"Come along, then."

  She led us to the aforementioned East Wing, using her keycard again to pass through the glass door, and down a hallway identical to the opposite side of the building. Even the decor looked like a mirror image.

  The first difference I could discern was a pair of double doors, opened for us. We entered a meeting room with a peppering of four-seat dining tables, covered by sophisticated white cloth, candles burning in the center of each.

  "Have a seat, gentlemen, and the orientation will begin in a moment."

  Laura left us to seat ourselves somewhat uncomfortably around a table near the raised stage, in the center of which stood a podium with an emblem on the front of two outward-facing profiles, something I recognized from college as a representation of Janus. Behind the podium was a screen pulled down for a presentation, I presumed.

  "Where's Ted?" I asked, taking a sip from a crystalline water glass.

  "Hell, where's anyone?" Bill countered, twisting his neck to take in the rest of the room.

  I can't speak for my companions, but I felt dwarfed by the size of the room and our solitude within it. Even Laura had disappeared back into the hallway.

  "Hey," Ryan said, holding his phone in his hand, "do you either of you get any reception in here?"

  I dug my cell from the interior pocket of my coat and found that it, too, was unable to access the cellular network or any wireless connection.

  "I believe you'll find you're quite unable to make a call from here," a strong, feminine voice said.

  She was tanned, blond like the girl at the desk, but her hair done up more elegantly, body longer and leaner. She wore a gray pantsuit that hugged her curvy rear before tapering to strapped black heels. Beneath the gray suit top, her blouse was cream-colored, shimmering under the light like fine silk, which I assumed it was. She had sharp features that were no less striking for their severity, and she exuded a confidence I often only pretended to.

  Ryan stood, bumping the table and I had to reach for my glass to keep it from toppling over.

  "Hey, lady, what's going on here?"

  "Have a seat, Mr. Townes."

  "I don't think I will," he said defiantly, my eyes moving from Ryan to the gorgeous arrival as she mounted the stage and settled behind the podium.

  "Very well, then," she said, and slipped from her pocket a small device no larger than my cell phone now on the table in front of me. With the press of a button, Ryan was seizing his wrist and collapsing to one knee, face twisted in pain, though no sound escaped.

  The blond goddess behind the podium held the device up and gave it a shake.

  "This remote will allow me to access the wristbands each of you wear. I'll invite you to try to remove it now, since you'll all try anyway and I'd like to move along quickly if I could."

  I didn't take my eyes off her, but I did worry at the clasp of the wristband and give it a strong tug. Neither effort yielded results. My stomach dropped, roiling in my belly. I could feel the walls closing in around me, and I knew with a deadly surety that whatever was happening was beyond my control.

  "Get this thing off me!" Bill called out, but he remained where he sat. Ryan was picking himself up from the floor, clinging unsteadily to the back of his chair until he found his seat.

  The cool-eyed woman at the head of the room lifted her eyebrows and aimed the device in her hand at Bill who fell silent, his fingers gripping the fine linen tablecloth so hard it dragged the centerpiece toward him.

  "Now, may we proceed?"

  "Say what you want," Bill spat, "and I can't wait for my lawyer to hear it."

  The woman smirked, an expression that did nothing to spoil her beauty.

  "My name is Raquel Benson. I am director of the Janus Institute. The four of you currently residing here - you three, and Mr. Collinsworth - have been sent here for crimes against femininity. Your loved ones, co-workers, family members... essentially some or all of those closest to you... have decided that your place is no longer at a seat of power. Your place, they have determined, is to begin anew, to make something better of yourselves. In time, I hope you will see this as the opportunity that it is."

  As she spoke, I thought of Emily. It must have been her. Whatever this place was, whatever they planned to do, Emily was behind it. I hated her in that moment more intensely than I've hated anyone or anything.

  "At first, you will be resistant. That is expected. You are not the first to visit us, and I expect you will not be the last. Further, our success rate is one hundred percent. Whatever walls you want to build up, believe me when I say we will tear them down."

  "What is it exactly that you intend to do with us?" Ryan asked, still holding his wrist.

  "So eager, Mr. Townes. But as good an introduction as any."

  Raquel stepped to the side as a projector beamed an image on the screen, a shaggy-haired man, bare-chested and desperate-looking. He seemed oddly familiar.

  "This is Cameron Stansfield."

  I did know him, then. He'd been declared dead after his yacht was found overturned a year before. Prior to the accident, he'd been the heir apparent to one of the big players on Wall Street.

  "Mr. Stansfield came to us just as you have. This is how he left us."

  The image dissolved into the picture of a blond girl, her hair matted to her head by moisture, half-submerged in a pool. Her smiling face was tilted up to the camera, revealing perfect white teeth. The blue bikini top she wore barely contained her large tan breasts, and you could make out the protrusions of hard nipples beneath the wet fabric.

  "As you can see, he was no longer the same person. He, or should I say 'she,' is now married with a child on the way, I understand."

  "That's crazy," Bill laughed, but it was a jagged sound that reflected the shock and terror I felt, too.

  "It's science," Raquel corrected. "We have spent years developing a treatment that will erase the old you and put something new in place. You will have no recollection of your life before, and you will learn to be the woman each of your sponsors has designed for you."

  "Our sponsors?" Ryan asked, but I had a feeling I knew what that meant.

  "Yes," the woman nodded, "those who felt you would be better off here. In some cases, it may have been just one, but for most of you the decision was collective."

  Raquel turned as the image on the screen scrolled through several more before and after shots, the first always of a man, harried, sometimes frightened, the second of a beautiful smiling girl. One I knew to be the redhead with the cute bob who gave me my scotch.

  "Your transition will begin in the morning. For tonight, you will retire to your rooms and review videos recorded by your sponsors, who will give you a last look at what led you into my hands. Laura will see you back, and bear in mind she is equipped with the same device I am. Any attempts against her will be met with harsh punishment, as your friend Mr. Collinsworth will attest to when next you see him. Have a lovely evening, gentlemen."

  We sat stunned as Raquel passed by without another word or glance back to the table.

  "This can't be real," I said, and the shocked expressions of my companions told me they were in the same state of denial I was.

  "This way," Laura said from the doorway, and we turned as one to her. "This way, please," she repeated, the toothy smile frozen on her face. It was as if she were inviting us to join her in another room for a continuance of the party we had assumed this to be instead of leading us back to our rooms where we were to be subjected to unknown tortures.

  "I won't," Ryan said, shaking his head. He looked up, catching Laura's eyes. "I won't go willingly. Shock me all you want, but I'm not going anywhere with you."

  Laura gave him a terse nod and removed a device identical to Raquel's from her small clutch.

  "I am sorry to have to do this," Laura said, and pressed a button on her controller.

  Ryan seized in his chair, then fell out of it, carrying the cloth with him, the clatter of the centerpiece and glasses echoing in the otherwise-empty room. When his body relaxed, his eyes were closed, his breath coming in rapid hitches.

  "I hope you two will be more reasonable."

  Bill and I stood, looked to one another and back to Ryan on the floor, then we allowed Laura to lead us back to what I had come to think of as our cells without further disturbance.

  When I arrived back in the room, there was a blue note taped to the bottom of the television. On it was written, simply, "Channel 52." I powered the television on and sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped as I saw Emily framed by the screen's borders.

  "Hello, Tom. So, this is it. Now that you're gone, the police will be notified of your disappearance. In a few days, they'll find your car and a body inside, burned beyond recognition. Thanks to the Janus Institute, the DNA and teeth will match and you'll be declared legally dead. I only know where your new life will begin, not where it will end, but I assure you it's going to make a better man out of you." She smiled, a cruel thing. "Well, a better woman, I suppose. I know this seems like some sort of death sentence, but it really is a chance for you to stand on your own... even if it's in heels from now on. I wish you the best."

  The shot widened and beside my wife sat Tanya, my assistant.

  "Tom, you've been as good to me as you could, I guess, but you can't have been blind to all the stares and leering. And you have to know that I was always the one more qualified. With you gone, it will be me sitting on the board, and not just you repeating what I tell you. I know you won't remember me, but maybe you'll remember this. It's harder for us, and soon you'll now how much harder. Good luck, Tom."

  The screen flashed black, then began again, a looping indictment of my wrongdoings, a repetition of my accusers' faces as I sat helplessly in a locked room, my keycard useless as I soon realized. Whatever was in store for me, I had no choice but to wait and pray.

  Sleep came in fitful bursts, and I found myself vacillating between wanting to lose myself in dark oblivion and fighting to stay awake for fear of someone coming into my room while I slept and proceeding with the plans of the Janus Institute. I realized that my cell was no longer keeping time accurately and the windowless room gave me no hint of day or night outside. Between the stolen naps, I lost all track of time, and finally resolved myself to shower once I felt that it must be morning.

  As I stood under the hot water, the whole situation seemed more unreal, a dream that I couldn't seem to wake from. My head was fuzzy from stress and lack of solid sleep, and everything had a hazy quality. Out of the shower, noting how flowery my hair and skin smelled after using the feminine soap and shampoo, I shaved and stared at myself in the mirror. As I examined my face, I felt the bracelet pulse and another sharp sting pierced my wrist, followed by the pressure of something being injected under the skin. I fought uselessly to remove the thing, but it was securely fastened to me.

  I waited for my consciousness to slip away, or to divine some effect from the injection I'd just experienced, but there seemed to be no direct effect. I opened the closet and found that the clothes I'd hung there yesterday were gone, replaced by clothing more befitting a girl in college. There were tee shirts tapered at the waist and blouses, a few dresses still in plastic from cleaning, and the floor of the closet was littered with heels of varying colors, styles and heights. I closed the door and dressed in the clothes I'd slept in. If their intent here was to steal my manhood, and my very identity along with it, I wasn't going to make it easy for them.

  It was just after dressing that I started feeling odd. Not bad, really, just very strange. I waved my hand before my face and saw lingering trails waving behind it. My whole body tingled like my nerve receptors had been cranked to eleven, every step and touch a blaring klaxon of sensation. I moved back to the bathroom, intending to barricade myself inside while this unexpected and unwanted trip continued to consume me, but found myself staring again at my reflection.

  I mapped the features of my face, the round chin darkened by stubble, the narrow cheeks, my dark brows and short-cropped dark hair, the circles under my eyes, puffy from exhaustion, even the sideburns that were as groomed as the rest of me. My fingers rose and traced the thin line of my lips, tugged at the flesh beneath my brown eyes. I was fascinated by my image, wondering what surgeries of injections could make this face look like anything but a man's features.

  I barely noticed the door opening and Raquel's reflection appearing behind mine in the mirror.

  "Come, dear," she said in a surprisingly warm and comforting voice. "It's time."

  "I'm a man," I said dumbly, my head whirling with chaotic thoughts I couldn't seem to hold onto, the heightened tingling in my skin - under the skin - filling my thoughts and scattering my resolve.

  "I know you think so, Katie, but that's all a dream. Come on."

  Raquel's slim fingers settled on my shoulder and drew me away from the mirror. My will to run from her was overshadowed by the need to be led, to stop this noise in my head that made me feel like I was drowning. What had she called me? Katie?

  "It's okay, honey. You're going to be okay."

  I nodded, not sure what it was exactly that I was agreeing to, only that her voice cut through the cacophony in my head and drove away the confusion.

  She took my hand and led me from the room, down the hallway, and I realized that I hadn't bothered with socks or shoes, the carpet underfoot a myriad of tiny fibers that I seemed to be able to feel individually as I padded along behind Raquel.

  Then we were in the main building, the smooth floor cool underfoot, my whole body itching with jangling nerves. I wanted to strip right there, to free my body of the aggravating shift of fabric against the too-sensitive skin, and then Raquel was pulling me into the East Wing and the walls and decor zoomed by, barely cataloged before they were gone.

  "I can't..." I started, but the rest of that train of thought derailed, and I found myself staring, slack-jawed, at Raquel.

  "Think?" she asked, and I nodded. "That happens at first. It will be better soon, Katie."

  That name again, and she was using it as my name, which was wrong, because my name was Tom. My name was Tom and I was married to Emily who had sent me to this place, and now I couldn't think and I just wanted it to all go away because my head was buzzing like someone dumped a jar of bees in there and they were humming away in there and bouncing off the interior of my skull and I just wanted it all to stop stop STOP!

  I was seated, I realized, in a dark room where I was leaning back, like a salon chair, only I was staring at darkness. Raquel was beside me, whispering, calling me by that name again.

  "Look, Katie. Remember, Katie."

  The world went white as a screen flared before me, giant, filling my field of vision. I saw a young girl, maybe five years old, smiling with tiny, blocky teeth and one was missing on the bottom row. Her head was turned to the camera, and she was laughing, a paper party hat askew on her head.

  "Your birthday, Katie," Raquel said, and I stared at the girl with the piece of cake in front of her on a table, her cute little nose whitened by frosting dangling from the tip.

  The image changed, this time the girl in a ballerina costume, slim arms curved over her head in an attempt to pirouette, face set in a look of determination. She was maybe eight in this picture, still a child.

  "Your recital, Katie. You looked so cute."

  Another image, a man and a woman, maybe my age or older, the man in profile, the woman smiling at the camera.

  "Your parents, Katie. Your father left when you were fourteen. It was so hard. But your mother supported you, loved you. It's part of you."

  Another image, a girl on the edge of puberty with her friend, one of them the girl I had come to think of as Katie, the other a dark-haired girl where Katie was fair, sharing a hard laugh on a couch, their bodies curled and frozen in the midst of their joyous exclamation.

  "You were happy, Katie. Almost a woman."

  More images, a lifetime of Katie's memories, from cradle to young adulthood, no more than eighteen or nineteen when the images began recycling. During it all, Raquel was whispering to me, telling me the story of Katie. I could feel the words driving through the thick fog in my head, telling me all about Katie's likes and loves, the things she hated, the things she was wounded by, her triumphs and failures, her friends and family, her ambitions and dreams. I felt like I could have told you anything about her, the way she had grown from a young girl to a beautiful young woman, blond and round-faced with an easy smile and a slightly twisted sense of humor, a resilience burned deep inside her from her father's departure, her resilience and underlying vulnerability. Her eagerness to please, which expressed itself in more daring clothing and a few tumbles with boys in the back seats of cars or bedrooms where hushed whispers told her to keep it down, his parents were just downstairs...

  It went on for hours, or maybe longer, it was difficult to tell given the chaotic flow of my thoughts and the never-ending stream of words Raquel breathed into my ear, a seeming eternity of growing familiarity with this girl.

  Finally, spent and drooping in the reclining chair, Raquel led me back to my room, my body tired and aching from the time in the chair and the effects of the drug. I collapsed onto the firm bed and curled onto my side, my thoughts still sluggish, but bent in a way I could hardly describe at the time.

  The door closed with my back to it and the lights turned out, leaving me in darkness as the face of the girl growing from child to teenager and just beyond flitted under my eyelids, filling me until I dreamed of her.

  Sometime during my sleep, which I supposed to be at night, the rest of my clothes were taken away. I had no option but to wear the feminine clothes provided to me, or go nude, which I considered for a long minute before resolving myself to play the game Raquel and her team had arranged for me.

  I certainly had no desire to wear a dress, but I managed to find an outfit that wasn't too demeaning, a tight pair of pink sweat pants and a pale blue tee, ankle socks and tennis shoes that didn't look overtly feminine.

 

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