***

Sitting in the branches of the ancient, knarled oak tree that dominated the backyard of Ashley’s home, Leandra closed her eyes and listened peacefully to the sounds of the night animals all around. Things were a good deal quieter in this sedate forest than they were in steamy depths of the Indian jungle, but Leandra could detect the subtle calls and cries that others would ignore. Her hearing was finely tuned to pick up the most minute details, and to her the night air told a dramatic story of hunter and prey.
My first night back in civilization, she thought quietly to herself. I can already tell I’m going to be spending a lot of time in this tree. The oak was huge and ancient, its branches sweeping close to the ground and providing easy holds for any climbers. Leandra had positioned herself high up among the topmost branches of the great tree, hidden from below by the dense foliage. She felt safe here…comfortable. Although she wasn’t exactly afraid of meeting the rest of Ashley’s family, Leandra could accept that she was somewhat nervous. She’d lost her own family a long time ago – all the interactions and familial relations were strange to her. Leandra was certain she’d never quite be able to fit in with this new world, no matter how she tried.
I fit in with the tigers better than I do with my own species, she considered sadly.
A sudden noise below caused Leandra to tense, and she shifted on her perch to listen as footsteps made their way closer to the base of the oak. Sniffing the air, the dark woman detected an unfamiliar scent. Not Ashley, she concluded. As the sound of someone climbing up towards her grew louder, Leandra sat quietly in the shadows and waited, her senses picking up the smells of leather, perfume and youth.
Moments later, a hand reached up and wrapped around the thick branch on which Leandra was sitting. A second joined it, and soon a young girl pulled herself up onto the perch with a slight grunt. Taking a second to look around, she spied Leandra against the bole of the tree and smiled briefly.
"Hi."
"Hello."
The girl settled herself somewhat awkwardly on the branch, then studied Leandra curiously. "I’m Casey…Ashley’s niece."
Leandra smiled a quiet smile. "It’s nice to meet you Casey."
"Yeah."

Leandra was a little amused at the young girls posture and attitude. So many years spent among the unpredictable and often savage jungle cats had given her a lot of experience reading expression and body language, and right now she had the distinct impression that Casey was sizing her up against a very critical scale. Well, she thought. Can’t avoid this forever, I suppose.
From what Leandra could see in the shifting light of the half-moon, Casey looked to be right at the rebellious part of her adolescence. She was about Ashley’s size – maybe an inch or two taller, and slender as a reed – but she held herself with an almost aggressive confidence that Leandra recognized from her lover. The left side of her face was framed by light blonde hair, while the right was shadowed by bright green locks. Several metal loops sparkled along the rim of each ear, and a single elegant ring hooked through her left nostril. Dark eye-shadow made her emerald eyes seem almost disconcertingly bright, and she wore torn denim jeans and a black T-shirt sporting a picture of what Leandra guessed was some rock-band or other. Just looking at Casey, Leandra had a sudden flash image of what Ashley might have looked like at seventeen.
Casey performed her own assessment, running shrewd eyes up and down Leandra’s curled-up form. When she was finished, she regarded the dark-haired woman with a flicker of reluctant interest. "Ash said you were going to be living with her."
Leandra nodded. "That’s right."
"So…you’re her girlfriend now?"
"I suppose I am." Leandra smiled. I’ve never been anyone’s ‘girlfriend’ before. "Is that a problem?"
Casey shrugged. "Doesn’t matter to me. Ash never told me she liked chicks or nothing, but I’m not surprised." She paused with a slight smile. "I doubt there’s anything she could do that’d surprise me anymore."
"I bet."
"Do you love her?"
Leandra was momentarily taken aback by the bluntness of the question, but she appreciated the sharp challenge in the teenager’s eyes. She nodded. "I love her more than I can put into words," she said, not breaking eye-contact. "I’d rather die than live without her in my life."
Casey held Leandra’s gaze a long moment, reading her sincerity. Then she nodded, apparently satisfied. "Most of the guys she dated before avoided that question. They hummed and harred and talked about devotion and companionship…but they couldn’t actually say the words."

"You don’t need to worry about that, Casey. I could say them a thousand times a day and I’d mean them every bit as much as I do right now."
"Good." Casey was silent for a long while, then she gestured to Leandra’s hair. "Pretty cool dreads. How long did it take to grow them?"
"A few years…although it wasn’t exactly by choice. They just sort of grew that way." Leandra fingered one of the thin cords hanging over her shoulder absently. "I like the nose-ring. Kinda goes with the bright green hair."
"Thanks." Casey smiled, and her resemblance to Ashley was suddenly a lot stronger. "My mom about had a fit when I got it done. I want to get my tongue pierced too, but she said not till I’m eighteen." There was a pause. "Ash said you used to live in the jungle with the tigers. Is that true?"
Leandra inclined her head slightly. "For four years."
"Wh-what was it like?"
"Lonely. Painful." Leandra shrugged. "But I learned a lot from them."
"Really? Like what?"
Casey was now looking at Leandra with definite curiosity and interest. The dark woman felt herself warming to her lover’s niece, and she relaxed her posture slightly. "Like how to move quietly, for one thing. How to track by scent. I could smell you coming when you were still on the ground."
"Yeah?" Casey’s eyes widened a little.
"Yeah." Leandra hesitated. "I could teach you, if you wanna learn."
The young blonde considered, then shrugged. "That sounds pretty cool. When?"
"Anytime you like."
"Tomorrow?"
"Okay. I’m going shopping with Ashley in the morning, but if you like we could go walking after that and I’ll show you some stuff."
"Cool." Casey grinned fully, her eyes lighting up her entire face. "You know…" She shifted closer to Leandra. "Ash has never really had great taste in guys. Most of her boyfriends were jerks…they didn’t like it when she tried to stand up for herself, or when she had to travel all the time." She paused, studying the dark woman in the moonlight. "It’s nice to know she has better taste in chicks."

Leandra raised a dark brow in amusement, her lips quirking into a half-grin. "Thank you."
"Welcome." Casey looked around at the dark forest all around. "So…were you hiding out here because of me?"
This time Leandra couldn’t help herself, and she laughed quietly at the teenager’s brashness. "Sort of," she admitted. "You haven’t seen your aunt in a long time, and I know how close the two of you are just from listening to her talk about you. I didn’t want to get in the way of you catching up."
"Heh." Casey smirked, and added another mental point in Leandra’s favor. "Most of Ash’s boyfriends hated having me around all the time." She gave the dark woman a friendly look. "You don’t have to wait around out here if you don’t want to."
"It’s okay. I like the night-time…and it’s interesting just listening to the different animals."
"Yeah, well, you can do that some other night," Casey repositioned herself on the bough, preparing to climb her way down the massive tree. She fixed Leandra with a stern gaze. "Come on. You and Ash can tell me all about how you two got together."
Leandra considered, then nodded. "Fine." Rising from her seat, the former jungle woman glanced at the ground below for a second, then sprang into the air. With the agility of a trapeze artist, she grabbed for a lower branch, then another, moving down the trunk of the oak with fluid speed till she landed soundlessly on the ground. Casey watched wide-eyed, then quickly scampered down after her. When she reached the base of the tree, the teenager stared at Leandra in awe.
"That was like…Wow! You’re like a circus person! How’d you do that?"
Leandra shrugged modestly. "Four years in the jungle…you learn a lot of things."
Casey stared a moment longer, then grabbed the dark woman by the hand and started dragging her back towards the house. "You and me are gonna get along just fine, Tiger Tarzan," she said confidently.
Leandra grinned, and followed her lover’s niece obediently back inside.

***

Boy
I have this friend who has this problem. Everyone thinks she is straight. Not a person in the world looks at her and thinks "lesbian." She is just another girl in the world. In a man's world. Sometimes I wish that I had that problem. Well, in a way I do. I'm sure that I wouldn't be a fan of the disdainful looks I'd receive when entering a lesbian bar. That's the only place I have managed to find refuge. The only place in the world I have been that I was safe from the outside world. To take that away would be to take my sanctuary.
I walk down the street in a town resembling every town, with people resembling their counterparts somewhere else. As if they all fit the mold of a master plan that some supreme being with a sick sense of humor dreamed up. I look at them and see their fake plastic smiles. All of them generic; none of them are real. There is no variation between John White and John Black. I am John Doe. I have no name. I am just "Boy."
I am safe here. Sitting in the corner of this bar in Big City, USA. I walked in and the older butches smiled at me. A kid, not old enough to drink, not even old enough to be there, but there nonetheless. The bartender knows I am not close to twenty-one. She knows that the femme I am with is really not twenty-one. Instead of saying leave, she hands us fake ID's. She orders a vodka and cranberry. I'm not drinking. We sit in a back corner, her checking everyone out, me breathing for the first time in a long time safely. So in the back of a bar in Big City, USA, I reflect on the times when no-one bothered.
________________________________________
A man says to my father, "Well, you've got two fine looking sons. You must be so proud."

I was seven, my brother was five.
My father looks at me, sadness evident. Even as a little girl I couldn't pretend. I did not like pink. I would not and could not wear a dress. I was difficult about wearing anything that looked just a little feminine. I preferred blues, grays, blacks, and reds.
My father replied, "I have a fine looking son. That's my little girl."
Later he asked me if I could grow out my hair. I said no. Until I was old enough to forcefully detest it, my mother always tried to have me wear something pink. Even if it was just shoelaces.
________________________________________
My mother asked, "Why are you wearing that? People will think you're a little boy."
At eight, I did not see the fuss over blue pants and a white T-shirt. I told her, "No they won't. My name is Catherine. That's a little girls name."
She sighed.
My mother was right. Eventually down the line when I was sixteen, my first day of school freshman year, a teacher asked me my name. I told her, "Catherine."
She said, "Odd name for a boy. Guess times change."
I grumbled at her, "I'm a girl."
I was a tiny girl, with out much hair. My clothes were bought from the guys section at the store, but I was a girl. It was fairly obvious to me, but the world of the norm saw it differently. My discomfort with my supposed role of femininity was not my fault, but it made me an outcast. I was not Catherine, I was Boy.
________________________________________
I walked to work from my truck. Same street every day for two and some-odd years. After all that time no change. Dirty chef whites, black baseball cap reading, "Birdhouse," dark sunglasses covering half of my face. People all stopped and stared. They'd whisper, "What is that?" I heard them.
________________________________________
My street. I carried myself with more confidence than usual. Crisply ironed Oxford shirt, black suit, wild orange hair, combed perfectly. Not a spike out of

place. They stared more than usual. I found myself being hugged by Janie and Christi. They told me, "You're perfect."
"You look great."
I smiled. It was good to know that some people stood by me. As I left to pick her up, more people gawked at me. They did not understand.
I found myself at her door. Her mother thought I was cute, but kept her father in the TV room. Should he see me, all hell would have broken loose. He had enough problem with his daughter being a lesbian, but having another one in his house, looking the way I did would have been the straw that broke the camel's back.
I smiled at her as we left. With her on my arm I fit. Not a word or a look. We looked like an average couple. A boy and a girl on our way to prom. Except we were not an average couple. We were a girl and a girl. No-one knew. Together we fit. I only fit as boy.
________________________________________
Observing all of the fucked up social casualties of society turns my stomach. At the same time I wish for nothing more than to be accepted by the people who turn me away in the first place. Perhaps it's because I cannot be, and I will never be accepted by them. I still can't help to think of what it would be like to get decent help.
I went to Victoria's Secret once. I needed to buy a gift for a friend. The clerk asked me, "Can I help you young man?" At least I had made it to young man this time…not just boy.
I looked baffled, almost hurt that I was not accosted by some psycho-bitch with a measuring tape for a free bra fitting. Not that that's what I wanted. A "Can I help you Ma'am?" would have been fine by me. I mean I had boobs. Maybe the leather jacket threw them. I don't know.
I felt no need to correct the woman. Not this time. I replied, "Yes. I need a gift certificate. Fifty dollars, please."
She replied, "Lucky girl. Most women can't get their boyfriends in here."
I told her, "She's not most women and I am no-ones boyfriend."
Never explain. It gives them too much power to stare and question. That is the last thing I need.

________________________________________
I don't like to buy underwear. I prefer to give my mother a list and have her pick it up. Time and time again something just has to go wrong. If I dress just so, I can buy my boxers and my beaters, and my usual clothes with no problem. Say nothing but thank you and keep my jacket closed. I will not have a problem.
Occasionally, however, around that time of the month I find it necessary to wear good a good old pair of panties. On a daily basis I find it crucial to wear a bra. Working with infants, the extra padding keeps my nipple rings from being ripped out. A sport bra no longer cuts it. Buying women's underwear has proved time and time again to be nothing but a pain in the ass.
Walking through a department store with a couple of bras and pairs of panties I've been made a spectacle of. A shout, "Holy shit! It's a fucking queer!"
"Fuck you, ya little shit!" I yelled back.
Later my friend told me, "Until I went shopping with you, I'd never had to stop someone from attacking another person in a mall…"
I say it's just a side effect of being exposed to Boy.
Looks from the ladies cashing me out make me want to run away and hide myself from them. They look at me as thought I don't belong. It hurts. Time after time it hurts and it never stops. It seems that there is no room in this world for a bender. Male or female we do not belong.
________________________________________
There is this restaurant I used to frequent. I knew everyone. I had a thing with a waitress who worked there. She'd come over, sit on my lap, kiss me hello and goodbye, and not a person batted an eye. They all thought, "How sweet, he came to see his girlfriend at work." As boy, I once again fit.
I was there one night and I ran into a friend, James, who'd been away for a year. He came over and dragged me off to where he was sitting. Being the way I am, I kissed him hello, right on the mouth. He's a man, yes, but a man who looks better in women's clothing than I do. He kissed me back.
A collective gasp rang out through the section they were seated in. Loud whispers, "Did you see those two boys kiss?"
"Faggots kissing?"
"That's disgusting, two guys kissing in public."

Who are they to judge? It seems, at times, that as Boy I do not fit either. I dress like a woman, and people want to know what the fuck is up with the drag queen in the corner. Then I am pushed even farther into the category of freak. Disowned by another portion of people in the world. As a girl kissing a boy I do not fit, because I am too masculine to be seen as a woman. I don't understand. I'm not sure that I am supposed to understand.
________________________________________
My brother has friends, some of which are my friends. Other friends he has are not mine. Some of the company kept around my house does not know that my brother has a sister. They think that my brother has an older brother. They have been around my house for six years.
Some people say, "Yo, you're brother's the man!"
This forces my brother to tell them, "I have a sister." He never had a problem with the fact that I am the way I am, but sometimes I feel as though I am a burden to him. I feel as though maybe if I were feminine and made up his life would be easier. Then again maybe it wouldn't be.
I'm not sure if I am "the man." I am not sure if I am "the woman." At this point I am just "boy."
________________________________________
Because I am the girl known as boy I am afraid of the world. I show no fear because once they see it, nothing keeps me safe. Inside I am terrified of the possibilities. I am terrified of everything and everybody. I never tried to pass myself as a man. I do not want to be a man, nor did I ever want to be a boy. I, however, never asked to be the way I am. I did not wake up one morning and say, "I will become uncomfortable in women's clothing." I did not wake up and say that I wanted to feel uncomfortable with flaunting by body to a bunch of horny men. Men who feel that it is their right to kiss me, fuck me, control me, and then leave me.
I did wake up one morning and decide that never again would I dress in a way that would make me feel uncomfortable. I did wake up one morning and decide that no man would ever have the power over me to make me feel like the weaker sex. I did decide that I was free to decide just how I wanted to live my life, and I did.
________________________________________
Realization hit me one evening that even as I live my life in ways that make me comfortable, those ways make me more of a target. Since I came out of the

closet there has always been some man trying with all of his power to control me. To get inside of me, and plant his seeds, or piss all over me and mark me as his.
I do not go to parties. I have on occasion and I have found that the end result does nothing but make me uncomfortable and scared. There is always one man who cannot take no for an answer. One man who thinks that he's going to turn me on by copping a feel. There is always one man who thinks that the more he tells me how much he loves going down on a woman, the easier it will be for him to get in my pants.
There is always a reason that I am reluctant to attend parties. After having to follow someone around all night because some horny motherfucker tried to climb in bed with me, I decided that I would not be in that position again. I decided that after spending a night in my car, in the freezing cold so that some asshole would stop following me, and trying to control me with his dick, I would not be in that position again. Time after time I am always in that very position. I am always on the defensive trying to keep myself from being dominated in a way that will have no positive effects on my future life.
I cannot think of a time in the past four years that I have felt safe in a place. Even when I am out with my friends, I am not safe. Sometimes my friends are not safe because of the simple fact that I am with them. As boy, I am nothing but a target for narrow minded people.
________________________________________
Sometimes, on occasion, I have wondered if it would be easier to pass as a man. Would it be safer? Would it be more practical? The answer I have come up with every time has been a concrete no. It would not be easier to just pass as a man. Unlike being mistaken without the intent of be being mistaken, passing as a man I think would be far more dangerous than having a person assume.
What happens when you are discovered? When someone finds out that you are not a man? You get hurt. You die.
I have never wanted to be a man.
________________________________________
So now what do I do? At the end of another long and cold night I am left thinking of the future, which is uncertain. I am afraid of everyone, because everyone holds power except for me. Because one miscalculation on my part can end in disaster. I have more to lose than one can imagine.
I have found safety behind one small woman. I see her; she is a picture of femininity. When I am with her I am safe, because she is my girl, and I am her

boy, and unless I say something, no-one knows any different. I am required to hide myself away, lest I be seen as what I truly am. I am a frightened little girl trying to make a path for myself to follow through my existence.
I am not butch and I am not femme. I am not a woman and I am not a man. I am not a bender, and I am not a drag king. Through the eyes of the world I am just Boy.
And Boy hurts.

Eight Days In October
Note: There will be some violence in this story, though I'm not sure what kind yet as I haven't written it yet. Just be warned.
Sex: Yep.

I cleared my throat, nervous as anything. Adjusting the hair, once blonde and now mostly gray, atop my head, I tried to calm myself. Looking down at my skirt, I saw that it was settled perfectly over my legs, ankles crossed and tucked up against the arm chair I sat in. The young man clipped the microphone to my collar, and I smiled at him, thanking him. My eyes darted to the audience, hearing the dull roar of their chatter but catching the brown eyes of the very attractive red head sitting in the front row. She smiled at me, and I smiled shyly back.
"Are we about ready, then?"
My attention was given back to Ronald Stone, the host of the one hour talk show.
"Yes. I think so." I said, my voice nearly a whisper. I was so nervous!
"Wonderful." He cleared his own throat, taking a long draught of water from his coffee mug with the show's logo on it. A prop person leaned over the table between us where my book was set up just so- making it look natural, but still angled to where the folks at home would be able to read the title clearly 'Eight Days In October.'
"Clear the set!" Some disembodied voice called out, and a woman with a clipboard next to one of the cameras began to count, using her fingers once she hit the number three, then pointed at the host at one.
"Good afternoon, American, and thanks for tuning in to the Ronald Stone hour. I'm here today with best-selling author, Virginia Kelly. Virginia, it's a pleasure to have you with us." The audience clapped, and I tried to hide my blush, though I figured the gallons of make-up they had on me would do the job for me.

"Thank you, Ronald. It's nice to be here."
"Now, you have taken the country by storm with your book." To prove his point, the host grabbed his own copy of the book that had been sitting on the arm of his chair. Perfectly manicured fingers flipped through the pages, a midnight black eyebrow raising. "Did you have any idea that it would be such a success?"
"Oh, heavens, no!" I chuckled, truly startled by all the attention my fifth novel was getting. "I figured it would collect dust like so many of my other works." Ronald Stone laughed at that, as did the audience.
"Now," he sat back in his chair, crossing one perfectly creased slack leg over the other, gray dress socks matching the lighter shade of gray in the pinstripe of his gray suit. "By day you're an English professor at UCLA." He brought a finger up to tap against his chin, perfectly plucked brows drawn.
"Yes. I teach both English courses as well as journalism.."
"Really?" He sounded impressed at this. "Quite a well-rounded teacher, then." I smiled, nodding. "Okay. Back to the book. 'Eight Days In October.' One of the first novels with obvious lesbian content that has done so well in the mainstream market, yes?"
"Yes. It has been a wonderfully positive response. I've been very happy with it."
"Are you yourself a lesbian?"
I knew the question would come up, an I wasn't fond of the idea of being outted on national TV, but here it was. "Yes, Ronald, I am."
"Then a positive thing for you, indeed." He smiled, perfectly white capped teeth flashing under the intense lights of the studio. "Where did you get such an idea for the story?"
"Oh," I smiled, looking at my fidgeting hands for a moment, "it's amazing what the imagination will come up with."
The noise, louder and louder, building, getting closer, faster, faster. With a gasp, I sat straight up, eyes wide as the darkness of my room surrounded me. The police sirens raced down the street, their lights reflecting off the buildings all around, creating a red and blue disco.
"Stop! Freeze!"
Getting out of bed, I pushed the lacy curtains aside, and looked down, eight stories below, as four police cars, lights flashing, screeched to a stop, the passengers in the black and whites jumping out, guns at the ready.

"I said freeze!"
I watched in fascination, feeling like I was watching one of those FBI Files-type shows unfolding in my front yard. A figure, shrouded in darkness, was running at an amazing pace, giving the cops a run for their money. A shot was fired, a spark in the night, the sound echoing. I wasn't sure who fired it, the cops or the bad guy, but soon enough everyone was out of sight, one cop car starting up again and racing out of sight.
Letting the curtains fall back into place, I tucked my feet into the floppy bunny slippers I'd had since I was seventeen, and scraped along the floor toward the kitchen, snapping lights on as I went.
"Aw, Gordie!" I lifted my foot, the soft, gooie smelly stuff sticking to the nearly bald bottom of my left slipper. Hopping over to the sink, I took it off, tossing it in. With a growl, I saw my cat sitting under the end table, his black body nearly blending into the shadows of the still partly dark living room. I knew I should have cleaned his litter box out today. 'You're such a damn priss." If his box isn't up to his specifications, he'd pee or poop wherever he saw fit, and right in the middle of my pathway to the kitchen was where he saw fit.
Grumbling to myself, I got out the Resolve, specifically made for pet stains, and began to clean, glaring up at him every couple seconds. He licked his paws.
Dragging the trash can over to my small mountain of soiled paper towels, I dumped them all in, cleaned out the litter box, then tied up the plastic bag, tugging it free from the confines of the stainless steel can.
"Don't shit anywhere else tonight, buddy, or you and me is gonna have words." I pointed an accusing finger at the feline, and he yawned. Rolling my eyes, I unlocked my door and stepped out into the hallway of my building. It was eerily quiet, the bare bulbs hanging overhead cast strange shadows in the corners of the windowless hall. My neighbors' doors were locked up tight, as it was nearly four in the morning. I hummed quietly to myself as I made my way toward the trash shoot at the end, near the bank of elevators.
The shoot closed with a satisfying, metallic thud, I wiped my hands on the thighs of my sweats, and turned to head back when the doors on one of the cars slid open. Glancing out of slight curiosity, wondering if it was my crazy neighbor across the hall who came in at all hours of the day or night, I was shocked to see a tall figure dressed completely in black, including the face, lost in the shadows of a hood.
"Do you live here?" A whispery voice demanded. Fear gripped my insides as a gun was raised, a gun that I recognized from American Justice, as being a 9mm handgun. Numbly I nodded. "Show me," the gun was thrust into my stomach, and I gasped. The gun was pressed harder as I failed to move, giving me the idea. I began to back down the hall, keeping a keen eye on that cold steel the entire way, only glancing behind my shoulder to make sure I wouldn't bump into anything, or go past my door.

"It's here," I said, stopping in front of my home. The person indicated I should go in with the a gesture of the gun. With a trembling hand, I finally managed to get the door open, and to my horror, the figure followed me in, closing and locking the door behind them. They looked around, then rushed over to the tall windows in the living room, looking down at the street far below. More sirens blared through the night, speeding down the street only to disappear around the corner.
"Bastards."
My eyes were huge, my heart nearly beating out of my chest as I hugged the kitchen counter.
"What do you want?" I whispered, then cleared my throat and tried again. "Please don't hurt me. Take whatever you want, just don't hurt me or my cat." To prove my point, I felt the little fur ball winding around my calves.
"Do what I ask of you and you and your cat will be fine." Came a very soft voice, deceptively soft to my distrustful ears. I watch A&E. "Fuck," the intruder whispered. I glanced over, seeing the front door, not fifteen feet from me. Looking back to see where my guest was, and just where his attention was, I turned back to the door, very, very quietly inching my way toward it. "I wouldn't if I were you." I froze, looking back to the window where the shadowy figure still looked down to the street.
Damn it.
"Are you the one they were chasing earlier?" my voice was shaky, fear gripping me harder and harder until I almost couldn't breathe. The figure didn't answer, but then there was a banging on my door. The figure was over to me in a heartbeat, Gordon in hand.
"You say anything, or do anything stupid, and your cat here will be the first to go, got it?" the person hissed, face still obscured by the hood, giving me only a slight view of a Caucasian chin. I nodded, my chin trembling. "Answer the door." The figure began to slink back deeper into the apartment, Gordon still in arms.
Taking several deep breaths, I called out, "Who is it?"
"It's the police, ma'am." A voice called back. God, here was my chance to escape, to get out of a horribly dangerous predicament that could ultimately be deadly, but then I heard a click. Looking over my shoulder, I saw the figure had cocked his gun, which was pressed against the back of Gordon's neck.
I walked over to the door, unlocking it once I'd looked into the peephole, making sure it wasn't a friend of the bad guy.
"Good morning, ma'am. I'm sorry to bother you, but I saw your light was on, and I needed to ask you a couple of questions," a large uniformed man said, removing his hat.

"Oh, uh, sure." Taking every bit of willpower I had not to look back toward my bedroom again, I opened the door more, letting the man just inside. "What can I help you with, officer?" I saw his mouth moving, but the blood was pounding through my ears at an unbelievable rate I couldn't hear a thing. "I'm sorry, sir," I laughed, waving it off, "I'm still not awake. Can you repeat that?" I gave him my most charming smile.
"I said has anyone strange tried to gain entrance into your apartment this morning, or have you heard anything strange in the hallway, or in any of your neighbors' apartments?"
"Oh, uh, no. I've been up for about forty-five minutes, and haven't heard a single thing." Smile "Does this have to do with all those loud sirens down there?" I pointed toward my living room windows, where just moments before, my intruder had been standing.
"Yes, ma'am."
"What's going on?"
"I can't really talk about it, ma'am, but this person is considered armed and extremely dangerous, so if you hear or see anything, please call the police, or Sgt. Ray Martinez," I was presented with a card, which I put into the pocket of my sweats.
"Will do, officer."
"Thank you, ma'am, and it might be a good idea to stay indoors with your door locked for a bit." The officer put his hat back on, smiled, and left. I closed the door behind him, careful not to slam it in my haste to get Gordon back from that monster. About to scream out from the surprise of him standing right in front of me, I felt a hand cover my mouth. My eyes were huge as I looked into that hood, so close now that I could actually sort of make out features. Piercing blue eyes looked at me, the fringe of dark hair dipping slightly over one.
I almost laughed as I realized the hand smelled like my Lubriderm lotion.
"You did good." My arms were suddenly filled with Gordon, who was purring contentedly.
"What did you do?" I whispered, fear once again filling me, knowing that my possibly one chance at escape had come and gone. I was now stuck with this person, with apparently dry skin.
"Something that the PD obviously didn't like." The figure turned away, and the hood was lowered. My head dropped immediately. I knew from the shows I'd watched that my chances of surviving this thing were far less if I got a look at my assailant. Yet, curiosity was gnawing at me, too.

"The cop said you're extremely dangerous." I said, busying myself with petting Gordie, who had his yellow eyes squeezed shut, purring in contentment.
"Well, wouldn't you be if the entire city of Minneapolis was looking for you?" I could tell by the sound of her voice, wait, her voice? My head shot up, and I found that I was looking into the most beautiful face I'd ever seen. Piercing blue eyes, alright, framed by hair the color of midnight, and skin that was tan, contrasting heavily with the brightness of those eyes. She smirked. "I'm a girl."
My head whipped back to my cat, own eyes squeezed shut. Crap, crap, crap, crap. I've seen her, now I can identify her, and now she will definitely have to kill me. Crap, crap, crap, crap.
"So, in your book you write about a woman who is taken hostage by a wanted criminal, who also happens to be a woman." Ronald Stone said, flipping through various pages of the book, where, to my surprise, I noticed note cards already planted.
"Yes. I decided to be a bit different. You figure, in most such stories, it's a woman taken by a man, and the damsel in distress figure emerges."
"And you didn't want the typical 'damsel in distress' imagery in your work?"
"No. And I'm certainly not going to get on my soap box here, but women are very capable of many things from helping themselves to being bad. It's not always men who commit crime." I couldn't keep the small smile off my face, my eyes twinkling, I'm sure. Ronald looked up at me, catching the smile, and smiled in return, though I knew he'd never understand the core of that smile.
"I suppose that is very true."
I was curled up on the loveseat, Gordon bathing himself on the cushions above my head, the constant licking calming for me- something normal and familiar, unlike the figure who sat reclined on the couch across from me, booted feet crossed and resting on the coffee table. Her head was against the back of the couch, eyes at half-mass, gun laying in her lap. Her black hoodie was unzipped a bit, revealing the neckline of a black t-shirt underneath.
"You know," I began in a shaky voice, "with your looks you could be a model instead of a criminal." Blue eyes focused on me, and a slight smile appeared across full lips.
"How do you know I wasn't, and shot my photographer?" Ronald Stone chuckled, as did some of the audience members. "It's lines like this in your book that make it a truly memorable work piece of writing. Your characters have such depth and realism to them. Heck, as I read it, I felt as though I could pick up my phone and call either one right up and invite them out to lunch." Stone grinned from ear to ear.

"I'm glad to hear that, Ronald. It's important to me in all my writing that the characters jump at you from the page. If they don't, I haven't done my job."
"Well, you did your job beautifully here. I'd half expect that this was a true story."
My eyes popped open, and immediately went to the couch across from me. Empty. Was it a dream? The answer to that question came when I heard clanging coming from the kitchen. Standing, and inadvertently dumping a not-so-thrilled cat from my lap, I looked past the breakfast bar into the kitchen that was dimly lit by the light over the sink. Cabinet doors were open, and I could just see a dark head over the bar.
Walking slowly toward it, I looked over the counter and saw my intruder was squatting in front of my cabinet filled with pans of various types and sizes. A small pile of frying pans were on the floor next to her.
"What are you doing?" I asked quietly, hugging my arms around myself.
"Glad you're awake. We'll be going soon." She said in lieu of an answer. Standing, she examined a large iron frying pan, then her piercing eyes focused on me.
"What? Going? Where?" I thought my eyes would pop out of my skull at the news. She turned to me, frying pan still I hand. My eyes went from it to her eyes to the gun resting on the counter, back to her eyes.
"I can't stay here, and I need a reason for the cops not to shoot me." She said patiently, almost most as if she were explaining this to a child.
"I can't just pick up and leave!" My hand rested on my hips as what she was asking me to do finally hit me. "No!"
"No?" Gently, she set the pan down, taking a step closer to the breakfast bar that separated us. It took everything I had to not step back.
"No, I," swallowing, I tried not to lose my courage. Who the hell did she think she was? "I have a life here, and I'm going on a trip I've been planning for over a year, and I, I can't go with you."
The woman stared me down, chewing on her lower lip, eyeing me, her eyes not even moving when Gordon jumped up onto the breakfast bar, tail swishing in the air. To my dismay, he went to her! The woman reached out a hand, eyes still on me, and scratched him behind the ears, a slight smirk on her face.
"A trip, huh? Where to?"
"None of your damn business!"

A dark brow raised, and I realized that I'd pushed her too far. Swallowing hard again, my eyes lowered. I didn't want to get myself shot, or anything to happen to my cat. Damn this woman!
"I was just going to take a sight-seeing road trip for a couple weeks. See some new things." My heart fell, and in that moment I knew that I would indeed be taking my trip, but I'd have an unwanted companion along for the ride.
"How interesting. And Lady Luck knocks." My eyes lifted at the words to see the intruder running her large hand down the entire length of Gordon's black body, to the tip of his tail. He was loving it. I had to admit, she was good with him. Though was it the calm before the storm? Was it to get me to trust her before she picked him up and broke his neck, just to torture me?
Shaking the thoughts out of my head, I turned before she could see the tears that were glistening in my eyes. Why me? Damn her.
"So what inspired you to write a sympathetic criminal character?" Ronald Stone asked, once again flipping through the pages of my book.
"Well," I smiled, always a bit embarrassed by this. "I watch quite a lot of true crime on television, as well as read book written by the former FBI agent, and father of our profiling system, John Douglas. There are always the criminals, and they are, understandably, the bad guys. I wanted to see if I could, in fact, write a sympathetic bad guy. Or bad girl, in this case. Could the public read this novel and actually root for her to get away with whatever crime she'd committed?"
"A question that I think has definitely been answered by the sheer number of sales and level of interest in your work." Stone smiled his perfect television smile. "I've head it's even been said that Senator Hilary Clinton has read this work."
"I'll never tell." I winked at him.
We loaded my little hatchback, the intruder telling me to pack what I normally would have for my trip, including all traveler's checks, camera, etc. She wanted it to look as real as possible, I figured just in cast we were pulled over or something. When I was in my room packing, I snuck a small pocket knife into my back pocket. I was afraid, and had no idea what to expect.
She slammed the hatch closed and turned to me. "Do you have anyone you need to say goodbye to?" My heart stopped, mouth suddenly very dry. The fold out knife in my jeans now seemed somehow very useless.
"Uh, no. No one, and I work from home." James, my neighbor down the hall, was going to be stopping in on Gordon every few days, so there truly was no one.

"Good. Get in." She ordered, walking around to the passenger side.
I climbed in, buckling my seatbelt, and wanted to smack myself in the forehead. If I had been thinking I would have told her that I had a whole army of people who would miss me, including loving parents and a dozen or so six foot four brothers scattered all around the country, so yeah, we could run into them anywhere at any time. But, alas, my mind froze and I told the truth.
With a sigh of dread, I put the car into reverse, and backed out of the space behind my building.
"There have been reports lately stating that certain groups, mainly those with Christian affiliations, have a problem with your novel, stating that," Stone began to read from one of his note cards. "'Miss Kelly has only managed to glorify the criminal in today's society as well as the gay and lesbian community, making it seem as if both are alright for our children to be reading, leaning from, and looking up to.'" Stone looked at me again. "What do you have to say about that?"
I smiled, having extremely strong opinions on such nonsense, but I choose to be nice. "Ronald, there will always be someone out there that has a problem with everything written, filmed or recorded today. There is no way to make every group happy, so I think it's best to just let art be art and leave it at that. There are video games out there that I have no doubt the author of that review you just read, allows his or her children to play, which glorify violence and blood in its rawest form. The opinions of those, who probably haven't even read the book, don't matter to me."
"So are you saying you aren't promoting violence, or the glorification of it?" Ronald asked, playing the devil's advocate. I shook my head.
"No. I'm saying that it's a book, a novel, a story. People are smart enough to know this."
"What about impressionable children out there?"
"Perhaps their parents should do a better job of parenting and worrying about their own lives then that of everyone else."
"Alright. Well, back to the story, it was quite a journey for the two women, yes?"
The streets were nearly empty considering it was only six-thirty in the morning. I had been driving for almost two hours, and from the little sleep I'd gotten the night before, I was extremely tired, but I plowed on. My companion seemed to be very awake, sitting stick straight in the passenger seat, looking out her window.
Clearing my throat, I turned my attention back to the road. "Where am I going?" My question, though quiet, shattered the stillness of the morning.

"Take a left at the lights, then another right at Atkins." Was my equally quiet answer. I did as I was told, my eye constantly flicking back to the gun that rested on the intruder's thigh.
"What is your name? I mean, I don't like just thinking of you as the chick who busted in on me and took me hostage." A bit of the anger I was feeling managed to seep out around the edges of my words. I sucked my bottom lip in. Crap, crap, crap. To my surprise I heard a chuckle.
"I hardly think I busted in on you. You were kind enough to meet my by the elevators." She glanced over at me, and I met her gaze, which was filled with mischief. I looked away. Kind enough, my ass. "Call me Hopper."
"Hopper?" I asked, incredulous, "As in grass?"
"As in Dennis. I'm a great admirer of his work, and I can't really give you my real name, now can I?"
"Suppose not."
"And what should I call you? You know, other than the chick I busted in on and am keeping hostage."
I actually couldn't keep a wee bit of a smile off my face at her sense of humor. "Ginny."
"Well, Ginny, head down Atkins until I tell you to stop."
The street was dark, though I could hear dogs barking now and then. A simple residential street with small, well taken care of houses and yards.
'Stop there, where that white Volkswagen is parked." Hopper pointed, and I stopped. "Kill the lights."
The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon as the headlights were dowsed. Leaning forward to look out the windshield, I could see the glorious colors spreading across the morning like a rainbow of fingers, bringing light and beauty to a new day.
"Hey!" Startled as an a hand invaded my space, and the keys were swiped from the ignition.
"Get out."
I swallowed heavily, wondering if this was it for me. Was she going to take me into that house with the nice porch swing and do me in finally? Then she could have my car, taking the plates off it only to replace them with those stolen from another car.

"Now."
Startled again, I unbuckled my seatbelt. Hopper was making her way to the small front yard of the house I was parked in front of, up the driveway to the large checkered garage door where a rolling trash can waited, surrounded by a heap of black Glad bags.
"Here."
"Oomph!" I nearly doubled over as I caught the bag thrown at me, it's weight belied the feeble look of it. The bag was obviously stuffed to capacity, but it wasn't bulky with anything that you'd think of the create such weight. "What's in this thing?" I hissed. "A body?"
"No," Hopper said, heaving an identical bag from the pile and heading back down the drive. "Heads."
THUD
"What!?" I looked down to the bag at my feet, eyes huge with disbelief, and totally renewed fear. To my utter shock, she laughed! An all out guffaw that showed perfectly white, even teeth.
"Of dead presidents, now pick it up and put it in the car." She walked past me.
"No! This will make me an accessory, Hopper!" I stood there, in the middle of some person's driveway, hands on hips, and utterly incredulous. She turned slowly, looking at me under dark bangs, smile gone.
"Not if you do it at gun point." She said sweetly. I gulped at the click of her cocking her gun; that would be the gun that was pointed at my stomach. "Now move."
Picking up the bag with a slight grunt, I made it to the car, dropping it again, and opened the hatch. We both threw our bag in, and Hopper covered them with some coats and a blanket that I had back there.
"Alright. Let's move out." She got into the passenger side again, and I got behind the wheel.
"Where to?" I asked, my voice sounding as tired as I felt. I also felt her eyes on me, and turned to meet that intense gaze.
"Can you make it out of Minneapolis today before you crash?"
I stared ahead into the dawning day, tapping the wheel with my fingers and chewing my lip as I thought about it. Finally nodding, I turned back to her.

"Kay. Get us out, then we'll find a motel."
"You got it, boss." Starting up the engine, we were once again moving into an unknown future.
$$$
"Do not do anything stupid, Ginny." Hopper said, her face mere inches from my own. She tugged one last time on the handcuffs that were attached to my wrist as well as part of the metal of my seat, keeping my hand pinned between the door and the seat. "Don't make a sound. Do you hear me?" She looked me in the eye, demanding my attention. I nodded, swallowing the bile of my fear down. She smiled, such a beautiful contrast with the evil that must be in her.
She zipped the hoodie back up, running her fingers through wild hair as she walked toward the office of the small, out of the way motel.
I looked around the parking lot. Not much activity at almost nine in the morning. I could hear the traffic, mainly big rigs, on the highway, which was just out of view from the parking lot. Only two other cars were in the parking lot, both empty. I could clearly see the man behind the counter in the office, Hopper talking with him and handing him cash for a room. He smiled, nodded, then turned to his computer. The glass door opened, and Hopper stepped out into the morning, jaw set, eyes sharp as they searched the immediate perimeter.
"Let's go." She opened the driver's side door, unlocked the metal bracelet, and I automatically drew my wrist to my chest, almost protective. She went around back, bundling the bags of money into the blanket, then heaving the whole thing over her shoulder, making it look like a really large bag. I grabbed my own bag, slinging it over my shoulder and locking the car up and hurrying to catch up with the long strides of Hopper.
She had the door unlocked and was making her way inside by the time I did catch up. I looked around the dark, musty room, and froze.
"Uh, one bed?" I swallowed, my mind filling with all sorts of horrible things she could have planned for me.
"Relax," she said, heading back toward the bathroom, dragging a chair behind her. Stopping it just in front of the bathroom door, she climbed on, pinning the huge bundle between her shins and the back of the chair, and pushed the ceiling tile up. With a hefty grunt, she pushed the bundle up through the hole, making sure it wouldn't fall through, and slid the tile back into place. I plopped down on the one bed, watching all this with fascination.

Hopping down from the chair, she carried back to the table, and sat down onto it, hard. She looked exhausted.
"So, um, I can sleep in the bathtub-" I began shyly, unsure.
"Take the bed," she interrupted, getting up and moving one of the other two chairs to the door, lodging it under the knob, then went back to her original seat. "Get some sleep. You're gonna need it."
"Oh." Pulling myself up to my feet, I grabbed my bag and headed to the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind me. Looking around the tiny room, I was deflated to see there was no window. I was trapped. Plopping down on the closed seat of the toilet, my head hung, blonde hair falling around me in a curtain. The sob took me by surprise, disrupting my entire body as it battled its way out of my throat. I tried to suck it back in, but it was out, followed by a whole family of sobs. Soon I was outright crying.
Bringing my knees up against my chest, huddled on that toilet lid, I buried my face in the soft fabric of warn jeans, the tears staining it them dark. I couldn't stop it, my body brought to nearly retch I was crying so hard.
Knowing that I needed to get myself together and try to stay strong, I got myself calmed down, hiccupping as the sobs really wanted to keep coming, but pushing them down, I stood, rubbing at my incredibly painful eyes. They felt as they a ten pound bag of gravel had been dumped into each. I had planned on taking a shower, but figured I'd fall asleep right there, and truly sleep in the tub.
Washing my face and changing into my sweats and a t-shirt, I opened the bathroom door just a tad, peeking out to see what Hopper was up to. She was still in the chair, which was tipped back on two legs, her own legs stretched out, ankles crossed on the edge of the bed. Her eyes were closed, but as I stepped out fully, bag in tow, there was just the slit of blue. I looked away, pulling the covers back on the opposite side of the bed from her, and climbed in. I turned onto my side, back to her, feeling incredibly vulnerable, but at this point, I was too tired to care.
The bliss and escape of sleep was suddenly taken away when sounds began to shred the peace, then voices. I reached out, feeling for Gordie, but felt nothing. Eyes popping open with reality, I looked around the now dark motel room. Hopper sat at the end of the bed watching the television.
"Madson is said to be armed and dangerous, authorities say, so do be careful if you happen upon her." The reporter looked down at his notes. "She has been known as Elyssa Michaels, Brock Madson, as I said, as well as a nickname, Bull's Eye."
"Do the police have any leads yet, Mark?" the studio anchor asked.

"Not yet, Marcy. Just that she is on the run and may have a great deal of money on her, and to approach with caution, or simply to call the police."
"Thank you Mark. Now Bill Martin has the weather for you."
"Fuck." Hopper said, standing and clicking the TV off. "Fucking rat."
"Were they talking about you?"
Hopper turned on me, those eyes dangerous, making me shrink into the bedding.
"Get up and get dressed. You've got ten minutes." She pulled a pack of Marlboros out of her shirt pocket, and slammed out of the room.
Taking the quickest shower of my life, I was packed and loading up the car in eight minutes, long, wet strands falling down my back to make me shiver. Hopper snuffed her cigarette out on the stucco wall of the building, then tossed the butt to the parking lot. She snagged the keys that I'd left on the hood of my hatchback, and climbed behind the wheel, adjusting the seat for her longer legs. Getting the idea, I buckled up in the passenger seat.
"Um, don't we need to pay?" I asked, quiet, afraid to set her off.
"Did." Looking back over her shoulder, she backed out of the space, then got us back on the road again. It was quiet and very tense for more than half the day. I didn't know what to do, what to say, if I should do or say anything. Hopper stared straight ahead, her jaw working like mad, hands tightly gripping the wheel. I noticed from the passing signs that we were leaving the state, and I felt panic set in.
"When are you going to let me go?" I asked, then held my breath, waiting for the consequences. She sighed, grabbing a bottle of the water we'd bought when we'd stopped in Baker, nearly three hours ago. At first I didn't think she was going to answer, but then she began to speak.
"How long did you tell that queen he was keeping your cat?"
"Two weeks."
"You'll be back to pick him up."
"Oh. Good." Chewing on my lip, I remembered all the money wrapped in the blanket a row of seats behind me. "So, what's with all the money?" Hopper snorted.
"It's my retirement."