She was sleeping when the call came. The tinny ringing of her phone woke her, and for a moment she was confused, thinking it was her alarm clock. When she saw it wasn't, she contemplated not answering, but something made her pick up. Later in the day, she almost wished she hadn't.

Aureus knew immediately there was trouble. She could hear it in his voice. Sure, she was used to his odd ways, but something told her this was more than his usual quirks. As soon as he asked for her help, her automatic assumption was he got himself in jail. She was certain he'd been caught doing something the long and constant repeats need to be reduced illegal.

"Where are you?" she asked, voice still foggy with sleep.

There was a buzzing silence on the other end of the phone, and then a woman's voice came on the line. "You can pick John up from the emergency department at student health services," she said. "Please don't worry; he's going to be fine."

Aureus sat bolt upright in bed, all traces of sleep gone. "What happened?" she demanded.

"John was mugged last night. He's had a bump on the head but is otherwise fine. We do need someone to be with him and to keep an eye on him. He can leave the hospital, but he can't be alone. Can you help?"

"I'm on my way." She was already getting out of bed.

"One thing," the voice said. "All of his belongings have been taken, so you might want to stop by his dorm and get a spare key for him. I'll call the front desk and tell them you're coming. Maybe you could also fetch some clothes for him? His are . . ." There was a tangible pause. "His are torn and dirty," the voice finally completed the sentence.

"Sure, fine, no problem."

Feeling awful about her previous assumption, Aureus hurriedly pulled on a pair of jeans. She grabbed a t-shirt and, at the last moment, yanked her hair back off her face into a ponytail. She slid her feet into sneakers and pulled her keys out of her purse. Slamming her door, she fled down the stairs of the dorm to the front desk. The desk assistant was already waiting for her.

"I just got the call," he said, standing. "Here are the spare keys, and I've called the campus shuttle. They're off duty but are happy to drive you over to the health center, if that's okay with you."

She nodded gratefully. "I need to go to his room to pick up some clothes first, though."

"No prob. I'll tell them to wait outside. Please, if we can do something, let us know."

Again she nodded, already turning to go back up the stairs. Her heart was pounding, and she didn't even think to take the elevator. She rounded the last corner, preparing the key.

Inside his room was familiar. It had his smell, and it was as orderly and unadorned as all his dorm rooms had been. Opening the closet, she pulled out the first things she got her hands on, wishing she'd had the forethought to bring her bag. Instead, she rolled the clothes into a bundle, then flew back downstairs.

"They're waiting by the main entrance," the desk clerk said.

It wasn't until she was sitting on the vinyl seat of the small bus that she had time to think about what had happened. How the hell had John been mugged? What was he doing out, anyway? She'd known as soon as he'd left the pool he was going to be in one of his black periods. She'd tried to talk with him, attempted to get him to open the door, but to be truthful, she hadn't tried very hard. She knew eventually he'd get over it and come out to find her. So why had he been out and about getting mugged?

As much as she loved him, and he was her best friend, she knew there was a part of him that was a mystery to her. Maybe that's why she liked him. His secretive, mysterious side kept her interested in him. She knew he had problems—the crippling shyness not allowing him to appear in his bathing suit in public, for a start. His obvious depression, for another. Yet she had faith he was a good person; she knew him to be. She had a feeling she was about to find out a little more about John, and it scared her.

She'd seen him grow, watched him become more confident, more attractive even. She'd been there by his side the whole time, and now this had happened. She was worried about him. They'd be graduating soon, and she wouldn't be able to look after him quite so much. This, she decided, as the shuttle turned onto a main street, has to be the end. He needed some help. She wasn't going to take no for an answer. She'd make sure he was okay. Then, she would talk to the nurse about getting him an appointment with student psych services. He couldn't live his life from one black day to the next, shutting himself away whenever he felt like it.

She could see the tall towers of the hospital approaching, lights burning in the windows, though it was almost full daylight now. When the shuttle stopped, she thanked the driver and got out into the cool, still morning. Already, it smelled like hospital, an unmistakable odor, though Aureus had never been here before.

She went in through the sliding doors, her sneakers squeaking on the tiled floor. A tired-looking receptionist asked her to wait, so she put her bundle of clothes onto a chair and sat next to them. Her feet tapped on the floor; she couldn't keep still. The waiting area was pale green, posters and pamphlets on the walls. She was reading about alcohol awareness when she heard a door open, and a nurse in blue scrubs was standing next to her.

"Are you Aureus?"

She nodded.

"Hi, I'm John's nurse. I'll take you to him." She smiled. "You should know that physically he is pretty much okay."

"But mentally, he's not," guessed Aureus.

The nurse eyed her. "You already know?"

Aureus shrugged. "He's always been this way, but yes, I've been getting a worried about him recently."

The nurse bit her lip for a second, then sat on the chair next to Aureus.

"It's difficult to say too much without breaking confidence," she said. "But John does need some help, I think. I can get you the card of a psychologist on staff. Maybe you could help him make an appointment?"

"I can try," Aureus said. "He's never listened to me before, but I can be stubborn."

"He's going to need support," the nurse said. "I mean someone who's really there for him, a person who's accepting."

Aureus nodded. "That's me," she said. "He's my best friend. I'll do whatever it takes."

"Wanna see him?" the nurse said with a grin.

"Please."

"He's lucky to have a friend like you," the nurse said, getting up. "So many people don't."

They walked down a short corridor, and the nurse gave Aureus instructions about how to take care of John.

"If he vomits, you'll need to bring him straight back," she said.

Now, they were standing in front of a door.

"Thank you for all your help," Aureus said politely.

"No problem. I'll give you guys some time alone. If you stop by the desk on your way out, I'll give you the referral card." She turned and walked away.

Aureus took a deep breath, preparing herself for the fight she knew would come. She figured she had the advantage, and she was going to insist for John to make the psychologist appointment, or she'd refuse to accompany him out of the hospital. She'd give him no choice.

Pushing the door open, she stepped into the room, seeing instantly how terribly pale he was. There was a trace of dried blood on his forehead holding her attention for a moment.

"Aur, thank you for coming."

She was about to make a joke and smile to try to make him feel better, but as her eyes moved from the blood on his head, they took in everything else. He . . . no. Just no.

Paralyzed, she tried to force herself to leave the room, but she couldn't move. It was as though she were tied down, her eyes propped open; she couldn't tear them away. Rip her gaze from this . . . abomination. This painted freak. This . . . mistake. No, this wasn't John.

"Aur?"

But it was his voice. Suddenly, synapses connected, muscles obeyed. She threw the bundle of clothes she was carrying onto the floor.

"You . . ."

She couldn't complete the sentence. All she could do was run. Pounding down the corridor, she crashed into the nurse.

"You should have told me," Aureus said, not trying to hide the anger in her voice.

"But . . . but you said you knew!"

"Knew? Knew what? Knew he was a freak, unnatural? A . . . a . . . a thing?"

She pushed past the nurse, running until she was out of the hospital. She kept going faster and faster, feet slapping against the pavement, the air tearing in and out of her lungs. As long as she kept running, she wasn't thinking. She was moving, thoughtless, her body concentrating on keeping herself on the move.

The dorm desk assistant tried to shout to her as she ran through the main doors, but still she kept going. Again she took the stairs, almost tripping as the toe of her sneaker caught on the edge of a riser, but she saved herself. She stumbled up, made it all the way, and fumbled for the key, getting it wrong, trying again, and finally, finally opened the door.

And then she collapsed. Though her bed was only a stride away, she could make it no further, sinking to the floor. The scratchy carpet burned her face, and the tears came. Heaving, racking sobs.

Their whole friendship had been a lie. All of it. She could count on nothing anymore. Nothing. It was like the world had tilted under her feet. Or like she'd been half blind and could now see and was discovering nothing was how she'd pictured it.

The words of Deuteronomy recited themselves around her head. Spinning, forming sentences, then falling apart again. A woman shall not wear a man's garment, nor shall a man put on a woman's cloak, for whoever does these things is an abomination to the Lord your God.

Abomination—that's what he was. A monster. An outsider. A liar. Sitting there in his hospital bed, painted like a whore, wearing his women's clothes. No. This wasn't her John. It wasn't her friend. It wasn't even a man. It was an abomination.

How could she not have known? How could she not have seen? She'd dressed him up in women's clothes for Halloween. Was she to blame for this? Did she lead him astray? She remembered the day when he'd folded her clothes, when he'd become excited, and—no, she'd thought, she wasn't to blame. He'd been this way all along, hadn't he?

Her breath was coming in sticky sobs, her hair sticking to her cheeks, her skin tight and salty. She choked back another cry. She did the only thing she could think of to do. Dragging herself to her knees, she folded her hands and began to pray.

Only once before had she prayed with such fervor, asking the Lord to save her mother. He hadn't answered, but she'd come to accept her mother was wanted and needed to leave the world. Now she was praying for . . . what? For understanding. For forgiveness.

As she prayed, her sobs became quieter. Her breathing slowed, she calmed, and the words came to her. She prayed for forgiveness, not for John, but for herself. Forgiveness for judging him, for leaving him. She had wronged him, and she knew she had.

Speaking aloud gave clarity to her thoughts. It was not she who could judge what he did or deem him an abomination. Whatever God's thoughts were on what John did, they were His, not hers. She might disapprove, but in doing so, she had only forgotten the central tenants of what she was supposed to believe. She was not being loving; she was not being Christian.

Her head sank lower, and praying calmed her. She took deep breaths and let her words trail away. She stood. She'd acted wrongly and needed to fix things. The only way she'd ever be forgiven by God, by herself, was to face this with understanding and compassion. John was her friend. He might be misguided, he might be wrong, but he was still her friend.

She thought with shame of promising the nurse she'd support him, stand by him, and then what had she done as soon as she was tested? She'd run. Frankly, she was disgusted with herself. She had thought she was better. Well, maybe this test had been sent to show her she needed to learn more about both John and herself. She vowed she was not going to be found lacking.

With a deep breath, she walked to the bathroom and washed her face. Calmly she went back to her room to get her keys and left again. She avoided the main dorm entrance, not ready yet to face the desk attendant, leaving by a side door. This time she walked, her pace measured, her legs still aching from running.

It took a good fifteen minutes of walking to reach the health center, and during the time she wondered how she was going to deal with this. It was a situation so unfamiliar to her that she couldn't think of an analogy. She didn't know what she was supposed to do or to say to him. She guessed when it came down to it, the only thing she could do was to listen to him and be there for him.

The hospital was busier now, but she knew where she was going and bypassed the front desk completely, making for the room where she knew he was. Her footsteps slowed, but she forced herself to keep walking. She came to the door, paused for a heartbeat, then pushed it open, prepared to do whatever she had to do to keep her best friend.

But the bed was empty. He was gone.

*****