell Nerys, she might as well be here to hear it now too.”

“Oh?” Sophia said perking up. “Tell me!”

“We’ve scheduled your orchi!” Stephanie said brightly, grinning.

“Oh my god! YES!” Sophia shouted and leapt out of her chair to tackle hug Stephanie. “When!?”

Stephanie laughed, and returned the hug. “March First, sweetie, not long now.”

“Hooray!” Sophia said excitedly bouncing and Stephanie turned her bounce into a spin. “One month away! And the short month at that!”

Nerys laughed. “But slightly longer than usual,” she said, grinning, and Sophia laughed in return.

“Let me guess, I’m not supposed to tell the others?” Sophia asked, trying to temper her enthusiasm.

“I can’t see it doing any of them any good… but… I know you’re going to be excited, and it might get out,” Stephanie said, grinning. “It’s a good thing these walls are pretty good at sound isolation, or they already would know. And if it does, it won’t be the end of the world if it does, okay? Even before me, there were people who were more or less eager for the orchi, strange as it sounds.”

“Oh, like Melissa?” Sophia asked, still grinning from ear to ear.

Stephanie smiled back and ruffled Sophia’s hair. “Yeah, and Vicky, and there have been some others.”

Nerys frowned. “Wait, there are people who… aren’t trans who want it?” she asked quietly.

“Well…” Mary said, dragging the word out. “Those two examples identify pretty strongly as trans women, at least privately. But not everyone who has does.”

“That’s wild,” Nerys said, her nerves becoming clearer in her voice. “I uh I guess I’m happy for you Soph, but also…”

Mary put a hand on Nerys’s shoulder and sat down next to her and leaned in. “It’s fine to have doubts, and fears,” she said quietly. “And to even vehemently not want it.”

“Yeah,” Nerys said quietly. “I don’t want it, but I know I don’t really get a say in it. And I like being Nerys… but… it’s… sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” Mary said, and pulled Nerys into a hug. “But you will get through it, and you will survive, okay? I’ll be there for you every step of the way.”

Nerys, buried herself in Mary’s hug and nodded. Sophia came over and put a hand on Nerys’s shoulder. “Want to go watch some terrible TV with the others and forget for a bit?” Sophia asked quietly.

Nerys nodded positively and Mary relaxed her hug, and let Sophia take her hand and guide her to the common room. When they entered, she saw Randal was slouching in a beanbag chair near the door to the dining room, and he looked up as they entered. He glared up at Sophia as she entered. “And what got you so fucking excited a moment ago?” he asked sullenly.

Sophia laughed brightly. “I got some fantastic news, Randal,” and watched as his face made a perplexed expression briefly.

He quickly recovered into making a sneer at her. “What kind of news down here is ever good?”

Maria nearby perked up. “Not all good news will be good news for all people, Ramona, but you could try to be happy for Sophia.”

“Congratulations or whatever’s appropriate then, Sophia,” Randal said quietly, not looking up at her.

“Thank you, Randal!” Sophia said brightly and guided Nerys over to one of the couches near the TV. They leaned into each other and Sophia put one arm around Nerys as had become their habit.

Sophia loved feeling Nerys against her, when they walked holding hands or leaning against each other on the couches or her bed. They had started experimenting beyond kissing, but tentatively, and there had been setbacks. A week ago, they had been making out in Sophia’s room, and Nerys was being good and asking permission as they started to go farther than they had before. Her capris came off and Nerys touched her down there, gently, carefully, but Sophia had recoiled immediately and wound up in the corner in tears.

Nerys tried to comfort her and apologize, but Sophia just shut down and waved her away. Nerys, bless her, got ahold of Stephanie via Mary, who came and sat with her until she could finally talk about.

Sophia wasn’t mad at Nerys for it, not really, they had both wanted to try going farther. And Nerys was mostly concerned she had done something wrong, hurt Sophia. After they talked about it with Mary and Stephanie privately and a long conversation between the two of them, starting with both of them apologizing and both said the other had nothing to apologize for.

Sophia admitted to Nerys that on top of dysphoria, she had already gone way farther with Nerys than she had with anyone previously, and she still had hangups about all of this. She’d done so many things her parents had implicitly or explicitly forbidden her from, starting with being Sophia. Nerys thankfully just hugged her tight and again promised retribution should she ever meet Sophia’s parents. But for now, it was nice, just being near Nerys, leaning against her, holding her hand. Kissing her. Randal occasionally threw them a dirty look when they were doing it out in the common room, but even that had decreased in frequency.

Maria had told Sophia once that a lot of the psychology of people like Randal was about the reaction of his targets and the ability to make their victims change behavior or worse. She informed Maria strongly that neither she nor Nerys were going to back down over dirty looks and snide remarks.

Honestly, neither she nor Nerys were paying much attention to the show or the others, just leaning against each other and enjoying each others’ presence. And thinking about the news about her orchi, in all of thirty-three days, if her mental math was right. Holy fucking crap, it’s real and it’s finally happening! she thought.

Nerys must have felt her breathing increase. “Hey, are you okay?” she whispered.

“As long as you’re here? Always,” she said and kissed the top of Nerys’s head. “Just nervous; it’s been a long time coming, and for the longest time I didn’t think it would actually happen. And I know, it’s not fair to you for me to be so excited.”

“Hey lovebirds!” Randal called out from his beanbag chair. “Either watch the show and chat with us about the contestant’s objectively awful cooking skills, or go get a room.”

Sophia laughed. “But then how would you get to watch how good we are together?” She leaned over and pulled Nerys’s face to hers, and they kissed long and deep.

Nerys, left a bit starry eyed from the kiss, turned after it broke and looked at Randal. “You ever get a kiss that good, Randal?” she asked, grinning from ear to ear.

“My love life is none of your concern, Nerys.” Randal said and stuck his nose in the air.

“So that’s a no, then?” Nerys giggled.

“I have never kissed a man!” Randal said, flaring into anger. Maria coughed, and Randal suddenly blanched. “Sophia, shit, sorry, Maria, please don’t put me back in the cells.”

Maria looked at him and arched an eyebrow. “This is your last slip up with just a time-out. Mess up again and it’s back to the cells. Understood?”

“Understood,” Randal said quietly.

“Come on, you, let’s go,” Maria said and waved her taser at him. He stood slowly and started walking out of the common room ahead of her towards his room. The others quickly went back to the show, booing the judge’s decision, and Sophia and Nerys just sat there enjoying each other’s presence.

***

Randal unlocked his door and went into his room and immediately sat on the bed and put the cuffs on without being asked — he knew the drill by now. Maria walked in behind him, and nodded when she saw his wrists cuffed. “So Ramona, what was that? You haven’t done anything that bad in a week now.”

“That’s not my name.” Randal said annoyed. It wasn’t, and he had tried to be nice about it. ‘Sophia’ and ‘Nerys’ had been nice about it, but it was wearing thin.

“Ramona, you’re on thin ice,” Maria said, crossing her arms.

“What do you want from me?” Randal whined. He knew what she wanted, ostensibly, but surely, there must be something short of that.

“To reform. To grow,” she said shortly, simply. Fuck. The big goals.

“To become a ‘woman.’” He didn’t use air quotes, but he didn’t have to. He knew she knew he meant them.

“Yes,” Maria said, nodding. “But you know, for real, that’s what we want from you.”

“You can’t change your gender,” he spat. He knew it was a mistake, but right now, he didn’t care.

“What about Sophia?” Maria asked. Randal didn’t respond. Anything he wanted to say about James, he would get in trouble for. Anything Maria wanted him to say, he knew he couldn’t say with a straight face. He waited. She waited. He won. This time, she responded first.

“Ramona, why did you get so upset when you responded to Nerys asking if you had ever had a kiss like that?” Maria asked, arching an eyebrow a fraction of an inch.

Okay, so not a win exactly. There was no way in hell he was going to talk about that with her. She didn’t deserve the satisfaction, and he hoped she didn’t know, she hadn’t ever mentioned it, not even during disclosure. “I just did, okay? I’m not gay. And that doesn’t mean I’m a homophobe, it just means I’m not.”

Maria thought for a moment. “You know, there is a part of your past we’ve never talked about.” Shit. Does she know? “Let’s talk about… Alistair.” He frowned. Fuck. She couldn’t know that. “I see you are surprised, Ramona. Generally, our records are a bit patch work when we first bring in an intake. But we knew even by disclosure about him.”

“That’s not her name.” Randal said, glaring at Maria.

“It’s his name,” Maria said flatly.

“It’s. Not. Her. Name,” Randal said, punctuating each word with a slap on his knee from one of his cuffed hands.

“Ramona, you know he’s trans,” Maria said frowning. “And you know his name. Do you want to see a recent picture? He’s so happy now!”

Randal hesitated for the barest of fraction of a second. “No,” he said quietly. But he knew that split second had been noticed.

“Well, maybe another time,” Maria said calmly after a brief pause. “I do wonder, though… Alistair seems… honestly very much like someone AltChan’s users liked to target. And yet, not even a single post. Perhaps they just missed him. Funny that.”

Randal felt his heart drop. Did she know? They said they had a full copy of his site, but did they have just the database, or the code too? Fuck.

“I think I’ll leave you alone with your thoughts about him, Ramona. Remember, you will reform, or you will wash out.”

She left and locked the door, and he collapsed back on the bed as his cuffs unlocked. He threw them back under the bed and wanted to scream. They must know. Why else bring Alice up? He rolled back and faced the dingy concrete ceiling. Was Maria watching him right now on the cameras? Trying to learn how he would react? Probably. They always seemed to be watching.

Those threads about Alice never existed because they never propagated through in the first place, and anyone who tried to post them had wound up in purgatory, their posts elsewhere shadow-banned. The filter was complex, it wasn’t just as simple as someone mentioning Alice or her various aliases, they went into a hold queue in memory for him to review. It wasn’t out of trying to protect ‘Alistair,’ he reminded himself, it was only to protect himself.

Inevitably, though, just like every time someone attempted to post something about her, his thoughts wandered back to meeting her. He shivered at the memories and hoped Maria couldn’t see it.

They had met when they were fifteen, in the fall of 2017. Alice seemed like a relatively normal, if maybe slightly tomboyish, girl. Not ostensibly his type back then, but she had joined in with the gang and acted like just one of the boys. They liked the same shows and music; she played football better than most of the guys, including Randal. And when she smiled at him, his heart melted. She wore her hair short ‘for football’, she dressed in loose jeans and often guys shirts, but he didn’t care. They fell for each other pretty hard pretty quick, and he couldn’t figure it out, but he didn’t really want to interrogate it too deep.

The next spring, there was a dance the school was putting on as an end of semester celebration. It had been her idea to go, he hadn’t wanted to go to it at all until she asked him if he would go with her. He chafed a bit at being the one being asked by the girl, but agreed because it was Alice who asked him. He arranged a time to pick her up from her parents’ place, and asked her what colour her dress would be. She said she was wearing blue, which was fine, he had a blue tie he could wear with his one good suit.

He arrived at her place to go together, only to find her in a blue tux, and it was not cut to show off a feminine figure. She was still Alice, but… a tux? It was a bit much for a split second. But then she took his hand, and she smiled at him, and he nodded, and they went off to the dance together in the back seat of his mum’s car. Years from having a permit, and his mum had insistedit was no trouble.

They had a blast, they danced, and near the end, they had their first kiss. It was amazingly good — there-were-pictures-of-it good. His mates gave him a little shit for going along with her wearing a tux, but that was fine. Alice was his girlfriend, and they didn’t know what they were missing out on.

The next week, school let out for the summer. Alice came by his place the day after school let out, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, which wasn’t odd. But there was something odd about how she looked. Alice was not the most full figured girl in the school yet, but there wasn’t any figure left, and her short hair was no longer even attempting to be feminine.

She dragged him to a park nearby that she liked, grass, trees, a playground. She sat with him on the grass under a shade tree. And then she confessed that she had realized she was trans. A man. That dance in the tux had been the final confirmation to her, she loved being a man. Then she told him she still liked him, and that he kissed really well. Finally, she told him the name she had chosen was Alistair.

He didn’t know how to react at first. Was Alistair her, his, name? If he was being honest with himself, he liked how Alistair looked at the dance. He wanted to keep being with her… him. He was Randal’s best friend, the only person he’d kissed. Randal told Alistair he wasn’t sure how he felt about all of it, but that he still wanted to continue being friends with him at the very least.

That summer, they continued to hang out, just the two of them. His mates would bug him about where he had been, where ‘Alice’ was. He couldn’t tell them, though, he knew how they would react, they were small-minded people who made numerous uncomfortable jokes. Alistair was going to be moving changing to a different school to start as Alistair in the fall. Occasionally, when they were out to eat or hanging out watching TV, and their hands brushed, and it felt electric.

Randal was deeply conflicted about how he felt for Alistair. He wasn’t gay, but he continued to feel drawn to him. He had also started noticing other guys as the summer went on, and it was deeply concerning to him how they made him feel. Randal comforted himself that he was still strongly attracted to women. And Alistair wasn’t like other guys — he was still kind of a girl? Right? That meant he was still just straight and normal.

And then it came out anyway. He got spotted out with Alistair when they were hanging out at a café, just eating some burgers and chips. Unbeknownst to him, his friend group caught sight of him and a very flat-chested, short-haired-with side-shave-and-temporary-blue-hair-dye ‘Alice.’

When they finished eating, Alistair requested quietly that they head to the park, so they could speak with fewer people nearby. They went to the same park as before, unaware they were being followed by Randal’s friends. Alistair asked if Randal still had feelings for him. As they talked, Alistair suggested they try kissing again, and Randal agreed, feeling surprisingly okay with the idea.

Alistair leaned in and pressed his lips to Randal’s. And then the forced shutter sounds of smartphones went off, and he opened his eyes at the laughter that quickly followed to see a twisted expression on his friends faces from behind a nearby bush. Alistair ran and Randal started to chase after him, but Alistair shouted not to follow.

The pictures inevitably were posted by his so-called friends and caused a minor uproar. Both his school and Alistair’s new school’s demanded the photos be taken down by the original posters, and his friends reluctantly complied. But the photos had spread far and wide already. Nothing ever truly disappears online, Randal learned quickly.

He wasn’t immune to the backlash, either. People called him a freak and a homo. He quickly pushed back verbally in anger; claimed it had all been one big joke. Word of that somehow got back to Alistair, who texted Randal that he wanted nothing to do with him anymore. Before Randal could even type a quick reply to try to apologize, Alistair had already blocked him.

He remembered how things shifted from there. He had never kissed a guy, just Alice, that’s all it had ever been. Randal could never have had feelings for Alistair, and he was just playing along and hoping she would change her mind about all this trans nonsense.

But as AltChan grew, he couldn’t risk his past becoming part of an investigation into Alistair. So AltChan never ran a thread on him. Her. Fuck. Whatever. Someone had once tried to post some pictures of Alistair a couple of years ago, from not too long after Alistair’s top surgery, and he had looked so happy at the beach.

He wanted to know how Alistair was doing, of course he did. But it didn’t matter in here or out there. And he couldn’t tell them that he wanted to know, to give them that angle on him. He felt tears start flowing and made sure to roll over to hide his face from where he knew the cameras were positioned.

2021 March 5, Friday

James was sitting on the couch, watching some random sitcom with Theo and Bill, David’s roommates. It had been a rough three months, but he had a job now at least. Just at a call center — ‘helping’ people and upselling support plans — but he was paying his fair share of the food and rent. The landlord didn’t officially know he was there, and he was still sleeping on the couch, but it was still better than nothing.

He had told David and his roommates that his parents caught him with some weed, and kicked him out. When Bill offered a puff of a blunt one night, he nearly choked on it. It not only didn’t improve his mood, it actually made him extra anxious and admitted as much. “Guess you don’t have much experience,” Bill said, laughing at him. James had to shake his head no, and claim that he hadn’t actually tried anything his parents had found, but they hadn’t believed him.

When the next set of commercials came on, David came bursting in the front door of the flat. “You did what to get kicked out, James?” he asked, glaring at James.

“Got caught with weed?” James said nervously. “We’ve discussed this, I hadn’t used any of it yet.”

“Yeah fucking right,” David said, raising an eyebrow. “I briefly mentioned to my parents that you were staying here with me when I was there for lunch today. They told me you weren’t caught with weed. You’re a damn pervert, and you’ve got one week to get out.”

“What? David!” James pleaded. “What did they say I did?”

“That you are one of those tranny freaks,” David spat. “That your parents disowned you because you wouldn’t repent. I won’t live in the same place as a lying pervert like you!”

“David! Please!” James said, and looked pleadingly at Bill and Theo. “Come on! I pay rent, I help with the food, I do dishes and clean the bathroom. That’s just all lies spread by my parents.”

Theo was sitting in a chair and just shook his head no. “Sorry mate, you’re on your own,” Bill said, getting up off the couch they were both on. “Also, you were a waste of a good blunt.”

“I suggest you start looking for other accommodations, freak,” David said, and walked into his room and slammed the door. Bill and Theo subsequently retreated to the room they shared with bunk beds.

James wanted to cry, and scream, but there wasn’t time for that right now. Maybe there would be later. He pulled out his crappy phone, and loaded up a renters guide for the area. The options he could afford by himself were less than great, but he knew he didn’t really have anyone left to turn to, and even if he did, trusting roommates would be impossible. If his parents were telling the church about him, then none of the ‘approved friends’ he had left would shelter him.

He sent out inquiries to a few of the listings quickly. At least he had saved a little bit, so he could afford the security deposit. Just. He was alone the rest of the evening; the others wanted nothing to do with him. When he had done all he could, the tears came and didn’t stop until he fell asleep, not even having bothered to make his ‘bed’ first.