What She Doesn't Know (36 page)

Susan never imagined what the truth would be when she searched through her parents’ financial documents. She sat cross-legged on the closet floor going through the contents of a box: a will, expired passports, and her and her brothers’ birth certificates. Buried at the bottom was another yellowed birth certificate. It read Edward James Sharp, born January 15, 1981 at 4:57 am, same as she. A lump formed in her throat. Was he a deceased twin? She pulled out her certificate again. They were signed by different people. Both read ‘single birth.’
 

That’s when it hit her:
she’d been born Edward Sharp
. The word
Male
burned into her eyes. She’d always felt like a boy, had always wanted a penis, and had had feelings for girls. She grabbed a mirror from her parents’ bureau and, for the first time, looked at her genitalia. They were a mass of scarred flesh, nothing like Carla had looked like.
 

They had made her into a girl.
“Why? How?”

As soon as her parents returned, she shoved the birth certificate at them.
 

Her mother’s face went red, and she snatched the paper from Susan’s hand. “You went snooping in our things?”

Anger pummeled her, that they would hone in on that. Her father left the room, unable to address any of it. Susan pushed her mother against a wall and demanded the truth. Finally, it came out.

Edward’s birth was not an altogether happy event in the Sharp household. They had wanted a girl, had in fact tried for a third child with the intention of finally having a girl. They had chosen the name Susan and envisioned a plump-faced cherub who would play with dolls and wear frilly dresses.
 

Edward was a bit of a letdown. “We were disappointed, of course, but we loved you all the same.”

When it was time for Edward to be circumcised, his father was between jobs. They’d taken him to a family friend who still practiced medicine despite the fact that he’d lost his license five years earlier. He worked out of his house, treating criminals with bullet and knife wounds, performing an occasional abortion. He agreed to help the Sharps in their time of need—and accidentally sliced off Edward’s penis.

“We didn’t know he’d been drinking,” Pauline said.

Dr. Bale was remorseful and begged the Sharps not to sue or report him. He would make it right. He worked with transsexuals, people who felt as though they were born with the wrong sex organs and those born with ambiguous genitalia. He had also studied an eminent sex reassignment surgeon’s theories about babies learning their sexual nature from conditioning.
 

Pauline’s crocodile tears smeared her mascara. “There was no way to construct a penis, so he made you into a girl. He said it would work.”

And just like that, the Sharps got the girl they wanted.

It was stunning. “It didn’t work. I feel like a boy. Because I am a boy, inside.”
 

“But you’re a girl on the outside.”

Susan said in a low voice, “Make me a boy on the outside.”

“We can’t do that now. Everyone knows you as a girl. What will they think?”

All Pauline cared about was what people would think of
them.
Hadn’t she ever once heard Susan complain that her classmates made fun of her for being so masculine? No, she hadn’t heard because she hadn’t wanted to.

“I will be a boy,” Susan said.

Her parents told her they would not tolerate her changing sex while she lived under their roof, but they would help in whatever way they could to make being a girl easier.
 

That’s when Susan realized her parents blamed
her
for not accepting her reassignment. It should be simple. That’s what the research had shown. They thought she should fix her attitude.

Further complicating matters, her body was still producing male hormones despite the female hormones she took. Her walk changed, and her voice started cracking. Her parents became angrier at her “rebelliousness.” They forced her to take the pills and accused her of throwing them back up when she continued to exhibit male traits.
 

To escape her misery at home, she sank into the murky world of transsexuals, where for the first time she found others who were living in bodies of the wrong sex. She took drugs that numbed the shame and conflict within her body.
 

During one of those drug-hazed sessions, she confessed her situation and, suddenly, she was not one of them anymore. She had, after all, lived their fantasy, men who longed to be women, changed against their will. They wanted to see her genitalia, to study and covet it. When she wouldn’t show them, they rejected her.

Her time in the transsexual community did give her one thing: access to T-shooters—testosterone shots. She went off estrogen and became Edward. The first wispy beard hairs on his chin were the final straw. His parents banished him from their home. He was almost eighteen.

He drifted, alone in the deepest way. Even with the testosterone, he never felt fully at home in his body. The female hormones had left his breasts as female appendages. His resentment grew to monstrous proportions when his parents refused to give him money to have them removed.

That’s when he met a drag queen who confided how much he made a night. For the first time, Edward enjoyed being a woman, dressed in frills and black lace, holding the crowd at rapt attention. Touché was accepted, admired.
 

Edward enjoyed being someone else so much, by the time he’d earned enough money for the breast removal, he decided to keep them. He’d already become a shape-shifter of sorts, living as a man during the day and a woman at night. Touché wanted to take over, but he pushed her deep inside when he got dressed and went to work at a software company each morning.

By the time petty jealousies made him lose his job at the club, he had other pursuits to occupy his time. Like killing his parents.

He pulled down the box as he dropped down to the floor of the closet next to the detective’s body. “Oops, sorry, Mama. Did I hurt you?” He opened the box and sifted through the ashes. “Drowning’s supposed to be peaceful. It’s a shame you got all tired out in the pool.” He lifted his hand and blew his mama into the air.
 

“Sira introduced herself to me as Touché, but then she took control, reaped justice. She was the person I wanted to be, a woman with no question about her sexual identity. It was Sira who pushed you under.” His voice lowered. “Don’t you know it’s not nice to fool Mother Nature?” He put his mama back up on the shelf, bumping the metal box that held his father’s ashes.
 

Sira paid a visit to the old doc, too. Fire was the only way to cleanse that man’s soul. One small device, timed to light a small kitchen fire in the middle of the night. That pan of cooking oil right there, not even an accelerant to tip off the police. The device, made from common household items, would look like something that was supposed to be there. Amazing what you could learn, hanging on the streets.
 

His life changed for the better when he found Xanadu, the one place where he could live out fantasies that only existed in his mind. He’d started out as Fallo, an macho sort. Touché became Sira, his female personality with butt-loads of sex appeal. She took over, just as she did in real life.
 

Sira had become obsessed with Alta, gravitating to the leader. They began a relationship, her first. Everything about him was scintillating: his power, the way he “talked,” and especially the artwork he posted that captured all of that muscular, male power.
 

Sira was tantalized by the certainty that he lived in New Orleans, too. First the peculiarities of New Orleans language and food…and the fact that their annual Gathering was held in the French Quarter. New Orleans was a world of masquerade, a place for people who wanted to be someone else. No one was supposed to know who the players really were. She had fought the temptation to find out his identity.

For five months, Sira reveled in being wanted, loved, and mostly, being accepted. Their relationship escalated to erotic realms filled with pleasure and tenderness. She began to dream of being the Queen of Xanadu. The power and the pairing with Alta eased the unhappiness and rage of years past. The only thing that shadowed her bliss was how to handle the physical aspects of the Gathering.
 

Then, in late November, Alta started to back away. He didn’t visit Xanadu as often and didn’t stay as long. He didn’t come when Sira was likely to be there, and if she was, he avoided her.
 

Before she could even consider what to do about that, Alta made a startling announcement: he wanted to bring in someone new. A woman. The residents, eager for dissention, urged him on.
 

Sira could not let that happen. She would find out who Alta was, and then who this woman was who had usurped Sira’s place in his life. But to find out Alta was Brian LaPorte…huge disappointment, that. Wealthy, a member of society, a man who snubbed Edward when he went to the hotel the first time and struck up a conversation with him. It made the rejection sting even more. She started casing his house, and then gained access by pretending to be a city official testing water quality. The extra key had been on a ring near the telephone.

It was on her forays to his place that she found the house behind his for rent. It was going to be knocked down and renovated the following year. The new owners wanted a short-term lease to make the payments in the meantime. Pure serendipity.
 

Edward had surprised her by getting a job at the hotel. Sira wasn’t pleased. She wanted to handle this on her own. She had invaded Alta’s home, feeling a certain amount of power lying on his bed and going through his things. Even though the string of emails from Rita Brooks were to the mortal Brian, Sira still felt the sting of betrayal. This was the woman he intended to replace her with.
 

While her anger had simmered, Brian walked in and caught her. He’d threatened to banish her. The thought was paralyzing. Banned from the one place she belonged.

It had all happened so fast, Sira hadn’t had time to realize what she’d done. She’d stared down at the courtyard where Alta was sprawled, expecting him to get up and accuse her of pushing him on purpose. He’d taken a nasty fall last year from the Mountains of Change and survived.

But he wasn’t moving. She considered calling on Rakir, who could raise the dead. That would mean crossing the Plains of Evil and staying the night in Utopia to fortify herself for the journey to the Summit of Truth. Utopia was a world populated by thieves, liars, and performers of Magik. The climb to the Summit was supposed to be nearly impossible, but she would manage it.

Once she reached the Summit, that’s where she would encounter trouble, she realized. One must have pure motives for approaching Rakir. He would know that she had caused Alta’s fall. He would punish her by not helping.

She couldn’t undo the damage, but she could erase the evidence. She’d copied all of Rita Brooks’s emails and then deleted them. She took anything about Xanadu and fled.

Sira had insisted on banishing Rita, who might tell the police about Xanadu if Brian’s death was investigated. No, she must be banished…for good. It was supposed to end in Boston, but things had gotten so complicated.

Edward stripped off his clothing, turned off the light, and settled into a fetal position on the cold wood floor. The blood was cold now, too. He smeared it on his skin, his cheeks. He inhaled the coppery smell of it. Sira was quiet, probably too disgusted to harangue him. He was disgusted, too. He would pay his penance here, breathing in death and feeling the cold prick of his sins on his flesh.

Three more people had to be banished for the good of the world. Then Xanadu would be safe.

CHAPTER 24

“Do you think Connard will check into it?” Rita asked once they were back in Brian’s office. “He didn’t seem as skeptical as before.”

“He was hard to read. Hopefully we’ll hear from him soon. Otherwise, we’re on our own.”

A knock sounded on the door, and a young man brought in a cart with their dinner and a Fed Ex package. They set the dishes on the desk but Rita’s attention was on the box. “What is that?”

He opened the package and pulled out a set of handcuffs and a small recorder. “I had a friend mail these from my house. I got the cuffs when I was with Sherry. I had planned to cuff the bastard the next time he went near my apartment, to prove he’d been there. That’s what the police needed: proof.” She saw that dark shadow cross his face as he ran his thumb over the shiny metal surface. “The recorder I’ve had for years. I’m going to tape anything critical.”

After dinner, Rita returned to stitching gold edging on her outfit. She jabbed her finger with the needle and a drop of blood popped to the surface. As she stuck it in her mouth, a memory popped to the surface of her mind.
 

Come here, baby-girl, let me kiss it and make it better.

Angela had made it better. Rita had forgotten so much where her mother was concerned. She’d forgotten the tender moments.
 

Angela had failed her as a mother. She’d made bad judgments and had been unable to handle responsibility and pressure. Now Rita was failing as a daughter. Angela had apologized and was reaching out. Why wasn’t she able to reach back?
 

Because she was still holding onto her anger. The realization edged close again, but she couldn’t quite grasp it. When she shifted her gaze, she saw that Christopher looking at her. His face was a shade paler than before.

She used his earlier response. “What?”

He leaned back in the chair and ran his thumb along his jaw line. “You should know something before you think about putting on that outfit tomorrow.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ve found seven out of the ten people who were banished from Xanadu.”

“And?”
 

“They’re all dead, Rita. I’ve been tracking them down, finding their accounts closed, then contacting the service provider, then looking up newspaper articles. A lawyer in Newark, a housewife in Albuquerque, a plumber in DC, and a college student at the University of Miami. Sira’s been a busy girl. The ones I found all died either by accident or suicide. Just like Brian.”