Replacing Chloe
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

There was no doubt about what he was looking at. Live on Wade Ransby’s phone, a video call from Rachel, a video showing Chloe’s dead body, naked and only wrapped in a bathrobe, lying in a shallow grave. Rachel was holding a shovel, her face wild with fury.

“The bitch is dead, and everybody is going to think that you did it,” she shouted. “Because no crime is perfect you will be caught. I will make sure of it.”

Wade said: “Rachel, let’s talk this through”, or something similar, but there was no stopping this rant. What was clear to him was that he was talking to a murderer.

“Think about it, loser,” she said. “You were the last person seen in her apartment. It will be on camera. Everything is. You know that’s my business.”

“That’s where I am now,” he admitted. He was thinking of the camera in the lobby, and one in each of the elevators.

“Exactly,” she said. “The crime scene. Just your DNA and hers. It is your bathrobe isn’t it?”

“Where are you?” It seemed a stupid question from the moment he uttered the words. But even in that moment of horror, Wade knew that he could be in serious trouble.

“Where would you hide a body? That is where I am,” she said. “A witness might have seen you bury the body. I know there will be cameras on the road with views of a disguised man driving your car from the city to the woods and back again.”

Wade’s uncle’s cabin! Plenty of places to bury a body out there. Could he find the grave? Did he want to? It would connect him to the murder victim. But she was saying that she had already done that. How?

He looked for any sign from the images flashing on the screen on his phone, suddenly looking impossibly small. A tree root. A branch. Could he find the place if he needed to?

He needed to pull himself together. She had called the apartment he was lying in - Chloe’s apartment - “the crime scene”. Had she killed her here? He looked around. He was in the bed they shared last night. Suddenly he realized that he might have been drugged. She might have done everything while he slept. What time was it? Hell, what day was it?

She was still tormenting him. As she filmed, the first shovel full hit Chloe’s face, alarmingly plain without makeup, and without any doubt now, completely lifeless.

“What do you expect me to do?” It was a strange question. Wade knew that Rachel had every right to be pissed with him. They had been together for three years. But she was too demanding, and Wade had strayed. He had wondered already if she might be losing it. There were signs. But murder?! And why Chloe? Why had she not killed him – Wade himself? But then again, maybe what lay in front of him was worse.

“Run,” she said. “Become a fugitive. Or perhaps stay there in Chloe’s apartment, and hope that nobody sees that both of you are missing. As for me, I am done with this city. As soon as I have filled in this grave, I am headed to the airport. Have you heard: There is a killer out there!” She laughed a villain’s laugh. It chilled him.

And then she was gone. Just like that. He examined his phone to check if the voice call might have been stored. But communications do not work like that. There was the evidence that she was the killer, a confession of sorts, but it was gone.

He had to think and think quickly enough to preserve all of his options.

He did not know how she did it, but what if all the evidence did point to him? The CCTV cameras showed that he was the last person to enter Chloe’s apartment with her, and according to Rachel, Chloe never walked out.

She had reminded Wade that CCTV was her business. Had she managed to conceal her own entry and her departure with the body? Could she even shift a body the size of Chloe’s?

What was clear was that Chloe was dead. What was also clear was that Rachel was smart enough to be able to set Wade up. And she was clearly mad enough to want to do that. Kill her and frame her boyfriend – the ultimate payback for infidelity.

Think. Think. Think.

Wade started to think about whether he could disguise himself to leave the building. But ideally only a person who entered would leave. Then Wade wondered if it could be Chloe. Could he disguise himself as Chloe? It was not as crazy as it might seem. They were actually the same size. She was not a small woman. Her clothes would fit, with a bit of padding here and there.

What about her head? Could he cover his? He wondered if he needed to. She was fond of quite heavy eye makeup, which Wade thought would be easy to copy. As for her hair, did she have a wig? He decided that he needed to check.

A man is not concerned with the contents of a woman’s apartment. This was only the third time he had been here. He had met her at “The Moon Club” where she worked nights to augment her income doing freelance drafting. She said that she was not a whore, but that she liked sex. He did too. It seemed like a match, at the time.

Now he was beginning to understand her. She had no wig, but she had a whole collection of hairpieces including fake buns and curly tops in her own honey blonde hair color. When she came to bed that first night, he was a little bit disappointed that her hair was only shoulder length and not even as thick as his, but when she was fully dressed for work, she was still beautiful. And her body was a work of art, as soon proved to be the case.

There were clues in the bathroom cabinet, next to the packets of hair color – that same honey blonde. Packets of female hormones. Depilation cream. And in her bedside table drawer, hidden behind the lubricant, a dildo that was not quite a dildo – a dilation tool for the vagina.

It suddenly dawned on Wade that Chloe may not have been the woman he thought. In fact, she may not have even been a woman at all.

But whatever shock he felt needed to be shelved. The greater blow had already been landed on him. She was dead, and he might be suspected of being the killer.

If anything, he felt betrayed by her. She had never told him, and he had never asked. Nobody else knew, to his knowledge. She had been a good fuck. No, a great fuck. Perhaps her past helped her to be that. Now she was dead, and he was in trouble.

He checked the time. Sunday afternoon. He had been unconscious for close to 16 hours. Rachel leaving would give him time to formulate a plan and execute it. Chloe would not be expected to leave her apartment until Monday evening when she was headed off to her new job.

Then it occurred to Wade that if she was recorded leaving the apartment, then she was not dead. That could change everything. That could throw Rachel’s plans out of synch.

With time of death not necessarily associated with the last sighting on Saturday night, maybe he could find the body and move it? Even if Rachel were to tip off the police it might not be found. The police would say: “We found no body and it appears that Miss Chloe Harding is alive and well – we have CCTV videos”.

The very thing that was Rachel’s business. CCTV. He decided that the important thing was to be her and be seen. Could he pull it off? He kept looking for anything that might help.

When he found the box in the top of the cupboard, he realized that Chloe’s past might well work to his advantage. It contained some clothing items from her distant past, the most useful of which was what Wade might well have called a bodysuit. It was like a woman’s one-piece swimsuit, apparently made of flesh colored latex or silicone including breasts with pink nipples and a pink false vagina. There was a brand name on the inside, with a website to refer for instructions.

Wade realized that he would need to access that and other websites with Chloe’s PC in order to learn how to pass himself off as her, even for just a moment or two. He soon learned that Chloe’s ancient search history contained all that he needed. But he hardly had the luxury of time.

And he needed to clean the place. He needed to remove all trace of his DNA. But then it occurred to him that Chloe’s DNA was what he would be eliminating. It would be male DNA. She was the man, and now he would be her. As long as Chloe was alive, he was safe. So, for as long as it took, he would have to live as her.

If there was one thing that cheered him, it would have been the thought that the man’s bathrobe that Chloe was buried in was indeed his, stolen from a hotel in Jamaica, but it had been washed recently and he had not worn it since. That and her naked body should not carry his DNA.

Build an alibi? He did not need to. If there was no crime, no alibi was needed.

There would be no crime if Chloe was alive.

As he experimented with everything he had found, and with the assistance of so many guides on the web, he even started to wonder if he might be able to take over her job. It would be just for a while.

It would have been unthinkable, but he was aware that Chloe was switching to another club in the Gainsborough Empire called “Modern Alchemy” on 23rd Street. It really was more of a bar, where she had told him she would not be propositioned as often as she was at “The Moon Club”. If she was unknown there, maybe he could slip in. What better proof that Chloe was alive and well than for her to appear at work?

What buoyed his confidence in this outrageous idea was the slow realization that he really did make a very attractive woman – maybe even slightly more attractive than the original Chloe. He now felt slightly stupid that he had not noticed before the heavy features that should have betrayed the fact that she was a transwoman. His features were small in comparison, and his eyes bigger and brighter when properly made up he had learned from the video blogger.

He now needed to follow the instructions and color his hair and learn what he could about styling it. It was just long enough to use some of the hair pieces. He could draw it up a little tighter and pin the bun on top.

It was late. He slept in one of her nighties, just to live in her skin, as it were. It felt comfortable.

In the morning he tore off the face mask and decided that he needed more time. His whiskers had come away, but his face was inflamed. Even with any amount of the soothing creams in her cabinet he would not look great. He needed to email “Modern Alchemy” and explain that his grandmother had died over the weekend and ask for a couple of days.

Then it occurred to him that Wade Ransby must have had the same bereavement to justify his absence. But he could not be two people. Wade would need to take a back seat from the moment he emailed his office to ask for emergency extended leave, as his mother was very ill. From now on and for as long as it took, he would need to be she.

So, it was she who brushed her hair – the new Chloe. The color was perfect. He could pull it up to the crown and pin on the bun. It was not quite the style Chloe normally wore with more hair at the back to make the bun higher, but it was somehow even nicer to look at. She checked it with two mirrors.

The new Chloe shaved her legs, and then her arms. She wiggled into the body shaper, inserting the penis as directed, tucked back so that she could pee without taking it off. Pee straight down, just like a woman. She could not wait to try it.

She must have been getting excited by that thought somehow. Wade’s tucked penis was becoming very uncomfortable. The instructions said: “The use of anti-androgens or estrogens will prevent the penis from become engorged and causing pain while wearing this garment.”

By that point “pain” was the right word. It seemed to call for 4 of each tablet from the copious supply in the bathroom cabinet.

She put a dress on. Then another. And another. She was starting to enjoy herself. No man would get pleasure out of trying on so many different clothes, and the closet was full. She suddenly wondered if the pills were having an effect already.

She decided that she would need to get used to wearing this garment, and at “Modern Alchemy” she would be surrounded by women. She would wear it for a full shift: From 6pm until 2am or even later. Even longer on the first day, as she decided that when she turned up for his first night in public as Chloe, a makeover was called for.

But what became more apparent over the days that followed was that appearance is one thing, actions are much more difficult. She used his phone to film herself walking, serving, standing and looking patient and attentive. These are all things that might seem easy, but in fact required constant practice to get right.

It might have been easy to say: “I now know Chloe was a tranny, so a little lapse is forgivable”. But that was not true. Wade did not know, and he had been to bed with her more than once. Why would any other customer know? Why would her work colleagues know? Somehow it seemed to make things ever harder. More critique of herself; more practice.

She experimented with trips outside. The first thing to do was to get a new phone. Where was the old phone? Was it with the body? Or did Rachel have it? Wherever it was she could not use Wade’s phone. When that rang Wade would answer. With this new phone, she would answer.

She used it to call her new boss. That number and Wade’s were the only numbers stored.

On Wednesday she went to the salon as planned. She had her hair tidied and makeup done, with running commentary and a bag of products to take home so she could do it herself in the future. A high ponytail was fastened in, with the admonition that effort should be taken to grow the hair longer and take more care of it.

The look was perfect. Classy and sexy without being slutty. ‘Just a little classier than the old Chloe,’ she thought. The new Chloe actually had finer features.

Perhaps it was sheer luck that nobody knew her. The manager Tad Prozanski, said that he had seen her at “The Moon Club” months before and asked for her to come over.

“But you looked different, and sounded different to,” he said.

“To be honest boss, I have had some work done, and some surgery on my throat.” It was on the fly, but satisfying plausible, and totally accepted.

All Chloe had to do was be the hostess that old Chloe had been, and it seemed to Wade that he knew that role so well by observation. It occurred to Chloe that the skill of her predecessor might come from knowing men so well. Hardly surprising, having been one. Men like their ego stroked, particularly in front of other men. Happy customers tip big.

And “Modern Alchemy” was a step up – a promotion for the original Chloe. The clientele was more refined, and richer. They still came looking for women, but the hostess’s job was to get them comfortable and drinking, not to procure for them.

Chloe was a little uncertain on her first night, more assured on her second, and by the end of the week, she owned the room. And she was popular with her co-workers too. There were now 12 numbers on her new phone, but it was not available to customers.

She asked Tad for extra shifts. She had no other life and the tips were now her income, and not insignificant. Wade was out of the picture. He only appeared briefly when the body suit came off in the small hours of the morning and was put in a tub of cologne to be ready for the following afternoon.

But when Chloe woke late in the morning she slipped on her peignoir and lived that life. She took her tablets, worked on the cross trainer, took a shower, shaved her legs, painted her nails, watched daytime TV. But Chloe still had time on her hands, even with increased outings and a newfound interest in fashion.

By the time that the bereavement leave had expired and also some other unexpired paid leave, it seemed only fair that Wade should tender his resignation. The stated explanation was that he needed to care for his mother long term. When his boss said that he valued Wade’s work and it could be done at a distance, instead of simply agreeing to submit the work by email, Wade offered the services of Chloe, a woman with similar skills.

Chloe was able to work part time and submit output through her new rose-silver laptop. The extra money was useful. Shopping had become almost a vice.

But what about the body of old Chloe lying in the ground? Her replacement had asked the phone company to trace her old phone, and the last location recorded was a halfway between the apartment and the cabin in the woods. It had been disposed of, and it appeared to confirm the location. But as long as Chloe was alive, Chloe could not be dead. It seemed that the only person who had ceased to be, was Wade.

She did not want to go to Wade’s apartment, but at least it was not monitored, and she could sneak in to clean it thoroughly. The rent was unpaid, and it would only be a matter of time before the landlord terminated and disposed of everything that Wade once treasured.

The only thing left of Wade, was his phone. Chloe kept it in a drawer in the kitchen. She found it when she was rummaging around for a corkscrew. Some of the people from work had come around for a Sunday lunch, and Chloe had become a popular host. On impulse she slipped it into her handbag, in the moment considering whether this phone should also be disposed of.

A good place seemed to be the waterfront, where she sometimes enjoyed coffee on weekday afternoons, so she pulled Wade’s phone from her bag, but before she did, she switched it on. There were 7 recent messages – all from Rachel.

Wade might have panicked, but she was no longer Wade. In fact, that afternoon she had never felt more like Chloe. The sun was shining, and she was sitting outside in a light dress, the breeze wafting it against her freshly shaved legs. In a moment of pure clarity, she pulled out her own phone, now cluttered with contacts and social media messages, and found the sound recorder.

“I know who you are, Rachel, this is Chloe speaking, from Wade’s phone.” Her voice was so natural now. High and melodious, and totally feminine.

“Who the hell is this, and where is Wade?”

“Yes, where is he? I haven’t seen him for months. Now I have picked up his phone as requested, and I am hoping to find out.”

“Who are you?” Chloe could hear the anger rising in Rachel’s voice. That made her smile

“You know who I am. What is all this about? I was told you were crazy, but this is just weird. I am Chloe.”

“You can’t be Chloe. I killed Chloe.”

“You killed somebody? Oh my God! I can assure you that it was not me.”

“Chloe is dead. Everybody will believe that Wade killed her.”

“I don’t think anybody is dead. Wade said you were unbalanced. Clearly you are deluded. If any is dead, then where is the body? If you want to call the police then do it.” The words almost seemed reckless, but it was time for this to be settled. When Rachel hung up it seemed that is what would happen.

Chloe arranged for extra security on her apartment that very afternoon. If Rachel had killed Chloe once, she could do it again. The CCTV could not be trusted. That was Rachel’s business, and probably how she got access last time. Extra locks were needed on the front door and a new panic room door for the bedroom.

But the visit that came a few days later was not from Rachel but the police.

“We are looking for Wade Ransby, Miss,” The detective said. “Is he living here?”

“Wade Ransby? Goodness no. I haven’t seen him for more than a year. He was a customer when I worked at the “The Moon Club” but I haven’t set foot in that place since I started at “Modern Alchemy”. What is all this about, Detective?”

“It is in connection with a murder,” he said. “A body has been found way up in the West Hills. We have a tip off that Mr. Ransby might be involved.”

“Wade Ransby a killer? Have you met that guy? He’s quiet and gentle – a little shy.” Chloe seemed to be describing the very opposite personality to her own. “I just can’t imagine him killing anybody.”

“Well, there is victim of murder, and at this stage all we have to go on is the tip which sent us to the body,” he said.

“I guess that would have to be the murderer,” said Chloe, shaking her freshly curled hair, now copious and fragrant. “Or somebody very close to him.”

The detective was going to make a remark to the effect that anybody who had read one mystery novel thought themselves a sleuth, but he just said: “I can’t say more about the victim at this stage.”

The Detective gave her a card. Not his but a card bearing the name Lieutenant Joseph Giancana, said to be the officer in charge.

Chloe waited a few days until she got Joe on the phone. He asked her to call in at the local precinct for an interview.

“It’s Wade Ransby isn’t it, the body you found,” she said. She wanted to sound upset but not too much. Her story was that she hardly knew the guy. She was not sure what the answer would be but what he said next made her smile despite the gory details.

“We are not sure at this stage Miss Harding,” Joe said. “It was a shallow grave and so animals have got to it. And there has been almost a year of open-air decomposition. All we know is from the skeleton and the DNA. He appears to be the same height and weight as Mr. Ransby, but we do not have any of Mr. Ransby’s DNA on file, or clues to find any relative of his. Could you help with that?”

“I am afraid not,” said Chloe. “I hardly knew him but I knew that he was a private person. He never told me anything.”

“The body was clothed in this robe. Would you recognize it?”

“I have never seen Wade in a bathrobe, detective.” She wanted to sound a little indignant. “But now you mention it, I recognize the name on it. I am sure that he said something about staying at that hotel. Perhaps you could check?”

It seemed that he was taking a note. Then said: “Do you know of anybody who might want him dead?”

“No.” She made a show of musing a little, looking up at the ceiling so that he could fully appreciate her eyelashes and the smooth expanse of her neck, right down to the cleavage.

“He did have a girlfriend who was more than a bit odd. In fact, I think they broke up around a year ago. He did say something about it the last time I saw him. I think he was worried. I think he might have been afraid of her.”

“What was her name?” the detective asked.

Chloe went to court to watch the opening of the trial. When you work nights and your own hours during the day, you have time to join the audience to see justice being done. The wide-eyed Rachel looked around the courtroom several times but she never recognized the glamorous woman seated almost right behind her.

Chloe did not attend the sentencing. It clashed with the date set of her surgery.

The End

© Maryanne Peters 2020