Making a slow half turn exactly where I stood, I finally wandered back to the small room housing the vanity. Removing my glasses once again, I twisted on the faucet and cupped my hands beneath it. Bending over the sink, I first pressed one handful of water against my face and then another. After a third, I turned the water off and leaned forward with my knuckles on the vanity as I stood there dripping into the basin.

The phantom pain in my groin had faded away, but the sense of arousal had only grown stronger. It was still distinctly feminine, however, and was as odd to me as it was pleasant. Of course, it also made me feel terribly ill.

“Gods, Gant…” I muttered to myself. “Just get the hell out of here while you’re still sane.”

“Gant?” her honey dipped drawl floats into my ears. “So that’s who you are.”

I am still standing at the basin, and I know the voice has come from behind me. Without bothering to dry my face, I pick up my glasses and slip them on then turn to look out into the main room.

She is perched on the edge of the bed, on the side nearest me. But, she has changed. Her hair is dark auburn and piled atop her head in a soft swirl reminiscent of a long ago era, which matches the high-necked Victorian dress she now wears. What I see of her face is stern, and far more oval shaped than before.

She is seated next to the headboard, and I can still see the man sprawled out behind her. He appears the same although there seems to be far more wounds on his body than there had been before.

She flickers like a frame jumping on a movie at the theater.

Her hair is once again fiery red and long. She is back to being a scantily dressed mirror image of my wife. She uncrosses her legs and re-crosses them in the opposite direction, stretching one out as she does so. She smoothes her stocking carefully then regards it with little emotion.