T W E N T Y - F O U R

I Wake Up Screaming From Dreaming

2024 March 29
Friday

Summer awoke in the same way she had a dozen times or more in the last eight weeks: gradually, sometime between dawn and the late-morning wake-up alarm, comfortably drowsy but adequately rested, with the tangled, nude forms of herself and her lover exposed to the air.

On the other mornings like this one, she’d spent a few minutes admiring Persephone’s body before (as they’d negotiated) coming up with some intimate way to wake her, but today, Summer lingered on the first step. She wasn’t sure why—maybe the light pooling on the bed was a little more golden than it’d been in a few months; maybe they’d made more progress in the last twelve hours of electro than she’d thought; maybe taking her pills right before bed last night meant that Summer’s hormones were at unusually pleasant levels for this hour—but whatever the reason, looking at Persephone seemed particularly enjoyable this morning.

She had been getting more beautiful every day, of course. At seven months of HRT, even cis people might notice the changes. Arms and shoulders that were smoother and slimmer, though still deliciously toned; a subtle nip in at the waist; a chest that was no longer flat even with clothes on and was more than just puffy without. And goodness, her face. Summer had been right about the cheekbones, and her softening skin had done wonders for the parts that’d been angular in August, not to mention how vivid her hair was even with the braid tousled by sleep.

Not to say that she didn’t look like she was in transition, because she did. But Summer had never found the signs of past testosterone unattractive on a girl. There was a world of difference between a boyish girl and a boy, and she couldn’t possibly mistake Persephone for the latter.

Even the scars couldn’t make her any less lovely. There were four: one on her cheek, one on the inside of her upper arm, one running down her left side, and one circling her right hip. When she’d first seen the ones on her body, Summer had assumed they were from fencing accidents, but after Albert Chase had added a new one, she began to wonder how many of the others he might be responsible for too. No matter how ugly their origins, though, the pale lines only added to her body’s unique character; they paired with her muscles to paint a picture of a woman who didn’t just spend her time in libraries.

Whatever it was that had changed today, though, the result was that this morning, the girl was so beautiful it made Summer’s heart ache. It was the sort of beauty you wanted to touch but didn’t dare disturb, so instead she simply gazed at the girl in her bed, drinking her in for what might have been minutes or hours or days, until at last Persephone awoke, put on her glasses, looked up at Summer, and smiled.

Christ, those eyes; that smile; that same face animated by her personality. Twice as pretty at least.

It took a second to register that Persephone had spoken, and by the time Summer did, the specific words were long gone. “I’m sorry, I missed that,” she said.

Persephone giggled, her lips curved into a teasing little smile. “I said, good morning, sleepyhead. Brain still warming up?”

Summer smirked. “You’re getting distractingly pretty,” she said, both because it was true and because she wanted to see how hard Persephone would blush. The answer was ‘kissably re—‘

“I have this thing where I get older but just never wiser
“Midnights become my afternoons
“When my depression works the graveyard shift
“All of the people I've ghosted stand there in the room…”

Summer reached over, picked up her phone, and turned off the alarm. No, she was not going to kiss Persephone. Not without intent, anyway. It was one thing to kiss your friend-with-benefits when you were building up towards those benefits; quite another to do it out of the blue. Especially when you knew the girl was still nursing a crush on you.

“Time to face the day, then?” Persephone asked.

“Apparently.”

“So what’s on the agenda?” She groaned as she arched her back to stretch it. Jesus, she sounded good when she did that.

“We’re supposed to get a time slot for electro some time this afternoon.” The last orchi of the 2023 intake was scheduled for this morning; hopefully that’d make it easier to reserve the room. Indira had gotten pickier about scheduling after Katherine, the staff urologist, mentioned she’d run into Persephone—no overlaps with surgeries anymore. “And Tabby said she’d drop by with our dresses ‘round noon.” Seeing all the people Summer had been avoiding for half a decade was a daunting prospect, but it would be a good way to break up the monotony of spending all of their time beneath, inside, or on top of a single building. “But until then, we’re free.”

“Hmm…” Persephone said, and she turned to face her, tracing a single finger from the hollow of Summer’s neck down between her breasts. Summer shivered at the touch. Jesus fuck, this girl. “I suppose we’ll have to find a way to pass the time.”

“I’m sure I can come up with something,” Summer said.

Okay, now it was time to kiss her.

* * *

The local anesthetic Summer had started injecting before each electro session made it a little easier, but not so much easier that she didn’t need to spend a few minutes crying in the bathroom afterwards. Some feelings just need to be let out before they affect the rest of your day.

Once she was finished, Persephone closed her eyes and leaned her head against the cool concrete for a moment to collect herself. When she opened them again, she was staring at a rack of books mounted on the wall. A couple joke books, a compendium of science facts, and a thick handmade scrapbook with a bunch of photos on the cover—including one with a familiar face.

Curious, she lifted the book out and set it on her lap. It was titled Dorley Girls — 2005-2023; the lettering was hand-drawn, and it looked like the end year was on a separate slip of paper. The photo she’d spotted was of Summer; she was cooking in the kitchen upstairs with a group of girls, much like the girls Persephone had seen a few times now in the kitchen. Cute.

Maybe there were more photos of Summer in the book? Persephone flipped towards the end. It fell open on a page titled “Stephanie Riley (2019-22)”, with the cryptic subhead “Our first volunteer”. And this Stephanie was a trans girl! There were a few photos from before or early in her transition, including one that seemed to be from just after FFS with her thumb up and her face wrapped in gauze like a mummy, but most of them seemed to be after that: Stephanie showing off a clubbing outfit, Stephanie putting makeup on a darker-haired girl’s face, Stephanie kissing that girl, Stephanie posing with her in matching formal dresses, Stephanie holding up a diploma, Stephanie blowing out birthday candles. And always surrounded by friends—by other “Dorley girls”, Persephone assumed.

Persephone wondered if this was the same Stephanie she’d chatted with on Consensus. She hoped so; the Stephanie who had helped her meet Summer deserved good things, and the Stephanie in these photos had plenty of them.

The next page was for the girl Stephanie had kissed. Her name was “Ellen” and her collage was another transition timeline. Maybe Stephanie and Ellen were like Summer and Autumn: Two girls who met while transitioning here and got into a relationship. Persephone hoped that they were still together.

If Stephanie came before Ellen, then this book must be ordered by year, not by name, and Summer would be somewhere before Stephanie. Persephone started flipping backwards.

As she did, she noticed something strange: All of the pages seemed to be transition timelines. When Summer had told her about Tabby and Autumn, Persephone had gotten the impression that there were only a couple trans girls here at a time, but this book showed more like six or seven per year. Odd, though it explained the signs she’d seen for voice training, not to mention all of the expensive equipment Summer had been using.

Finally, though, she landed on the page for Summer. She had been such a goofy boy! Well, fake boy, but y’know. Persephone smiled fondly, touching one where she was smiling at Tabby. Her hair might be short (and red—who knew?), her jaw might be broad, her chest might be flat, but the look on her face was exactly the one Persephone saw when Summer woke up each morning.

She lingered over the photos for a moment—she’d seen prints of a couple in the dorm room upstairs—but finally she decided she’d see if Tabby was in here. She should be a couple of years earlier, right?

But she kept going longer than she expected. By now, the selfies were turning into Polaroids, the inkjet prints into film prints, but she still hadn’t found Tabby.

And she never did, because before she got there, she saw something that stopped her cold.

It was another transition timeline, but this one was in reverse. On the left, a butch woman in flannels and Docs; on the right, a man in three-piece suits and a neatly-groomed beard. And both of them were so, so familiar.

At the top, above the subhead “The Man of the Hall”, the title said “Dr Dylan Chase”.

Persephone’s mum was in this book? How?

But what really blew her away was the Polaroid taped down in the bottom right corner. A photo with the littlest Dorley girl? written on the margin in Elle’s compact, flowing hand. A photo of a child dressed in an adult-sized flowery blouse, sequined skirt, pink high heels, and black beret, saying ‘Cheese’.

A photo of her. A photo from her dream.

Because it wasn’t a dream—it was a memory.

2008 April 27
Thursday

In all of his six years, Chase had never been in a closet this wonderful before. It was an entire room, and it had the most amazing clothes! Skirts, dresses, high heels, and other things he didn’t even know the words for—things his mum and dad never wore. But he saw them whenever he visited Auntie’s house, and finally he’d found where they kept them all. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed, but he couldn’t resist—he had to try them for himself!

The first thing to catch his eye was a white top with pink and yellow flowers on it. He reached up, feeling the smooth, soft fabric, then tugged to pull it to the floor. He draped it over his own t-shirt and jeans; it billowed loosely, barely staying on his shoulders and reaching partway down his shins, but he loved the pattern. Then a long, sequined skirt on another rack caught his eye, and he pulled it down too; it dragged on the floor and slipped down his legs, but he saw a rack of belts nearby, so he pulled down a hot pink one (and a few others near it) and cinched it tight. Then he found some heels the same color as his belt; his whole feet fit into the toes. He finally spotted the pièce de résistance: one of those cute French hats hanging on the wall. He shuffled over, leaning up on his tippy-toes to try to reach it, and—

Behind him, the door opened, and a woman said, “Oh!”

Chase turned, stumbling a little in his shoes, touching the wall to stabilize himself. When he felt steady, he looked up to see Maria standing in the doorway, another girl behind her.

”I didn’t expect to see you here, Chase! Playing dress-up?” She walked over, plucked the hat from the wall, and plopped it down on Chase’s head.

Chase giggled and lifted it out of his eyes. “Is—is that okay?”

”Of course, sweetheart,” Maria said with a smile, and Chase relaxed, smiled back. Maria was sometimes stern when she talked to other girls and even to his mother, but she was always kind to Chase. Even so, Chase wasn’t sure if he’d be in trouble. “And your outfit is adorable! Would you like to see?”

Chase looked up at her and nodded eagerly. Maria told the other girl, who was named ‘Tabitha’ and was wearing a dress half-coated in something that smelled like apples, to pick out a replacement for her outfit, then took his hand and slowly led the shuffling boy to the other side of the storeroom. She flipped on a light switch. Triple mirrors were set up, haloed by big, round light bulbs like he’d seen in cartoons.

“Go on,” Maria said, and guided him towards the mirrors.

Chase gasped as he looked at himself. She was so pretty! He grinned at the girl in the mirror giddily.

Maria reached for a camera on a vanity nearby. “Why don’t we take a photo to show your mother?”

“Okay!” Chase chirped, and he grinned up at the camera when Maria said ‘Cheese’.

A blank photo popped out of the camera. “Now why don’t you shake this to make the picture appear while I put those clothes away?”

Stealing one last glance at the girl in the mirror, he took off the oversized clothes. Maria handed him the Polaroid, which he flapped with all the vigor a small child could summon while Maria hung up the borrowed clothes. A moment later, she was back. “Ready to go see your mum?” she asked, holding out her hand for Chase to take.

Chase stopped short when he noticed the crisscrossing white scars on Maria’s arm. He looked up at the woman. “Did...did that hurt?” he asked.

Maria grimaced. “It did, once,” she said, “but that was a long time ago. It’s all better now.”

“Okay,” Chase said. He took Maria’s hand, and together they walked out of the storeroom, through a maze of hallways and stairs, until finally they arrived in the big, warm, delicious-smelling kitchen of Dorley Hall.

A group of girls were peering into the AGA, examining a pan of apple puffs, and Mum—Dr Dylan-Chase—was standing over them, holding open the yellowed pages of an ancient journal of recipes. She was dressed the way she usually did: in a white tank top, blue jeans, and heavy boots, with chipped black polish on her nails. In a rare concession to the temperature, her flannel had been flung artlessly over the back of a nearby chair.

Auntie Elle leaned against the kitchen table, dressed in a black skirt and a shiny, billowy red blouse; her arms were crossed, which pulled the blouse up a little, exposing a hint of midriff. Though she feigned disinterest, Chase noticed her sneaking an oddly hungry glance towards the girls with the pastries.

Mum was saying something to her about nightmares, but then she looked up at him and smiled. “Chase!” she said. “You haven’t been making trouble, have you?”

Chase shook his head. “I was playing dress-up!” he said. “Wanna see?” He held up the photo for her.

She plucked it out of his hand and peered at it for a moment longer than he’d expect, then fixed him with a smile. “So pretty! Did you have fun?” she asked.

“Yeah!” he said.

“And do you like wearing clothes like these?”

Chase nodded eagerly.

Auntie Elle looked at the photo too and giggled. “Well, Dylan, seems like this one’s getting an early start on the program,” she said.

Mum glanced at Auntie Elle. “No rush,” she admonished her mildly. “He has all the time in the world. Still...” She looked at the girls and their pastries, then snapped the journal shut. “I think they can finish without me. Chase, would you like to swing by the store on the way home? Get a couple new outfits? Anything you feel like wearing, as long as it fits.”

“Yeah!” Chase said with a grin.

“Great. Just one more thing to do before we leave…”

2024 March 29
Friday

“Hey, Summer.” She turned her gaze from the autoclave to find Maria standing at the door, holding a thick manila folder. “Is Persephone around?”

“In the bathroom across the hall, cleaning up.” She pressed the Start button and turned to face Maria, leaning her hip against the counter. “Why?”

Maria closed the distance between them. “I thought you should know the service you did to the Hall—and, well, the trans community in general—by taking on Persephone,” she said as she handed over the folder.

“Randal Stevenson,” she read off the label, then opened it. It was a pretty standard intake record, though noticeably thicker than usual for a first-year. The file photo looked like he’d prepared himself for Aunt Bea’s basement by spending a couple years in his mum’s. Nature of offense…

Leader of transphobic harassment ring.

“Wait, that Randal Stevenson?” she asked, looking up in shock. “The dox site guy? The one that got exposed, disappeared, then had his own mother turn stool pigeon?”

“My boy this year,” Maria confirmed.

”Ambitious,” Summer said. It was rare for an intake to come in with an actual body count, but Randal did; the activity directly on the bastard’s site had just barely stayed on the right side of the law, but the harassment campaigns his users coordinated through it had led to a few deaths and a lot more dramatic life changes. When his identity had been leaked and his site had gone down for good, there’d been parties for weeks; Summer had tried to drag Persephone to one of them, but the girl had still been too nervous about presenting femme.

Huh. Those parties had started in late September, hadn’t they? Intake season. She hadn’t made the connection.

“Did you know his little psychopath parade hounded one of my clients into hiding?” Summer said.

“Really?” Maria said.

“Name’s Z. Sweet little enby. Wanted zir eyebrows removed along with zir other facial hair—nice change of pace.” Many of Summer’s clients had tipped her in cash; Z had tipped her in fresh-baked cookies from the bakery zie worked at. Then someone had started leaving threatening items outside zir flat, and Z’s bright cheerfulness had gradually dimmed. Summer had been upset when zie went into hiding, but she couldn’t say she was surprised.

“I’d heard of zim,” Maria said, “but I didn’t know how you knew zim.”

Summer shrugged. “Trans community’s a small world,” she said.

She looked back down at the cover sheet. Red hair; if Randal made it that far, he’d be getting electrolysis, and she might even be the one to do it. Painfully burning away his manhood, one stubborn hair at a time, until he became someone his users would’ve hounded to the ends of the earth…unprofessional as it was, a small, vicious part of her saw a sort of karmic justice in it. Granted, when she’d been the boy in the basement, she hadn’t much appreciated that sort of thinking.

But Maria didn’t seem to be acting with that kind of caprice, she noticed as she started skimming the file. She’d taken the pre-intake research even more seriously than usual, amassing a pile of useful levers before he’d even arrived, and then she’d methodically gone to town on him with them. It was all so crisp, so perfectly timed, that he must be wondering if she’s clairvoyant by now. Summer had always been good at reading people and improvising responses, but Maria simply knew what they were going to do long before they did it. And with this boy, she was in top form. Summer wished she’d been here to see it.

He’d had his orchi the day before Summer had arrived. And then…

“Oh shit,” she breathed. She reread it to make sure she’d understood. The bloody trans girl had been a lever—she’d been selected so she could be used against him! And Maria had used her right after the orchi. She’d backed him into a corner, gotten him to concede something that would undermine his rationalizations, and now that she’d pulled one thread loose, he was sure to keep worrying at it until he finally unraveled all of his defenses himself. It was only a matter of time.

She looked up at Maria. “You’ve got him—her?—dead to rights,” she said. “Three more months?”

“Two at the outside, I think,” Maria said with a cocky grin. “Within a month with a bit of luck. Her rationalizations are already starting to sound mechanical; her heart’s not in them anymore. And when I hit her with that? She’ll crumple. She might be a bit slower at actualizing, but it won’t be long now.”

“Do you think she’ll stick with, uh—“ Summer leafed back a few pages, to a section covering a stint in the cells, “—‘Ramona’?”

“Probably. She finished the series,” Maria said with a slight smirk. “Twice, actually.”

“Well, this is a freaking work of art,” Summer said, as she handed the file back to her. “Just fucking incredible. But what does it have to do with my girl?”

“We only take one trans girl per year,” Maria pointed out. “If it had been Persephone…”

“It wouldn’t have been Sophia,” Summer finished her thought, nodding, “and you wouldn’t have had Sophia’s history as a lever on her.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, I’m glad I could be of service,” Summer said. “Really. Just getting that scumbag off the Internet was already helping my girls sleep easier last fall.”

Honestly, it had all worked out pretty nicely. Maria had gotten the intake she wanted and Persephone was getting the help she most needed. Everybody was exactly where they needed to be.

* * *

She’d been here.

She’d been here?

She’d been here!

Persephone had visited Dorley Hall as a child. She’d played dress-up in what must have been some sort of communal closet. They’d taken a photo, which was still here—was right in front of her right now. With Auntie Elle’s handwriting on the margin, no less; she’d been there too.

She’d met a member of the staff who she’d seen around in the last few weeks. She’d seen Auntie Elle! She’d seen Tabby!

And she’d seen her mother. But why was he here?

If Mum had been here, that explained Persephone. Dad had usually taken care of her when she was a kid, but once in a while, something would come up and Mum would have to take her to work with him.

Except work wasn’t here—work was Mum’s practice in Chelsea. Persephone could remember those days: the long ride on the Tube from Buckhurst Hill, the change to another, more rickety line, the short journey to South Kensington Station, the walk through the crowded, exciting city, and then the day spent mostly in the waiting room, reading books from her backpack or playing with the toys Mum kept for his younger patients while the receptionist kept an eye on her. It was one of the places where she felt safe wearing a skirt or dress—‘It’s not like my patients are going to mind,’ Mum always joked.

So what was he doing here, teaching uni students how to cook while Persephone played dress-up in a closet upstairs? And it can’t have been just once—not if they’d put him in their bloody scrapbook. He must have been a fixture in this place.

She checked the dates written under his name. “2002–09”, it said. Mum had started his transition in 2009, so those weren’t the dates of the photos on the page—they were the dates of his…what? Employment? Association? Visits?

And why hadn’t anyone told her about this? Summer’s page—she flipped back to it, which she’d marked with a pinkie finger—listed “2012” as her starting year, so maybe she really had only met Mum the one time. But Beatrice had simply said they’d been introduced, not that he’d done work for her; Tabby must have been one of the girls he’d been teaching; and Auntie Elle certainly knew he’d been here. Why hadn’t any of them mentioned it to her?

Why had they all kept this a secret?

Was this why Summer had told her not to poke around in the basement? Because there was evidence of her mother’s presence down here?

What the actual fuck?

Her head was spinning, but she was getting nowhere. She needed to think about this, but she couldn’t hide in a toilet all day.

Persephone almost closed the book, but at the last moment she thought better of it: she took out her phone, shot a photo of the page and a close-up of the Polaroid, and then closed it and put it back where it belonged. Then she stood and left the mysterious scrapbook behind.

When she reached the hallway, she heard Summer’s voice mid-sentence: “—fucking incredible. But what does it have to do with my girl?”

That slowed her stride, but the next voice stopped her cold: “We only take one trans girl per year,” said someone who sounded an awful lot like the woman from her memory. “If it had been Persephone…”

“It wouldn’t have been Sophia,” Summer said, “and you wouldn’t have had her as a lever on him.”

“Exactly.”

(‘One trans girl per year?’ But the book had shown half a dozen each!)

Persephone crept quietly up to the door and leaned against the frame, not hiding—she didn’t want anyone to think she was sneaking around—but trying not to call attention to herself. It was the woman who’d taken her out of that closet, the woman her memory now insisted was called ‘Maria’ even though she couldn’t specifically remember anyone calling her that; she was holding a manila folder and talking to Summer, who was standing by some of the equipment on the counter.

“Well, I’m glad I could be of service,” Summer said. “Really. Just getting that scumbag off the Internet has already helped my girls sleep easier.”

(Scumbag?)

“‘Your girls,’” ‘Maria’ repeated.

“Yeah,” Summer replied. “My, uh, clients.”

“I figured. Did you know that Tabby reads your Yelp reviews sometimes?” ‘Maria’ asked. Summer’s blush was enormous; she was normally so cool and composed! “She shows us her favorites,” ‘Maria’ continued. “‘She helped me work through so many things!’ ‘Great advice and great hair removal; what’s not to love?’ Like a proud mum she is with you.”

“I, um, wow,” Summer stammered. “I had no idea.”

“We all recognize good sponsoring when we see it,” ‘Maria’ said.

“It’s not really the same,” Summer said, her expression souring. “Fewer washouts, for one thing.” She looked at the machine on the counter instead of the woman next to her.

‘Maria’ touched Summer’s arm, rubbed it gently, and as it flexed, for a moment Persephone saw them: a network of faint white scars on her arm, just like she remembered. What were those? They were so regular and there were so many of them; surely they weren’t from self-harm?

“It’s okay,” ‘Maria’ said. “Most of us have had a washout; there’s no shame in it.” (What’s a ‘washout’?) “And you’ve done excellent work since then. You’ve got the bond with your girl; everyone can see it.”

“She hardly needs it.” Summer’s smile was so big it was almost goofy. "She’s… she’s incredible, Maria.” (So that was her name. Now that she’d recalled that incident, Persephone’s memory of this place was looking awfully reliable…) “I’ve never met anyone like her — not here, not in Edinburgh, not anywhere. She’s so smart and so strong and so has her shit together."

Persephone’s blush was so hot that it probably burned a few more hairs out of her face.

“She does need you, though,” Maria said. “She wouldn’t be here now without you helping her. Not to mention that thing with the taser.”

“Jesus fuck,” Summer said, groaning. “Someone clipped that?”

“Someone clipped that,” Maria confirmed. “It’s almost disappointing — second week of January and you’ve already seen the best clip of the year.” (Is there video of what happened in Summer’s flat? And Maria has seen it?) “Still, I know it’s not the same as sponsoring here. Do you ever...miss it?”

Summer opened her mouth to reply, but hesitated. She looked away from Maria—and finally spotted her charge. “Persephone!”

As Maria turned to look at her, Persephone waved a hand sheepishly and stepped in. “Hi,” she said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

She took in Maria for a second. She really did look just like Persephone remembered. And if she’d met ‘Dr Dylan-Chase’ she might recognize… “I’m Persephone Chase,” she said. “I’m with her.”

Maria’s reaction was a little too controlled. What was with that? “Maria,” the woman said instead. “I’m a sort of professional big sister here.”

“Like Tabby was for me,” Summer explained, “but Maria’s been doing it even longer.”

“Really?” Persephone asked.

“Eighteen years,” Maria said. “I’m on my seventh girl now, although one of them—” Maria’s eyes met Summer’s, “—dropped out before she finished.”

There seemed to be some hidden meaning there, like when Summer had spoken to Beatrice. Maybe it was about that girl she’d lost here? Vanessa?

“That’s so cool,” Persephone said to cover for her thoughts. “Are you trans too?”

“No—just a really good ally," Maria said. "I should probably bring this up to Beatrice," she continued, lifting the folder. “It was nice meeting you, Persephone; Summer, always a pleasure.”

Persephone watched her walk out of the room, leaving behind many, many more questions than answers.

* * *