“This is the police. We’re coming in!”

That’s my cue to leave. This is the fourth place I’ve tried to hide out. My hideouts are looking more and more like pieces of shit. I manuever around the corners of the thin hallways of the derelict apartment building. A large section of one of the walls is stained brown from the leaky ceiling. I reach the bathroom. This is where the awful smell that makes you want to throw up comes from. I twist the knob of the rusty sink glancing breifly at my bedraggled face in the cracked mirror. The water comes out brown. I don’t care. I cup my hands underneath the sputtering stream and then splash myself with the stuff.

There’s nothing quite like changing sexes. Sure you get used to it. Quicker than you’d think in fact. You know those erections you get for no reason while you’re sitting down? It’s kind of like that. For a girl I guess it would be...I don’t know...wearing a bra maybe. That strange feeling of things being in different proportions, or in different positions...take that and multiply several hundred times. It’s weird, but strangely, it becomes normal...a part of life. I was used to it WAY before I would have admitted it.

A good fifty centimeters shorter and quite a bit thinner now I turn to the small brown two paned window. Its there for the sole purpose of ventilation. It’s sealed quick to the frame. I take a few precious seconds (I can hear feet pounding up the creaking steps now) to tighten my drawstring pants and tie off my black t-shirt, (For anyone whose interested, you can see my belly button) I contemplate the little window. If it weren’t for my breasts it wouldn’t be a problem. As it stands, it’s going to be a bit of a squeeze. I look up at the the two exposed pipes in the ceiling. They run parellel about sixty centimeters apart. I know one goes to the sink. in the bathroom above me. The other...I guess that’s the drain from the shower. Real high class place. From the pulls I gave the pipes I figure they can take about 25 kilograms of weight before they break. I weigh about 47 kilos. If I grab them both at the same time they should hold my weight. Here goes nothing.

I Mouko Takabisha the window to oblivion so the cops know exactly where I am. This leaves the bare concrete frame of the window space. I jump and grab the grimy, wet, rusty metal pipes, swing once and then swing again. I release. I make it through but I get a pretty good knock on the back of my head and the fall from the window to the trash-filled dumpster two stories below me isn’t exactly pleasant. So as I lay in the dumpster, a twisted aluminum can sticking into my back, I take a moment to contemplate my life.

You might wonder why I’m going through all this trouble to run away when all I’d really have to do is beat up the cops, take their weapons and mosey on down to the country border. Well, for one, I’ve tried that already. That’s why I’m here in America instead of over in Japan. For another, the cops carry guns. Usually that’s not really a problem. It’s still a matter of reaction time, and I can disarm about three or four average cops before any of them can take their safeties off and shoot. Usually is not good enough though. Before I risk getting my brains blown out, I want to be absolutely sure I got the situation covered. Of course I can still get shot running away, but that’s not likely. I still know the Umisenken if things get really hairy.

Something is squirming under my left hand. Is it? Yep...maggots. I wonder if they started on the hamburger before or after somebody threw it into the trash. I sit up.

Ow.

I lay back down.

Now the Umisenken is a cool trick, and I’ve got to give my pops credit for it, but it definately has it’s weaknesses. The idea is to make oneself practically invisible, sneak around one’s opponent and then beat the living crap out of them. The technique is actually very simple...if a little difficult to master. All you have to do is just make sure you aren’t anywhere near where your opponent is looking. This means you have to watch for subtle clues as to where they are looking and get away from there as fast as possible without making a sound. Sometimes, if you’re pressed you can throw a ten yen coin out to distract the opponent...

Trust my pops to find a way to make sucker punching into an artform.

I’m pretty good at it now. I can even keep two people from seeing me in broad daylight if I’m lucky. I’ve never managed three though, and like I said, I don’t want to mess with guns.

I try sitting up again. My head is throbbing but any moment now some enterprising member of law enforcement is going to look down from that window. That and I’d rather not swim with the maggots for longer than I have to. I rummage around the trash. Finally, I find my back back in the front left corner, covered in plastic.

When you’ve been on the road as long as I have, your backback becomes your best friend. In my back pack I’ve got two changes of clothes for both my forms including shoes, a long jacket with a hood, dried fruit and instant ramen, a cup, necessary toiletries, extra money, a pup tent...and a picture.

Of all of the stuff in my backback, that picture gets the most wear. Its a group photo of all of the gang, Me, Pops and Ma, the Tendos, the Amazons, Ukyo and Konatsu, Ryoga and Akari, Taro and Rouge,even the Kunos. We’re all smiling. We’re all getting along. I mean sure we fought a bunch that day, but well...we weren’t trying to kill each other. And we all knew it. We’re at a wedding. Not mine. My parents. They got re-married. Pops saw it on one of those dopey American sitcoms and thought it would be a good idea.

It was the best idea my pops ever had.

I’m almost tempted to get the photo out now...but of course, now is not the time. Backpack in tow, I jump out of the dumpster and hit the ground running. I duck into an alley. There, I slow down to a walk.

When you’re trying to escape, you should never look like you’re trying to escape. In fact, you shouldn’t look like anything at all if you can help it. You want people to ignore you. That’s kinda hard for me right now being an oriental with red hair (and quite a looker if I do say so myself) but you’d be surprised with what you can get away with if you just have the proper attitude. Still, when I get pretty far down the alley way I stop, make sure no one is around (I do this in about a second while I reach for my pack using my ears and peripheral vision instead of whipping my head around like an idiot) and open my pack, taking off the plastic in the process, to fish out that jacket and a pair of shoes. I still wear black martial arts slippers, even though they wear out pretty easy and don’t offer much in the way of cusioning. I’ve tried sneakers...it feels like I’m wearing cement blocks. Besides they fit better in my pack.

Now, bundled up in a gray hooded jacket and carrying my pack on my back, I look like some eccentric beggar woman. That’s fine. What beggar woman isn’t eccentric? Anyway that’s basically what I am at the moment.

The jacket isn’t completely unseasonal. There are are large puddle in the asphalt of the alleyway that reflect the sun peeking through light gray clouds and the tops of the buildings. It rained about an hour ago. It’s about 12:30 now. Perfect.

Half an hour later, I’m in a darkened theater with about twenty other people about to watch the latest scifi flick. I’ve been to the little girl’s room and I washed myself as well as I could, so I’m feeling a little better. I could have changed forms, but some one might have seen, and well, I sort of forgot. It’s no big deal. I really don’t care anymore. I guess I’m in a girly mood right now.

In my opinion, there is no better place to hide out than a movie theater. Most of the time I don’t even need to use the Umisenken to sneak in, and then I’ve got two hours of almost total darkness in which I can sleep, think about what I’m going to do next, or simply enjoy the movie. Sometimes I can even change my clothes. As long as I’m in the back row, hardly anyone ever notices.

There’s too many people, and I’m in the wrong form, for that though. A slight grumbling in my stomach tells me what I’ve got to do next, and I’m not really tired enough to sleep, so that leaves watching the movie...and remeniscing.

This one’s got aliens in it.

That’s what I am.

INS is after my ass big time what with me not having a green card and the fact that the Japanese government thinks I’m public enemy number one. It strikes me that in American films aliens are nasty bastards a lot of the time. In Japan the few manga and anime that I saw that had aliens seemed to show them to be more like normal people just with different beliefs and such. I don’t think Americans like aliens. I think they keep their open boarder policy out of guilt or something.

The aliens in this one are alright though.

I wish I had some popcorn.

I wish...

I miss them. I miss them more than anything. Even the Kunos. And especially Akane. But... they’re gone now. And no matter how hard I wish, how devoutly I pray to Kami-sama and a hundred other gods and goddesses, spirits and demons to bring them back, it won’t work. The only one left is Nabiki, and she wants me dead.

Sometimes...I want me dead too.

No...can’t think about things like that. I’ve got to watch the movie, let it take me somewhere else, somewhere, not quite as lonely as this movie theater filled with people. On the screen, one of the characters farts. The others make faces. There...that was funny wasn’t it? Laugh, you bastard, laugh.

I wonder how long I’ve been talking to myself...

After the movie, I’m starving. This isn’t the usual grab-a-quick-apple-from-a-street-vender-while-they’re-not-looking hunger. This is serious, gut wrenching order-a-seven-course-meal-from-a-restaurant-and-escape-before-anyone-gives-you-a-bill, hunger. But first I’ve got to change back.

If you are planning on changing sexes, the best restroom to do it in is the men’s. Don’t ask me why, but for some reason it’s okay for a girl to be in the men’s restroom but not for a man to be in the girl’s restroom. If you ask me, girls have got it pretty good. Sometimes I almost wish I was a girl. But I’m not. I’ve tried it.

When I first reached California I thought I would stay a girl. A girl can disguise herself much better than a guy. I mean, I guess a guy can dye his hair and put it in a perm too, but it just looks weird. Trust me I know. The problem was, I’m just not a girl. Not inside. It goes beyond not finding men attractive. I don’t...though perhaps a part of me does (I’ve done some embarassing things while intoxicated I’d really rather not mention). After staying female for a couple months...It just wasn’t me. I lost my energy and I was slowly slipping into a deep depression. I even lost my appetite, and my appetite is pretty hard to lose! I don’t know, maybe I’m just the sexist bastard my father raised me to be, but when I’m a girl for too long, I don’t seem to have a purpose. No that’s not it...it’s more like...I don’t have the right purpose.

So anyway, I’m not exactly dreading turning back to a guy. I enter the bathroom.

Okay let me say this. If there’s no one in the building, the best restroom to do anything in, is the women’s. Men are slobs. It’s true. I don’t know what it is, maybe it’s how we mark our territory or something. Half of everything in the men’s restroom is broken or abused and most of the time it’s not done out of hatred or anything, just out of a strange curiousity. I’ve done things myself I’ve wondered about later.

Of course some women are slobs too. Graffiti is present in both places. However, the graffiti in the women’s restroom tends more toward gossip (“Mary Sue eats shit”) and feelings (“I’m so fucking horny!”) Whereas the graffiti in the men’s restroom deals more in advertising (“If you want some good pussy call 555-FUCK) and personal agrandizement (“I was here, but now I’m gone. I’ve left this poem, to turn you on.”) Once, when I was sitting in a stall in the women’s restroom, I noticed that one wall was filled with writing. It was a religious discussion! It started out with “God eats shit.” then underneath it: “You eat shit.” Then it progressed...some messages touting the blessedness of God, while others argued that if there was a God, He was a complete asshole. Most of it was pretty stupid, but I don’t think I’ll ever forget the last message on that wall. “If Jesus loves me,” it said, “then why do I feel so alone?”

There was space to write afterward, but no one had used it. My guess is the question effectively ended the philosophical discusion. I once wrote the question in a men’s restroom just to see what would happen. When I came back to check, someone had answered. “’CUZ YER A FUCKIN FAG, THATS WHY”

So there you go.

I’m not a religious person by any means, but I did have a brief stint of religion where I visited about twenty different types of churches. Of course they all seemed to say the same thing. Wait awhile, they said, things will get better. It’s God’s will.

Bullshit, I say. I say that if there’s one powerful, almighty being in the universe, it doesn’t give a shit about me. A whole slew of gods and goddesses duking it out without knowing what the fuck’s going on anymore than us...that appeals to me. I’ve got to have some way of explaining all the ghosts and demons that I deal with day to day afterall.

So anyway, yeah, the men’s restroom isn’t exactly high class, but it does have it’s benefits. There’s no one in here anyway so it doesn’t matter. I go to the sink turn the hot water on wait for it to get hot, cup the liquid in my palms and splash it my face. I feel like I’m a new man.

About an hour later I’m sitting in an Italian restaurant eating three plates of lasagna, two of linguine, and a big ole bowl of salad just to make sure my carbs are all balanced out. Course I don’t plan on paying for any of it, but the waiters, who are all out-of-work actors, don’t know that, and probably don’t even care.

This isn’t a real nice restaurant. It’s about one step up from a Denny’s or an IHOP, the food’s pretty good, but not anything to scream about. I have never had cooking as good as Kasumi’s anywhere. Not anywhere. Not by anybody. I can cook a pretty mean dish if I want to...but I would literally kill to taste Kasumi’s food just one more time.

I have killed.

I’m not talking about that brat Saffron. That was rough, but I had a good reason, even if it seems pointless now. No I had to kill, because someone was going to kill me. Not “kill” like shampoo, Ryoga, and countless other people who I now realize were my best friends, no this guy knew the Art, but he used guns too and each shot was aimed at death.

At the time I was full into my girl mode. My hair was dyed dark brown and I kept it free and curly. I wore sundresses and carried a purse. I was going under the name of Karako Kakeyatama. I was working as waitress/bouncer at pretty wild bar and grill out on the interstate. I was walking near the edge of a bridge. I was depressed as hell.

And if I hadn’t tried to kill myself, I’d be dead right now.

It’s funny how things come back to you at odd times. I should be enjoying my pasta right now and laughing about what the people in the restaurant are going to do when I leave. Instead...that night’s coming back full throttle.

I can remember the low clang of my heels on the bolted metal of the iron bridge, the rush of the water far below me, the feel of the slight breeze through my hair...The moon was a pair of sharp horns and it reflected on the water below in wild sparkles.

Ever since the curse I’ve been fascinated by water. I guess it comes from trying to understand how it could have such power over my body and yet seem so innocent. In still water you can see yourself. It’s not like a mirror though. You can see yourself and past yourself...into the water...into some reality beyond the one you’re familiar with... and at the slightest disturbance you disappear. Like you don’t exist except as some delicate and ghostly dream.

Lakes and ponds seem majestic to me. Like temples proclaiming “Here lies water, dormant and docile, observe the quiet power of this sleeping beast.” I like rivers better though. Rivers are going somewhere. Rivers have purpose. Rivers cut into the rock and change things. Step into the current. Let go...and the water will take you somewhere you’ve never been.

And that was why I jumped.

And that was why the bullet from the sniper rifle went whizzing through my hair...instead of the back of my skull.

I was falling a long long time. Long enough to wonder what the hell it was that zoomed through my hair. Long enough to realize that now it didn’t matter, that after falling that long the water would be more like concrete, and that it would probably hurt a lot. Long enough to realize that I did not want to die. Not really. I had just barely enough time to do an incomplete Moko Takabisha, creating a nice superconcentrated cushion of air to land on. And then I landed. And it still hurt like hell.

I wonder now where that Moko Takabisha came from. The technique uses my confidence, and the kamis know I wasn’t all that confident before I jumped. But at that moment right before I hit, I was confident. Confident that I would live and confident that somehow someway I was going to make the guy responsible pay for what he did to me.

As I gasped for air and started swimming against the strong, cold river current with a broken arm, a dislocated shoulder, a couple of cracked ribs and really bad bruises everywhere else, the thing that kept me going was the idea that the object that went through my hair was a bullet, and that if I could find out who owned the bullet, I would be one step closer to solving a mystery that eluded me for two years.

Of course it’s been two years since then, and I’m really no closer to solving that mystery. Except now I know that the guy who was trying to kill me wasn’t the man I’m after. Thing is, I really don’t know what I’m after, but it wasn’t him.

His name was Kumon Ryu.

I sip my from my tall glass of ice water. It doesn’t do anything for the lump in my throat, or the feeling of nausea I’m suddenly experiencing, but it comforts me in a strange psychosomatic kind of way.

Psychosomatic... that’s where your mind tells your body to do something, and it does it apparently on its own. I read about that in the library I went to during my depressed girl from Japan stage. I read a lot of things in the library then. I found out I’m not nearly as dumb as I thought. I learned English in about a year. I speak with an accent and it gets real bad sometimes, but people understand me just fine. I learned English mostly by going to the movies and reading. It was no big deal for me to listen to how people were speaking and then speak the same way. The only problem was figuring out when to say it. Curse words were a problem. Apparently “fucking” should be used as a modifier only under special circumstances. It fucking took me a long fucking time to fucking figure out why people were getting so fucking pissed off at me.

Hinako-sensei is still alive I think. I don’t think she knew English anymore than anyone else in that school. Heck, the name of the textbook was “Sunlise” for crying out loud. I’d like to see her again, try speaking some English at her to get her riled up or something. Or maybe just hug her. I really miss Japan sometimes.

While I’m eating and remeniscing, I’m also keeping an eye on the action around me, so I see the woman in the tight dress and sunglasses enter the restaurant before any of the out-of-work actors do. There’s something about her...something that tells me she’s important to me somehow. She gaijin so I don’t understand it, but I’ve learned to trust my feelings. She has red-ish hair, my mom’s hair color. She’s wearing make up that nicely brings out her features without being obvious. She’s tall...well about two inches taller than I am in my current guy form, and she seems just as interested me as I am in her.

I’d like to get out of here now. Either the woman knows who I am, or I’m going to fall in love with her. Either way she’s way too dangerous. I can’t go Umisenken now though, there’s too many people...someone will see me and ask me what the hell I’m doing. So I sit and wait for her to come to the table as I know she will.

One of the waiters finally sees the woman