David jolted awake, heart pounding.

  The smell of smoke still clung to his nostrils. Heat shimmered over his skin, phantom burns prickling his flesh. For a moment, he lay frozen, caught between the dream and waking.

  Then the doorbell rang again—sharper this time.

  Lobo barked, tail wagging as he pawed at the door, desperate to greet whoever was on the other side.

  David forced himself upright. His eyes darted across the familiar shapes of the living room. His breath came in ragged bursts, the horror of the dream still sweating from his skin.

  "Just a dream," he muttered, though his trembling hands betrayed him.

  Another impatient ring.

  “Coming!” David called, forcing steadiness into his voice as he shoved the recliner footrest down and pushed to his feet on shaky legs. He blinked hard, trying to clear away the flames still seared into his vision as he moved toward the door.

  But no matter how he blinked, the green eyes lingered, haunting the edges of his sight.

  Lobo glanced back, tail wagging, urging him to hurry so he could greet whoever waited outside.

  “Alright, alright, I’m coming!” David barked back. The sound of his own voice echoing through the room steadied him—proof he was here, awake, real.

  David cracked the door just enough for Lobo’s eager head to wedge through. The dog shoved it wider with his shoulders.

  Francis stood waiting—black miniskirt, matching stilettos, white blouse catching the sun. Her smile lit the doorway, hazel eyes glimmering with warmth.

  “Hey Raven, ready to go?” she chirped, slipping inside before he could answer.

  David froze for a heartbeat. The name still hit him.

  Lobo nosed at Francis’s skirt, tail wagging furiously.

  “I know, Lobo, you don’t want to be left out,” she said with a laugh, scratching behind his ears. He thumped his tail against David’s thigh in eager agreement.

  “Hi, Francis—you look beautiful!” David blurted. “I wish I could dress like that.”

  “Thank you kindly, sugar.” Her smile sparkled. “When are ya gonna start dressin’ like yourself?”

  David’s grin slipped. He shook his head immediately. “No way. Just the thought of going out in public dressed makes my knees turn watery.”

  Her smile dimmed, sorrow flickering in her eyes. “Honey, I understand. When you're ready, we’ll be rootin’ for ya.”

  David’s chest eased. “Thanks. I know you will.”

  Francis’ hazel eyes lit with a familiar sparkle, her grin easing back into place. “Well now, darlin’, if you’re all set, let’s mosey on over to the bar. Chris done gone to fetch Rowan—they’ll be meetin’ us there.”

  David smiled, feeling lighter. “Cool, let’s go.” He bent to scratch Lobo’s head. “See ya later, boy. Be good while I’m gone, okay?”

  Lobo gave a single woof and backed off so David could close and lock the door.

  Together they headed down to Francis’s bright red Cube and climbed in. As David buckled in, he muttered, “I still don’t get what you see in this car. Looks like a toaster on wheels. Every time I see one, I wonder why anybody drives it.”

  Stolen story; please report.

  David looked back to the front window and Lobo's nose was pressed against the glass, watching them leave with mournful eyes, his ears drooping low.

  Francis laughed, lilting as she pulled onto the street. “Darlin’, you just don’t understand the appeal. You fancy them little SUVs, but they ain’t cut from the same cloth as my trusty Cube.”

  David shook his head and chuckled. “So how’s your day been going?”

  Francis made a right turn onto the next street. “I saw you on the site earlier—tried to drop you a note, but you missed it.”

  “Oops, sorry. I didn’t notice the chat box was active. I was going through my pics… thought about uploading a new one.”

  “Well now, that’s a shame. I would've loved to see it. That sweater dress you wore last time looked so good on ya’.” She drummed her nails on the edge of the dash.

  “Yeah, I couldn’t finish the upload.” David’s voice dropped softer.

  “Darlin’, did your computer just freeze up on ya?” She flicked the blinker, merging into the next lane.

  He shook his head. “No, same thing as before. I was admiring the pic, feeling pretty good about myself—then it just hit me. I got sad again.”

  Francis guided the car onto the main road, lips pressing thin for a moment. “What got to ya’ this time, dear?”

  David shifted in his seat. “I remembered the look in my kids’ eyes when I told them.”

  His voice thinned. “My son always looked up to me—thought I could do no wrong. When I told him… he…”

  Francis reached over, giving his leg a reassuring pat. “Darlin’, it’ll only sit heavier if you keep it bottled up.”

  He swallowed hard and forced the words. “The pride turned to shame. At first, he didn’t believe me—thought I was joking.”

  David smiled sadly as they passed by a father carrying a small boy on his shoulders. “But once he realized I was serious, he turned cold. Didn’t see me as his father anymore.” The sight pulled at him, and his eyes grew warm.

  “I reckoned it was somethin’ heavy, sugar. How'd your girl take it?”

  David clenched his jaw. “Not any better." His eyes burned.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “She used to talk about how awesome her daddy was. Once I told her the truth, she could barely stand to look at me.”

  “I recall you tellin’ me your ex didn’t take it very well either, huh?”

  David’s throat locked. He only managed a nod.

  Francis reached across, resting a hand briefly over his before returning it to the wheel. "Just hold on, darlin'. I promise it'll come right in time."

  She passed him a warm smile. “One day you'll look in that mirror and see the true beauty inside yourself."

  She eased them through a turn, slowing as they approached a school crossing. “I’ve been in your shoes before. It was dreadful—loving and loathing myself all at once.”

  She scanned for children at the crosswalk and rolled through. “But now, when I look in that ol’ mirror, I see a belle, full of grace and dignity.”

  David's shoulders sagged under a weight—ancient, ominous.

  "Last night, I heard her voice again," David said softly. "Calling to me. Just like before."

  A chill crept up his spine and he shuddered. "And this morning... I had the dream again. The same woman with green eyes—burning at the stake, screaming for help. Like she knew me. Like she expected me to save her."

  Francis cast him a sidelong glance, one hand tightening on the wheel. "Was there a mob bayin' for her to burn? Crosses in their hands?"

  David turned to her. “Yeah. How did you know?”

  She grinned. "Well, I got intuition, sweetie. Plus you mentioned it the other day."

  David chuckled, sheepish. “Right. I forgot. Just last night, I thought I heard her again.”

  Francis's eyes brightened. "If you came to our gatherings, you'd have a whole circle of folks to share these troubles with."

  David pulled on his seat belt. “I know. But I’m just not ready to face a bunch of strangers—not when I can’t even look in the mirror without feeling disgusted.”

  Francis shook her head, lips pursed. "We're not a bunch of strangers, we're kin," she said gently.

  She signaled and changed over to the left lane. "We all share the trans-experience, and we help and support each other when the outside world seeks to be cruel. You really ought to come and see—we're family, and we'll stand with you."

  David's face sank. “I’m sorry. I’m stereotyping, and I shouldn’t be… but you see, I’m just not ready.”

  His voice faded as his gaze drifted to the side window. In the faint reflection of the glass, for a heartbeat, the face staring wasn’t his own. Softer features, eyes shadowed, dark hair framing them. A woman—him, yet not him.

  He rubbed his eyes to clear them. The reflection snapped back to his own tired and worn face.

  The bar’s neon sign flickered into view. The car jolted over a pothole, breaking his fixation. Francis let out a light laugh at the bump, the sound filling the car and pulling him back.

  “Maybe someday,” he whispered, as the rhythmic boom of heavy bass and the blare of horns washed into the parking lot. The neon glare streaked across the windshield, and the faint smell of fried food drifted in through the vents.

  He gave the window one last glance—only his own reflection.