The serving wench arrived with a platter of food. A heaping plate was placed in front of him. Before he had time to contemplate the various portions and colors, a crisp piece of bacon was crunching between his teeth. Oh, glorious bacon! Thank the Gods for… Before he could finish the thought, a large spoon with something white and rotten smelling, approached his mouth. The foul odor overwhelmed him, as the acrid horrible taste fell on his tongue. Urg… ick, yuck, aaaaahh, blech!! His head fell forward and he watched as the dollop of offending waste fell from his tongue onto the plate.
“Victorie eeeeh!” Joey yelped, “Gross. Is the yogurt bad?”
Yes! Yes, very, very bad, Blah, pleck! He hated that he couldn’t wipe off his tongue or take a large drink of the dark liquid before him.
“No.” The voice sounded confused. “It’s fine yogurt, not great, but ok.”
“Uh…so why’d ya spit it on the plate? Gross by the way!”
“I don’t know. I just had to get it out of my mouth, seemed important at the time.”
“Maybe you did hit your head yesterday.”
“Maybe, but you said the punch didn’t make impact. So, how did I hit my head?”
“Dunno. But, all the sudden, you’re scared of elevators and you’re spitting out your food. Plus, you said you were missing time.”
“Yeah, so the last thing I remember was Steve punching me in the face.”
“But he didn’t. Your head whipped around, like always, with that crazy blonde hair hiding how fake it truly was. And the crowd went nuts.”
“Well that’s not what I remember. I felt that punch slam into my jaw and when my head came up, I was looking at some crazed, redheaded, Celt looking, medieval nutbag coming at me.
“What?” Joey leaned forward and Vic was held rapt in fascination by her words. She had just described Gregory Hail perfectly, what parts he could understand anyway. He had no idea what a bag of nuts had to do with any of it.
“Yeah and the I was pushed forward and shock of shocks, I proceeded to beat the crap out of him and the man that had been holding me, with my HUGE man hands!”
“Man hands?”
“Ya! I was a guy! A big, big, guy. I could kinda see my arms and well, I think I was hot.”
Hot? The voice coming from his mouth was describing his fight with the Hail brothers. They had gotten their licks in, but he had proudly won the match. Although, not for his betterment. After seeing the condition of her brothers, Mary had dismissed his proposal and called him a tyrant. As he was thinking of the events of his unfortunate experience, the voice was telling it…oddly, but with a fair amount of accuracy.
“…And the cow called me a bunch of names I mostly didn’t understand, and told me to get off her lands. What a Beotch!”
Joey stared openmouthed as the voice continued. “So, I climb on this horse and my jaw is freakin’ throbbing and I ride for what feels like a whole day. The entire time, I’m like screaming in my head. What the fuck! And where am I? But, I can’t get any control. Weird right?”
Weird. The meaning of this word is beginning to become clear.
Joey closed her mouth and nodded. “So Steve hit you and you were in another world, as a hot guy, riding a horse, after a failed marriage proposal, to an ugly chic?”
Mary is not ugly!
“Yep. I know.” His head was nodding. “Freakin’ nutbag!”
What is a nut bag? Infuriating!

The panel slid open and a small but muscled female stood, looking decidedly impatient. Her short red hair was chopped in various strange angles, as if someone had punished her by removing its length. A hoop of metal hung above one eye, secured through the skin of her brow. Dark red lips opened in a sneer and Vic found himself recoil from the tiny angry wench.
“Vic!” she said, “It’s almost over. Where have you been?” She stopped speaking and reached out to grasp his arm, her grip was vice-like. “What’s wrong?” Her voice changed instantly from anger to concern. He realized this woman must be a servant of some kind, although the way she had initially spoken seemed to deny that. He listened as she spoke, trying to grasp what his Cage was saying. Her breath came quick and for the first time he realized that the body was completely in sink with his mind. Hallelujah!
“I don’t know,” she gasped. “I was in the elevator, feeling great. Then out of nowhere I had a panic attack. I was really scared.” Her voice was shaky, yet he still found the silky timbre soothing. “I’m feeling okay now. So you can let me go.” She shook her arm for effect and the vice like grip disappeared. “God, Joey. Been eatin’ your Wheaties? Shit!” Vic felt his fingers slide over the opposite bicep, rubbing the irritated skin.
Lord, women are so weak, he mused, amazed that such a small amount of pressure caused an unusual amount of discomfort.
“Sorry,” Joey said. She turned and linked arms, pulling him forward “Let’s eat! And, while we are shoving unholy amounts of calories down our gullets, you can tell me all about your episode.” She laughed as Vic’s arm dislodged from hers and his hand smacked hard onto her tight behind. What the hell? “Sounds like a plan, Stan.”
Stan? Wasn’t the name Joey?
“Where ya wanna sit?”
“Booth,” the Cage stated, while bouncing in front of her companion.
“Cool” the redhead, whose name he was now unsure of, said.
Cool?
A wench dressed in a somewhat more appropriate attire than the two he was forced to be with arrived and asked for the order. As he listened, Vic found himself fascinated by the way the language was simplified. He had discerned that ‘ya’ was you, and ‘coffee, coke’ was beverage. ‘Waitress’ was serving wench and ‘Stan’ was not the name of his companion. He had been correct initially. It was Joey, still an odd name for a female. He was still working with the notion that she was being punished for some ill deed. Although, what action could lead a king to order a ring placed through an eyebrow? He tried to shake his head to no avail. Maybe this woman’s name was Josephine and Joey was the shorting of it. Yes that made the most sense. GA! He was musing over such trivial matters, when the real issue was how to escape this infernal prison.

Chapter Two

Vic gave up trying to gain control of the body he found himself residing in. Initially, he had screamed, fought against the movements and strained to find even an ounce of control. The moment the body looked into the mirror was the moment he stopped fighting. Later, he would realize it was shock that shut him down. When it happened, he had stopped screaming and stared into the large brown eyes of the most beautiful face he had ever seen. When her full mouth opened and she said “weird” he felt shock and awe at the vividness of the moment, the hot moisture in the air, the feeling of it against his skin, the vibration of the vocal cords as he spoke. Everything felt so real and yet, he was only a visitor here. In the first few moments the screams in his head had been panicked and defining. The shower of hot water and overwhelming mint of the ointment pushed into his mouth had calmed and focused him somewhat. He still felt trapped in a human box, but he could now contemplate his bizarre situation with a slight degree of rationale.
What is your last lucid moment? He asked, trying to speak but only managing to think the statement. Before he could reflect on the thought he was moving down a long hallway with many doors on each side. There was a decidedly feminine bounce to his step that he found extremely irritating. How did women manage to walk this way and not have a colossal headache consistently, he wondered in disgust. He turned and was startled by a loud shrill noise, akin to a bell ringing, as a panel opened into a small closet. He stepped into the opening, turned and pressed his index finger onto a glowing orb with a number etched onto its middle. Abrupt movement pulled him from his state of musing into utter fear, as the ground began to move under him. He stood casually tapping his right toe against the ground, as he screamed and tore at the sides of his invisible cage. The tapping stilled, his hand shot out, braced against the panel, just as all movement stopped.

“Vic! Vic! Wake up!” the pounding on the door was loud and couldn’t be ignored. He groaned and tried to roll over. Instead he sat up and he heard himself say, “Stop banging on my door you freak!”
Freak? Why was his voice so womanly? And what was a freak?
The voice came from behind the door.
“Come on! We have, like, 25 minutes before breakfast is over. Get up! Get up! Get up!”
He looked at the white walls surrounding him, the heavy drapes, the dark wooden furniture and realized with a start that he was no longer in his bedchamber. That realization was quickly followed by dismay, then a form of terror, as he spoke again from his mouth, but without his will. “Okay. I’m coming! I’ll jump in the shower and be down in ten.”
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Victorie jumped from her bed, her feet hit the floor hard, and she sighed with relief at finding herself in her very own hotel room, wrapped in her very own body, in control of her very own voice. “I’m me! She said loudly and listened in awe to the sound of her silly feminine cadence. “ Me me me, me me, me me! She danced around her small room and spun in a wide circle. Her long blonde hair flew in her face and she laughed happily.
Catching sight of the clock she said “Shit!” Realizing that she was going to miss breakfast, she headed for the bathroom and her toothbrush.
As she began the process of pulling off her clothes and putting toothpaste on her toothbrush, she thought about her dream. The decision was easily made that it had been just that, a dream brought on by her accidental punch to the face. She had obviously been knocked unconscious and was experiencing temporary memory loss. The shower came on hot, the steam accumulating quickly. The mint of her toothpaste filled her mouth and nose, waking her senses and allowing for much clearer thought. Her brain needed to assimilate the recent dream with current reality. What happened after the punch? How had she ended up in bed? Why wasn’t she in the hospital? After all she had been hit hard enough to lose a day. Hadn’t she?
Victorie spat a mouthful of toothpaste onto the floor of the shower and watched as the water washed down the drain. Her face tipped up allowing the wonderful liquid to cascade down her face, into and out of her mouth and down her chin and then continue its descent, warming and washing as it went. Thoughts of the moment when she began her mystery blackout accosted her: being held by Billy securely, just as planned, then looking up to see Steve walking toward her maliciously as expected, the roaring of the crowd, then his fist pulling back.
She turned the water off and stepped from the shower. The steam had covered the mirror obscuring her view. She leaned forward and swiped her hand like a knife across the moisture. Her image appeared in the glass. No evidence of bruising showed on her jaw. She could still feel the cracking blow as Steve’s fist collided with her face. Yet no evidence remained. Fingers traced along the jaw line. “Weird.” Victorie smiled widely into her chocolate brown eyes, enjoying the sound of her own voice. She sauntered out of the bathroom and slipped into a pair of jeans, a powder blue top and a pair of flip-flops of the same shade. She grabbed her room key, dropped it into her purse and left the room, her stomach growling in anticipation of the feast to come.

Chapter One

Vic felt a presence. Odd, since he was alone and there were no covert hiding places in the long hallway. His jaw hurt from the punch he had taken earlier. His hand rubbed across his swollen chin. He was surprised to feel stubble peppering his face.
“It’s not like I have to look comely anytime soon. No wedding in my future” he said, listening to his voice bounce off the stone walls. He needed more tapestries. That would cut down on the echo, he thought.
Who are you?!?! The female voice was so loud he stopped abruptly and spun in a wide ark, his arms out in a protective gesture. He stood, listening.
“Hello?” he called, “Show yourself!” he demanded to the empty hallway. Again he listened to the eerie echo. A large window under the archway closest to him reflected his image. He stood, staring at his visage, arms spread, eyes wide, pulse jumping in the muscle over his jaw line. He looked terrified. Quickly, he dropped his arms, stood up straight and pulled at the hem of his tabard. He turned from the window and swiftly walked towards his bedchamber, frustrated by the possibility that he might be losing it under the pressure. No bride, no lands, I will be a pauper and now I will be in an asylum.
Vic entered the chamber feeling saddened by the day’s events. He lit the candles scattered about, pulled his clothing from his overheated body and fell onto his bed. Once there he could no longer ignore the voice he had heard earlier. What had it said? Who are you? It was curious that it had been a female voice. The question had been obvious. He’d been asking himself the same one all day. The same question he had just heard screamed in his head.
“Who… are… you…?” he said the words slowly, feeling the solid nature of them. Why not, who am I? “Odd.” He said and draped a forearm across his eyes.