Interlude 1 - Lonnie’s Story

Two months earlier…

Lonnie wasn’t always an absentee student. He used to get good grades. He used to play sports. But that’s the problem with a town like Weatherford: apathy can settle in and crush your dreams.

For the past year, Lonnie’s life was defined by apathy. He was eighteen, a senior - when he bothered to attend school. If the school district actually cared, Lonnie would likely not graduate. But instead they’d send him off into the world ill-equipped to defend himself.

He spent his afternoons trying to find new, abandoned places in their small, hick town - a thrill-seeking activity born less of genuine interest and more of sheer boredom. This lack of direction, the pervasive sense of small-town stagnation, plus the fact that nobody - including his father - seemed to care, fostered his deep-seated indifference.

He met the drug dealers a few months ago through a chain of increasingly bad decisions. His search for excitement led him to the wrong crowd in Weatherford, teens who dabbled in petty crimes and low-level substance abuse. Lonnie started by occasionally smoking weed, but his need for greater thrills led him to seek out stronger connections. He eventually found the warehouse crew - the three men in their thirties who operated out of the abandoned Weatherford Storage facility. Lonnie wasn't a dedicated friend; he simply provided a useful connection to the younger high school market and, in return, received a small cut of the profits and product. He didn't know their names well and preferred to keep their relationship strictly transactional - a dark business arrangement fueled by his apathy and theirs, by greed.

He met Alice the same way. She was a burnout. Stressed from being a goody-two-shoes and her parent’s pressure to conform. He met her trying to score drugs under the high school bleachers. Since she ran in a different social circle, he decided to loop her into his arrangement with the drug dealers.

That was until that freak-school girl showed up and ruined everything. He was able to get away, but he heard the drug dealers were busted, and Alice was released into her parent’s custody.

As for Lonnie, he laid low and stayed locked in his room.

The choker he found in the warehouse was currently hidden in one of his dresser drawers. He put it there the moment he got home after the police raid.

Well, hidden wasn’t the right word for it. He knew it was there. He knew it was calling to him.

Literally.

When he was near the dresser it would speak in soothing, hushed tones. They weren’t literal words. More like feelings. If he had to translate those feelings into words, they would be “home me.”

Lonnie was able to ignore it most of the time. But the feelings - the command - felt stronger and stronger.

Finally, the next morning, he woke up, no longer able to resist the calling. Crawling out of bed before the sun came up, he stood at his dresser and turned on a nearby lamp.

He pulled the choker out of his drawer and examined it. 

The choker was a simple, thin strip of black leather, with a dimly glowing gold jewel in the middle. But what really caught his eye was the small, antique silver clasp, shaped like a pair of elegantly stylized bat wings. It felt strangely warm to the touch.

He wasn't really a jewelry person— especially not a choker, but it felt… right. Like a piece of a puzzle he didn’t know was missing. Perhaps the answer to his apathy. Maybe a way to deal with this town and his uncertain future. He wrapped it around his neck and clipped the clasp shut. It was snug, resting perfectly at the base of his throat.

As soon as it was on, he felt a strange prickling sensation, like static electricity mixed with a rush of caffeine. The gold jewel lit up brightly, but after a moment it was back to a dim glow.

It was at that moment he decided he would go to school today. At least to see if he was graduating or not. Or, at the bare minimum, to see if Alice was able to get away from the cops.

His first instinct was the familiar routine: grab yesterday's clothes, splash water on his face, and head out the door. But the energy - the choker's energy - demanded attention. He felt an intense, sudden need to scrub at the grime of the week without a shower, washing away the lingering smell of cheap drugs.

When he was in the bathroom he caught his reflection in the poorly-lit mirror. His dark hair was a mess, his eyes still heavy with sleep and the redness of the previous day’s high. He leaned close, running a hand over the thin black band around his throat. The golden gem glowed faintly, a subtle heartbeat of light.

Lonnie didn't just take a shower; he took a long, hot one, letting the steam fill it. He scrubbed his skin until it felt slightly raw, running his fingers through his hair with an unfamiliar thoroughness. When he emerged twenty minutes later, he felt less like the Lonnie he was yesterday and more like an elevated, cleaner version of himself.

Back in his bedroom, he surveyed the pile of perpetually wrinkled, baggy clothes he usually wore— his uniform of indifference. They looked wrong now, sloppy. The choker pulsed gently against his skin, urging him toward sharper edges.

He dug into the back of his closet, pulling out a pair of jeans he hadn't worn since sophomore year. They were a tighter fit, slightly restricting as he zipped them up, but the resulting silhouette was cleaner, less obscured. He paired them with a dark gray T-shirt that hugged his shoulders just a little too closely. It was a conscious decision to be visible, to stand out slightly from the background of his own dull existence.

Then came the hair. Lonnie usually just let it fall naturally into an unstyled mop. Today, he spent five minutes diligently working with a brush and some product he found in the back of the medicine cabinet, aggressively straightening the strands. The result was a sleek, almost severe look that was entirely new for him.

He looked in the full-length mirror. The tight clothes, the deliberate hairstyle, and the faint glow of the choker gave him an air of focused intensity that had been absent for years. He felt ready. Ready for school, ready for whatever this energy was pushing him towards. Ready to stop being a footnote in his own life.

He walked into the kitchen of his small house, where his father was sitting there drinking coffee.

“Where are you going?” Lonnie’s father asked.

“School,” Lonnie provided with a smirk.

* * *

Lonnie walked into Weatherford High. A rather small country high school with less than a thousand students. 

He made his way to homeroom. Any anxiety of being back in these hallways was muted by the determination of the choker’s energy.

He walked into the classroom and got weird glances by his classmates. When was the last time he was in class? Maybe two months ago?

The other students were dressed in shorts and T-shirts. They were mingled in clusters, signing each other’s yearbooks. What month was it again?

He sat down at his desk anyway.

“Lawrence,” the teacher called to him, “please come here.”

Lonnie got up to see his teacher. “Lonnie,” he corrected her.

“Lonnie,” she said, setting down her red pen. “I wasn’t sure we’d see you again.”

He offered a casual shrug. “Had some things to sort out. Am I good for graduation?”

Ms. Gable sighed, pushing a pile of paperwork aside. “Have a seat, Lonnie.”

He ignored the request and remained standing. “Just tell me, Ms. Gable.”

She placed her hands on the desk. “Lonnie, your attendance alone wouldn’t permit it, even if your grades were passing. You’ve missed too many mandatory credits this semester, especially since February. I ran the numbers. You are far short.”

“What month is it?”

“It’s June, Lonnie. Finals are over. Graduation is this weekend.”

For the first time in a long time, Lonnie finally felt remorse and regret.

The news should have crushed him, sparking the usual apathy, but the choker only pulsed with a low, insistent energy, filtering out the disappointment.

"So, what then?" he asked, his voice flat.

"The good news, since you are eighteen, you have a choice. You can opt to return next year and complete your senior year, retaking the necessary classes. Or, you can go into the work force. Maybe one day pursue your GED."

"Another year here?" Lonnie scoffed, looking around the pathetic classroom. The thought of repeating this monotonous year felt physically repugnant.

"It’s up to you, Lonnie. But right now, you won't be walking across that stage."

He nodded, but his roaming eyes settled upon Ms. Gable’s low-cut T-shirt. Clearly, she was already in summer mode just like the students. He licked his lips, then looked back at her. "Thanks for the information, Ms. Gable." He turned, returning to his seat without another word.

Ms. Gable looked at him curiously. “Lonnie, you’re dismissed.”

“Nah, I think I’ll stay,” he replied.

Rather than call security, Ms. Gable ignored him and continued on with her day.

* * *

After Ms. Gable’s class, he walked the halls aimlessly. He could’ve gone to the next class, but he didn’t want a repeat of the same discussion he’d had with Ms. Gable. 

As he walked the crowded hallways, he felt the glances. They weren't the usual looks of dismissal or judgment; these were longer, appraising stares. The new jeans and the sleek hair were working. He saw a group of jocks glance at him, and another wave of that strange, physical hunger washed over him. It was intense, almost painful, and focused. He quickly pushed it down, shaking his head to clear the sensation.

That was until he ran into Alice.

At first, Alice didn’t recognize him. “Lonnie? Is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he replied.

“I haven’t seen you since…” she started, but decided to not verbalize anything about the other day’s illegal activities. “I didn’t think I’d see you here again.”

“I don’t know what came over me.”

“Are you OK?” she asked. “You look different.”

“Just some different clothes— nothing major.”

“Your hair is longer and you look… thinner.”

“Really?” he asked, excusing himself into the nearest men’s restroom.

On the way in, he bumped into a stranger who turned around and said, “Hey, I think you have the wrong…”

Lonnie looked at him, and suddenly the other boy recognized him.

“Oh, my bad. Sorry, Lonnie,” the boy apologized, leaving the restroom without another word.

Lonnie looked into the mirror. Alice was right. His face was thinner. As if he hadn’t eaten in weeks. But it wasn’t just thinner. His face was softer in some areas. Almost feminine. No wonder that boy thought he was a girl at first sight. Maybe it was some sort of drug withdrawal.

When he came out of the restroom, Alice was waiting for him.

“Do you think I’m having withdrawal symptoms?” he asked.

“I don’t think so,” she replied. “Maybe you should see the doctor.”

He agreed.

* * *

Lonne returned home and confronted his father. His father was like Alice and the boy in the restroom. He barely recognized Lonnie. He wasted no time driving his son to the doctor.

After a series of tests, the doctor came to see Lonnie and his father.

“Is it withdrawal?” Lonnie asked.

“No. You do have plenty of narcotics still in your system, but this isn’t related to that.”

“Then what?”

“I’ve run all of the tests I can run. I’m honestly baffled,” the doctor admitted. “There’s only one other thing that matches your symptoms. But I’ve never encountered it myself.”

“What is it?” Lonnie asked, a feeling of dread creeping over him.

“Have you heard of Gender Bimorphism?" she asked.

“Gender what-now?” Dad asked.

“Gender Biomorphism— it’s a rare, but treatable disease—”

“How much is the prescription?” Dad interrupted her again. “I-I don’t have health insurance.”

“There’s no prescription, Mr. Hyers,” she explained. “Once the virus has taken hold, there’s no stopping it.”

“So, I’m going to die?” Lonnie asked.

“No,” the doctor reassured him. “This virus changes your sex at the chromosomal level.”

“So… I’m turning into a girl?”

“It appears that way,” she said. She continued talking about the disease, or rather reading off her tablet.

Lonnie eventually turned her out, his mind wondering about how this happened and what he would do about it.

The doctor handed Lonnie a piece of paper with her name on the letterhead. “I found a website that is a good resource for those with GB. Since you’re about to graduate—”

“I’m not,” Lonnie interjected, cringing internally at the reaction he knew would come from his father.

“Pardon?” Dad asked, right on cue.

“I’m getting held back.”

Lonnie’s father fumed.

The doctor raised her eyebrows. “Well then, if you are held back, you have the option of enrolling in PAA. They have all of the resources to handle—”

“The freak school?” Lonnie cut in.

“The academy that specializes in high school kids who have had involuntary gender transformation,” the doctor corrected him. “If we were in a major metropolitan area, there are special places for GB, but Puellae Aurora Academy is the closest thing Weatherford has— and it’s a bonus that it’s right in town. But since you’re 18, nobody can force you to go.”

“What about his degree?” Dad asked.

The doctor shrugged. “He’s 18. He’s no longer required to be in school.”

“So it's go to the freak— I mean— the special high school, or drop out?”

“That sums it up,” the doctor said.

Lonnie and his father left shortly after that. On the way to the car, his father turned to him, “Son, what are you wearing on your neck?”

Lonnie reached up and touched the choker. He had totally forgotten he put it on this morning. He attempted to find the latch with his fingers but it seemed to have disappeared. After a minute of struggling, panic started to set in, but almost immediately he felt that soothing command.

“Ignore the choker. You’ll be fine.”

Lonnie dropped his hands to his side. He’d be fine.

* * *

Lonnie went to his bedroom in silence. He was becoming a girl? How? Why? As he was about to lay the paper with the web address on his dresser he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the dresser mirror.

It wasn’t him. It wasn’t even his androgynous reflection. It was a woman. 

She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Except she had red eyes and horns protruding from her forehead. She was dressed very scantily in a black bustier, trimmed with crimson lace. A high-waisted leather skirt barely covered her thighs, and knee-high black boots clung to her calves. She gave Lonnie a devilish smirk and winked at him.

Lonnie closed his eyes, rubbed them, then looked back at the mirror. 

This time it was just his own reflection. Nothing but his softening face, lengthening hair, and the clothes he wore today, including the choker.

He shook his head. Today was stressful; the stress must be causing him to see things. He left the pamphlet on his dresser and laid down in his bed, contemplating what his new life would be like as a woman.