He pulled out his knife and held it to her throat. "Shut up! Lie down and shut up. Let's see what you got on under this little dress." He pulled up at the hem till he saw the panties, which he then cut to shreds with his knife. Raping this chick would be just as easy, and just as fun, as the others he had done. He picked up her head by the hair and banged it against the cold cement.
He sat up in bed. It was still dark. The digital alarm clock said 3:15. What a dream. He had dreamed he was raping a girl. Wait a minute--
But he was already asleep again. This time, he did not dream.
When he awoke again, it was daylight. The alarm had not gone off; it was 6:55. He reached over and turned off the alarm switch. He got out of bed and put on a bathrobe, then opened the door and went downstairs. He didn't remember living in a house with stairs.
"Good morning, honey!" said a woman who was not his mother. "Did you have a sweet dream?"
He wanted to say, "Who are you?" but instead he heard a girl's voice say, "I had the nightmare again."
Who could that be? He had no sister.
"I'm sorry, dear. Did you wake up?"
"Yes. . . but I went back to sleep. It was about 3:15. I remember looking at the clock."
That was the time he had woken up! What was going on here? Where was that girl's voice coming from? It seemed to be so close...
"Why didn't you call us?" asked a man's voice.
"I went right back to sleep," said the girl.
"Really?" asked the woman. "Well, I suppose that's good," she added.
What was going on here, he wondered. He tried to speak, but no words came out.
"Do you have your calculus test today?"
What calculus test? He could barely add fractions.
"Yes," said the girl's voice. "I don't think it'll be too hard."
Oh, her. Who was she? Who were these people? Why couldn't he speak?
Almost involuntarily, he finished breakfast, then got up and put his cereal bowl in the sink, climbed the stairs to his room, and looked through his closet. There were lots of girls' clothes. Where did they all come from?
"Remember that you have to dress nicely today, as we're going to the recital this afternoon and you won't have time to change." It was the woman's voice shouting up the stairway.
"Right, Mom." That girl's voice was coming from so close by. This must be her part of the closet. Involuntarily, he reached for a red polka-dot print dress in the middle. He carried it out to the top of the steps, then heard the girl shout, "Mom! Is this okay?"
"Why don't you try the blue one instead? It should be next to it," said the woman looking up from the bottom of the steps.
He went back into the room, hung up the red polka-dot dress and found a light-blue next to its spot in the closet. The girl's voice shouted, "Mom, I have to wear a slip with this one."
"Wear a full one with wide shoulder straps. You don't want people to see your bra."
What was going on here? He was holding up girls' clothes for this girl who was very close by but whom he had yet to see. He stepped into the bathroom to brush his teeth and looked in the mirror. He almost fainted. In the mirror was no boy or man, but a fourteen-year-old girl. Somehow, he had become a girl.
You made a mistake, said a voice inside his head. Not his own voice, and not the girl's. You tried to rape her, but you wound up in her nightmare. Now you are in her life. She controls everything you say or do. You cannot communicate with her. She does not even know you exist.
What's the point of this, he thought.
You have lived your whole life taking advantage of people who wouldn't hurt you. Now you will be one of them.
Where am I?
You're in her home.
No, my real self. My own body.
It does not exist. It is as if you had never existed.
He thought about this as the girl dressed herself.
Does she dress like this all the time? He couldn't imagine himself wearing a dress every day. He didn't even know of any girls who did that. Yet dresses seemed to be the only garments in her closet.
For the most part, yes. She is a very feminine girl.
She didn't really like the dress. It was too long, ending well below the knees. But she knew she would stick out like a sore thumb at the recital if she wore anything shorter. On the other hand, he did find the dress comfortable. If he had to be a girl, at least this would be an easy one to wear.
At the recital, the girl played the Titanic theme song on a harpsichord, an instrument similar to a piano. It sounded strange, but okay.