Just when I thought I'd see of you You e here scrat' at my door Your pain and anger's in the howling dark Of every corridor I walk

  So tell me more about the love that you rejected Tell me more about the trust you disrespected I still don't know, why did you hurt the very one Why did you hurt the very ohat you should have protected?

  -- Marillion, "The Great Escape" (1994)

  Craig -- this time, Craig Benson, lised veterinarian, (or more accurately, a person who held a little minated piece of paper that looked like a veterinarian's lise) -- knocked on the door to the small dog shelter in a suburb of Newcastle.

  He had spent most of the past 24 hours swotting up oerinary medie, which should be enough to fake it. He didn't really care about the dogs, anyway. It was the bitch he was really here to see.

  ***

  "Her name is Francis Barton," said Luna, during the briefing. "Highly dangerous. A minor, though still important, pyer in a human traffig spiracy. She's been ying low for over a decade. That ged st Friday."

  Luna passed over a dossier, taining several photographs. Ret photographs. And Craig instantly reized the pce. Dorley Hall. The kit at Dorley Hall. And he reized Indira and Christine. And he had to admit, Christine looked good. And happy. Happy to be a girl. Happy to be with Indira, her sponsor. So goddamn happy.

  "Not those two," admonished Luna, who caught Craig staring. "At the doorway."

  A short woman, maybe ie fifties or early sixties, short haircut, wrinkles on her face that indicated that she was in the habit of a perpetual sneer.

  "The old woman?"

  "Yes, the old woman. Before the current administrator ran the pce, Dorley Hall was used as a human traffig ring. She was one of the traffickers. A torturer of men. I don't expect you to uand the differeween that and what Dorley does now, but then again, I don't require you to. All you o know is that this woman is an enemy."

  "Okay. Are you sending me on a hit?" asked Craig. "The Hippocratic oath had some very specific things to say about 'doing harm.'"

  "It says 'first do no harm.' So if we were to send you on a hit, you would be pleasantly relieved to know that she did the harm first, so you're in the clear. Not that it matters, we both know you took that oath with your fingers crossed behind your back."

  Craig smirked. It was having to pretend to be a psychopath sometimes. Just sometimes, mind.

  "But no. Intelligehering and threat assessment. Maybe leave a couple surveilnce devices around. If you , gain her fidence. See if there's a reason she was seen skulking around Dorley Hall again."

  "Skulking! That's a good word. People don't use it enough," said Craig. "I like it."

  ***

  "Ding dong, it's the doggy doc," said Craig Benson, knog at the dog sanctuary, all smiles and cheers. Immediately, it was Frankie who opehe door.

  "What happeo the regur vet?" Frankie asked, suspiciously.

  "Died under mysterious circumstances," said Craig, "and in his will he leaves his entire fortuo anyone who spend a fht in his haunted mansion."

  "Cute."

  "Phil's just out with the flu. I'm doing him a solid by taking his rounds today," said Craig. "Just checkups? Nobody's got anything out of the ordinary that we should take a look at?"

  "Just checkups," said the old woman, who headed back behind a desk and picked up a dog eared copy of Ursu K LeGuin's "Lavinia" and resumed reading it.

  So far, so good, thought Craig. She seemed harmless enough. He approached the dog wing and was greeted by a cacophony of barks, howls, yips, and, from one big dog in the back, boofs.

  "Right," he said to himself. "Let's get this over with." He started methodically cheg each of the dogs, going through the memorized checklist. Observe the dog's demeanor, check for obvious signs of distress. Checked for redness, iion, mites, or wax buildup in the ears. Use the stethescope to check for heartbeats and breathing. Look for fleas, ticks, dryness, lumps, or rashes in the skin and coat. Don't flinch because an old woman has a switchbde to your neck... that one wasn't memorized, but Craig decided to add that oo the list when Frankie came up behind him and put a switchbde to his neck.

  "Hello," he said. "That was quick."

  "You're terrible at this," the old woman said.

  "I thought I was doing quite well, actually. How'd you e? Where'd I mess up?"

  "Oh, where to begin. Your hands are too nice, for one," said Frankie. "Vets have scratched up hands. They handle animals all day, after all. Plus, your scrubs are too , you don't smell of animals. Of course that's nothing pared to the big giveaway."

  "Which is?"

  "It's clear you don't give a damn about the dogs. No small talk. No baby talk. Total otional response. Not even for Scratches, who is objectively cute. Only person I know who acts like that around dogs and works with them is me. And I'm a t."

  "You're right," Craig said. "I'm terrible at this."

  "What'd you do with Phil?" asked Frankie.

  "I didn't hahat part," admitted Craig. "But I don't think the people I work for are into colteral damage, so he should be fine."

  "You don't think the people you work for are into colteral damage?"

  "There is a vast, far-reag spiracy, and I am on the absolute ass-end of it," said Craig. "So what happens now?"

  "Depends. Are you here to kill me?" said Frankie.

  "No."

  "Oh?"

  "You sound disappointed," Craig observed.

  "Maybe I am, a little bit. So, why are you here?"

  "The people I work for -- they saw you skulking, ahat's the exact word they used -- skulking around Dorley Hall. They want to know why. Actually, you know, I'm kind of yself, too. Why would anyone ever go back to Dorley Hall? Certainly not for the mugs."

  "The mugs?"

  "Ah. You don't know about the mugs. So you didn't stay long, or see anything that incriminating. This is great!" Craig grinned. "This is a perfect opportunity for both of us."

  "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "You want to know about Dorley Hall, otherwise you wouldn't have been skulking. They want to know why you want to know about Dorley Hall, otherwise I wouldn't have bee spying. But now that you know I'm a spy, and you know that I know that you're a skulk, you ask all the questions you want. And I holy say: 'What was I supposed to do, she had a ko my throat!' And from the questions you ask, I'll probably get more information on what you were doing there anyway from all the spying and surveiln the world!"

  Frankie paused, trying to parse that.

  "You don't seem particurly loyal to Dorley. Or whoever sent you."

  "Hate the fug pce. And my employers are ected. I 't exactly quit though. I'd be dead within a day."

  Frankie rexed, and withdrew the knife. "Fuck, yeah, I know the feeling."

  "Oh, no Frankie, you have to keep the k my throat," said Craig. He grabbed Frankie's arm, gently, and pced the point of the bde under his . "This doesn't work unless I'm under immihreat of death."

  "Are you crazy?"

  "Positively psychopathic," Craig admitted. "So go on. Hit me. What did you want to know?"

  "What happens to the... people that Dorley takes in now?"

  "You mean the boys," said Craig.

  "Yes."

  "The ohey turn into girls," he crified. Frankie nodded. "Don't know for sure. Here's what I was told. After they gh the programme, they're free to live their lives under new identities. As women. There were some rumors that some of the programme graduates took non-binary identities, but I couldn't firm that myself. The third years seemed happy with it. Especially--"

  'Uh oh, Craig. Did you make yourself sad again? Push through it. You're on the clock,' Craig's inner monologue chided.

  "Especially those who were training, in turn, to bee sponsors."

  "They just... let them go?" asked Frankie.

  "Not all of them. The ones who graduate, they do. The ones who wash out, they find uses for them, I think. Like some sort of... side project."

  "Elle's got a side project? In addition to Dorley?"

  "Elle?" asked Craig. "Who, pray tell, is this Elle?"

  "Elle Lambert. Beatrice runs the day-to-day, but Elle's the money behind it all. Fug money," said Frankie.

  "Yeah, fug money," agreed Craig. "So why did you end up going to the hall? I take it you have a history?"

  "My history is none of your fug business!" said Frankie, nig Craig's with the knife.

  "Ow! Watch it. I get it. Sensitive subject." Sensitive or no, Frankie pretty much just firmed that, yes, she had a history with Dorley Hall. And not one she wants to recall or retell.

  "I think we're very simir, you and I," said Craig. "I thih want to burn that pce down to the ground. Sadly, my as are a little more restraihan yours."

  "Yeah, well, I don't," said Frankie. "I... the Dorley Hall I khat deserved to burn down to the ground. And in a way, it was, and the new Dorley Hall, Beatrice's Dorley Hall, got built on the ashes. I don't even know why I looked back, except that I was in the area. Wish I hadn't do. Everyone just seemed so... normal, and happy, and I'm like... fuck, I should go kill myself. But what's the point of that?"

  "If you haven't already, you should read Camus. Very insightful thoughts on that very question," said Craig.

  "Point is, I'm fug doh the pce. I'm done. I went back out of morbid curiosity and I just want to be left aloh my dogs," said Frankie.

  "You told me you didn't really care for them," said Craig.

  "Yeah, but I 't fug work around people, now I? You get what you need, spy boy?"

  "More than enough. I'll tell them what you told me: you want to be left alone, you were just curious, and that it's best to let sleeping dogs -- handlers -- lie," said Craig.

  Frahdrew the knife, and this time Craig let her.

  "O thing, how do you know so much about Dorley Hall?"

  Craig smiled. "I knew a girl there onamed Zadie."

  "Was she nice?" asked Frankie.

  "No. She was the worst," said Craig. "But sometimes I miss her."

  ***

  Luna drummed her fingers against the desk, staring down Craig. Once again, he was "Craig Bishop," medical doctor. Once again, in deadly trouble with a woman who had life-or-death trol over him.

  It was good to be on familiar ground again.

  "You think you're very clever, don't you, Bishop?" glowered Luna.

  "You think I'm very clever," said Craig. "Otherwise you'd probably have me doing something else other than espionage and providing medical care to the people of Wales."

  Luna pyed bae of his versation with Frankie.

  "I think we're very simir, you and I. I thih want to burn that pce down to the ground. Sadly, my as are a little more restraihan yours." That was clearly Craig's voice, recorded.

  "That's a rick. Where'd you put the bug?" asked Craig.

  "Iethoscope," said Luna.

  "Ooh, that's brilliant. No one would ever think to look for a listening devi a listening device."

  Luna was losing her patience.

  "Tell me, in your own words, what the hell happened out there. And choose those words very carefully. Like your life depended on it," said Luna, gingerly holding her mobile phone. o guess which app she had open at the moment.

  Craig was actually more rexed than one would expect, as he khat he'd have to answer for his as, and had a bit of time on the car ride back to think about what to say.

  "My mission was to find out why Francis Bartouro Dorley Hall, and to assess whether or not she was a threat to the people there. Pn A was stealthy observation. That all went to shit in about ten seds when she clocked me. I could just e back, tell you I failed miserably. That didn't seem like the best option. Pn B was to get her to talk. Which I did. I have no idea about the veracity of her statements, but at face value, 'she was curious about the pce she used to work at' and 'she just wants to be left alone' are at least a starting point."

  "Barton now knows what Dorley Hall does. She also knows that there are some who graduate, and some who wash out. She could do a lot of damage with that information."

  "Information that damns her as well. She 't go to the police without exposing her own role in this pre-Beatri of the hall."

  Luna narrowed her eyes.

  "It seems to me, Bishop, that we sent you to assess whether or not Barto any ill will towards the hall, a, you seem more keen on its destru than Barton is."

  "Yeah, but you khat already," said Craig. "Very keen. Very muot able to do anything about it, not with the doki-doki-deathtrap. Why so glum, Luna? It wasn't a smooth success, but the mission was a success. You got what you wanted. And hey, if you still think she's a threat, you kidnap her, drug her, operate on her without her sent, and give her a little tick-tock-clock like mi's not like she's going anywhere."

  "It's more difficult than that. We're not the only ones who have eyes on Barton. And if we make a direct move against her, our enemies may take it as a signal to escate. Until we kly what they're pnning, we don't want aion," said Luna.

  "Yeah, god forbid things get out of hand. People might have their balls cut off!"

  "You are on thin ice, Bishop."

  "That's what makes skating on it so exg," said Craig.

  ***

  "Do you want to die, Craig?" asked Dr. Casey Whitaker in the mandatory post-debrief therapy session. "Like, I don't mean that as a threat, I mean that as a genuine question."

  "Well, gee, Doc," said Craig. "I just have so much to live for. My favorite part of the day is when I'm yanked around on a by people I despise, to do dirty work that puts my life in danger, all because they have deemed me to be sub-human and that anything they do to me be dohout tweaking their sce."

  "Craig. Stop dodging the question."

  "No, I don't want to die. But this isn't a life, Dod if I did die, if that Barton psycho really did slit my throat? I don't think I would have particurly minded."

  "So, you're passively suicidal," said Dr. Whitaker. "Okay. Good to know."

  "You're putting words in my mouth," said Craig.

  "The's hear some of your words. Luna shared the rec with me," she said, then pressed a button on her cellphone and pyed back a s of versation.

  (Barton:) "O thing, how do you know so much about Dorley Hall?"

  (Bishop:) "I knew a girl there onamed Zadie."

  (Barton:) "Was she nice?"

  (Bishop:) "No. She was the worst. But sometimes I miss her."

  "That's telling," said the psychologist. "You miss the person you were at Dorley Hall. Before you blew it all up."

  "Not in the way you're thinking, Doc," said Craig. "Zadie was never real, but I will admit, it was fun pying the role sometimes. And not just the fact that I ulling one over on everyohough that did put a smile on my face."

  "Expin," said Dr. Whitaker.

  "What's the best way to put this? I didn't fall for the trap, but the bait was tasty. I didn't really mind the hormones, or losing my balls or anything like that, the way I think most guys would. Mostly because I think I'm a psycho, you uand and kind of... partmentalize what's happening from what I'm pnning. I had to always keep in mind the fact that every good thing, every wonderful little thing, came with a catch."

  Craig leaned forward. "Why does Dorley work? Because it gives it's victims things that every human being wants. Friends. Someone who genuinely cares about you. Purpose. Opportunities for self actualization and growth. Even opportunities for... for love. They even pay you! Give you shelter, and food. Fug every fug step on Maslow's fug Hierarchy. But there was a catch. You have to buy into the programme. You have to swallow the kooid. Bee... I don't know, 'Dorssimited.'"

  "Dorssimited?"

  "Dorley-dosed. Dorley-drunk. I'm sure someone will eventually e up with a better word for it. Point is - Zadie wasn't real because Dorley wasn't real. It's a cult, you know it, I know it, fug Beatrice Quinn knows it, and whoever this Elle Lambert is knows it. Zadie wasn't real, because she was created in a house of lies."

  "You mentioo Mary, and she mentioo me, and shut up, Mary doesn't have t-patient fidentiality, that 'you fought tooth and nail to wash out.' I believe you did. Why?" probed Dr. Whitaker.

  "I told her. My mind is my ownmost."

  "Then why didn't you just keep your mind thh the programme, wait out the wo years, and then take all the fug bennies of Maslow's Hierarchy? Best of both worlds. You're no longer obligated to be part of the cult, but you've got your friends, you've got your life, you've got your security. You could even have still been a doctor, Craig. Why. Did. You. Fuck. Yourself. Over?"

  "Because I knew I couldn't do it!" said Craig, angrily. "I'm a cruel, sadisti of a bitch. Always out only for myself. I khat. You 't just ge that with a bit of hormones and some set dressing. You 't just kill a monster with the power of friendship. That's fairytale shit. I hurt people. I get pleasure from hurting people. That's who I am. Who I've always ever been. All that I'm capable of being. A nightmare-thing, a psycho, a cer among the human race. I know who I am, Doctor Whitaker, and a few cuddles and warm fuzzies do not ge that."

  A long pause after that, and Dr. Whitaker prepared the question in her head. How to get past that armor?

  "Craig. Tell me how you feel about yourself."

  "What?"

  "Tell me how you feel about yourself. You keep saying who you are and what you are. How does being who and what you are make you feel?"

  Craig thought deeply about that one.

  "I try not to think about it."

  "What happens when you do?"

  "I get angry. I get so angry. I get angry at myself for being like this. For nature for doing this to me - making me a ptable psychopath, this... pain and anger in the howling dark, when I very well might have been normal. Why couldn't I just be normal, like the other boys, hunh? It makes me want to seek revenge on the world, if you will. And it's cliche, but I feel like the only way I'm ever going to feel normal if is I bring the whole world, kig and screaming, down to my level."

  "Did you feel like that when you were pretending to be Zadie?" she asked.

  "Yeah. I guess. More or less."

  "More or less? That's a very important distin."

  "Less, then," he admitted. "Because I knew I was locked up with people who were already on my level - that Monid the sponsors and everyone around me was just as awful. Maybe different fvors of awful, sure, but I didn't have to feel like... I felt like, I don't know. Like, people around me weren't automatically better than me."

  "How did you feel about the hormones?"

  "They made me calmer. Like they were inteo do. Kept me docile, at least physically, though it just meant I was less likely to be a battleaxe and more a scalpel."

  "You were calmer orogen?" Dr. Whitaker sounded like she didn't believe it.

  "Wasn't that the point?"

  "How do you feel now that you're ba testosterone?"

  "I feel better. Stronger. Ahat level of low-grade miserable that just keeps you on your toes all the time. The way it was meant to be."

  "You were meant to be miserable?"

  "It's the human dition. At least for those of us who don't delude ourselves," said Craig.

  ***

  There was a knock at Luna's door. "e in," she replied, before she even looked up.

  Dr. Casey Whitaker was at her doorway.

  "Ah. Casey. How are you doing? How's Bishop doing?"

  "I 't discuss that, you know that, Geia. Not unless I feel that he's a threat to himself or others."

  "Ah, phooey. I was kind of hoping you'd e to that clusion. The man is in serious need of a ary corre."

  "I need access to his files," said Whitaker.

  "You have access to his files," responded Luna.

  "Not those files. I need everything you have on him. From his time at Dorley."

  "It's established that his time at Dorley was a plete fabrication, why, do you think there's something the girls missed?"

  "Without putting too fine a point on it, yes." said Whitaker. "I want everything. All the video footage. All the notes, all the reports. Everything."

  "That's a lot of video as to sift through. What are you even looking for?"

  "I'll know it when I see it," said Whitaker.