Sacrificial Alter - Chapter 3

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A story based in the real world. For some reason, a high school boy named J.J. went to sleep and didn't wake up for nearly 3 years. Someone else was awake in his place ...

Sacrificial Alter
Chapter 3 of 13

The Sheep-dip Hits the Fan

by **Sigh**
Copyright© 2017 plaintivesigh
All Rights Reserved.


“So that’s the skinny. We’re as sure as we can be that this teenager who appears female is really your son, Jacob.”

Robert and Rebecca Evarist sat in stunned disbelief at the info coming through the speakerphone. Neither could muster a word through their shock.

“Uh … are you guys still there?”

“Yeah, still here, Finlandt,” Robert finally croaked out. “I … I paid you a lot of money to fetch my son. And you’re bringing back a girl? Are you crazy? Or do you think I’m that stupid? There’s no way – I mean no way – Jake would dress like a girl. He wouldn’t let anyone else do it to him, either! My God, do you know what you’ve done to us – raised our hopes, and now ripping them to – “

“Mr. E. – I’m texting you his face. Look at it.”

The parents looked at the face, bereft of any make up.

“That’s not him,” muttered Robert. “I mean, there are similarities, but this is obviously a girl.”

Rebecca gasped. “Oh my God, Bobby. Look at the bridge of the nose! Those two closely spaced spots! It IS him! Yes, the eyebrows are plucked – but this is J.J.!”

“We’ll see,” growled the father, still clinging fitfully to denial. “When’s your ETA to our house, Finlandt?”


“Damn. Damn and hell. How … what happened to him?”

“Don’t know, Mr. E. You paid me to find and return him, not for a detailed history of the last 2 ½ years. I’ve told you everything I know, and everything that happened from the Interpol report ‘til now. Sorry.” Finny was sympathetic towards the father’s plight; he looked forlorn, lost. Even being hugely obese, this man usually looked ‘together’, in control. Not so much now.

Bob stared off through the window as he stood in the hall outside the bedroom, where J.J. now continued her drug-induced sleep. Finny leaned against the wall, listening to the big guy.

"Our son had suddenly disappeared - off the face of the earth, almost. Searching for him to be more difficult than any of us anticipated. But I could wrap my head around that simple premise - find him, get him back. This? I - I don't even know where to start. Do I be angry? Sad? Quiet and accepting? Or just support him and Becky as they muddle through this? Those two have always had a special bond; like they were joined at the soul and welded together at the heart.

"Jake's never shown any hint of being interested in girly things. Toys, friends, clothes - he was 'all boy'. The only reason he was a cheerleader instead of on the football team is that he was so small, he was afraid he'd just ride the bench all game. You know, he refused to be ridiculed about cheering; "while you dudes are getting sweaty with each other on the field, I'll be picking up the prettiest girls in school" - that was his comeback, and boy was it effective."

Finny looked through the door of the bedroom they were next to, at J.J. "Is this the room where Missy Renquist was found murdered?"

"NO," said Bob. "I moved all of J.J.'s stuff into this room, and got a new bed for him as well. None of us know what exactly happened that night; but I don't want my son in his original bedroom again. That's where our lives got derailed. I use it for old storage, nothing else."

Mrs. Evarist emerged from a bedroom to confront her husband as well as Finlandt and Tom. “J.J. is still asleep like a log. When will that shot wear off?”

“It probably will last anywhere from 2 – 8 hours more, ma’am,” replied Finny. “Even then, it may take a full 24 hours for all of it to leave his system. Depends. Different for each person.”

Rebecca Evarist frowned. “I hope it’s sooner rather than later. She needs to start drinking fluids; I don’t want her getting dehydrated.”

“Becky,” interjected Robert Evarist. “It’s HIM. We don’t want HIM getting dehydrated. This is still our son, no matter what clothes and appliances he has on.”

“No, Bob,” Becky whispered. “I undressed our child and did a head to toe look. Don’t tell me I shouldn’t have, now – I’m the mother, and I’ve seen J.J. naked from day one. And what I saw now … oh God, Bobby. He’s no longer a ‘he’, not in any way. Those breasts are real; not even any implants, and they’re a small C cup. And down below … “ -she paused as she choked up.

“What, baby. Tell me,” whispered her husband.

She shook her head as the tears flowed. “No penis, no testicles, no nothing except a vagina. It looks almost totally natural – almost.”

Bobby shook his head. “No. This can’t be our son. This is all a huge mista-“

“His two groin scars, from his right and left hernia repairs he had when he was 3? They’re there. Remember the doctor told us that girls almost never get hernias there, especially on both sides. Boys do because of the weak spots left when the testicles are descending. Plus, the appendix scar is there. The eyes are absolutely J.J.’s. This IS our child. Except she’s our daughter now. If this was her wish, then we should support her; if it was done to her against her will, we’ll love her and help her in any way we still can.”

She cleared her throat and continued. “It no longer matters to me what happened. Whatever has, we’ll deal with it. We have our child back. And I’m never losing her again. Will you stand with me on this, Bobby? Because I’m going to stand, with or without you.”

A moan came from the bedroom. Becky jumped, turned, and sped back through the door. In the next second, she yelled out “Bob! She’s waking up! Bring some cool water! Get cold water from the fridge and mix it with a non-refrigerated one, remember her sensitive molar! – J.J., Momma’s here baby …”

“I know how to make water,” Bob mumbled. He waddled from the kitchen to the bedroom with a glass and a straw. He then stuck his head back out in the hallway to address Finlandt and Tom. “You guys have your money. We should be square. Give me just a minute and I’ll walk you to the door.”

“No need. We’ll let ourselves out, and activate your electronic door lock as we leave. If you need us you know how to get us. Good luck,” replied Tom. He turned to look at his partner, expecting a wave and a “ditto” at least. But Finny was already gone. Tom found him outside, on the side of the house. He was pulling on something – a thin, tiny string? – at one of the exterior windows.

His covert ops friend was obviously operating on something covertly, and likely illegally. Tom scanned the area quickly for cameras or passersby, and found none. “I thought we were through here,” he whispered.

“Planted my tiniest remote unit on the inside, just at the top corner of this window,” breathed Finny. “Drilled a gnat-hole through the glass while they were fussing over the kid waking up. This is … the power cord.”

He pulled the tiny wire coming out of that pinpoint window hole and began using super glue to tack it to the house bricks. The electricity meter was located just next to this window, and was unlocked. “Hot-wiring into the meter as a power source. They won’t find it unless they are looking for it, or lucky. But we’ve got video and to a lesser extent, sound. That main hallway should carry voices from the bedrooms and living areas,” Finny whispered. “Done. Let’s boogie out of here.”

“Tell me how we’re gonna get paid for that,” mumbled Tom.

“You? You won’t. I’ll get paid every morning, when I have to face myself in the mirror. Something doesn’t add up. That kid’s in danger. I can feel it.”


The teenage girl lying in J.J.’s bed was gradually rousing from her drug-induced slumber. At first, her eyelids opened into little slits, and she stared straight ahead. Then after a while her eyes started roaming, slowly absorbing her surroundings, though she remained silent and still, just a hint of drool dripping from the corner of her mouth.

Becky Evarist sat on the bed beside the girl, stroking her hair, rubbing her shoulder, and singing songs that she’d sung to Jacoby when he was a baby. She recounted her favorite memories with him, such as the time he cried all day for “keemwee” and she finally realized he wanted Cream of Wheat. She had kept J.J.’s room the same as it was just before he disappeared; she had never given up hope that he’d be back.

This moment in time; if I could freeze it, I would. My youngest, letting me love on him – well, her – like I haven’t been able to for a decade and a half. This will pass as soon as she wakes up, I’m sure; so I’ll enjoy it while I can.

J.J. suddenly said “Huh. Huhhh. Huh?” and awkwardly pushed her body up to where she was halfway propped up by her arms. She forced her eyes open more, and with a wobbly head spanned her surroundings. Then she looked at Becky, who smiled.

“Good morning, sleepyhead. Well, I guess it’s good middle-of-the-night really; it’s 1:30 am now. Remember me, your mommy? How are you feeling, honey?”

The girl’s eyes squinted. Finally she spoke. “Mmm … Mmmuhh?”

“Yes, dear. It’s Mom. You're back with us in Kissimmee. What’s do you call yourself now? J.J., or is it Luisa Blanco?”

The girl glanced around the room. “I’m … back?”

“Yes you are, back home. Back safe with Mom and Dad.”

“I’m, I’m in Kissimmee?? I’m IN KISSIMMEE!! God – NO!”

Robert walked in with a fresh water glass and straw. “Hey, you’re awake! Welcome back, kiddo!”

The teen snapped her head towards Bob’s voice, and more confusion with some new panic filled her face. “Who are you – you aren’t – “

“Yeah, I’m Dad. I look a lot different - gained about 130 pounds since you last saw me.”

The girl’s eyes popped open as round as saucers as a scream exploded from her lungs. “GET AWAY FROM ME! DON’T YOU TOUCH ME YOU FUCKING RAPIST PIECE OF SHIT! GET OUT! GET OUT!”

Becky was agape. “J.J. – what?!”

Bobby stepped back. “Kiddo! What the hell-“

“GET OUT!” The girl had jumped to the far side of the room, which placed the bed between her and her father. She began grabbing anything she could – the alarm clock, books off the bookshelf, a signed baseball – and heaved them in rapid succession at the large man.


The bewildered father shielded his head against the onslaught.

“Bobby! Go out in the hall!” Becky urged as she saw multiple projectiles bouncing off of her husband. Something about his presence was agitating J.J. She’s still disoriented from the rescue, and from that damned sedative. I’ll calm her.

“Shhh, baby. It’s OK. He’s gone. I’m here. Just hang on to me-“

“DON’T touch me, bitch,” sneered the girl.

“J.J.! Don’t speak to me that way! I’m your mother! Don’t you recognize me?”

“Oh, I know who you are, lady. And you may have been a mother to the other guy, but you are NOT my mother. And what you let happen to him – you don’t deserve to be anyone’s mother. You evil, evil slut! You STAYED with that rapist pervert, after knowing what he did!”

Becky Evarist was in shock. What was she talking about? Why was she so angry? And who was she, this alien in her son’s transformed body? J.J. was never remotely like this, in action or speech.

The girl’s eyes were now on the floor, looking at an object there. She turned her head towards Becky. “That’s your purse?”

The mother, still stunned, nodded her head.

In a flash, the girl grabbed the bag and bolted out into the hall. Becky alarmed out of her daze and yelled “BOB! STOP HER! SHE’S RUNNING AWAY!”

The teen ran down the hall and out into a living area. This was not totally familiar to her – and yet it was? She stopped for a few hair-raising seconds, trying to decide where to go to get out the front. She turned into one hall – no, that led to a kitchen – then turned down another hall and ran directly into the bulk of Bob Evarist. He grabbed her arm as she attempted to pull away; she began to scream.

“No! No no no no no no NOOOO! NOT AGAIN! RAPE! RAAAAAPE!”

Bob held tight to her, but he was obviously shocked, upset. Becky ran in, her face showing the same condition.

The girl started crying now, and blubbering. “Please – please. Please don’t hurt me again. I’m sorry for yelling. I’ll be good; I’ll do whatever you want just please, please don’t hurt me …” and broke down into sobs.

“Bobby – what is she talking about?” queried Becky, with just a hint of doubt emerging about her husband.

“Honey – I have absolutely no idea. I don’t know where these accusations are coming from. I can guarantee you they are not true, though.”

“Well, she certainly made some false accusations towards me, too. Bob! What are we going to do? If we take our eyes off her, she’ll run away! We can’t let that happen, not after just finding our child again!”

Bob thought. “Actually, we can’t let it happen because she’s 16, and we’re legally responsible for her, and she – CLEARLY – is mentally ill. She needs to be taken to a psychiatric hospital for evaluation.”

“We can’t do that! There’s still a warrant out for J.J.’s arrest! If the hospital clears her, she’ll go to jail! Nobody else besides us needs to know she’s here!”

Both parents were shedding tears now. Bob choked his own back long enough to reply. “Honey. I can see no other way. If J.J. goes to trial for murder, we’ll fight it with the best lawyers we can afford. But our kid is sick, and needs help. Please – PLEASE – let me send her to the hospital.”

Becky buried her face in her hands, gushing more tears as Bob used his free hand to pull out his smartphone. “I don’t think we can control her adequately to drive her there ourselves. I’m calling 911.”


To be continued tomorrow.

If the Sheep-dip in the title of this chapter seems totally random, read the first 4-5 sentences in chapter 2. ;)

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to an actual person or situation is purely coincidental.

Thanks to cyclist, whose advise and editorial skills have elevated this tale to 100x better than it was when I submitted it to her. She is one of the shining stars of our community!

Thanks to JenaJumbled for the awesome picture.

If you've gotten this far, leave a comment! Don't make me reach through the screen and tweak your nose!

Thanks for reading! **Sigh**

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