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This is an inanimate stuffed rabbit transformation story involving a
46-year old psychiatrist from Cleveland.

This is also the best story I've ever written, although that doesn't mean it's good. I proofed it as much as I could, but I miss little things all the time.

(A zillion bonus points if you know what inspired me to write this. It's really obscure, so if you have to guess you don't know it).

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Here's the whole story in plain text if you can't open Acrobat. But please try the file first
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The Astonishing Stuffed Rabbit
© Roachqueen, 2008


Superheroes always arrive in the nick of time. At just the right moment, they appear and shoot a weapon out of a villain’s hand just as he is about to use it, or just in time to make it ironic when someone says, "No one can stop me" or "I'm invincible!" They also wield immense power and are capable of humanly impossible feats of agility and strength. Suppose, however, that it was possible to become a superhero who couldn't actually do anything at all?

The old ex-middle school, although derelict, was not condemned, and it was infrequently used for community events by permission of its owner who was using the gym to house his lawn mower sales business. The bottom floor had been entirely gutted years ago, so it was all one expansive room. The windows still remained, however, and they could keep out rain and snow.

One weekend in the spring, the building hosted a large rummage sale to benefit the opening of a youth center, which the town had never had before. It was close to Cleveland, however, and there was no reason to act like it. What they needed the most help with was organizing the garbage bags full of wanton items that people dropped off outside. More and more stuff arrived closer to the date of the sale. It took hours, but by ten o'clock the task was almost finished. The sale was to open at 8am the next day. Rita, one of only two volunteers working that late, came to other at the hour and asked a for favor.

"I'd hate to ask you this Dr. Christopher, but I have to get up early and go to work, so would you mind if I left in about forty-five minutes?"

"What time you have to be there?"

"6 a.m."

"Six? Well, you can just go right now. I can handle the rest of this, and I don't have to work tomorrow."

"That's not really necessary..."

"I insist." He smiled. "I don't need to be home right away. My wife and kids are at the basketball game tonight, so they won't be back for a while-- they're both in the high school pep band, believe it or not. I suspect that the other guys who said they'd be here are in the same place."

She laughed. "They probably are. Thanks so much!" She took a key ring out of her pocket and put it on the cashier's desk. "You can use these to lock up. Thanks again, and good night!"

"No problem." There were only about ten big bags and boxes left. It didn't take long to divide their contents. He felt that youth programs were good for both individuals and communities health, so he had said that he would help them in any way he could, even if that meant missing the game and spending a Friday night rifling through trash and treasures. He didn't mind, however. Life was too good to be annoyed about anything.

Howard Christopher was forty-six and fairly successful in his field, having been the vice president of the Ohio Psychological Association for three years. Although he lived in a town 30 minutes away, his practice was in suburban Cleveland, and he most often saw middle class families. Even though he liked his work, he would often reach the end of a day feeling that he had not done all that he was capable of. His talents were being greatly underused, although he could not articulate how, not even to himself. Work like this on the weekends helped to alleviate that.

He was just about to get the keys to lock the doors and leave when he spotted another bag in the corner of the room. Apparently they had missed it. He went over to it, and opened it. In-between some very old fuzzy London Fog coats and Christmas sweaters he spotted a dark brown rabbit suit in a clear plastic garment bag. He removed it from the bag and looked at it more closely. It was looked different from everything else they had, firstly being a costume and secondly being in such remarkably good condition. The entire suit was made to resemble a toy rabbit rather than a garish cartoon one, a choice Howard thought was quite elegant. Even the tail was a fat spade of stuffed fabric instead of a round pom-pom. It was made of soft dark fudge brown polyester fibers of medium length, not at all shaggy but not quite too short. It had a subtle healthy sheen to it, the kind of fur that one might find on the inside of a heavy coat or on a faux fur hat. The insides of the rabbit's very long ears were satin of the same color. Thick black thread made up its nose and placid mouth, which smiled only slightly, and its adjacent whiskers, which only drooped slightly, were of long thin plastic thread. It had had shiny black beady eyes, like those one would normally see on a toy rabbit. They didn't seem dead like the eyes of a shark, but observant and indifferent like those of the live brown rabbits that lived in people's backyards.

It seemed as if it was big enough for him to wear, and there was a large opening in the back. Howard laughed to himself as a silly idea came to mind. Why not try it on? It wasn't very often that he encountered costumes that could handle his six-foot, one-inch, 182-pound size. No one was looking, and even if anyone was, there was nothing wrong in it. It would just be embarrassing, that was all. He pressed his toes to his heels and popped his shoes off.

The head was attached to the body, but only part of it. He put it on first, and then the arms, and lastly his legs and feet. It reminded him of wearing footie pajamas as a child. Somehow could see out of the mask, but he couldn't tell where the holes were. He figured that they were behind the eyes or in the nose. He could hear his beard hair scratching on the inside of it. The hands were like mitts, with thumbs and a large section for his fingers. They were loose enough that he could hold the zipper in the back, and surprisingly he was able to pull it up with ease.

Pleasantly, the suit fit with a little room to spare. As he stood before the mirror, he began to laugh. It was odd seeing himself looking so uncharacteristically cute. "I like it!" He said aloud. He tried taking on various poses, turning to either side, bending, and crossing his arms. He laughed again. He felt comfortable in it, even if it was silly to think so.

After he'd had enough, he reached behind his neck to unzip it, but spent a couple minutes fumbling for the zip. He couldn't seem to find it anywhere with his fingers covered in fur. He tried to find the zipper further down his back so that he could follow it up to the top, but he couldn't find that either. As odd as it was, he didn't think anything of it right away. It wasn't like he couldn't ever get out; that would be ridiculous. Surely the zipper had become lost in the faux fur fibers, like on couch cushion covers or sweater jackets. He decided to go upstairs to the office supply room, where he could find better light and a paper clip to search for the zipper with. He didn't want to have to ruin the thing with scissors or anything else permanent. Before he went upstairs, he removed the other clothes from the last bag and put them in their proper places.

The second floor still looked like a classic grade school, lockers and all. Upon reaching the supply room, he flipped the light switch and observed the many boxes piled on various old desks and shelves, wondering which he needed. As he did, he reached up and tried to slip his head out of the mask. It would not be moved, although Howard didn't remember all of it being attached to the neck of the costume, only the front part of it. He tried pulling at the fabric on his back, and found that this time he could barely get enough fabric to grab, and his fingers were getting difficult to move in their mitts. The suit had definitely become tighter. He had never heard of clothes getting smaller when worn. Perhaps he was swelling up? It was the only explanation that made any sense at all. He must have gotten sick on something and he was having a reaction. It wasn't making him feel ill, so he just hadn't noticed. Either way, he knew that it could be serious, and he'd have to go find help in the nonsensical and certainly embarrassing state that he was in.

There was a working phone in another room, and he started down the dim hallway to get there. As he went, the suit began to feel heavier and heavier. Soon, he was straining just to lift each leg, until he couldn't move forwards at all. "Ugh... no... c'mon!" he breathed. Not only did he not move, he started to lose his balance, and flailing his arms could not stop him from falling backwards onto his bottom, which was surprisingly painless.

He strained to get up again, stretching himself forwards as much as he could, but it was impossible; neither his arms nor his legs could bend any more, the joints seemingly locked. He noticed that all of his limbs had become shorter as well, and his thighs seemed thicker. He became very frightened. This was a serious attack! Had he been bitten by something? Had there been a black widow spider hiding in the suit? Yet this wasn't anything like poisoning. He touched his legs, and they felt soft and light, in a way that he could only compare to the firm but plushy flesh of a teddy bear.

Having no time to analyze what he saw before him, he could only conclude that, impossibly, the suit was consuming his body, and it had actually managed to render him helpless. His whole body tingled with fear. He felt as if there was some unseen presence dragging him inwards. It wasn't like a ghost and it wasn't like a person; it felt like a "force," or a bodiless some-thing with a vague consciousness. He desperately tried to reason with it, even if he didn't know what it was.

"Please let me go!" he pleaded. "I have a family." The thing didn't seem to respond at all, and he could clearly see the lockers around him rising; he was slowly becoming smaller. He cried out, "Don't do this!" Again, there was no response. His fingers became immobile, and he watched his thumbs as they shortened until they couldn't be seen, leaving behind soft nondescript flipper-like paws. Just like one would see on a toy rabbit. He could barely move his arms at all.

"Why? What did I do?" His voice cracked as he began to realize that it was hopeless. Whatever it was that was gripping him, it seemed determined to have him. Not an opposed determination like being attacked and mugged, but the kind that is like a large boulder falling down a steep slope: What was happening was simply happening, and there wasn't anything that was going stop it.

"Let go of me, please..." He felt as though he would cry, but no tears accompanied, and he noticed that he couldn't blink either. His eyes were clear of the mask holes and locked staring straight ahead up the hallway, which now felt like it was miles in length. His face was no longer behind the mask, but was becoming it. He hung his head in despair, but a moment later his head drew itself back up again and locked into place; he could not turn it at all.

"I don't want to be a toy..." His voice seemed so small, as if it was shrinking away from him. All he could manage was a diminishing wheeze of breath. "Pleasss... not thissss... " It suddenly felt as if his mouth was stopped up. He simply could not speak. He made one last muffled sound before his voice vanished completely. He felt a wave of fear through his stuffed body at his reluctant silence and the isolation that it meant. He didn't even feel the need to take a breath. Without that, what was he? He could no longer fight at all, as every muscle in his body melted away into immobile fluff and fur. His feet were very large in proportion to the rest of his body, as were his comically large ears, which hung down onto his legs. He couldn't be sure, but he felt as if he had a plastic skeleton inside also.

Eventually it seemed as though he'd stopped shrinking. He was parallel with the bottom part of the lockers that lined the hallway, which meant that he was about a fourth of his original height. He thought to himself that although he was now very short for a man, for being a stuffed rabbit, he was rather large.

It was true. He was indeed a stuffed bunny rabbit. As he realized that this was his new reality, he instantly lost any hope of becoming a man again. Something about his situation made it impossible to envision being released. He could barely tell where he'd come in.

His fear quickly dissolved into sadness. It crept into him like rising damp, and it filled his chest with weight and his stomach with butterflies. It was pure, the kind of stark and unadulterated sadness that comes with bereavement or losing a job. He had virtually no thoughts in his mind, not about work or family, no thoughts of self-pity. He was just deeply, deeply sad. It felt as if it was the first time in a long time that he had really been sad about anything.

He stared down the hallway for hours, almost unable to think. In the night, he felt strange as his sadness dissipated. He did not hunger, and even though it was late, he did not feel tired but also did not feel wired. There was no anxiousness as he waited in the hallway, nor did he imagine any desires involving his non-existent bowels. His body was empty of all flesh; he was no longer living; yet he knew he was alive. It was like a different kind of life.

Eventually it began to get lighter, and he heard more and more cars on the road outside as day was beginning. It was the familiar din of daily life-- something he knew he was no longer able to partake in. He could, however, observe. Although he was literally cloth-eared he could hear perfectly well and could see clearly without focusing his eyes. He had some sense of touch and could feel the tile floor beneath him, and he could smell the dull mustiness of the old school.

"I hope someone nice finds me."

Not long after, he heard a car stop and park by the school, obviously to prepare for opening the sale. Someone opened a door on the bottom floor, and remained down there. Other cars soon arrived, and eventually someone walked in from behind him, picked him up, and promptly carrier him downstairs, a sensation that he sort of enjoyed. He was tossed onto a box overflowing with the other toys to be sold. There was a “ksssht” noise when he landed, which meant that he had a beanbag rump. He felt a little proud of it; a low-quality stuffed rabbit wouldn't have one. As his transporter walked away, he recognized her from one of the church congregations, but knew it didn't matter. He vaguely desired to be picked up again.

Shoppers began to arrive in increasing numbers. He saw many people he knew, and was saddened by but accepting of the fact that he could only watch them go by. He was handled by many of them, but no one bought him right away. He figured that this was because he didn't have a price tag, which was a crucial part of making decisions for the thrifty, and no one who came there wasn't. He became slightly annoyed and wished that he were tagged. He knew how strange it was to actually want to be sold for money as if he was just an object, but the truth was that he was just an object.

He sighed in his head. A moment later, a pale boy of about nine or ten with red hair and stained clothes who had been looking over the toy boxes approached him and picked him up. He studied him for a few moments, and then walked over to a thin unkempt man in a flannel shirt. "Dad, I want to get this," he said, showing him the rabbit.

"Why do you want that? It looks gay," the father blithely scolded. Howard was actually offended. He was a very good-looking stuffed rabbit! That was also an awful thing to say to a young son.

"No he doesn't," the boy protested. "I'm buying him myself."

"That piece of crap had better not be expensive." Howard burned with annoyance.

"He doesn't have a price."

"Well go find out, Arnold. And hurry up.”

As the boy walked towards the cashier, Howard finally remembered that they were the Gills. He vaguely knew of the Gill family; they were lower-class but also had a house close to the main road in town and frequently aggravated and embarrassed other residents with their unkempt home, which resembled a garbage dump. He recoiled inside as he envisioned himself being drug through a filthy home by his ears, getting dirty, picking up fleas, being chewed on by their dogs. It occurred to him how strange it was that even his fears had become those of a stuffed toy.

Yet, if he did get bought that would still mean having a home, and he liked that idea better than being for sale any longer. The boy placed him on the table and asked, "How much is this? There's no price on him." An elderly woman, who was appropriately an elder from a nearby church, looked closely at him. "Hmm... he is very nice looking... clean and well-made..." Howard felt happy to hear Mr.Gill's opinion invalidated. "I think seventy-five cents would be fair. Is that all right?"

"Sure!" Arnold smiled and reached into his pocket, removing a crumpled dollar bill, which he then flattened out on the table. The woman gave him a quarter. "Thank you."

"And thank you."

The boy held him in his arms as he waited for his father to finish looking at all the old tools and country music records. Howard found that he liked being held, as would be natural for a fake rabbit. When Mr. Gill was done, he said to the boy and several other Gill larvae that it was time to go. They were just about to leave, when two uniformed police approached them.

"Hey there, son, can we have a look at that there rabbit you got?" one of them said. "Dr. Christopher, one of the people who helps here, has unfortunately been missing since last night and this was the last place he was seen. Someone said that that rabbit was found upstairs this morning, and we're just wondering if it has any relevance."

Howard felt sick as he envisioned what was likely going on at his home. Sarah probably didn't sleep at all last night, and she, Belle, and Bill were probably praying for news that would never come. It was painfully ironic that the police were so close; they had no idea how luckless their pursuit was. In some way, it did at least feel good to know that he was being looked for so thoroughly.

"Fine. Go ahead and take it, heh heh!" Mr. Gill said with a little smirk directed at his son.

Arnold looked worried and held his rabbit tighter.

The first cop smiled. "Aw, We're not here to take him, kid, we just need to have a look at him. Any little bit evidence would be helpful." He looked closely at the rabbit. "Can I see him?" Arnold handed him over, and the cop turned him over in his hands.

He handed him to the second cop, who squeezed his limbs and body tightly with strong, thick Finnish fingers. It didn't necessarily hurt, but Howard didn't like it. "I don't think there's anything hidden inside. It probably didn't have anything to do with the incident." He returned him to Arnold's embrace, and Howard was somewhat relieved.

The other policeman shook Arnold's hand. "Well, if any of you remember anything concerning the disappearance of Howard Christopher, please let us know."

As if to remind himself of his identity, even though he knew he couldn't be heard, Howard yelled wearily from inside, "But I am Howard Christopher!"

"He is Howard Christopher!" Arnold instantly said aloud.

If Howard's eyes could widen, they would have. An astonished silence followed.

"What's that, boy?" Mr. Gill asked with a tinge of anger.

He seemed embarrassed. "Well... the rabbit just said that he's Dr. Christopher... right?"

Howard thought quickly. "Arnold, just say that you wished it was me. You didn't hear me talk, okay?" Arnold looked right at him.

"Uhm, well, I guess I just wished that he'd said that. I didn't hear him talk. I'm sorry sir."

"I thought so," Mr. Gill gave him a disdainful look.

"Heh, our work would really be cut out for us if it was him," the second cop said with a smile. Howard didn’t know whether he wanted to laugh or cry. He chose to stay silent, and remained so for the rest of the day.

The Gill house was just as Howard had imagined it, except worse. Junk was strewn everywhere, in boxes and in laundry baskets in every room in the house. There were large patches of missing plaster on the wall, revealing the wooden ribs of the house behind it. Furniture was ripped from abuse from the dogs and cats that seemed to wander about like cattle. Arnold took him to his room put him on his bed when he got home. The boy actually did have his own room, but it was cold and the window by his bed was broken and covered over with plastic wrap and duct tape. The handiwork of Mr. Gill, no doubt. The boy's bed was a sleeping bag atop an ancient stained mattress without any sheets. The room was no better organized than the rest of the house, and there were some old TV boxes and some old exercise equipment in there too. It was like his parents had stuffed their son into a storage room.

After looking at his rabbit for a moment, Arnold seemed as if he wanted to say something, but left the room instead. Howard thought about him for a bit as he stared blankly into the room, and later thought about his own family, or about his patients, and sometimes he thought about nothing. For some reason, waiting about didn't seem tedious in any way. He supposed that it was because stuffed animals did it all the time.

Much later in the evening, he heard a screaming fight, evidently between Mr. and Mrs. Gill going on downstairs. He couldn't understand much besides "I work all day so you can get drunk," "I'm sick of this, "This house is a shack," "Because you're so lazy..." It was all quite typical, and the female was just as aggressive as Mr. Gill. Eventually the argument stopped, but new ones were created that absorbed the children.

"You can just forget about being on that team," He heard Mr. Gill sneer loudly. "'Cause I ain't driving you there, and I ain't paying for your stuff. Baseball is gay anyway. You should be playin' football or basketball. Heh, I'd drive you for that."

"But I hate it." Arnold whined.

"Because you're gay."

Howard could hear Arnold sniffing as he walked up the stairs. He came into the room and crawled onto his bed, still weeping. As he watched Arnold cry on bed out of the corner of his eye, Howard's mind was cleared of any kind of uncertain haze. It was the mental equivalent of a ray of moonlight in a forest. He realized in that moment that his being in that room with that boy at that time was anything but an accident. He went right at it.

"Arnold... are you all right?" The boy started and looked at him wide-eyed. "Come closer so I can see you. I want to talk to you."

"You're really talking to me?"

"I think I am..." Howard wasn't sure how it worked, but he was able to speak in a voice that was apart from his own mind. It was like being able to speak as he could before, but exclusively internally.

Arnold came closer to him and spoke quietly. "I knew I heard you! Why didn't you say anything else?"

"I didn't want anyone to think there was something wrong with you. And there isn't something wrong with you."

"So you used to be a person? I saw it on the news that lots of people are looking for you. How’d this happen?"

"I don't know how. But I'd rather talk about you right now."

"Wait a minute, you're the talking rabbit here!"

Howard was taken by surprise and laughed. It was different from a real diaphragm laugh, but he was happy to know that he was capable of it. "I suppose that's true. But really, I just don't want to talk about it right now. Maybe later. It makes me kind of sad, you see."

"Oh. Okay." The asperity of all Howard had lost, in a condensed way, was simple enough for the boy to accept and understand perfectly.

"So... How long have your parents been like this?"

"Since always. It's all right."

"No it isn't. You're hurt."

"He didn't hit me today."

"That's not what I meant. He hurt your feelings, didn't he?"

"Dad says that talk like that is for pussies."

"I think those red cheeks say otherwise."

Arnold was silent for a moment.

"I wouldn't take everything he says too seriously. Your father is a child." He could barely keep his contempt out of his voice.

"Huh?"

"He still immature. He can't reconcile the child in himself. He was probably never allowed to have it for himself, so he's jealous of you simply for being a child. That's why he so unhappy, and that's why he won't let you be happy and why he won't help you become successful. He can also see that you're very bright, and he's jealous of that too. Even if he doesn't realize it, he wants to sabotage you. He was made that way." Mr. Gill was also a homophobe, but he didn't want to get into that.

"Can't you help him?"

Howard was taken aback by his concern, but only briefly. After all, he was the man's son. "That's very thoughtful of you to ask, but I don't think there's anything I can do to help him..." He thought of what it would've been like to treat Arnold's father, and could only picture being ripped to pieces. Funnily, instead of blood and guts he imagined lots of white fluff flying everywhere. "He's not a very receptive person."

"Yeah... I know."

"It's sad, but you're never going to get the reassurance you need from him. So stop seeking his approval. Only give him enough reassurance to satiate his childish temper."

"What's that mean?"

"It means to feed and satisfy."

"Okay. So how do I... get what I need without him?"

"That's the hard part."

Howard spent about two weeks with Arnold and gave him advice on how to better navigate conflicts with his other family members, where to get support outside the family, and how to be more confident in himself. Piece by piece, he handed him that toolbox for coping that he had never been given by anyone else. His parents had encumbered all their children with their own emotional problems, and that was a lot of pressure for a little boy trying to grow up.

One night, as he was sitting facing Arnold in his lap, Howard was again struck by the strange feeling of vague clarity that he had they day they met, like a dim moonlit path was being revealed before him.

"Arnold," he suddenly said. "I have to go."

"What?"

"I think it's time for me to go somewhere else."

"Where?"

"I don't know. But I've already taught you what you need to know. I think you'll be okay."

"How are you going to get there?"

"I don't know that, either. But I just need you to take me somewhere-- a bus stop, a mall, a curb... I don't know where, just as long as it can get me somewhere. I am certain of this."

"Shouldn't I try to take you back to your home?"

Howard felt a stab in his chest. "Thanks for offering to do that, but no, I can't be of any use there. A stuffed rabbit can't be a husband or a father. But there is something that I can do, and I need you to help me do it. I'm asking you to give me up. I know that you paid for me with your own money and I belong to you, but--"

The boy got a slightly painful look on his face. "I don't own you!" He hugged him. "And you're not a stuffed rabbit, you're real!"

Howard was speechless for a moment. He had never been a vocal crier, so without tears he couldn't really cry at all. "Well... seventy-five cents is lot of money for a boy your age."

"I'll help you anyway." He boy thought about it. "Dad's into basketball, so I know he's going to drive to the away game in a few days. I could go too and leave you behind on the their team's bleachers. Someone would find you for sure, and it's indoors."

"That's perfect! See? You're a very bright boy! Your dad's wrong about you. But speaking of him, won't he get cross with you if you lose me?"

"Do you really think he'd notice if I lost something important to me?" He had a precocious tinge of irony in his voice.

"Ah, of course."

Arnold's plan worked out just as he said it would. He chose the most exciting part of the game to wander off to the other side of the court. Before he found a place in the crowd to insert him, he hugged him one last time.

"I'm gonna miss you, Dr. Christopher."

"I'll miss you too. Thanks for doing this."

"Will we ever see each other again?"

"I don't know. Probably not. But I know I'll be all right. You should take care of yourself."

"I will. Thank you... and goodbye." Without saying another word, he walked up into the bleachers, and placed him in a space between two groups of people. Then he walked away. He would've wanted to stay after the game to see what became of him, but his father insisted that they leave right before it was over to "beat the cars."

After almost everyone was gone, a small group of students and parents cleaned up the bleachers. Being a public high school, there was no vast custodial staff. A buxom blond teenager going down a row of bleachers with a trash bag picked up an empty nacho tray sitting next to Howard.

"Well aren't you cute!" she said to him in a bubbly voice.

"I am, too!"

"What?!"

This second patient had some different concerns than his first one. She was having some relationship problems with her separating parents, and as was typical of many young females Howard had treated in his lifetime, she had some body image issues as well. After about a week or so, he felt that he'd told her enough, and he once more felt like he had to be somewhere without knowing where. He was already used to it, and it would happen again and again and again, sometimes for weeks, sometimes for days. He met all kinds of people: all ages, backgrounds, incomes, religions, and races. He would stay with them for days or weeks, depending on what they needed.

With each patient it always seemed like he drifted in at a crucial moment; even if it wasn't a desperate situation, his timing was perfect. Always he could only speak to the people he needed to talk to, which usually meant only one person, but occasionally talked to siblings, couples, and even whole families at the same time. When more than one person could hear him, it made it easier for them to accept it, and it did also have the strange effect of uniting them in wonder and secrecy.

Although he was limited as to whom he could speak to, he was not limited by language. After he met a patient who didn't speak English well, Howard found that with his inner voice he could "speak in tongues," in a way, able understand and be understood perfectly. He was very pleased, as being able to communicate with absolutely anyone was a valuable gift.

In his new traveling house call practice, he found that his appearance seemed to put people at ease. Patients of all ages, even the adults, seemed very uninhibited when talking to him. A vociferous stuffed rabbit, although very out of the ordinary, doesn't look judgmental or tell people's secrets. They felt free to speak about anything, and in a way that he'd never been able to achieve as man. Even if it seemed insane to hear him talk, they felt comfortable talking to him alone. His extreme helplessness also naturally elicited empathy in his patients because he had to be cared for. Generating an emphatic response was a crucial part of helping the patient to understand relationships. Howard reasoned that all of this was the very purpose of his imprisonment. All of these people under normal circumstances would never seek treatment, or as it was for children, be allowed treatment by their families.

Of course, being a toy also meant being treated like a toy, but he didn't mind it at all. He loved being held, and would occasionally ask to be picked up if the patient didn't naturally know to do that. He very often spent nights either in bedrooms or on beds with them, watching over them as they slept. Adults were less likely than children to actually hug him in sleep, but occasionally they would.

Sometimes children who could not hear him or younger patients who didn’t think it was strange that he could talk would play with him. It surprised him how much he loved being played with, even when they took him outside and got him dirty or pulled on his ears or dragged him around. Being inside of a washing machine was something he'd wondered about since he was a child, and it was as fun as he had imagined.

At some point he had an adult patient who was the mother of two children, one of them an infant. When the mother wasn't looking, the elder child placed him in the baby's crib, and as usually is the fate of stuffed animals in cribs, he got thrown up on. The smell was quite foul, and Howard was very frightened; it could soak into him and make him rot. When the mother found him, she cleaned him in the bathroom sink immediately and apologetically. The smell disappeared impossibly fast. It was then that he discovered that his faux fur and stuffing were immune to damage.

Indeed, no matter what kind of scratch he got into or what creatures tried to get into him, he always cleaned up perfectly. It was a little bit troubling to think that he couldn't possibly ever die, but this worry was offset by the fact that he did not want to be burnt to death, ripped apart, mangled, eaten by mice, or anything else so nasty.

Not that he even felt the need to desire suicide-- he was happy, even when he was sad. Some patients, already weirded out by him, did not inquire about his origins and only talked about what matters were at hand, but most of them did ask about his life, and some more than others. He'd always tell them his name, but everything else only if asked. He'd reveal that he was a psychotherapist if anyone wondered why he was supposed to know anything, or that he used to have a family if asked about that ("What would you know about raising kids if you're just a rabbit?"). Very often, of course, it was quite too fascinating to meet a stuffed animal that sounded like a therapist not to ask it lots of questions, like if he could feel, was he ever hungry, where did he come from, and so on. He was always honest and candid; there was no reason not to be, having no real personal life of his own to protect. Very seldom was he ever asked any "adult" questions about his state, but the answer was as short as his thumbs.

Whether or not anyone truly, truly believed that he was real was questionable. One man, Harry Rossi, a short, middle-aged, tattooed, muscular Floridian with a propensity for battering women, chose to think that Howard was a voice in his own head that he was hearing coming from the rabbit-- either that or God, he wasn't sure. Harry would actually tell Howard this, but he would not make any attempt to prove that he ever had been real. He needed build on the conscience that Harry already admitted he had, and he needed him to see for himself not only that what he was doing was wrong but also what he needed to better manage his emotions.

He spent a long time on him, well over a month. It was a very difficult case, but eventually Howard did feel satisfied and soon sensed that he needed to be somewhere else. Harry agreed to take him to the Jacksonville airport, which was not far from where he lived. After parking his Escort in the parking garage, they agreed to use a bench outside the elevator entrance to the airport instead inside so that he would not be seen as a suspicious package.

They were ready to leave, though Harry sat silently for a few moments.

"Something wrong?" Howard asked.

"You know, Howard, this is going to sound weird, but..." He took off his sunglasses and put them on his dashboard. "I'm really quite certain that you ain't just a voice in my head. I think that you're a real guy."

"You flatter me."

"But-- just-- How? I know that I ain't making you up. You're always saying stuff that's too smart for a guy like me to know. But I know that I ain't hearing you! What is this?"

"I have no idea how it's possible. Or why."

"I'm kinda worried about you."

Howard was proud of him for saying something like that. "Don't be worried about me. I'm just a stuffed rabbit."

"But you're such a good one."

"Thanks. What difference does it make anyway?"

"Well, if you're real I can't just give you away-- you don't do that to your friends."

Howard was genuinely touched, but still determined. "That's very kind of you. But all the same I need to leave. I can feel the path opening up."

"Feel a path?"

"Yes, I feel as if there's a path before me, dim, but certainly there, and it always takes me to someone who needs me. I don't know how it works, but I just sense that I need to be somewhere, and then I just end up there somehow. It's how I ended up with you. All of this began in Ohio, so for a stuffed rabbit, I really get around!" He seemed to laugh.

"How long have you been doing this?"

"For..." He thought for a moment. "I think it's been almost nineteen years now. Heh, nineteen! It's amazing to think of it, really, because it hasn't felt as long as that. Time seems to pass differently when you're stuffed. And I feel as though it'll be years more, too."

"When you gonna stop?"

"I have no idea. I just keep moving." He noticed that the daylight was turning orange. "And speaking of that, the sun's setting. You should probably get me out on that bench soon."

Harry sighed. "I'm only going to because you asked me to." He took out a pen and paper from his glove box. "Here, maybe I can make it faster." He spoke as he wrote. "'Take me. Couldn't fit in luggage.'"

"That would help!" Howard's voice smiled.

"Okay. We'll see if it pans out." He reached over and picked up Howard. As he walked over to the bench, he hugged him for a second, and then held him in one hand. Howard was pleased that he would do that in public. "Howard, If I ever see you again, will I still be able to hear you?"

"I don't know. I've never met anyone twice yet. But I hope you will."

"Me too." He placed him on the bench, and put the note in his lap. "Bye, Howard."

"Don't worry. I've done this many times before, Harry. I'm going to be fine."

"I know. But I'm still gonna watch you leave." He started back towards his car. "I hope your path takes you somewhere pretty. Good Luck."

"Same to you."

Harry waited for about twenty minutes watching people either ignore or just glance at Dr. Christopher before a seemingly African-American family of five came rushing to the door with their baggage rolling behind them. A boy in the family grabbed him and the note. He read it and gave it to his father, all while moving. The father quickly read it and seemed to say, "Yes, yes, you can-- but come on," being too busy to try to say no. They soon hurried inside.

France turned out to be quite pretty.

It had never occurred to Howard that he would ever leave the continent as a stuffed rabbit. He had spent some time spent in Ontario helping an elderly man with unreconciled grief concerning the loss of his mother, but apart from that, he hadn't left the United States. In Europe, he did very much the same things that he did in America, and there was even more for him to learn than before. He could apply his knowledge to new situations in a way that he'd never thought possible. As the years went by, he found himself in Africa, the Middle East, China, Japan-- virtually all over the world.

Since all roads lead to the modern equivalent of Rome, after many years be found himself in America again. He was passed about for a few more years and eventually a patient in Detroit gave him to a thrift store, a setting that he had used many times before to find his next patient. Not every transition happened instantly, and he waited there for over a week. He was fairly confident that the time was going to arrive someday, and was content to just stare ahead and watch people go by. After all, it's what stuffed animals were best at.

After some days, a young Latino woman with a loud green purse glanced at him, and then stepped closer and looked him over. He thought that she might buy him. She kept looking after a few moments, though, and he felt something like a shiver in his back. She was staring directly into his eyes.

She leaned closer and whispered, "Dr. Christopher? Is that you?"

It didn’t take long to remmeber. "...Rosa?"

"Oh my gaaaaawd!" She grinned widely and grabbed him into a hug. "I can hardly believe it!"

"Neither can I! I'm so glad that you remember me. If I had tear ducts, I'd be crying!" She appeared to be in her early thirties, but was as boisterous as any teen. Howard had last seen her when she was ten, which meant that he had to be in her late thirties, he figured. It was the very first time, in forty-one years of being stuffed, that he had ever been reunited with anyone.

"How could I forget someone like you? I never stopped believing that you were real. I knew it!"

"Um, yes, but-- maybe you should buy me so we can talk in a more private place?" The other store patrons were ignoring them, but no doubt they could hear Rosa.

"Uh, yeah, I forgot," she laughed. She walked two shelves down and touched a boy of about seven on the shoulder. "You can pick something out if you want it, but we'll be leaving soon, okay?"

"Mama, why’re you talking to that rabbit?" the boy asked with a puzzled look.

"Well, Julio, I used to have this same rabbit when I was a girl. It's been a long time since I've seen him."

"This same one?"

"This exact same one. I know that it's him. Come on, let's go buy him."

She handed him to her son, who looked at him closely.

"I'm just a toy to him," Howard observed. "But that's just fine. I like being played with. And it means that there isn't anything wrong with him."

She smiled. "That's a relief."

"What mama?"

"It's just between me and the rabbit, honey."

"Oh."

Despite her habit for thrift shopping, Rosa's home was a small McMansion in a fairly new development area, which she could afford thanks to being married to a Deloitte & Touche executive, Gary Fairbanks, which made her Rosa Melendez-Fairbanks. After her husband and son were asleep, she took him into her car and they talked about each other's lives since they last met. She was impressed that he'd gone so far, and he too was delighted to find that she had become a family therapist herself. She had begun her career working with children, but later moved on to family therapy.

"You know, I've met a few psychiatric practitioners in need throughout my travels, and they always seem more frightened at my situation than other people. After investigating why they felt that way, I often found that it wasn't because I was turned into a stuffed animal against my will, but because I have to spend so much time with my patients!" He laughed loudly, and so did she.

"A lot of people seem to have that attitude. I've never really understood that."

"Yes, that seemed to be part of their problem!" He laughed again.

"I decide to become a therapist to help people, because you helped me. Back in college, I remember that in our first year seminar for the major, the teacher had us get up and talk about why the wanted to go into the profession. I told the truth, and gave a little speech about how when I was a little girl and my family was having problems, I found a brown talking toy rabbit that happened to be a psychotherapist rabbit and helped me understand the things that were bothering me. I told everyone that I must've imagined a therapist to talk to because I needed one, and that when I got older I wanted to become a therapist myself because I supposed that I had a natural talent for it. But I personally, of course, never stopped believing that you were real. After class one of the other students came up to me and asked what the rabbit's name was. I said 'Dr. Christopher,' and he said 'Dr. Howard Christopher?' It turned out that he had met you too."

"No kidding! Who was he?"

"Roger Brand."

"Yes, I know him! I think I helped him become a bit more assertive and not so depressed about his illness and its progress. I remember him very well, because by then his left arm was totally paralyzed, and we could identify with each other because I couldn't even move at all."

"Yes, he told me that knowing you made him feel that he could do a lot even though he was sick. So he became a great student at school, and went to college to train as a therapist."

"That's great! So, what's become of him ultimately?"

"He was a therapy counselor for about 8 years at a Veteran's Hospital in Texas before he died. It helped injured veterans a lot to talk to someone who knew something about what it was like."

"What did he die of? Pneumonia?"

"Yes-- how'd you know that?"

"It's just really common for conditions like that."

"Of course." A short silence passed. "Do you have any idea where your next patient might be this time?”

"I thought it might be you, but there doesn't seem to be anything wrong."

"Maybe I can just talk to you because I've met you before."

"I think that's very possible. Still, I must be here for some kind of reason."

"I might have an idea...” she said with a smile." How about we go to Cleveland and visit that town you used to live in? You know, just to look around? That's not really too far from here."

"Well..." He thought about it. "I can't remember when I've been without direction for this long... I suppose the best thing to do is to sort of keep wandering around until I can think of something. So, yes, you can go if you want to, but it's not really necessary. You don't have to put yourself out for me."

"No, I'd love to. After all, it would be an excuse for me to be with you a little longer before you have to go away again."

It was a Thursday night, so she decided to leave with him after work the next day. The only excuse she gave her husband and son was that she was going to go shopping for the whole weekend both downtown and around Cleveland and that she did not intend take either one of them. Gary, like any red-blooded male, didn't see much reason to argue with that plan.

It was late March and there was still plenty of snow, but the cold wasn't bitter and it seemed unseasonably warm but still rainy and dreary. It was just as Howard remembered it. The drive down was pleasant, and they talked the whole time about things that had happened to them. Rosa was fascinated with Howard's tales of actionless adventure aboard, and she marveled at all that he'd been able to do "professionally" that she had not.

It was evening by the time they reached their destination. The town was quite different. Some places that had not been developed before, including the lot where the old school used to be, had houses, shops, and gas stations, and there was even a Wal-Mart in town. "It's become almost suburban," he marveled.

"Do you think that we'll be able to find your house?"

Howard paused as he thought about the prospect of seeing it again. Even though they had come all that way, it wasn't something he was prepared for. "Well, yes, if it's still there."

As it turned out, his house was still standing, and it had newer light brown vinyl siding and new windows, an expanded front porch with new wood, as well as a garage addition where there had only been a carport before. Lights were on inside, so Rosa parked on the side of the street.

"Howard... do you think you want try and knock on the door?"

He thought for a moment. "I suppose I can. I doubt that anyone I know is in there,

"All right. I'll take you there." She picked up and went to knock on the door.

When she did, a porch light came on and a thin old woman with short gray hair opened the door. She looked different, but still Howard felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but I was wondering if--"

"Is that Howard?" The woman interrupted.

Rosa was shocked for a moment and just blinked before saying, "Y-yes... he is."

"Can you hear me, Sarah?" Howard cautiously asked. He didn't want to have to find out that his own wife was deaf to him.

"I can." Rosa handed him to Sarah, who seemed a little dazed. Being held by her, Howard felt a kind of warmth inside of himself that was different from being held by anyone before. "Please come in, both of you. I think we've got a lot to talk about."

Did they ever. Rosa briefly explained who she was and how she met Howard, and after that he and Sarah did much of the talking. The house had been completely redecorated and remodeled, but some furniture and other items remained. Rosa spotted a very old photo of Sarah with a tall, lanky, bearded man. "Is that Howard?" She asked.

"That was me!" He laughed. "In some ways, I think my appearance surprised me even then."

Sarah led them to her bedroom. "Before we say much else, there's something I need to show you first."

She put Howard on the pillow of her bed, and went to a small chest of drawers in the corner of the room, one that he could remember. She proceeded to remove its drawers and lay them on the bed. Each one was filled with diverse letters. "All of these are about you, Howard," she said as she took them out. "People remembered your name, figured out what your old address was, and just wrote. Not one of them doesn't say 'thank you' in some way. The once in Chinese and such I have no idea, but I think they do."

"All these people..." He was so touched that his mind seemed to stutter, unable to find a suitable word to say. Sarah went on to explain.

"When I first started getting these, for a little while I thought it was some bizarre conspiracy. I informed the police of the letters, and they'd go off and question people, but they could never find any connections, just earnest belief that you were the stuffed rabbit they had spoken to. A few years on, someone remembered that there was some record of a brown rabbit just like the one in the letters being found with a boy called Arnold Gill the day after you disappeared, but the police didn't know what to think of it.

"I went to see him personally, and he said he'd given it away. When I asked him why he did, he just said 'because he told me to.' Something about that made me start to cry, and then he took my hand and told me everything he knew. Then I was sure that it was true."

"You believed him?"

"He was a good boy. At that time he was in high school and at the top of his class and well-known to help out around town too." She smiled. "He still is a good boy, and is our state representative."

He almost laughed. "I'm so happy to hear that! No wonder the town looks so good. I knew he'd do well." He remembered something. "Oh, How are Annabelle and William?"

"They live in California and Virginia. Bill is park ranger, and Belle is a lawyer, and they both have families. They know about your... condition, but they know that they can't do anything about it. The letters told us a lot about you."

Howard could see some of the phrases on the pages before him.

"...he loves you, but he knows he can never return..."
"...I needed him so much..."
"...yo quiero hablar 'gracias' pero yo no se donde esta Howard..."
"...I know something's guiding him..."
"...wasn't his fault..."

A few of them even included photographs. That must've been how she knew what he looked like.

She went on to say that a few people actually came long distances to see her, and they'd always start with something like "You might not believe me, but..." and she’d know exactly what they were going to say.

"All of this helped me come to understand why you were gone. The whole time I ever knew you I always thought that you were the very best at what you did, even before you were degreed. I think that was why you were chosen."

She talked more about what had happened to her since he left. After about ten years, she was finally able to date again, and eventually married Lance Chainsman, a schoolteacher. Lance found the letters intriguing, although he was annoyed by her refusal to change her name so that people could find her address. They had no children and were together for twenty-seven years before he died of a heart attack.

"So I lost a second husband. Yet the letters about you kept coming. It always made me feel better to read one. Isn't it remarkable how much life you can cram into a lifetime?"

"You turned eighty-three just a few weeks ago."

"You still remember my birthday?"

"How could I forget?"

"Well, you're eighty-seven now."

"It hardly seems possible,” he laughed. “But what does?"

Howard told her about the things that had happened to him, and she said more about their kids and her life.

As midnight approached, however, Howard got the familiar feeling of knowing he needed to be somewhere, the dim pathway lit before him again. It was slightly relieving to have direction again, but he felt very disappointed and unwilling, like getting a boot stuck in persistent mud.

"I'm sorry, Sarah, but I've got a feeling like I've got to leave..."

She didn't seem surprised at all, and didn't wait for him to explain. "I understand. Most, if not all, of the letters talk about that. It means you need to move on."

"I'm sorry if it makes you sad."

"Of course it does. Everyone is sad to see you go."

"I know." Rosa added.

Sarah gave him a hug. "I'm proud of you," she said. "We’ve always been very proud of you."

Howard wanted to say that he loved her, but hesitated. "I never stopped missing you, Sarah."

"I know you didn't."

After Rosa and Howard said farewell, they returned to her car. After they got in, Howard wondered aloud, “How was I able to talk to her? She didn’t look like she was having any problems. Did you notice anything?”

Rosa smiled. “I think that it might’ve been you who needed help.”

He hadn’t even thought of it. “Ah… I see… I guess I was!”

"Is there anywhere you'd like to go before you leave?"

"Let's go to the lakefront. I want to see if that's changed."

It had. There hadn't been anything there before but a steep drop-off to lake Erie, but now there was a concrete outlook with parking spaces and covered picnic areas and benches. They were close to the edge of the lake, and the seats were dry. She parked the car and turned it off. "Why don't we get out and look at it?"

"Yes, that would be nice. Maybe here would be a good place to leave me? This lot is mostly clear of snow, so people must come here often, probably to fish."

"I don't know. The wind is pretty cold."

"It's never bothered me before."

The lake roared with waves rolled up by the wind. There was a gibbous moon in the sky, and whitecaps could be seen in its light, though the water was very dark, its surface shiny but glitterless. Rosa sat him on a bench near the edge of the pier and stood up next to him as they watched the waves crash into it for a few minutes. They weren't big enough to splash over, but they were tall enough to feel when they expired.

"Isn't it terrifyingly beautiful?" Howard said. "I haven't seen the late-winter lake at night since I was a child."

" I've never seen it when it wasn't summer. It is beautiful."

"You know, it's funny to think that when I was changed, you hadn't even been born yet! I've been a rabbit for your entire life."

"No, I never thought about that until now. That's a long time."

"I suppose it is. And it does feel like it is..." He couldn't believe he was saying it. "I actually feel tired. Like I want to go to sleep. I haven't felt like that once since I started. And quite actually..." He could barely say it. "I don't feel like moving on. I don't want to go this time. But I feel so compelled."

Rosa picked him up and looked at him. "Of course you're tired. Forty-one years is a long time, and you didn’t even get a chance to see your kids again. That’s so cruel. I wish I could do something more to you help you."

"You've done plenty, and I--" He suddenly had a frightful revelation, but not like one of his usual road-to-Damascus moments. This came through his own deduction instead, and he became very apprehensive. "Rosa... you'd better not talk like that."

"Talk like what?"

"I think you should get away from me as soon as you can."

"Why?"

"I have this idea that... this thing is going to do something to you. It seems clear to me."

"What? That wouldn't make sense. I'm not good enough to replace you."

"Yes you are."

"Besides, isn't it about time you were freed?"

Howard felt very sad, although he couldn't tell why. "Rosa... you didn't mean that, did you?"

"Well I think I--" She tried to flex her fingers, and was shocked to notice they were stuck to him. She tried to pull them off, but it felt stronger than tar. "I... I don't know if I meant it or not!" The fur on Howard's bunny body seemed to spread up quickly, enclosing her fingers and soon reaching her wrists. "I suppose I must have!" Her eyes became wet with tears. "Oh, no... It’s happening so fast!" she sobbed.

"Rosa, I don't know what to do! I wish I could stop it!" For the first time in a long time, he really wanted to be able to close his eyes. The fur was growing thicker and faster, right over her clothes. At the same time, it seemed to him that she was getting smaller, and it seemed to her that he was getting larger. Rose looked as his arms, and noticed that they looked smooth and light, like human skin, and they ended in what looked like hands, with lengthening fingers. "Howard, look-- you're changing too!"

He didn't know how he should feel about it. "Oh good lord."

When the fur reached her shoulders, it spread both downwards and upwards, fast covering her chest and even spreading around to her back. It crawled up her neck. "No! wait!" Her plea was ignored, and the line of faux fur advanced right over her mouth. "Mmmph! Mmpphhh!" She moaned frantically from behind the fabric. It covered her eyes just as quickly, and she couldn't see.

"Try and stay calm, Rosa."

The fur covered over the rest of her shapely body, her hips, her head, her legs, and feet, clothes and all. Howard was then fully aware of being quite cold, but he didn't want to think about it. Rosa was shrinking very quickly, and her shape and features were becoming more rabbit-like. Her nose and mouth appeared in thick black thread and pushed out into a little snout, whiskers sprouted from her cheeks, and she grew beady eyes with three little eyelashes stitched in thick thread above them. Her rabbit ears grew longer and longer, but with little black bows at the ends to indicate that she was indeed a lady rabbit. Her limbs were becoming short and stubby, and the hourglass figure she'd worked so hard to maintain filled out and disappeared as she shrank.

Soon, Howard was standing up holding a stuffed rabbit in his hands. He was speechless.

"Howard..." Rosa began. "You're... a kid."

"I'm a what?" His own voice was very high and small, just like a child's. He looked down at himself and saw that he was wearing the same clothes he had been wearing the day he was transformed, but they were very, very ill fitting.

"You look about five."

Howard choked on his confusion. "Well I... I think that... I was forty-six when I was taken, and about forty-one years passed, so 5 is about the difference."

"You got back every year you lost."

"It would seem so. I'm going to be able to live a new life from the start." He hugged Rosa closer. "But that's not what's important right now. How do you feel?"

"I'm... sad." She felt abysmally sad, but more like floating in a deep well than falling in a bottomless pit. "Oh, this is awful," she lamented. "And yet it's not awful. I don't know what to think." The reality of her paralysis was becoming apparent. "My son. I can't be a mother to my little boy. I can't go home..." She was silent for a few moments.

"It's always going to hurt, Rosa."

"How did you get through it?"

"I always thought of it as ‘sublime,’ the kind of feeling that' between pleasure and pain. You don't get over this kind of loss, but that's because you don't get over loving someone. If you did, you'd forget what was so good about knowing them." He sighed. "But you know all about that, don't you?"

"I've done counseling, yes. But it's so different when it's your grief."

"I know." His face looked blank for a moment just before he buried his face in her soft pillow-like chest and wept for the first time in decades.

Rosa didn't say anything. She felt his sobs inside of her, and it seemed as if they were her own.

After a few minutes, Howard spotted a police call box on a post under one of the picnic pavilions. "Rosa, I've thought of something I can do to help your family."

He called the police and reported witnessing an accident. Someone had fallen into the lake.

"...one of the waves was really big, and she lost her balance and fell in. I tried to pull her out, but I'm too small and I was scared," he explained to the cops when they arrived. He cried convincing tears at the thought of how he really hadn't been able to do anything to help her. When they asked why he was there, he said that was under one of the tables, and that he didn't have a home and couldn't remember having one.

His description matched the ID they found in the parked car. It seemed that there wasn't much investigating to do. Howard was soon taken into child protective custody, as he expected he would be. He and Rosa could hear the police talking to each other on the way there.

"There are a lot of kids in there from these huge meth busts we've been making. I wonder if this kid has anything to do with that?"

"Who knows? We can’t know for sure until he's evaluated, but that won't be for a while."

After seeing some friendly social workers and being given a better-fitting shirt to sleep in, Howard was finally lying in a bed with Rosa in his arms. He was surprised how comforting it felt to hold her.

"This feels good," she told him. "I can see why you liked it.

"Doesn't it, though?"

He was just about to fall asleep when they both heard something. One of the other children in the shelter was crying in a different room. It sounded like someone older than he was.

"Howard?"

"Yes?" He whispered.

"I want you to put me in that room."

He understood the determination that slightly colored her voice. "I see." He took her to the doorway. "If I don't see you again, goodbye, and good luck." He hugged her tightly. "Thank you so, so much. I can't ever repay you."

"Thank you, too. I hope I can do this as well as you could."

"I know you will."

He came into the room and placed her on a bed next to a girl who looked about nine. "You can have this rabbit. She's a very, very good rabbit and her name is Dr. Rosa Melendez-Fairbanks." He then turned around and left. As he fell asleep, he thought that he could hear the girl whispering.

In the morning, the girl and Rosa were gone. When he asked where she went, he was told that she had just been taken to a new foster home. "She was really upset about that, because she missed her parents. But she seemed a little nicer about that today. Before that, she was kicking and screaming."

"Ah, of course, it makes sense..." Howard said with a little smile. The social worker looked a little confused at his reaction.

"You aren't taken to kicking and screaming, are you Howard?"

He laughed. "No, but I think I'd like to try it out sometime."

That afternoon, the police questioned him again, though they had no reason not to believe the little boy's story. At the end of it, he asked a favor of them. "Can I talk to the family of the lady who fell, if they're around?"

The social worker overseeing Howard nodded. "It would be good for him, I think. It must've been traumatic to watch something like that."

"Well, I don't see why you can't. They're waiting at the station. I'll take you there."

When he arrived, he saw he saw Gary sitting with Julio, both looking quite tired and battered. Clearly they could only be waiting for her body to be found by then. "That's them over there," the cop said. They came closer. "Mr. Fairbanks, this is the boy who saw her. He said he wanted to see you."

Howard approached them. "I'm really sorry about what happened."

Gary didn't look up. "Thank you," he said in a heavy voice. "I guess... it's good to know."

"This won't help, but I... I once heard that when someone is truly good, their soul can stay on earth to do things because it's needed here and not up in heaven."

Gary sighed. "I'll remember that."

Actually, he forgot it as soon as Howard l