Alone

I am not alone. But I am alone.

The numbness has faded. Only fear remains. Even trying to sort out my thoughts on this blog is not working. The only thing I can try and do now is record what is happening, in case the worst happens . . .

At some point in time between the last post and this, I began to recognize the pattern of bruising and laceration on this body. Some type of domestic abuse. By whom, it was hard to tell.

The search of the room failed to uncover any clues. Some of the missing pieces were provided when I heard a soft knock on my door, and a low mail voice call my name.

"Paul? Are you in there?"

I didn't move. I didn't even breath. I was sitting on the bed, still in the clothes I wore to bed, rocking back and forth, knee suck up into my chest, grasping my knees (deperately) like some sort of crazy person. How long, I don't know. My face was sticky. Tears.

I had succumbed to the overwhelming emotions of the situation.

The knocking and crying out of my name persisted, I did not answer the door. I did not recognize the voice of ther man calling for me.

Then he said, "I know you are in there. I know you've changed . . . . everybody has. It's me. Ivy."


I slowly made my way to the door. I opened it.

Standing there was a man, about twenty-seven to twenty-eight years old. He was about 5'10", with dark hair and dark eyes. He appeared to be of Italian desecent.

"Ivy?" I asked, hearing my awful voice for the first time. It was high and squeaky, deviod of the usual force of my vocal qualities.

"Yeah," s/he said, beaming. "Can you beleive this?"

"No," I replied glumly. "Why are you so happy, Ivy."

"You can call me Dick now. That is the name of this body, Dick Mametti, from New Jersey. And why shouldn't I be happy. I am not an ex-felon any more. My whole slate has been cleared."

"How do you know the name of that body."

Ivy looked at me curiously, like she had no idea what I was talking about. Even at 5'10" she was a good 8 inches taller than me. It was hard to look up at her. It made me feel so small.

"Didn't you find a suitcase with the belongings of the girl you are now?"

"No? Do you know w2hat's going on?"

Ivy checked for herself, to no avail.

She came up to me, placed her larger hands on my slender shoulders. She brushed the hair away from my face (it struck me as something I might have done to her when the situation was reversed.

"Paul," she started, "all I can tell you is what I know from the note that Dick left with his belongings. He was here with a bunch of other guys, right before the Inn cclosed for the winter. On one of the nights, while everybody was sleeping, they all turned into somebody else. Everybody found the clothes and belongings, and a summary of that person's life. So this has happened before."

"Everybody else?"

"They all changed, every last one. Everybody got something from the previios occupant of te room. Everybody except you."

The obvious then dawned on me, "Maybe whoever she was does not want to be found, even in her new identity. Something must have happened to her."

"What?" Ivy asked.

I proceeded to show her the bruises that I had identified on the body. I hesitated to take off my shirt, but thought it is nothing she hadn't ever seen before. Ivy touched my left breast, and gently squeezed it until it re-produced the pain.

"She was abused by somebody," Ivy confirmed, "She's lucky the implants did not rupture, there was a lot of force used."

"I-Implants?" I squeaked.

"Yes. Those boobs are too big for that body. Too perfect. You had to have noticed? I had implants too, you know?"

"I I've tried not to look."

At this point I noticed that I hadn't put my shirt back on. Ivy was still standing close enough to me so that I could feel his/her body heat. I noticed a bulge in her pants, and immediately realized the effect this body was having on her. I was an extremely beautiful woman, that was almost naked, with a man.

I ran and found a long sleeved oxford shirt. It swallowed me.

"I don't have any clothes. I don't have anything."

Ivy tried to comfort me be saying, "I have some clothers that may fit you. We'll find you something."

"Ivy, what am I going to do, I can't go back to being a lawyer, to being me, looking like this."

My legal acumen started to kick in, "And, if I show up using the things of Paul Miller, living in his place, even using his bank account, and he is missing, they are going to suspect foul play. I could get arrested."

Ivy was silent. I knew she was no help here. It was obvious that she didn't care. She was magically out of her situation.

"So? You look younger than you were before. You're beautiful, and even if your black now, there is a lot of things you can do with your life. You can come with me. We were pretty good together, and, well maybe we can work something out."

I could not beleive my ears, could not beleive the girl that I met, and thought I understood, was suggesting that I accept what had happened to me and be his/her girlfriend. I fought back the tears again. Was this to be my lot in life?

I decided to chage the subject. Anything to get out of this conversation. I sat on the edge of the bed.

"Do you know Kat and Jaci? I don't know what room they are in."

Ivy/Dick replied, "Yeah, I know them. They changed too. They are guys now, twins. Chris and Pete, I don't know their last names. Oh, Schaeffer, I think. Blonde, well built. Big guys now."

We talked for awhile, long enough for me to regain my composure. Ivy left a little while ago. Long enough for me to write this. It felt like she wanted something more from me, like she was expecting something. I didn't want to beleive that she wanted what I think she wanted. No way I was going there, even though we were lovers only days ago. Would have been lovers again tonight on my last night here. She went to get me some clothes to wear.

I have to figure out what I am going to do. I had no idea who I was now. If she was on the run, there was a chance she was in danger. There is a chance she is in trouble. That means that I have to distance her/me from my life as Paul Miller as much as possible.

It struck me that this place was thre only way to get my old self back. I could not tell anybody about this, other than the people who already know about it, and have gone through it. If the world finds out about this, there is no telling what will happen to it. The government, most likely, will take it over. I have to keep this quiet, if I ever expect to figure out how to get my body back. I could only hope that everybody else has figured out the same thing.

I need more information before I can figure out what to do. I am starting to get desperate. My options are limited, without getting myself in more trouble, or endangering my ability to get my life back.

I'm so tired.

I hate this body. I hate being a girl. I hate being black,

I now realize that some twist of fate has turned me into the kind of girl that I would like.

No, no, no, no, no, no . . . . I can't go there.