The questions were supposed to prove if I was competent, insane, human, and/or all of the above. I answered them all, the entire process administered by a State appointed shrink. I knew the seriousness of the charges against me were real, and that I faced the possibility of being locked away forever.

Some of the questions were ridiculous. “What’s your middle name?” Others were more interesting. “Were you close to your father?” I suggested if he wanted to know the truth about my history, he read my file. It certainly looked thick enough and while probably not as interesting as a Stephen King novel, it was more than likely similar in its twisted logic. Only this was for real, and that was a fact I could no longer deny no matter how hard I tried. Perhaps I had finally gone too far and my actions were screaming louder than any of my words ever could. I felt like a rat whom, managing to run from a trap, had gotten his tail caught behind the steel jaw and was now struggling to squirm his way out.

Perhaps I needed to chew off my own tail. But I felt even that wouldn’t work because then they’d probably declare me an insane vegetarian.

As I sat in my little room, staring at the blank walls and the elevated window with wire mesh from the outside, I felt so alone. Marcus was quiet now, as I came to terms with the fact that I indeed carried a personality disorder within me. Like being gay, it was a part of me--- but unlike being homosexual, it was something that I could change--- perhaps even be understood through a combination of drug therapy and psychoanalysis.

The door opened and an orderly let Hillary step inside. She was quiet, and by the look on her face, she was clearly upset.

“Well…?” I asked, but the expression on her face spoke volumes.

She simply nodded no. “The DA wants a full confession. You either admit to your crimes and take 20 years without parole or you could face life in a federal facility.”

I paused, unsure what to say or what to admit to.

“I care what you did, what you unleashed to other people--- but the first step in any kind of healing process is admitting who you are.”

“Who do you think I am?”

“I know what Lily thinks; I know what Mike and Dr. Hawthorne think. I know what the DA thinks.”

“It’s your husband, isn’t it?”

“Excuse me?” She asked.

“Maxfield. He’s the one that contacted you. He’s the one that was there at the playground, that my grandmother instructed to take care of me--- that pretended to be you.”

She was silent. I knew there was a lot more to this story but I wasn’t sure I wanted to know anymore.

“And now you’re a transsexual.”

“Don’t take your anger out on me. I’m here to help you.” She was right. I needed to cooperate. “And by the way, I’m more than a transsexual. TTFN? You know what that stands for?”

I was quiet.

“Ta Ta For Now. That was me, when I was Hugo, when I was struggling, through humor, to find whom I was. Who I knew I could be.”

I remained silent. I had no more lies, no more outs, and no more excuses. I could only let my psuedo mother help me.