PART THREE - Therapy

   We got up. Right came home for breakfast, she stayed with Lida and her crew. She asked me how things were going, and I knew what she meant. I told her the truth, that things were going really well. She seemed genuine about being happy for her friend, too. Lightning was more of herself for breakfast. Even better, actually. Right didn't razz her like normal, and she didn't call her the "egg bitch" either. Lightning had her over easy on toast, like I did. Wiz asked Right if she wanted an omelet. She did, it made her happy.

   My boyfriend and me got a few minutes of my precious fetch game in. Its one of my favorite things. He dressed me, and Lightning came in and asked if the offer to have her get dressed was still open. So he did, and she marveled at being pampered, like I got. She got her spikes kissed like mine, too. We both got our legs over the shoulders morning kissing in, then went down to work out.

   Light wanted ran to death, and she got it. She worked out harder and longer than ever this summer yet. We had to drag her away from a practice ball we have. Its a spike you drive in, like one of those screw in dog things, to secure a dog in a yard. There's a long, strong bungee cord. She kicks it, and it returns. We literally had to drag her away, she was going to kill herself and wouldn't quit. I suddenly realized what in the hell she had done to herself over those four years alone. At Teddy Ball’s insistence, she must have worked herself to death, and all but collapsed. Took a little break talking to Tedward? And did it again, until she collapsed again. There had been no one there to stop her. She had described working out off and on all day, then into the night. Sometimes, all night.

   Ritual. Teddy Ball had given her a new religion. No, Wiz taught me its not a religion, its philosophy. Because she had been to hell. But whatever you called it… this was the services. I did the Catholic church thing. Sit, stand, kneel… sit, stand, kneel… the guy in the robes talks about… whatever. Then you all repeat the magic mantras. Her services were more straightforward. You play games, and work yourself until you drop. You get up after a short break, and you do it some more, until you drop again. When you can’t get up anymore? Services end. You sit, and Teddy preaches and counsels.

   She really looked forward to getting him to undress her, watching me get the treatment. Right went and hung out with Lida's crew after a quick shower, they were watching movies. They have a bigger collection of DVDs than we have. They don't have Wizard of Oz, which is probably an even bigger draw for Right than the larger selection, to tell the truth. Light smiled and followed us into the shower. She loves getting her back scratched with the big brush. She did it back to him, too. When it came time for his quick "guy shower" after pampering both of us, she gave him some back. She soaped him up, and rubbed it some, then rinsed him off.

   We both got our tub pampering, and we all talked. I miss sitting with him in the tub, but we can do that ourselves in the evening if we want to. The rubdown on the bed and gabbing with my little sister, while getting massaged and the hot liniment oil? Well, that's simply heaven. Lightning didn't fall asleep this time, and we all got to talking.

   I guess the only fly in the ointment? Little Miss Moody was getting to be gone longer than I liked to admit. I got no answer calling her, nothing texted back. It had been a while since she had called or texted, too. I asked him what we should do, and he just shrugged.

   "She's done this before, right? Her nickname isn't Little Miss Moody for nothing."

   "She's never been gone this long before, I don't think. Even Right said something about it."

   "Call her parents. Maybe she went home."

   "Its just her mom. From everything I gather? Mom is half a barfly. She got her kid on scholarship? Me time."

   "Call her. See."

   "I did. She hasn't heard from her."

   "Her mom concerned?"

   "Oh, she'll turn up. She does that, from time to time…"

   "Yeah. Another mom of the year. They're all over."

   "So? What do we do."

   Light added in.

   "Yeah. Mister Military Policeman, investigator dude. What's next. We have a missing center. Me and Right? We need our center. And yeah, I admit she's not always that much fun to have around, but… kinda missing her. A little. She can be an asshole, but… she's our asshole."

   He sighed.

   "She's a missing person. We have to go to the police station."

   I got glib.

   "And, I just assume they'll drop everything, and move heaven and earth, looking for her."

   "They have to do something. She's been gone longer than 72 hours. That? Is… officially missing. Far as police are concerned. That, is in our favor. What's not in our favor? She's over 18. Its not illegal, for a person to decide to disappear."

   "What do they do?"

   "Oh. Talk to us. Get her photo. Description. Ask about her, try to get some idea where she might go. They'll put her on a list. Probably issue a BOLO, Be On the Look Out for her. Make up a missing person sheet and email it around to other stations. Call hospitals and run her, see if she got picked up for something. Pretty standard. She's over 18, not like they're gonna put her on billboards and milk cartons or anything."

   "Can… you talk cop to them? Get a little more."

   "I… can try. I'll wear my Military Police uniform down to the station. And yeah, I can talk shop with cops. I'm used to the MP's."

   Lightning was excited to see him in his uniform. Hell, I enjoyed it too. I drove us down to the police station. It went pretty much like he said. The guy asked about his uniform, he said he "ran" with the MP's on a big airbase. Guy shook his head. The uniform probably stopped him from the standard "college kids do this" talk. My boyfriend admitted, he knows this isn't a huge priority but was there anything he could think of to try to help?

   "Well. Outta respect for you did the job for four years, right?"

   He nodded.

   "Let's talk. Now… she's been gone a while. She didn't go home. You said she can take off once in a blue moon, but this is a new record. Thing I don't like? The phone quit. You said, she'll text or call every other day or so. That's normal for her, right?"

   "Yeah."

   "I'm not trying to scare you, I just don't like that. You know her friends, where she would normally go. And she ain't there. She takes a phone charger with her, right?"

   I said yes. She always does.

   "Girls and their phones. No disrespect, but… girls want that phone charged. Now. Did you guys check her social media? You know, the phone will give her location."

   "I checked that. Her social media stops, when the phone quits calling and texting."

   "And she don't have a car. A drivers license?"

   "Yeah."

   "Would she rent a car? Go do something."

   "That would be a new one for her."

   "She have… credit cards? Mad money?"

   "She didn't just rent a car and drive to the beach, I don't figure. She has some money, but she ain't rich by any stretch."

   "Okay. Here's the standard thing. This has gotten streamlined over the years. I enter her on the website we use. Her information. It will tell me, as it comes back in. Hospital admissions, recent arrests, car wrecks, anything like that. That's standard. That's what I'm supposed to do at this point. Now. Out of respect and all… let's talk about what else we can try."

   "Anything."

   "Look. Most people? Don't want to see a cop, ever. Then? The instant something happens, we should have been there already. Now. Is there anything we can sit and come up with, off the record… about where she would actually go. You were an MP? You know where this is going."

   "Go ahead. Off the record."

   "She like to get drunk? Likes to go get plastered? Wouldn't be the first college kid to like it."

   "She likes to stay out all night, till the party ends, or the bar closes. Yeah."

   "Let me guess. She ain't 21, but she has no trouble going out to all the bars at all hours. Right? I ain't saying it ain't like they all don't do it."

   "That's her."

   "Okay. What's her… love life like. If there was a steady boyfriend, you'd already told me. What's she like. What's her type. And be honest, we're off the record. Am I looking in upscale for her? Or… seedy dives. Dance places, raves? What."

   "Oh. Honestly? Any bar. But, if she's paying? Eh… the seedy bar would suit her just as well."

   "Okay. What kid of guy would she go for. Normally."

   "Aw. She's got that bad boy shit. Any mouthy asshole brags he's been to county? That's her."

   "She like rich boys? Flashy sports cars?"

   "Usually not. Older cars. Loud exhaust."

   "She's not the only one. I'll run her picture past the probation officers. Sounds like her type?"

   "Yeah. Thanks."

   "She could of got picked up with one of those sweethearts."

   He paused then soldiered on.

   "Now. Off the record. Drug use. If she likes cocaine? There's places to look. Heroin…"

   I looked at him.

   "She's a sports star on scholarship. If someone gave her a line? She'd hide it from me. No heroin, no meth. No pain pills."

   "Let me guess. College kid. Little hand rolled cigarette up her alley?"

   I nodded.

   "Off the record. Yeah."

   "Okay. She likes mouthy bums, with a record. Loud boys, loud older cars. She likes a guy to give her a line, has a baggie on him. The probation officers might have the best chance of getting a look at her. How am I doing here."

   "About it."

   "Okay. Her personality. What kinds of people she runs with, other than boys."

   "Her nickname? One of them, is Little Miss Moody. She's a frown-er. Outside of sports? Her crowd… you know the kids that… paint their hair a weird color? Wear the funny clothes. She's an art major. That crowd."

   "Oh. Smoke a joint, they talk about how creative, and different they are. Frowns a lot, nobody gets me. Like that?"

   "Yeah. That's my girl."

   "Okay. Starving artist types? Hang out with other artsy kids. Cheap beer, maybe the museum… look at art galleries."

   "That… could be."

   "Around here? I don't know where I would look for that. And I'm a cop. Now. Trying to go the extra mile here. He knows this, I ain't being rude. This just isn't a big priority. There's no… problem you're giving me. No crazy ex, threatening to kill her. No crime scene. She just left and quit calling after so many days. College kids drop out and disappear all the time. We're a small department, we don't have a dedicated missing persons unit."

   He answered him back.

   "No. I know that's how it is."

   "You… guys want to try to look for her yourself? Maybe I can give you some ideas."

   "We could try. Sure."

   "All right. Frown-y faced, green haired, weird clothes. Art major. Without a charmer out of county she picks up with… I'm thinking the city. Little fun. There's a creative district. Lots of starving young artist types around. There's an art school. Lots of shitty little… art galleries to look at. Lots of little frown-y faces like her, to run around and drink cheap beer and cheap wine with. I'm trying to help, I'm trying to go that extra mile for you. You're worried? You could do a lot worse, than tramp around that area of the city. Show her picture around, to other kids with funny hair colors. Stop in all the little galleries and stuff. Show her picture around, leave your number."

   "No. That… thanks. That's the best idea anyone came up with yet. Now, if we try that. You'll get the automatic hospital, police, accidents thing."

   "Not trying to scare you? Morgues, too. Its all more or less automatic. Check back in a couple of days, I'll tell you if I get a hit. And, I'll run her by the county Probation guys and girls. That's her type. Now… that extra mile I talked about?"

   "Sure."

   "Got a guy in the city. He's a good cop. Detective. His beat? The artsy farts-y area. I'll give you his work cell. I'll tell him you're a swell guy. You put 4 years in on the job, that counts for something. I'm sure he'll at least meet with you, have a cup of coffee and take your information. He can tell you where to look around. Where the artsy types would go, to drink that cheap beer, and talk about how nobody gets them. Now, its the city. Big art school. Go figure, no one cares if artsy kids wanna smoke a funny cigarette while they hang out drinking cheap beer, frowning at each other. He can point you in the right area where a new girl would hit the pavement to find that. I can't think of anything else I can do, to try to help."

   "No, thanks. You've… I appreciate it. Honey? You got the car."

   Lightning said she wanted to come. Road trip. Little adventure. I said sure.

   "You… might not wanna wear that uniform in the city? You know, scare all the kiddies underage drinking, selling hand rolled cigarettes… I'll be back in a minute. I'll get you his business card."

   "All right. Thanks."

   He wished us luck, and we should check back in a few days. He had our phone numbers, if the computer came back with pay dirt. We went home. I packed food and drink. He changed into regular clothes. I never knew his footlocker had a false bottom. He pulled out a handgun, and had a couple clips. He had a holster and a rig.

   "I didn't know you had that."

   "I don't carry it hardly. All my guns? I have them in storage, at my parent's house. We're going to the city. Lots of seedy places, I bet."

   "Is that… legal?"

   "No reason to tell you before. I have a concealed carry permit. Works in the whole state, and some others, too. Its the city, hun. Better safe than sorry. And yeah, I know how to use it, if I have to."

   Lightning came in and saw him getting ready. He wore a T shirt, put his shoulder rig on over that. His gun under one arm, the extra clips in their own littler holsters, under his other arm. He put his biggest, loosest T shirt over that, and honestly I knew he had it on, and found it hard to notice. No one else would notice. Maybe a cop, but that would be it, I figured.

   "I thought you didn't jump out of airplanes with a knife in your teeth, Wizzy. Is that for playing on the Army computers?"

   "Air Force computers, but I ran with the Military Police, Light. We're going to the city. We'll be walking around some seedy characters, I'm betting. I'm sure nothing will happen, but if it did? Don't get between me and them. And don't go trying to help out, and kick them, or… pick up a beer bottle, either. I can handle myself. You get out, you don't look back. You make for the car, you lock yourself in and call 911. If you can't get out? You get behind me, and stay out of the way. You do not get between me and trouble."

   "You Tarzan. Me Jane. Gotcha."

   "I'm just like that cop back there, Light. The phone thing. I don't like it. She comes from a small town, like you two. Like me."

   "So?"

   "The city's… different. There's a lot of different kinds of people. Not all of them are nice. In fact, a lot of them aren't. Problem is, girls from little towns, love to hit the city and have fun. The kinds of guys she's drawn to? She'll run right into actual bad boys, not just mouthy pricks on probation. Guys got outta the state pen, shit like that. She'll run right up to the exact wrong types of people. Go with them."

   I thought about it. He was right.

   "Problem is. Little girls think its like a small town, or around campus. You can just cut people off with a smart-alack word or two. That works in a small town, around campus. You hit the city, you get around the wrong people? She'd think she can take care of herself, and she can't. I know what's out there. I'm a guy, and I can handle myself around that element. And even I know to stay away from the city."

   "What do you think could have happened. Worst case."

   "Oh. No phone. I could see her getting mugged, robbed. No money, no phone. Trying to figure out how to get a ride back, with no bus money."

   "Should we check the bus station?"

   "We can't. That cop back there? First thing he'll check. If she hit the city? I figure she got a ride. She'd jump in a car with any people, right?"

   "Yeah. She would."

   "And if I think anyone recognizes her picture, and clams up? Don't be surprised if I seem like I get a little nasty. You go around seedy places in the city, showing a picture? You tend to get a few assholes. Try to act tough, give you the shits. I speak their language. I'm… conversational, in Spanish? I'm fluent in asshole, too."

   "Why are you telling me and Hurry this?"

   "Because. You don't think of me that way. And if you see me get… I don't want you girls to think I'm like that. In small towns? College campuses are pretty okay to tramp around and meet people. Fairly safe. But in the city? College kids are generally poor, and they tend to tramp around the poor sections of the city. We'll probably be around homeless, addicts, pimps and hookers, and every other damn lowlife you can think of. I would recommend? Not wearing any expensive jewelry, flashing money. Keep your cell phones hidden. No purses. Attracts snatchers. And no sexy clothing. Attracts the wrong kind of attention."

   "I should wear my Cold Shower."

   "Yeah. Hurry's normal jeans and T shirt is fine."

   "Sweatpants and T shirt?"

   "Marvelous."

   "I'm taking Teddy Ball."

   "That's fine, I guess. I can't picture anyone wanting to steal a soccer ball."

   I drove us, and after a while as we got closer to the city? He called the detective.

   "Well?"

   "Nice guy. Our cop called him. Said to call him when we get there, he'll meet us and talk. He said he's already running her info and description through his system."

   "Great."

   When we got close, he called him back. He gave him a description, so he could find us. He's in plain clothes, so we wouldn't really notice him, he's trying to blend in. Wiz said he's a little over 6'1", medium build, crew cut. T shirt color and ball cap color. With two tall girls, one almost 6 foot, the other around 5'11". He says, the detective said that would be easy to spot. He gave me an address, a street intersection. Took us a while to find a place to park the car that wouldn't cost an arm and a leg. We finally found a place. We had to walk several blocks.

   Wiz hadn't been kidding. Real hookers, real addicts, real homeless. Street musicians and dancers. Second hand shops and junk shops everywhere. Used clothing and stuff like that was popular. Empty shops and a lot of run down places. Broken bottles and empty cans and litter everywhere. And mixed in with it all? Yeah, people that looked kind of like Little Miss Moody would hang out with, from her art crowd. She spray paints a streak of color in her hair, and wears weird stuff like they all do. Combat boots with weird color laces, a little bit of goth, but just a little. There were run down tattoo parlors and liquor and beer stores on every block.

   The creative district? Didn't look very creative to me. Looked more like urban decay. Wiz pointed. We stood and watched across the street, as some guy shot up. Then shared the needle with what sure looked to be a cheap hooker. Right out in the open, no one gave three shits. Obviously a normal and regular occurrence around these parts. Wow. What a wonderful place. We cut through a couple alleys, and there were less people, but everything was worse. More broken glass, more boarded up windows. More empty cans and more litter and general trash. Fire escapes everywhere, and people hanging out in doorways, hanging out the windows.

   When we were sure we had the right intersection, we just stood around. Sure enough, an early middle aged man wandered by. He bought a newspaper, and casually mentioned something.

   "Hey buddy. Your girlfriends? They sure are tall."

   "Yeah. They are."

   "I'll buy you a coffee. Follow me."

   I mean, this guy could be anybody. He didn't look like any kind of a cop, but he was trying to blend in. We followed him into a very non-trendy looking coffee place. There were a lot of the kinds of people Moody would hang out with here, by looks.

   He introduced himself. Showed Wiz a cell phone picture the cop had sent him.

   "This her? Recent enough."

   "Yeah. I think the splash of hair spray paint color is green last we saw her. Other than that? Yeah."

   "You guys are from small towns, huh?"

   "Yep."

   "You're the MP, I got that much."

   "Guilty. GI bill now."

   "Yeah. You ain't missing much, getting out of that. What's your bag now?"

   "Mathematics. Computer programming. Some electronics."

   "Good for you. Four years infantry here. Overseas. No GI bill. Came back. Academy… now you see what I look forward to, getting out of bed every day."

   "Thanks for trying to help us."

   "Hey. Anything I can help, something goes right for once? That's a good day. Welcome to the starving artist area. You notice a lot of creativity on your walk here?"

   "Some. Sure. The addict shooting up in broad daylight? Sharing the needle with some hooker? Nice touch."

   "So. I ran her info, fed it in. Takes a couple days if you get a hit usually. Your buddy, gave me the general thing for her. Artsy crowd. Cheap beer. Frown-y face. She'd be looking to smoke a joint. About it?"

   "Yeah. More or less."

   "She likes to date assholes? She'll love this neck of the woods. I'm up to my neck in assholes."

   "I can see."

   "Here's how this place happened. A big abandoned warehouse? Got renovated, turned into an art school. So, we got kids on loans and grants coming in, going to art school. There's no end to them. As you can see. A girl with a green streak in her hair? She'll blend right in. Now. There's a million little junk shops, and about every other one has a little gallery in the back. The kids all try to sell their… art there. There's a real museum, but that's on the nice end of town. Bus. This ain't the nice end of town, as you can tell."

   "Its a slice of heaven."

   "Oh yeah. Now. The art crowd. They like to smoke, drink, and see each other's art. They like to look at it in all the junk shops. There's a million little dive bars, and the kids like to get a jug of cheap wine, or a cheap case of beer? Hang out in all the abandoned places. Pretty normal thing for teenagers around here. You go enough blocks that way? You'll find even more abandoned stuff. Kids love it. Your girl. She meets people?"

   "In her crowd, yeah."

   "Okay. These kids breeze in. Find kids to drink and smoke with. Then they crash on floors and couches. All the college kids? If they get a job, they can all pitch in and rent a shitty little apartment. She the type might drink cheap beer, throw rocks at empty bottles, then crash on a couch or floor?"

   "Sure."

   "Show her picture around, you might get lucky. You strapped?"

   "I got a license. Yeah."

   "I don't care about the license. I just care you have it. Girls? I'm not trying to be rude, but… I'd say don't all split up and cover more area. You girls go off, and start showing her picture around, have you seen her? Have you seen her? You're marking yourself as from out of town. Good way to get followed and mugged. Also? Don't walk around staring up at all the buildings. Another good way to get mugged. I'd say, stay with him. Just my advice."

   "So. Off the record. Where would our girl probably go, to hang out with kids that smoke."

   "Art school? She could go off with any of them. Hell, I'm selling weed right now. You want to buy some?"

   "Seriously."

   "Why do you think I don't have a haircut and a fresh shave. I'm not trying to bust people for that. I'm trying to pop a guy on my radar. He likes to buy a bag, then rob the person selling it at gunpoint. Art students? The city? They all smoke pot. If more of them smoked pot, and none of them got on coke and meth and heroin? I'd have a lot less work to do. Your cop said, no hard candy for her."

   "Yeah. What would you try, if you were us. Its your beat."

   "Hmm. I'd hit all the junk shops. Those crappy little galleries? They all have one. Out of town, art girl? My first bet."

   "And then?"

   "Walk around. Take a nice hike of all the abandoned warehouses and little factories. You see empty beer cans? That's where the kids hang out and party. Now. If she has a few bucks on her?"

   "She could."

   "Flop houses all over. Most of them, unregistered. Room for rent signs in windows. I'd try there, if she was staying a week. Your buddy? He told me about the phone thing. I don't like that."

   "How hard for a girl from out of town, to get mugged?"

   "Not hard. She have anything of value, other than the cell?"

   "Not really, I don't think."

   "Walk around. Pawn shops. Used phone places. If she got robbed, the phone gets wiped and ends up there. Now, you get that? You call me. That means, she's been here. She should be somewhere. I can get uniforms going around on a live lead then. You think you'd know her phone if you saw it?"

   "Honey? Your department."

   "Well, yeah. I know the case. And… nice scratch on the screen, I'd recognize that."

   "There you go. You so much as even think you find that? Call me. I'll get her phone company, check it. Your friend said, she doesn't let her cell report where she is. Because that? Would be too easy."

   "Yeah. Gotta make it fun somehow."

   "I'll be here, till the bars close. You decide you want a bag? Hit me up. I'm working, I'm trying to get robbed this week."

   "Its a living."

   "Yeah. I got a wife, and two kids. It pays the bills. How about you. Married?"

   He looked at me, and pointed.

   "When we're done with school. Yeah."

   "Good for you. I hope you find your friend. Good luck."

   "You get a lot of… robberies. Muggings, murders, missing girls?"

   "Its a city. Its the shitty end of it. We average so many robberies a day. We average so many robberies, no injuries. So many robberies, muggings? With injuries. I think were running, oh… city wide? Average, one murder a month. ODs are up this year, like a hot stock quote. We got hot heroin with Fentanyl going around. We got some pink meth going around? Has some chemical wasn't cleaned out right, kids end up in the emergency room. The locals mostly know what not to buy, its out of town people get the stuff. A couple armed robberies per week. And its a city. We got a small roster of missing girls. Rape is down this year. So that's looking up."

   "You make the job sound like so much fun, though. You're just a walking recruitment ad. Where do I sign up."

   You? Smart kid, GI bill. Finish school. Marry the pretty girl. Me? I was infantry. Deployed four years. So this? Is all I know. You got out of this, I wouldn't try to get you back into it. Takes the life out of you. I hope you find your friend. Told you the places I'd look, and what I'd do. Call me or stop back if you run into anything. Call me if you have a problem. When we go back outside? I'm going to shake hands with you, and hold it a few seconds. Folded up business card. That's so it looks like you scored off me. I'm trying to blend, I'm trying to get robbed. Girls? Once again, don't split up if you're not from here. Best of luck, I hope your friend shows up at home when you get back."

   "Thanks."

   "Any of you kids smoke?"

   "One of us may have. Once. Why?"

   "If you run into a pack of art kids, hanging out, partying? Best way to blend in and get them talking. He looks like too much of a cop for talking to art students. It would make them all warm and fuzzy to talk to you more. He looks like a cop to them. He starts showing pictures of a missing girl? No one will want to talk about it, if they do recognize her. If you catch my drift here."

   "How much."

   "I got nice little dime bags. Free sample. My treat. You can get art kids all talkative. Don't mind me, they give it to me free. My job, till we catch this asshole? Is I'm trying to get robbed."

   "What's your perpetrator look like. If we see him, we'll call you."

   "You know what a Bushy Haired Stranger is?"

   "Yeah. I do."

   "That. Mirrored sunglasses. Shaggy hair, medium length. Five o'clock shadow. Medium height, medium build. Small revolver. Probably waistband. Your typical asshole."

   "Great. Age?"

   "Early 20s."

   "Our girl? Probably fucking him. Sounds like her type. An asshole."

   "Good luck. Meet you out front. I want people to see me… working."

   We went out front, and he did the hand off, with an extended double hands handshake. He looked around a little, you know, to make it look like he was looking out. Making it seem obvious what he was supposed to be.

   We went and started looking. Junk shops for art galleries first. Light remarked on the whole thing.

   "Cops give out free dime bags here. That's a new one."

   "Welcome to the city, Light. Not a nice place to visit, wouldn't want to live here."

   "Swellsville was no picnic, either."

   "Touche."

   A couple hours of walking and trying every junk shop, got us nowhere. We tried every pawn shop and a couple of used cellphone places. We decided to try heading towards the abandoned places. Hoping to find groups of art kids drinking and hanging out. Then, the last pawn shop we hit? I got excited. I thought maybe, that could possibly be her phone. Her case is pretty distinctive, but there was no case on it. It just looked right, but hey, a lot of phones look right. There was a little scratch in more or less the right place, though. I didn't know I was going to have to take a pop quiz on identifying a scratch on a screen, like a forensic examination in a crime lab. So, I can't be sure. Not at all. Something though.

   Wiz called his dime bag cop, and told him that maybe, I might have found a phone that might look a little like hers. He explained the distinctive case would be off it. Guy said you get rid of cases like that, or the used phone place gets rid of it. Half the used phones are stolen or lost and found. You can get ten, twenty bucks out of a perfectly working 100 to 200 dollar phone? You get it.

   "Well. He said, he can't come. He's blending. That? Would ruin the blend. He's sending a uniform that's near. They're hanging out of sight, in case he gets lucky and meets his friend he's looking for."

   The uniformed cop showed, he knew what was going on. He pointed at the phone, and just held his hand out. The person behind the counter? Sighed loud, and slapped it into his hand. He explained to us, that the phone gets wiped. Stolen, or lost and found, either one. But, there were serial numbers and that would trace it. The detective called him back and said if it came back live, he would call us, and he could put uniforms out since he had a live lead.

   Thin. But, thin is better than nothing. I couldn't be sure. There's any number of phones that look identical, and most have a scratch somewhere over time.

   "Now what."

   "Abandoned district."

   Light wondered aloud, that if she tried to sell weed, to finance her little trip… assuming that was her phone… wouldn't it be possible she got robbed by the asshole? Wiz quipped… that, or she's fucking him in some flop house. Its her type she likes. Any criminal in his 20s that isn't butt ugly will do.

   "Hmm. If that is her phone… this is looking like the last place, on the way to the empty warehouses."

   "She got robbed?"

   "Just as likely she just loses her phone. Someone picks it up? This is the first place to get ten twenty bucks out of it."

   "If that's even her phone."

   "We won't know for a while. Let's hike around."

   And? Hike we did. A couple hours, walking around. From abandoned warehouse, to abandoned factory, to abandoned… whatever the hell it had been. Wiz said one place used to be a meat processing place. They were all different, but all kind of the same, too. Empty cans around, empty bottles of cheap wine, cheap beer. Crushed packs of cigarettes around, cigarette butts everywhere. They all smelled like old piss. There were always corners which were clearly the urinals. We did run across some packs of artsy kids, but none of them recognized the photo much. A girl, nondescript with a streak of green in her hair? There was one girl with a green patch we were talking to.

   She looked one way, hanging around the sports people. A change of clothes, some mousse or gel in her hair, and a spray of color? She looked different. Kind of… bum-my. Going by looks only? Wiz had thought she looked pretty all right. And she has the legs, hell we all do. We play soccer for a living, go figure we all have legs a leg man might like if he likes fit girls. Once he saw what she looked like when not around sports people, and her general attitude? He went from mildly turned on, to mildly turned off. And it slowly went downhill over time. Little Miss Moody.

   Her team name? Sunshine. It was one of those reverse nicknames, like calling a fat guy "Slim".

   We kept looking, though. More litter, more piss. Little Lightning didn't mind it though. She liked abandoned places. Lots of privacy. Lots of big cement and block walls. Lots of corners. Lots of old cans to aim at. Lots of little nooks and crannies to aim for. She showed her stuff, and seemed particularly proud to show her Wizzy. Teddy Ball hadn't been kicked in a long time, and he missed it. She showed us the corner pinball trick. No wonder she could one time a ball so well. Right foot, it shot into the corner, banked and came out. Then her left foot sent it back, and it really did pinball.

   She could automatically use her feet on a blur of motion. The ball looked more like an off white blurred line, than a ball at that speed. She had us pick a can, any can. She would bounce off a wall, and kick it out of the air, and generally hit the can or so near it, it was uncanny.

   The last place we hit, she liked more. More of a piss smell, so we thought it was a popular party spot. Gobs of empty beer cans and bottles. Old cans of… whatever were everywhere. Old metal chairs and desks around. Did someone shit in here? Wiz said it smelled like a dead raccoon maybe. Charming place to hang out in, I tell you.

   Lightning liked the walls. Lots of smaller cement walls, of smaller height. She could pinball more. She was having fun showing off. Teddy Ball liked it here, too.

   "Come on, Teddy. Help me find Moody…"

   Teddy Ball told her he would do his best to help her. He knew she needed her center. We decided, what the hell. Smoke a joint. The cop had given us a free dime bag after all. Lightning wanted to try "cop weed". Which was kind of funny, really. We didn't have any cigarette papers. We weren't bringing a bong to meet a cop in the city. Not like we knew we would meet a detective handing out free samples of his pot. We were figuring we would have to wait, and walk back to get papers. Then? We could just stand on the street and smoke it. Hell, you could shoot up and share needles with hookers, no one cared.

   Then, there was a fairly fresh empty beer can. Holes in it, crushed just the right way. We picked it up and passed it around. You could smell it. It had been used as a pot pipe. I made the crack that we were hot on her trail. Why, Wiz asked. First, her phone close by, maybe. Now? An empty beer can used as a pot pipe. She would do that at parties. She was one of those people that could make a pipe out of nearly anything. She made a one hitter out of the right kind of click pen. A piece of tin foil got wrapped around a pencil tight, then removed and bent just right. But, you have no trouble finding an empty beer can at any college party.

   You can poke a few holes with about anything pointy and get to it. Crush it up and discard it when you're done. The can is so easy to find, that its usually the poker you have a problem locating at first. Miss Moody was persistent, and usually came up with something pointy. An old nail, a screw. Pulling one of those out of where they belonged, or laying in a junk state. Paperclip, pin holding notes or posters. Even a pencil or a pen worked. I've seen her do it with a carefully chosen twig. The twig pokes too big of one big hole? But, not to be deterred she pokes the stick in the mouth hole, and closes the hole enough its like a little screen.

   So? We passed the beer can pipe around, and we had lungfuls, held it, and exhaled. We kicked the little dime baggie after a couple pipes of it, it was one of those tiny zip baggies. We put the pipe can back where we found it, where someone else might make use out of it next time.

   Lightning was showing off all the neat pinball action in here. There was a little metal door up on one wall, and when she did a particularly neat pinball followed by the obligatory one time shot, she could hit it and it made a little dull gong sound when she nailed her mark. Teddy Ball said he was still helping her look for Moody, so she wouldn't have to break a new center in. She told him he was the best.

   We walked around. Graffiti everywhere, and so naturally empty cans of cheap spray paint. Lightning liked to one time and hit them, because of the marbles rattling made a neat sound. Teddy Ball liked the different noises. She went back to her favorite though, the small thick metal door over the hole up the one cement wall. If it wasn't for the shit smell on top of the piss smell, or a dead raccoon like Wiz thought… it wasn't a half bad place to hang out. If you were a kid drinking beer in the city, I suppose. We had woods and barns for that at home, these kids didn't.

   And Lightning and Teddy Ball were having a… well, a ball. If you pardon the pun. After walking around more and Lightning and Teddy were still showing her stuff off, I came back to what I jokingly called Little Miss Moody's pot pipe beer can. It had been near an old rusty metal chair. For shit like everything else in here, but the old kind of thing that would never fall apart. If no one carted it away? That thick metal chair would outlive all three of us and then some.

   I sat in the chair, and there was the beer can pipe. Where we put it back. Whoever had smoked it, had likely sat in this chair. Well, the chair had scrape marks, you could see where it had been dragged around. I idly followed the drag marks in the old dust and dirt, the sort of thing you do killing time after smoking some pot. That's when I saw it.

   "Wiz? Check this out."

   "What…"

   "See the chair?"

   "Yeah."

   "You would sit in the chair, and smoke."

   "Okay."

   "Then, you drag the chair. See the scrapes?"

   "Yeah. You drag a chair around. So?"

   "Well. Look…"

   Someone had done… well, it looked like finger painting. There were lots of cans of stuff around, and some of them were old paint cans. This looked like a kindergarten finger painting. Stick figures. Looked like mom and dad sticks. Mom had that patented triangle dress little kids use to indicate male from female. Dad’s stick arm was touching mom’s stick arm. Dad had short spikes for hair. Mom and dad had smiles. Another slightly shorter girl was touching mom's other stick arm. Mom and dad were both the same height. Big people, to a little kid. There was another girl in the triangle dress, too. All were smiling. Dad, mom, the other girl holding mom's other hand. The other girl, too. All bright colors, all smiling. There was another girl, too. She was all dark colors. Not like the yellow and orange everyone else was made out of. Ugly purple and off brown or black. The dark girl, had a upside down smile. A little kid’s patented frown. The whole family was bright and happy, smiling. This dark girl was sad.

   "Lightning? Get over here."

   "What, mama bear."

   "Look. What does that look like, to you."

   "Some first grader's god awful finger painting."

   "Lightning? That cop weed must be half decent stuff."

   "Why?"

   "You gonna tell me, that this? Doesn't look like one of Little Miss Moody's stupid toe paintings she's always making?"

   "I guess it could be, but… you put a first grader's finger painting next to one of her toe paintings? Pretty much the same thing."

   "Yeah. Chair. Beer can pot pipe. See the drag marks? You drink some cheap beer. You smoke up. You drag the chair over to… this bench. All these old cans of paint and grease… and you sit in the chair. And… you make a toe painting. On the floor. Or, is this cop weed really that good…"

   Wiz shrugged.

   "Fuck it. Take a shit load of pictures. Make a little movie. Look around some more. You thought maybe you found her phone. Now? You think you maybe found her beer can pipe, and now one of her toe paints. We… could be hot on her goddamn trail for all we know."

   "Yeah. Or we found where little kids hang out, when the big kids aren't drinking beer and pissing everywhere. Fucking reeks in here. Come on Teddy. We're gonna keep you outta the piss, okay?"

   Lightning was doing her thing, and she hit the little thick metal hinged cover. The gong went off again. And Teddy ball had rocketed off of one of Lightning's golden feet, and knocked the hinged metal open. Teddy was holding the hinged metal plate open, then disappeared inside the little… whatever the hell the tiny storage room once was.

   "Teddy… you get out of there…"

   "Oh great. I think I found the shit-er. Urinals that corner. You take a shit in here. Aw man… Teddy! I hope you didn't get shit on you, poor guy."

   She came and got my disposable lighter. Dark cement storage. No windows. She kicked at the metal door to swing it open a tad. Rusty hinges groaned.

   "Aw. Its the shit-er, all right. I can hear the damn flies. Teddy! Please don't be in the shit…"

   Lightning squeezed through the metal door she kicked slightly open. She made some kind of… funny or strange noise. She has honestly the greatest balance and grace you can imagine a person having really. Dancer's grace and balance. So it was odd that she came out backwards, and fell over on her ass.

   Wiz walked over. She was pointing at the room. Really pointing. Her face was… not pale. White. Shock? She… seemed to not be able to speak. She was hyperventilating. Not pointing either. Stabbing with her finger in the air. Wild. Then she got her… whatever it was together. Screamed, the most blood curdling scream she was likely capable of. It set my hairs on the back of my neck up.

   Wiz put his hand up, palm at me. He had his gun out, it just appeared in his hand like magic. He thumbed the hammer back, but had his finger down the side. He didn't know what was going on, but he didn't like it. Lightning was in shock. Just stabbing in the direction of the door, with her finger, wild. He had his finger down the gun, so he didn't shoot if he didn't mean to. He kept it pointed right at the door. Something was in there, and it was bad. If it came out of the door, it was going to get it. He grabbed Little Lightning's hand and bodily dragged her over towards me and went back. When he was still close to the door, he had the gun pointed at the door. While dragging her by her wrist or hand, his eyes were glued to that door. There was obviously something in there, and it was bad.

   She had found the shit-er, you could smell it now. The reek was coming. It started when Teddy Ball had opened the hinged metal thing, and once she kicked the rusty hinges enough to squeeze in to retrieve poor Teddy, it got worse. He was fairly calm, he had his back standing next to the door. He tried to take a quick peek, but didn't see anything. He seemed to count to three in his head. I guess third time's a charm even for the military police. He whirled, kicked the door open that last little bit and went in…

   He backed right out. Lowered his gun. Put it away after lowering the hammer carefully. Lightning found her lungs once more, and started screaming bloody murder, then got words into it. Get Teddy, you get Teddy, you get him out of there, Teddy's scared, you get him now.

   He rubbed her hair. He went over. He went in and came out with Teddy Ball, and handed it to her. She hugged Teddy Ball, and wiped him with her hand, petting him. Calming him down. She rocked gently, on the floor. Terrified. I had to come over and see what the hell was… he grabbed me. I went to push him and go see… it wasn't dangerous, he went in with his gun put away to get Teddy Ball for her.

   He actually hurt my arms, holding me hard enough I wasn't getting in there. He just kept telling me "no". Which, he isn't really allowed to tell me, but… he's definitely not allowed to hurt me either, and he was hurting my arms.

   I was putting my strength into it, and he started shaking me. He yelled in my face. He screamed… you don't want to go in there. I could hear the flies now. Dead animal. The reek. Must be bigger than a raccoon… I started yelling at him. What did she see. What's in there. He kept telling me no. Shaking me. Telling me I didn't want to see it.

   "Then you damn well better tell me! The hell's in there! Why is she…"

   Little lightning was in… shock. She was humming, and rocking on the floor, petting Teddy Ball. Because he was scared to have been in there. I kept demanding to know. He looked me dead in the eyes. And simply stated quietly.

   "Remember she told Teddy Ball, to help her find Moody?"

   "Yeah… but…"

   "Well. He did."

   It took me a few seconds to put it all together. Lightning was in complete shock. What we thought was festering shit smell, to go with the rancid piss smell… well? He had said, it smelled more like a dead animal, like a raccoon maybe. That was before Teddy Ball opened the metal door, then fell in. The smell got worse. Then the door… smell got worse again. Lightning said it was shit all right, she could hear the flies… She had the lighter, to see to get Teddy Ball… oh no. He saw recognition cross my face, he nodded yes.

   "You… don't want to see this. Trust me here. I'm worried about her, she saw it. You don't want to see it. Just, remember her like she's supposed to be. Not like that."

   Oh god. Its been days, since the phone quit. Straight to voice mail, customer not available. Days. Summer. Flies. Oh Christ. There I go, I went and… tasted my ass hairs, after the food and drink and foam were done. The dry heaves that wouldn't quit. At least the hot black oil wasn't squirting out my ass this time. That's something, anyways.

   He dragged Lightning over to the door as gently as he could. Then he came and walked me over. I asked what do we do now. He called the cop. The one that was nice enough to give us a free dime bag to enhance his cover. I heard him say softly, that I think we found our friend. Then I heard him say shortly after. No, it wasn't great. Because he also had to call and report finding a body. Then another pause, and he said yeah. Then another pause. He said quietly. Looks like suicide, but foul play was always possible. Then another pause, and he apologized for contaminating his possible crime scene. Two people, we didn't know. It was dark. Another pause. Some directions. Then… okay, so you know the place. We'll be here.

   While waiting? Lightning just sat, hummed, rocked, and whispered to Teddy Ball. She knew he was scared, it would be okay. She petted him gently to calm him down. Me and him? Went to look at what was now, almost certainly, her can she smoked out of, and her last artwork.

   He pointed out his interpretation.

   "See the tall woman? That's you. Tallest girl in the townhouse. See the spikes on the guys head? That's my crew cut. We're holding hands, smiling."

   "So, who's holding my other hand?"

   "Next tallest girl to you. That's Little Lightning. Your friend you take care of. And look. A little lightning bolt, on the dress."

   "Then, Right. She's right next to us. And that…"

   "Yeah. Self portrait. Off to the side. Alone. We're all bright happy colors. Yellow and orange. Sunny colors. We're all smiling. She's all dark colors. She's sad, and dark."

   It dawned on me. Right before she had left? What had I done. I started to stammer about it. He told me no, don't do that. I couldn't have known. Told me not to beat myself up about it. His phone rang. He walked over and talked a short bit, then hung up.

   "That was our cop from back home. He wanted to let me know. She took the bus. To the city."

   I sat next to Little Lightning. I couldn't stop crying. She handed me Teddy Ball. She just sat there, rocking and humming. Her chin on her drawn up knees. Like a 14 year old girl would probably do.

   "I told Teddy Ball, to help me find Moody. He did…"

   "He sure did, Light. He's the best, isn't he?"

   "Yep."

   "You want Teddy back now?"

   "He'll help you stop crying."

   "I don't know if he can do that for me."

   Lightning put her ear to Teddy Ball.

   "What did he say, Light?"

   "He said it's not your fault."

   "I hope he's right."

   "Well. He's never been wrong, yet."

   Two uniformed police officers came in after a little bit. Wiz went over to talk to them. They spoke quietly. He pointed. They all three walked over. He spoke quietly to both of them.

   "You really don't wanna go in there. Just take my word for it."

   They looked at each other. They could hear the buzzing of the flies. One said the detective was on his way. The detective took one look at Lightning, and spoke quietly.

   "That girl is in shock."

   I was finally done crying. For now.

   "We'll take care of her."

   "Did she… who…"

   I looked up at him and nodded yes. He knew she had seen her.

   "Christ."

   "Yeah. She's with him now."

   "Anyone else? Did you…"

   "He stopped me. I'm glad he did. Or I'd be like her."

   "Did he…"

   "Her first. Then… him."

   "Is he… okay?"

   "He can talk."

   "All right."

   He took out a little penlight, and peeked in.

   "How did you find this place."

   He explained, everything.

   "Well. I'm waiting on the phone. Probably is hers then."

   "Okay. She's in there. How does her phone get…"

   "Honest? Someone found it. Probably. Ten bucks, is ten bucks. Addict? I'll get the security camera footage. Even if I can locate them, I don't expect anything. Without something… unexpected? I probably wouldn't even charge them."

   He brought him over, and showed him the chair, the drag marks. Over to what was certain to be her last artwork.

   "Art student. Finger painting. Nice."

   "Uh, its called Practical Art. That's her major. She… scholarship. Great soccer player. If that explains the art classes."

   "Oh. Gotta major in something, I guess."

   "Yeah. And… she did a lot of… its probably not finger painting. She did… toe painting. We, uh. We almost left. Without…"

   "The girl in shock. She…"

   "Yeah."

   "Then you."

   "She freaked. I had to go see what was in there. She couldn't talk."

   "All right. I gotta go look some more. Not a fun part of my job."

   The detective's voice commented periodically, sounding hollow coming from within the dark cement tomb.

   "Hey. Bare feet. I'm guessing you were right about the… toe painting. Looks like it could be paint."

   "Looks like. Used a 55 gallon drum. Then… rolled it over."

   "Uh. Extension cord. First glance? Self ligature."

   You could hear him snap gloves on.

   "Well. Let's see if anyone rifled her pockets. Someone got the phone…"

   "Some cash. Driver's license. Some IDs. Keys. They usually leave a note."

   "Here's a piece of paper…"

   He came out and unfolded it carefully, handling it with the gloves on by the corners.

   "Is there a person named… Hurry? Spelled like hurry up."

   "Yeah. One of the girls in the townhouse? Nicknamed Hurry."

   He didn't blow me in, tell him she was here.

   "Says… tell Hurry, not to worry. Its not her fault. I miss dad. I want to go be with him. Believe it or not. Even though I never told you guys, I loved you all. Don't be sad. I just couldn't do it anymore. PS. You guys can have all my stuff. I can't use it where I'm going. Maybe we can all play one day in heaven. So, bury my ball with me. If they even let you do that."

   "I guess you have to keep that."

   "Yeah. Sorry. You… take pictures?"

   "All right."

   "I never know. But. I'll call you. If they release her effects. I know this is gonna sound bad, but. I need statements. You understand, but… explain it to them. I'm not being a dick."

   Light patted my shoulder.

   "Told you, sis. Teddy Ball is always right. He knew."

   "Yeah. Teddy's pretty great, isn't he."

   "Yep. The best."

   "Man. Is she going to be okay…"

   "We'll take care of her. We always do. As you can see? You might not get the best statement out of her. She'll be talking to you, through Teddy Ball."

   "I guess the ball. Named Teddy?"

   "Yeah. Teddy? He's the greatest."

   "I bet. Can… she's gotta… talk to someone."

   "Do you really want a statement, from a soccer ball? I'm trying to help you out here. And… I'm thinking of her…"

   "Oh. I didn't mean, that. I meant. She… needs to talk to someone…"

   "Oh. She… has someone."

   "All right. Then, you found her. I'll take your statement. You're… coherent."

   "I am."

   "Your girl. She didn't see?"

   "No. Thank god. Or I'd have both of them talking through Teddy Ball."

   "Yeah. I'm gonna call this one, as no foul play. That's off the top of my head. Get the lab boys down here. That's standard. If I find anything… off? I'll call you. But, I need that statement."

   "No problem. And thanks."

   "I'm sorry…"

   "No. You told us how to find her. You were right on the money."

   "I guess its better than wondering forever. Maybe."

   "I guess."

   We went down to the station. Lightning was a curiosity. He explained she was in shock. She was introducing Teddy Ball to the uniformed officers. Everyone smiled and nodded politely. I sat with my arm around her, and we talked to Teddy. He made the statement. He drove my car back for us. Lightning didn't have much use for a drivers license, and was out of it even if she did. I was prone to cry suddenly, probably not the best thing in heavy and unfamiliar traffic. He stopped into the police station briefly, to thank the officer that went out of his way to help us. He didn't have to do that. Pretty sure he told him, but I wasn't in there.

   When we got home, he took me aside. Said we should move her stuff. I looked at him, I figured that could wait. No, he said. Her stuff? Oh… someone might come sniffing around, like a cop. Her… big bag of stuff? Had no bearing on anything, no sense in having all that come out. There was a lot more than we thought. The big bag, the one we could pinch out of and it didn't even put a dent in it, anytime we all felt like it? Was the little one as it turned out. He found the main one in her closet. He got a big plastic tote. Taped it shut. Went out and said he'd bury it, until it was all over.

   He left a little bit, so… any cops would smell something, and see it. Just not oodles of it. The detective said he would handle contacting the mother. We could tell… whoever else would want or need to know. I told him, when he wanted to. We'll move her stuff to a cage and lock it up. Her mom might want it. Maybe another relative. I doubt someone that young had a will, but you never know. One day soon, I planned on looking through all of her artwork. Just not now.

   I had him go up to Lida's and see if Right was there. He came back with her, and we explained it to her. Well, he did. I concentrated on Lightning.

   Tomorrow, I'll get the coach. He can tell the team, I guess. I always thought her dad was divorced from the mom. I didn't know he died. Well, I still don't know it, but based on her suicide note in her pocket and all. Seems like a safe bet. Maybe that's why the mom was half a barfly. I hate her mom less now. At least she had an excuse.

   He told me, that when someone really intends to kill themselves? There's absolutely nothing you can do about it, if they're serious. I asked him though, why in the hell would you go off, and kill yourself around strangers? Why not… then he spoke quietly. She said in the note. Believe it or not, I actually loved you guys. She cared. She didn't want Lightning finding her, or one of you guys. She… spared you that. She figured the note would get back to you. And she did care. She told you, in no uncertain terms. Don't blame yourself, it wasn't your fault. She knew you'd think back to arguing, and… she wanted you to know. She misses her dad, and she can't take another year of it. If she didn't like you? She could… punish you, in a way, by letting you think it might have been you arguing with her. Or, letting one of you find her.

   She was a great center, but… starting to just go through the motions. I thought she was just selfish, and wanted an easy ride. Milkmaid syndrome. No, she was trying her best. Just couldn't do it any more. She had "paper cuts", from when she was younger. I guess that was after her dad died. She hadn't planned this for a long time. She had a huge stash, she was set for all year to sell it. You don't plan for all year, when you know you're doing this. It wasn't any real spur of the moment decision. She thought about it. Planned it. Bus ride, time spent… partying with strangers? Why, who knows.

   She didn't plan on us finding her, she'd let strangers find her, that was her plan. Word would slowly make it back to us. Less painful on us that way, I suppose was how she had it figured out. Hard to believe she actually said she loved us all, and we would all meet in heaven, and play together again one day. And bury me with my ball, if they let you. I guess in a way, she was like Little Lightning. Playing ball at this level? Was all she really had that she cared about.

   People lose close loved ones, and don't do this. So, she had other issues. She was always frowning. More or less, bad moods and mood swings were her typical day to day. I always thought her… toe painting was, well. Kind of silly. But she left a last one. Me, him, the other two… all happy, mostly all holding hands. Bright, sunny colors. Then her. Off to the side. Dark colors. Sad face. I thought I had to worry most about Lightning. Turns out it was her I had to watch the most, and I didn't even know.

   I do know, that she was the center, the big freshman star. Until Little Lightning and Right came as a matched bookend set. Lightning stole her thunder? Corny pun, but its true. I guess like any troubled kid, she wanted bad attention if that's what she thought she could get. She was important though. The starting center? One of the most important members of the team. She was a damned good solid player for her job. I can see why she drank a lot, and liked getting the other girls to accompany her to the bar at all hours as much as possible. She desperately wanted friends, and the company.

   I feel like I didn't try hard enough. Like, what good are psychology classes, if you can't see something like this coming. I feel guilty. Me and the coach, wondering how long she would keep herself together, and we were looking for a possible backup for her. We all called her Sunshine. Because of her oh so sunny disposition. Here, she was Little Miss Moody. Another fun name for her, describing her moods. Hell, I'm the coach's adult, the den mother. I was supposed to keep an eye on his young starting front line. I really dropped the ball on that one.

   I tried talking to her a lot, it just never worked. You kept trying to really like her, and just when you were starting to? She would lash out. Or act up or act out. Like… she almost didn't want close friends. Maybe she knew this was going to be her way out eventually, so she didn't want anyone close enough to be truly crushed by this. Makes sense. She spared us finding her, she took care to make the note. Absolved us of all guilt, tell us it was her missing her dead dad. Wow. And she actually loved us. We never knew. She could have told us? Well, I guess she did.

   There's nothing more final, than a suicide note. You can at least count on whatever they say? Its the truth as they see it. No reason to lie, if you're about to die, right? She had told me art isn't necessarily about it being great, its simply being able to express emotions. Her emotions? She saw us as all happy and together here, and her off to the side, sad and alone. I can hear it now, plain as day. My dad went away, he left me and my mom. Thought he ran off. Nope. He left the other way. I sure do miss my dad. I hope I meet him someday soon. In hindsight? She didn't want us to know he died, didn't want everyone fawning all over her. But now, in hindsight? It was clear as a bell, just coded. My dad's dead, I can't wait to die.

   I wonder about the mom. Husband died. Now, the daughter killed herself. She'll either drink herself to death, or maybe take the more direct route. Things like depression and suicide, tend to run father to son, mother to daughter. Odds are bad on that one. So, she spoke in a kind of code about things. Maybe I'll meet my dad soon. And yeah, she'd kind of look off and say things like that. Little half smirk. Lightning was on a kick, asking all of us what we'd be for Halloween if she could get all of us to do Wizard of Oz with her. Lightning kept bugging her, she finally said it. Again? Looking off, smirking. Code.

   I don't know, Light. Has to suit me, right? Sure, Lightning said. Well Light? I guess someone has to go as the wicked witch. Paint myself all green. She's jealous of Dorothy and her magic slippers. Hell, you can drop a house on me, make it look real. She was saying it in code. I'm jealous of you, Lightning. Green with envy. Magic slippers? Magic spikes. You could drop a house on me. The wicked witch dies in the movie. I look at her art now? Childish, but… plain as day. She was all dark colors, child's frown face. Art is you show your emotions. She saw everyone else as happy, and she was alone and sad.

   Oh god, how long will it take to stop crying? I don't know. She went away to do it. She wanted it to be a while, we would just think she slipped off and left. Then, it would be painless. We'd eventually get the memo. Hey, here's the note. Loved you guys, not your fault. Miss dad. Bye. She wanted it to take longer to be discovered. She found an out of the way place, and went back in that little storage area. Even went through the trouble of closing that heavy rusted door. On a practical side of things? Taking long enough, in summer like that… would guarantee a closed casket. She really was looking out for us. She wanted it to be as painless as possible for us. Everyone staring at her in a casket, would be worse.

   Guys? You can have all my stuff. I can't use it where I'm going. None of us would want her clothes. A few CDs, a few DVDs, a few books. She had nothing major. No big screen TV anyone would want, no great stereo equipment. What did she figure we would want… she's speaking in code again. I actually loved you guys, believe it or not. I want you to have all my stuff, I can't use it.

   She wanted us to have her gigantic stash. Oh god, here I go again. She wanted to give us all a big present. You take everything in that room? Not much of any real value… except that, easy. Only big ticket item.

   She was depressed, bad. Alcohol is the normal thing. Like her mom was doing. She could drink on the weekends, off season. But… you can't drink heavy and play well. So? She smoked. It was her attitude adjuster. That's what she called it. She knew she was depressed, and sad, and mad, jealous of happy people, and had mood swings. She knew she couldn't help it, and just wanted attention.

   Why is this stuff so easy to see when its too late, and its all over? Why can't you piece the clues together when you can still help? Well. Couldn't we have cared more, went to the cops earlier? Maybe we could have… hell, early enough? We'd have ended up right where she did it. We'd have seen her running around with art people. Well? Maybe not. She's still calling or texting, more days, more days. We're fine. Its when you realize there's no more answering the phone or texting back that worries you. That was the phone found and got sold and wiped. She's already dead by that time.

   Depression. She had trouble sleeping. Even without drinking, she just stayed up late. One of those four hours a night people. Four hours, if she needed it or not, was her joke. She wouldn't eat much sometimes. Pick at her food, move it around her plate. So? She'd smoke to get her appetite going.

   She wasn't all bad. She could be fun to have around. She was heavy on sarcasm. Which made for a really grim gallows humor. She could have just told us, the umpteenth time there was some house issue. Look guys, I actually like you guys. Love you all, really. My dad died, my mom's out of it… I get bad moods and I can't help it. I don't mean to be like this. We could have been a lot more understanding, and it would have made it a lot easier to overlook it.

   Not cleaning, throwing used condoms around. Bad depression? They don't like cleaning, they don't care. We teased her and made fun of her for it. We were poking fun at her depression symptoms. She didn't bath every day, either. Not caring about your appearance and hygiene is another classic depression sign.

   I got him alone, and asked what Lightning would have seen. How bad? I would be dealing with it, I figured. He spoke in roundabout terms. You wouldn't recognize her. Clothes and the green streak in her hair, let you know who it was more than how she looked. I wanted to know, and… he finally took me aside. If I had to know? He said, look. I want you to imagine… bad roadkill. Deer. Summer? Flies? He said you couldn't recognize her. They swell up. Lightning saw that. Up close. Poor thing. Well, Moody had tried to spare us that, hadn't she? She took great pains for it to take a while for us to get the memo. Christ. Light is going to eventually try to describe it to me. She's going to have nightmares, and flashbacks, and probably a dose of some kind of PTSD sort of thing. Teddy Ball really is the greatest? But he has limits.

   Still? Teddy Ball is uncanny. Come on Teddy, help me find Moody. You can do it. You know I need my center. I'll be damned if the soccer ball didn't find her, too. Teddy even told her, to tell me. Hurry? Its not your fault. Teddy, says so. Damn it if the note didn't come out right on cue, and the first line absolved me of all guilt.

   Now I'm getting jealous of Lightning. Why can't I have a damn Teddy Ball that tells me exactly what I need to know, right before I need to know it. Wow. Lightning really does love me. She gave me her Teddy Ball. Here, he can help you stop crying. That damn soccer ball? Changed her life, it was her only friend for four long years. He made her tough and strong, and allowed her to finally take revenge on her mother, the way she had abused her all those years. Teddy is her favorite thing in her life, her most cherished 14 year old's possession. She gave him to me, and she keeps coming and giving him to me, when I can't stop crying.

   I'm sharing the most important person in my life with her, and she's doing it right back. My god, she's actually a lot tougher than I ever imagined. She saw that, up close. I didn't have to see it at all. And she's quickly giving me Teddy Ball. So he can help me stop crying.

   Aw, Christ almighty. The damn athletic director. He'll get another one of his consultants, they'll have another focus group on this. I can see that shit show now. Some goddamn grief counselor is going to come in, and assemble the whole team together. Going to be some whiny pain in the ass type. Speaking in bumper stickers and slogans, like all these lightweights do. Oh good god, please no. I can see it, plain as day.

   "Well, see, this is real bad. Now, this is the hurt locker. We put all the bad things, into our hurt locker in our mind? And we leave them there. That's what we do. Your friend was hurting, real bad. Inside."

   No shit lady, stick the fucking hurt locker up your ass, would you? Maybe I can get the football coach to come in, and kick the grief professional out, and blow his whistle and say something that really matters. He's the only person that for some reason, can tell the athletic director he's an idiot. Then, he handles it for free. Without wasting 60 grand on stupid shit.

   Christ. She obeyed the football coach's grim request. If any of you stupid assholes wants to kill themselves in a retarded way, like sticking drugs up your ass? Get the hell off campus, go far away, and don't bring the problem to the program.

   Sweet Christ? She went far enough away, and took care to make it so we'd just get the memo much later. I guess him and her shared some kind of sarcastic gallows humor. They were on a wavelength. I doubt he'd be the right person to go to, with such a problem. He was never known for his tact, among all his other gifts. Maybe he could have helped. He'd probably look at her, and say it outright.

   "Well. You miss your dad died. I get that, little girl. But, the hell does killing yourself do? How does fucking the team over, solve it? It doesn't. Your toilet's fucked. We get you a plumber."

   I'm crying, laying face down on the bed again. He's just sitting in the chair, can't really help me. He knows I feel guilt and shame, from not being able to help. And I'm the den mother. I'm supposed to save the front line for the coach to start the season with. Best one he's had in years. I did the absolutely wrong thing a mother can do. I concentrated on my good, smart kid? Figuring she was worth it. I ignored my bad kid, who as it turned out… needed the help more.

   I feel hands on mine. My head is being lifted up. Its Little Lightning. She's putting Teddy Ball into my arms, and putting my head down on him. Then, she pats my head and walks out without saying a word. All right, I'll try the Teddy Ball. He knows everything else.

   I don't know how to use this damn oracle ball. I need her here, to translate for me. How the hell does he work for her. She doesn't hallucinate his answers. They come from inside her. Well, it sort of works, temporarily at least. I'm trying to figure out exactly how she uses him, and that's got my mind off this for a few seconds. So now, I'm staring at the damn ball.

   He's looking at me. I looked up at him, and warned him with my finger.

   "You. Not one damn word."

   "All right, Ted. How do you work…"

   Light isn't dumb. She's actually smart. She's just emotionally immature. She knows the ball can't talk. Because she's not crazy, either. The answer? Comes from within Lightning. You give yourself your own answer. The answer? Is inside me. I just need to let it out. And, I'm looking at a soccer ball, to solve my problems for me. Oh great.

   I'm looking at a soccer ball, to solve my problems.

   I'm looking at a soccer ball, to solve my problems.

   I'm look---

   I don't have the same problems as some of the other girls do. Soccer isn't my entire life. Its a more practical thing for me. I liked sports, I played ball with the boys instead of tea parties and dollhouses. I was good enough at soccer? To get a scholarship, so I could have a free education, at a top university.

   My parents, and my dad mainly… would have sent me to college, they can afford it. But, dad has a college degree in agriculture. So, he can run a big farm better. Which is what he was sent for. He would send me for that. And if the person footing the bill wants you to go for X? Well, you major in X.

   I have an actual academic career going. I can look forward to a meaningful masters and even a doctorate. Soccer? Is a lot more of a practical thing for me. Sure, I'm good at it. Sure, I enjoy it. But… its a practical means to an end. Also allows me to take whatever I want to take, not studying cow's asses for four years, to come home and run a farm. Which as much as I love the farm, I'm not sure I want that to be my entire life.

   I have a mom and I have a dad. They're good ones, and my mom is actually my real mom, my dad is actually the guy that banged mom and stayed with her. They also both tried, and they're half decent at being parents.

   So, I don't have half or more the problems the other girls have. No dad, no mom, all that jazz. Once again? Soccer isn't my entire world, its just a part of it. I don't run around like a turbo-slut, and date men I know wouldn't be good choices. I have a serious relationship, and I think I found the one. I'm not looking at soccer to allow me to run around and fuck boys.

   I'm not looking at a soccer ball, to solve my problems for me. I really don't have a lot of the problems the other girls have. But, some of them do.

   Miss Moody was here, just to play soccer. She was good and even great at it. She's majoring, well, was majoring in toe painting. Not just art, practical art. Take away soccer? She has about nothing and wouldn't be here.

   Lightning is similar. Soccer changed her life, and saved it. It got her revenge. It gave her something she needed. It allowed her to be a star again, when she couldn't have boys looking at her like that. A soccer ball? Solves all her problems.

   I'm not even a huge star. I'm important, but I'm a big strong girl who knows that she's a utility player. I'm realistic about it. I can never make the Olympics. I enjoy this, and I want to win, so I can get a masters and maybe a doctorate. A winning team makes that easier to have happen. My masters or doctoral thesis, particularly my doctoral thesis? Has a much higher chance of being approved, with one or more championships under my belt. That ring gives me greater power.

   Even if I can parley this into a job as a coach or assistant coach? Team Assistant for a masters job till then… its once again a practical thing.

   If I were to quit looking for who needs help at what, and instead just stand back and squint my eyes… and pick out the girls that… what? Only have soccer as their life, and nothing else? Not all of those need help, true. But all those that seem to need the help, are in that category.

   The coach is going to ask me, is there something he could have done. Something he can be looking for. I'm his psych major, so do I have any insight. He not only made me Light's guard dog and big sister? He has me babysitting his important front line. I'm his adult. I'm his girl inside the locker room and showers, exactly where he can't be because he doesn't have tits. I'm his girl outside the game, where he can't be either. At parties, in class, around campus, etc.

   Hell. He knows there was something wrong with Lightning, his biggest star. He has me on it.

   Well, Teddy. You did it. I figured out how to use you. I kissed Teddy Ball. I have an answer that makes some kind of sense, when my coach asks me what he needs to look for. If a girl seems to have nothing else going for her, but soccer? You concentrate on them.

   I once again leveled my finger at him, and threatened him.

   "Not one word out of you…"

   And I quit crying, then hugged and put my head down on Teddy Ball. If we end up winning championships, and actually setting up a dynasty in the making. And this program sort of becomes the "house that Lightning built"? We're gonna have to bronze this motherfucker, if she'll ever part with Teddy Ball. I'm crying, because I'm guilty and ashamed, over things I had no way of predicting. Now? I have some kind of thread I can follow. I can give my coach something reasonable he can get his head around and work on.

   Coach is gonna ask me now, definitely, to help him look at tapes of high school stars. All of whom, want a chance to play beside Lightning. She's a recruiting lightning rod, pun intended. He's not gonna like my answer there. I think Little Lightning, needs to watch the tapes. Teddy Ball, can help her pick out who she thinks the next stars should be. The coach is going to look at me like I flipped my wig, but numbers are numbers. Teddy Ball? Knows all, he can't be stumped. He's the motherfucking oracle.

   Teddy Ball can find missing centers. He can tell the near future, right before it happens. He can make girls quit crying. He's omnipotent, but only Lightning knows how to best divine his answers. The answers are inside her, but she needs Teddy to get them out of her. Who knows or even cares how it works? It just does. Basically? I'm going to make a case for… essentially, a 14 year old girl to let her teddy bear pick his stars for him.

   And? That he can never say it, or there would be liberal pain in the ass hell to pay, but… girls that come from single parent households? Need a little extra looking at, to see if there's any issues. And that two equally stacked up stars, one has two parents that have no seeming issues? The other comes from a broken home? Go with the Mizz Two Parents… the risk is better. And again, keep it to yourself but there you go.

   No one is going to want to hear my answers, but there they are. They're for off the record use only. And if you want to be nice? Find me an ice skating rink, so Lightning can dance on ice and get rejuvenated, it will pay big dividends. I don't care if its just somewhere the ice hockey boys practice at, that will do. We have a biathlon team here, and no ice hockey program.

   If you really want my opinion? We need a center with a nice personality and two parents that get along, and she actually has an academic career… because if the other one would have had that, we wouldn't be looking for another one already. We need someone who's adequate, to feed the run and gun wings. Not compete with them for attention.

   He's going to ask me how his Little Lightning is doing? And I gotta tell him the truth. In my opinion? Look the fuck out, she's going to go on a holy tear and be more determined than ever. And don't ever bring her mother in for a big surprise on parents night around homecoming game? Or his biggest star will be in jail for cold blooded and premeditated murder, and will say that a soccer ball told her to do it, he's always right, she listens to everything he says.

   Okay, the first part, might leave the last part out. Coach is only human after all. Guess he doesn't need any intimate details about me, her, and my boyfriend and our sex lives either. Poor guy has enough on his plate.

   When he asks is that all? Yeah. Where the hell can I get something that more than loosely resembles ruby slippers. Before Halloween.

   Lightning is asleep on our bed now. Sound asleep. I felt like a mom, sneaking Teddy Ball under her arm. She instinctively felt and grasped him in her sleep, and hugged him in. I don't think my 14 year old is fooling me pretending to be asleep? But hey, what do I know. The kid with the big problems, is fast asleep. The den mother? Is up after a couple hour nap. Great. I'm the new Little Miss Moody now. I always was the Insufferable Cunt. Makes a bit of sense in some way. A tiger can't change her stripes maybe.

   I tried explaining it all to him. This one had more problems, that one actually had more. I ignored one over the other… he stopped me.

   "Look. You're the adult. The den mother. You're the therapist now. You're eyeing up assistant, then assistant coach. Maybe coach. You really even want to be a coach? Or is that just Miss Dominant talking. Thought that ends outside the bedroom."

   "I'm on your couch. Go."

   "There's hard facts of life. Here's one. Coach. In charge in the service… all the same. You sometimes lose a player. Simple as that. And if you go to pieces? You'll lose more. Lots more. Like… some mom that lost her husband? Couldn't handle it, now her kid's gone. Oh, she's gonna kill herself the quick way, the slow way… but it's coming."

   "I know. You lost your mentor. I get it."

   "Nah. That's not in this. You wanna be in charge a little, a lot someday? You lost one. You'll lose more if you fall apart. In the service? You wanna lose one, not nine more. You made a mistake. You lost one. Try to figure out what went wrong, and apply that to the other nine you want to keep. Because if you can't do that? Those other nine are doomed."

   "That's…"

   "Its harsh. I can't help it. Look. A lot of people in this world. You know the ones. They all have this… little kid, whiny, pamphlet view of the world. This? The creative district. The creative people come here. Whee! There's art… and people, meeting people, and exchanging… stuff. Its magical! You were there. Did you see the magic?"

   "No. Not a lot of it."

   "Me neither. You ever been to Mardi Gras? That's another famous one."

   "Oh. The… week long party, the beads… oh, it looks like…"

   "Yeah. The pamphlet, the brochure. Been there. To me its a fucking cesspool. All pickpockets, hookers, pimps, thieves, con artists, dealers, addicts… but for a couple weeks? Walk around with your tits out, throw beads around, get drunk, get laid. The rest of the year? You see it for what it is. A cesspool, ask any big easy cop. That's what they call it, the big easy. Most of the cops are con men and criminals, too. I don't see the magic."

   "There a point to this, or… are you just Mister Moody now."

   "To me, the same kind of people, that are always labeling things as… oh, so creative… oh, so magical… they're the people you talk about. Fucking lightweights. The pop psychologists. Couple slogans. A pamphlet, at best."

   "Buzzword bingo. Textbook? Boiled down to a bumper sticker."

   "They're the ones. I say, you lose one? Sad. You got nine more to worry about. Alive. Concentrate on that."

   "And what do… they do."

   "Buzzword bingo? Oh. See, she wasn't a number, she was a human being, she needed this, she needed that. Look, warning signs, where was the care… this is all armchair quarterbacking Monday morning. These people? Never there in the trenches with you, in the game. They flit in a day or two later, memorized a few bumper stickers, flit back out. They have all these pat little slogans and answers? Never do a fucking thing to actually help."

   "You sound like the football coach. They spend 60 grand, on stupid films. The kids laughed and started doing what the film said not to. He blew the whistle, tore them a new asshole, told them how it was… better. Yeah. 60 grand on… bumper sticker slogan filled, buzzword film… some guy can chew their ass out, tell them reality. Free, works better."

   "My point. He's been in the trenches. He's there with you."

   "Yeah. Hard ass football coach. The Marine. The… film slogan guy? Athletic director. Coach hates him."

   "He should."

   "Coach says, he never coached a goddamn tee ball game, what business does he have, running around with his… films, and terms…"

   "Blowing the budget on pamphlets. Pop psych consultants."

   "Yeah… oh. We'll get another 60 thousand dollar slogan expert. Grief counselor. We'll all get the… put it in the hurt locker speech."

   "Yeah. Heard that one. You just put it in your magic box, and it just stays there, can't hurt you anymore… fucking retarded. They have the balls, to tell guys this shit. You wanna know who got the hurt locker speech?"

   "Who."

   "Army boy. I Mentioned it. His buddy deploys. Overseas. Infantry. They do firefights. Its their day at the office. Cute little girl, ain't got no business being in a combat unit, not like that. She didn't get herself killed? She got, more than nine other guys killed. Went girly girl in a firefight. Weak link. Now? Stand up guys, are standing up. Making themselves targets. So other guys, other stand up guys? Can go run into a hail of lead, to drag this little girl back to safety."

   "I remember you saying. The hell was anyone thinking?"

   "The… bumper sticker people. Girl power. Why, she can pull a trigger. Look how well she shoots that paper. Well? She's a coward, she got nine other guys, more maybe, killed trying to save her. She should have been court martial-ed for cowardice? She gets a medal for bravery. Cause little girl gotta show girl power, so more bumper stickers, and more guys can get killed for this… bullshit. That? Was his buddy."

   "Explains his… harsh on girls thing a little."

   "Well, the nightmare was just beginning. The dead friend's wife? You know what she was doing, while he was getting killed, trying to save a little girl with no business playing soldier."

   "Turbo on. Ouch."

   "Yeah. Ouch. They sent him for counseling. Some… dip-shit consultant, probably gets 60 grand for this class… gives the hurt locker speech. See? You just make this magic box? You bloop it in there? Whee. It no hurt you no more."

   "Oh. I know the type. He complains about little girl going girly, getting people killed?"

   "Oh. He's a sexist pig. Gets written up. Official letter of reprimand."

   "Wow."

   "He complains about what the wife was doing. What guys were showing him videos of her doing? While his friend was shot in the face, trying to save a girl with no business."

   "He got written up for that, too."

   "Yeah. He got a lot of help, from the hurt locker bumper sticker class. Basically? He gets sent to the class, for help. What does he get? Prosecuted. Literally."

   "There's so many of them… the bumper sticker crowd…"

   “Yeah. Kick over a rock? They scatter like ants.”

   "What would you have done? The little girl."

   "She needed to be let go. Everyone else… make it. What was she gonna be doing next time? She already lost nine stand up guys, that were good at it. Now? More people are gonna be getting killed."

   "Hope the girl was worth it…"

   "Oh. Her? Another real piece of work. Same as the wife back home. My body, my rules. I can do what I want."

   "Oh shit… no wonder he…"

   "Yeah. So, maybe just like Little Miss Moody, you understand her now, armchair quarterbacking your big failure to save every last person? He's… like her. Acting out. Has legit reasons. Now? Monday morning? You know his story."

   "Now I feel bad for… him."

   "You were standing up for Lightning. He's tougher, she seemed vulnerable. You made a call. You thought Miss Moody was tough, Lightning was weak? You made a call. Hell, I know his back story? I stuck up for Lightning. So, I made a call too."

   "Did we make the right calls?"

   "We lost one. Everyone else? Seems to be doing great, okay, or still kicking."

   "Lightning… you stuck up for her. Took her part. You took my, vulnerable friend's part. Over your best buddy, Army fighting student. No one ever took her part. Not one boy. You… did it right in front of everyone. Claimed her. Told everyone she was amazing. I… don't have words. Did you know, he's apologized to her? Not trying to get back with her, just… he's sorry. He shouldn't have done that, acted like that, said that…"

   "Well. Him and the boys? Get to spend the next year or two, fucking their way through the rest of the girls soccer team."

   "Who will do to those boys, what he accused Light of doing, and wasn't. Its all so…"

   "The soap opera continues. All around us. Me? I have you. You? Have lightning. I? Got both of you, for now. Until… I imagine one day, she goes out on her own."

   "Or… she gets dependent on us."

   "You're the therapist. I just live here. What do I know."

   "Hmm. You know what she asked me, while you were getting a snack earlier? Before she fell asleep."

   "What."

   "She asked. She noticed, how I kiss you. I kiss… big. And she… kisses little. She asked which one you liked. Should she learn to kiss big like I do? Or, would you like her way, too."

   "I am so in trouble, whichever way I answer that one. Call Vaquera and get it over with."

   "I told her, that you kiss them however you like. She's stuck in that mode. Boys like it when you dance and dress like this. Boys like it when you do this and that."

   "What does she want? What's she like?"

   "She thinks she likes to kiss small. And… she calls it being in the middle."

   "Oh. Cute."

   "It is. She said, I kiss big, and then I only like to be in the middle, one time a week. But, she likes to kiss small, but she likes to be in the middle more, except for her once a week on the edge. I'm pretty sure? She's the opposite of me. That way."

   "Hmm. She was dressing and dancing for boys, even that way."

   "Maybe."

   "Are you asking me? Or telling me."

   "Both. Neither. One or the other. Hell, I don't know."

   "Well, that's a real girly girl answer, isn't it? Where's Vaquera when you really need her to sort shit out."

   "You. I don't remember six weeks going by. You're not supposed to be all free with your sass your sweet mommy appreciates. You just referred to Vaquera, at least twice just now, in a very offhand, carefree manner. That I'm not entirely sure? She will appreciate when she does stop back over for a visit. What will she think."

   "You could guess."

   "Did I hear you tell me no, with a mean voice several times? Or was I hearing things. Grabbing my by my arms. Shaking me. Yelling at me. How many times, have you talked over me, corrected me… I'm quite frankly, losing track."

   "You could be remembering incorrectly, the cop weed was pretty good stuff. You were under a lot of stress. It happens. You interview witnesses? They all say something completely different. In fact, if all the witnesses say the exact same thing? That, is when a cop knows he's getting the snow job."

   "Oh. You think you can just hand me that, did what I had to do, BS… huh? Breaking every rule ever, every five minutes."

   "You sure you're not just making up excuses?"

   "I seem to remember, I don't need a reason. I don't need to make up an excuse. I can just do it."

   "I suppose you could."

   "Or, I call someone up, to have a little talk with you, in private. Whichever."

   "You sure do have an odd sense of timing, to bring issues like this up."

   "Well. That's another issue in and of itself. I don't want to make yet another classic mom mistake. Worrying about my job, my coworkers. My… kids, basically. And, I run the risk of making sure I do everything? And I ignore you."

   "Aw. Have you been reading those girly magazines again? Well. We're just going to make time for us, and that's that."

   "No, not reading Retards Monthly. But, its not guaranteed they aren't right once in a while. Broken clock? Its right twice a day."

   "Is it now."

   "Simple math, genius boy. You know what else?"

   "Afraid to ask."

   "Hmm. Smartest thing you said so far. We're not so far into your little… self improvement program. That you can't get… corrected. Your little attitude adjusted. And… don't throw Vaquera's name around like its oh, just some slut from the bar. I tell her that shit? I bet she takes your jeans off you. And not the fun way, either. Figures out a couple ways to… get that… tone of respect back in your voice…"

   "You're in charge of certain aspects of the relationship. That among them."

   "I am. And I've been… shirking my duties. Also. Time management and all. Preseason camp comes eventually, then season. You? Will notice a slight… what’s the cool way to say losing out? Something with zip. Like… the athletic director would say it."

   "Oh. You're not losing money? You're experiencing a… negative investment increment."

   "Yeah."

   "Season ends. Holiday breaks. Next summer. I'm sure you'll make it up to me."

   "Hmm. We only have so many… next summers. Before we turn into people with gray hair and wrinkles around their eyes."

   "Well, we have a barn and property by then, right?"

   "We might."

   "Hey. You told me how you're the coach in the relationship. Blow your whistle. Its still a little weird to talk like this, after what happened."

   "I know. I just don't wanna fall into some trap, of letting things slide. While we wait for whatever right time… then next thing you know."

   "Well. Can I at least have… one of those… big kisses I've been hearing about."

   "Hmm. We'll wake the kid. Can, I try one of the… small kisses out?"

   "I guess. But I hate to slum it."

   "Ha. I saw the slums that day in the city, you know."

   "Yeah. I don't wanna have us get degrees, then do the city thing. Have to live like that to get money together… ugh."

   "We should do something little. We should go somewhere local. Any ideas?"

   "Hmm. Yeah. We've been there before."

   "Where."

   "The old abandoned farm?"

   "I remember it. I liked it."

   "Me too."

   "For?"

   "Oh. Technically? If we just walk around, enjoy the place. I'm happy."

   "Uh huh."

   "Well, I mean… if it happens, it happens."

   "What if it doesn't happen. Still your favorite place?"

   "Sure. I have ulterior motives."

   "Such as."

   "We play fun games. We pretend things."

   "We do. We also make them very real, in a way. I mean, Vaquera. She's a pretend game, but… you tell that to her, when she walks in and you lay eyes on her. Very real, at the same time."

   "No, we were there, twice. I found myself pretending."

   "Pretending what."

   "That it was our property. We hadn't fixed anything up yet. We had to camp out in the house, but we had it, it was ours."

   "That was your big fantasy? Vaquera didn't come walking up over the hill, with a glint in her eye."

   "No. This was after action, during… down time."

   "I'm impressed. Very… I was going to say, adult fantasy? Lets call that one a very… mature fantasy."

   "Oh. We weren't old yet. You still had perk in your tits."

   "Wow. A decidedly non sexual fantasy."

   "Well… Vaquera had her own room, she comes over to visit on her own schedule, I don't know… something like that."

   "Hmm. You made that up. You had a mature, non sexual fantasy. About me and you and our life."

   "Is that bad?"

   "No, its very good. Which gets you into even more trouble, and Vaquera is going to take your jeans off twice in a row now, for that."

   "How did that work."

   "You? Were in trouble. I was scheduling in… talk time. You go and pull that, to try to be nice, and get out of it. That's a very punishable offense."

   "Well, that's you and your whistle. Are we going ourselves? Picnic and whatever else."

   "Hmm. No kid?"

   "You call it. I feel guilty if I don't wanna take the kid."

   "I don't know. She had a bad day. Peace and quiet, no commotion? Might not hurt. She could benefit from seeing… the mature side of our relationship. That not all our fantasies are… of a sexual nature. We can still go for a hike."

   He smiled.

   "A compromise. I like it."

   "Yes. I'm compromising right now, too."

   "How's that?"

   "Because…"

   I leaned into his ear, and told him exactly what I wanted, and precisely which naughty games I would be pulling right now, if the kid wasn't sleeping on the bed.

   "You're rotten."

   I smiled.

   "The worst."

   I paused before going on.

   "So… can I ask about your… probably complicated and convoluted set of rules?"

   "I'll tell you anything. Sure."

   "When you were describing the little girl, that had no business being in direct combat overseas. Acting like a spoiled brat. Girl power. Some… pencil pushing pussy, probably just like me and my coach's athletic director, just in a uniform… made a decision. Girls can pull a trigger. Girl power… and, the spoiled girl power brat was running around acting like a slut, playing super soldier… I mean, she thought she was in some… action movie you watch when its your turn to pick the DVD, right?"

   His face took a sour turn.

   "Yeah. You understand that all… damn near perfect."

   "All right. I'm pretty sure, I picked up on something. And… you don't have to tell me, but."

   "Go on. If you don't like the answer? You asked the question. On you. And… I'm prepared to have you… look at me funny. But if you want to ask stuff like that. Fine. Just know the rules of this new game. That's all. You wanna play the adult version of truth and dare? Its fine."

   "All truth, no dares."

   "Yeah. Still wanna play?"

   "I might as well. I came this far in the boys club. I got my own boy card and everything, you know."

   "Go on."

   "That girly girl. There was… I could see it on your face. If you could go back in time, be there, and make things right. What would it play like."

   "Being charitable?"

   "No. Justice, not charity. Truth."

   He paused.

   "She needed to die. Someone there, should have looked around. Said fuck it, I'll do her. She don't need to see it coming, not like that. But… when she's not looking. When she don't know it's coming. Quick, painless. She needed put down. You grew up on a farm. You don't scare the sick horse. I'm sure you give him a nice tasty carrot, and the best sugar cubes god put on this earth. But, when the horse can't get up, and its winter… you just make sure he don't see it coming. Right?"

   "Yeah. Its not the fun side of the farm. But, yeah."

   "Like that. Someone needed to step up. And they wouldn't, or couldn't. So? A lot of really good men died."

   "If… you were there. You would have let them do it."

   He paused.

   "I'd have made a few jokes, and given them the idea, if that's what it took. Or yeah. I'd have put the horse down. Your dad put the cow down, until you could do it, right?"

   "Yeah. He did."

   "So there you go. You gonna look at me funny for a few days? Wondering when I'm going to turn on you? I won't. But… you gonna ask why, that's how it needed to be? I'm not the… macho jerk. That smacks girls around, to feel like a big man. So, that's not it."

   "Go on. I asked."

   "Men and women. They're not equal. I know it. You know it. I love you, and you freely admit it. You play the boys soccer team. For practice. Coach does it, so you girls get knocked around by men half your size, you get used to it. Then? You can knock the girls around, cause you're used to it. Coach knows the truth, just like you know it. On average, men. Sure, You can mismatch a special girl, and a special guy to make it not be like that. But…"

   "No. I know it."

   "All right. Some men? Are not strong, or they are but they have no honor. They backhand women, because they can. They do it to children, they kick dogs and cats. When there's no reason to. They enjoy it, they get other guys encouraged to do it. They'll do it to smaller men, who don't deserve it. I make fun of them, to their face. If they keep it up? I'll show that bigger man than I am? What its like to get smacked around. And I'll let people watch. I don't… get that sense of power those men get? But I'll do it. There's other kinds of men though."

   "Go on."

   "Men have a natural, inborn… we're wired up. To protect women and children. Its our impulse. Its how we survived as a species. Smaller, or weaker men? Have this… fantasy. Wow. If I can play the hero, save her? She has to like me. She'll love me. Why, I'll get sex! I'll be that guy! And, they'll run right up, and play white knight. When a cunt like phone bitch, gets introduced to that pimple faced wrestler's back of his hand, and splits her lip open one day? I won't white knight for phone cunt. I laugh, and tell him to do it again, and get his hip into it. Walk right the fuck away. Not only didn't I see anything? I'll lie in court to save him. No, she came at him with a fork! I swear!"

   I said nothing.

   "When a woman slaps me? I don't slap her back. But… there are men that can and will. If phone cunt, slaps pimple wrestler? And she gets a fat lip. I just shake my head and laugh. Now. If some spoiled bitch bad boy, gets off on slapping women around? I think you know that I'm the kind of guy, that will… cultivate a reason, to show him what its like. To get smacked around, just because. Fun game, right? I'll show you how fun it is. Do you see the difference between these situations?"

   "Yeah. Phone cunt deserves it. The… battered woman? Doesn't."

   "This… girl power stuff. I actually like it. You know I really do. I love female athletes. But… these mouthy little girly girls, running around showing off, how they can slap a guy and get away with it. When some guy finally slaps her back, after she laughs at him slapping him ten times, showing off drunk at the bar? When she gets slapped back, or even punched like a man? She deserved it. The white knights, the weak men with that… fantasy… watch a girl slapping a guy, getting away with it, abusing being a girl… then those weak men want to rush in, the one time the guy finally slaps her back? I'll save him, from them."

   I said nothing. He prompted me.

   "Do you get it? Or…"

   "No, I get it. Or, I think I do. You're fair."

   "I try to be. I started out life? As a weak little boy. My body was not weak, but I was. When I found my confidence, and could use my strength. I was much happier. I never once misused that. I never once, ever picked on smaller, weaker men. I never once hit a girl. But those situations. Where some girl is slapping a guy, laughing. Abusing the never hit a girl rule. If a guy wants to? Feel free."

   I stayed quiet. When they open up, let them go. They do your work for you.

   "Now. Girl power. I think its wonderful. I think women should be allowed to go to school. Get degrees. Have careers. Be taught to play sports, from a young kid. Just like boys. Its wonderful. Its where big strong girls come from. And when big strong boys, mate with big strong girls? You get even bigger and stronger boys and girls. Its the best thing ever. But…"

   I waited.

   "Feminism? Has gone too far. Girls? Are being given, not earning, given. Jobs they're in no way qualified for. Over men. Women are getting free college educations, who have no business being in college. My tax dollars? Support idiots with tits, getting… useless degrees. To work useless jobs. While some guy there, pulls all the weight. Because girl power. Not happy? They're pushing it even more."

   Not a word out of me.

   "Now. Girly girls have gone over the top, and come for society with bayonets affixed. And I've noticed, men are all noticing. Women want equal pay for equal work. Well, they're crowding all the nice jobs. They want office jobs. Nursing. Lawyer. Doctor. Crowding better qualified men out of those positions. And? These girly girls have the balls, to get on the internet, and demand things. Like the six six six rule. No man under six foot tall is acceptable. No man without six inches of cock is worth the trouble. No man, without at least 100,000 a year to spend on her? Is worth her time to date."

   Silence is golden.

   "All the while? They're sucking up all the free tax money, to get college degrees in… women's studies. Dance therapy. Basket weaving. Getting hired over men, to get jobs that many of them? Are not qualified for. Or better yet, are just made up make work jobs. For brownie points. So yeah. That's the reality of the situation. That's? How men are starting to talk openly about it. Fight back on the internet. Boy power. Now… this all started, with that girl in combat. Now that we all know what the score is? Lets return to her, shall we."

   "This is getting good."

   "Yeah. Look. Women can't on average do as many push ups and pull ups as men. No big deal. So yeah, when we're in basic training? Sure. The girls get to do less, and still pass. Whatever. Now, most girls can't hump the 80 pound pack. So? The really big guys, have to take turns humping two packs, that's up to 160 pounds, on that ten mile forced march, mind you. While they walk, on a nice summer walk. In 105 degree heat. Its fucking brutal."

   "You guys hate that."

   "We don't like it. Some of us grumble, but we do it. Some of us use it to show off. Hey, I can carry two. I played football. But… its fine. Do you know which girls we respect?"

   "I know this one. A girl like me, that can carry her own hay bale."

   "Oh. You do that? We'll fucking buy you drinks, we'll put our arm around you, and show you off. This? Is how it should be. Open arms. And no one slaps you on the ass, or the football player sticks up for you. You know who else we respect?"

   "Tell me."

   "Even the little girls. The ones that are determined, to carry that pack as far as they can. If you can do it for just one mile, and we have to do the rest of the nine miles left? That's enough. If you can't do it but ten steps, but you try… and feel bad when you wish you could? That's enough. We do it, and smile. All those girls? They get almost as much respect, as the girl like you, that carries her own hay bales. Now… we come around to the girls we have no respect for."

   Silence is more than golden.

   "The girls that giggle, and toss that pack on the nearest big guy. Here you go! Ayah, mule! Giddy up!"

   "Aw, man…"

   "Girls like you, that can? Just laugh and enjoy the free ride. They teach the other girls, that are trying to do one mile, before walking free the last nine miles… fuck that, honey. Use them, that's what a mule is for…"

   "Oh, shit… what happens to those girls."

   "Nothing. We get court martial-ed, if we so much as say a peep. But… we have one weapon. She gets the green wall."

   "What's that… sounds… ominous."

   "We smile. We nod. We are oh so polite. But nothing else. A guy offers her a ride into town? We tell him, she's green walled. He risks getting green walled too. She gets nothing. No respect. No help of any kind, unless someone makes us."

   "Can she get out of… green walled. There a path back?"

   "Yeah. There's girls there, like you. Telling her, look. Quit making me look bad. Just carry it, ten steps. Try. Some girls, even try to make fun of her. You know… hey guys? Let me see if I can go just a little bit, with a second pack… they don't make it far? But, they're trying to make fun of her. That? Is a green queen."

   "Green queen…"

   "Honorary man. She's one of the guys. You smack one of those on the ass? Someone will straight lay you out. The green walled girls, make fun of green queens. And girls that are trying. Total spoiled cunts. They know they're special, just for being girls, and take full advantage. Now… wanna guess which girls are the turbo-sluts every night?"

   "I bet it ain't the green queens."

   "Usually not. But… if they want to fuck around? No one says shit. Guys want laid, and she's one of the guys. But they usually don't. If they do date, they usually do it out of their work circle. To keep things from getting weird. No… its always those spoiled cunts. They go turbo-slut at the drop of a hat. Hey, work time. You, carry my pack. Ayah, mule! Oh, work day ended. Hey, wanna blowjob? Buy me dinner, buy me presents."

   "There's a lot of those… spoiled green walled cunts. Huh."

   "Tons. Now. Women used to be nurses. Office clerks. Then? They wanted to have more jobs, but, were not allowed in combat roles. Then? A real green queen? Case by case basis. But then… oh. No, girly girls just had to get everything. They forced the issue, and made infantry take all the girls. Not just green queens. Not just girls that would try to do ten steps. They made them take green walled spoiled cunts. Which is what that girl was."

   "No. I see it."

   "There's more. Combat? Carries special rules. Ones not in the rule book. When push comes to shove. If you can't do it? Everyone knows who can do it. The guys that can't… keep your head down. Reload clips for the guys that can. Bring water. Bring food. Trade out your cold rifle, for his over heated one. Cycle them around, to cool off. You don't get made fun of. Someone has to do it."

   "Figured you make fun of those guys."

   "No. There's another thing. Most people piss their pants, the first time they're under fire."

   "They get bought a pack of diapers, when its all over?"

   "No. Guy that's standing up, returning fire? Says no big deal. My first time? I shit my pants. You're doing good."

   "Wow."

   "Yeah. Special rules. And if you're trying, but you can't hit anything? Hey. You're wasting ammo, you're heating up a barrel for nothing. Just reload for me. Switch my rifle out. Its okay, just help out, and keep your head down."

   "Wow."

   "Yeah. And when its over? You go into town or you get home? You don't make fun of those guys. He sits at the bar with you, when he comes to visit. Hey. This is my battle buddy. He was in the shit with me. Show some respect."

   "I would of thought…"

   "You would of thought wrong. That guy that reloaded for you? Didn't run. He has ten times bigger balls than that asshole down the bar, talking like a big man, that don't know shit."

   "So… that girl…"

   "All she had to do? Was keep her head down. Help out. She couldn't even do that. All right, just keep your head down, and be useless. Can you handle that much? No. She cried and wouldn't move. When the order came to fall back? She stayed there. Nine or more men, got killed, trying to go up and get her, and bring her back to cover. Then? To make pencil pushers happy, I guess… someone had the balls to pin a medal on her. Wow. Guys got wiped out, and you made it. And you're a girl! Way to go. Girl power."

   "Oh god. I'm going to throw up."

   "And that's the story behind Army boy's best friend, that deployed and never came back. And the hero girl, that made it back they pinned a medal on. And he had to watch this girl acting like a big shot, showing off how cool she is. Recruiting more girly girls, hey, you can do it too. And his dead friend's wife? Is sitting ten seats away, watching all this. Videos going around of everyone having fun with the wife, while he was dying. Bitch got a new husband, and somehow got over her big loss."

   "Who does he hate more, the girly girl, or… the wife?"

   "Hard to say. But when he looks around him, and sees what most of the girls are really like? Using men for show boyfriends. Getting cash and prizes and dinners. Then putting out for everyone else but him… all while taking full advantage of the system. Free college for not even playing sports, not for academic scholarship. Simply because we need more women in college. Girl power. And, you're taking his tax dollars, and making it go for that. It makes me wanna puke."

   "Wow. And, you still…"

   "Yeah. I navigated that complicated moral minefield. You notice, I never said a word. I wait until I know, not when I think. I watched it all play out. That night, I had just learned the first taste, of what our Little Lightning really went through. And, earlier I had just learned that she's not a dippy girl. Actually bright and sensitive and can be deep. She's not running around, being a turbo-slut. She's… needing physical companionship. Still not enough. That's my good friend."

   "You were still not…"

   "No. Just because she's your friend, I'm not a white knight just because she lives with you. Also, he was my good friend for two years ahead of her. Bros before hoes. But? I just learned what had happened to her. I had just learned she's… smart and deep. What her… immature girl thing is, and more importantly what it isn't. But, he dumped her."

   "Oh."

   "Then? I acted. You dumped her. Fair game. My girlfriend now."

   "And… some of them had…"

   "Yep. My ass leaves the seat? They'll plop right down in it, and take what I was working on."

   "Before me. You… really liked a couple of girls. Coffee girl, you mentioned her. One of them… took your seat at lunch and worked it."

   "Yep."

   "The computer girl. The one at the gym. One of them went to the gym early, and…"

   "Yep again."

   "You… never said a word. You could have."

   "Yeah."

   "But… why?"

   "Bros before hoes."

   "You… could have…"

   "I could have what?"

   "You… could have said. Hey, you're in my seat. That's my coffee lunch. It would have floated."

   "Could have. But, the coffee girl? When a guy came along, and took my seat. She let him do it. As much as I liked her, I lost all respect for what I thought I’d found. She didn't really like a nice guy. She was just slumming it with me, until a man came along and would… see if he could get away with it."

   "So… you let bros before hoes, float. You… let her go, just like that. For…"

   "She's not worth my time. Shook his hand."

   "Computer girl…"

   "Liked her more. Not all the girls I like, are tall and strong. She's… normal sized. A little… goofy. Quirky. Says the wrong thing sometimes. Its cute. I like a… geeky girl. She liked me, for…"

   "Being a spastic geek. For not being a jock."

   "Yeah."

   "You were hurt."

   "I was. But once again. She was just saying it. Soon as she got her first chance. To trade up. You know, to a… real man?"

   "One that figured he could get there early. Move right in. Just like… his friend did… on coffee girl… he knew he could get away with it. It would fly."

   "She had no problem with it. Oh, she was nicer about it. Made that little effort, to jump up and see if I was okay about it. I told her no, it was fine. Enjoy. We're all friends."

   "You just walked away."

   "Not a second glance back. Not worth the effort. What do I gain, if I get her back, by claiming my seat. Nothing. I just put the inevitable off. I kick the can down the road. Rather know up front."

   I sat there somewhat stunned.

   "So… for the first two years… you were concentrating on…"

   "What. Geeky girls, I guess you'd say. See, coffee girl? A little new age. Not so much a geek, as… just different. That crowd, the girls claim they like guys that aren't… you know. Money, car, muscles, loud mouth. They date guys that aren't like that. I was… cultivating her. For a while. I really liked my… coffee lunches. It was very sweet. She was always talking about, hard to find a nice guy."

   "You liked her. For a while."

   "I did."

   "Then… you brought your Army buddies in, and pointed at the… quirky coffee girl you liked. That's the one. I think she's special."

   "Yep."

   "And… how long did it take."

   "About… two weeks."

   "And… computer girl."

   "Couple weeks, once I started bringing her to the gym. Oh, she liked me for being a spastic geek, trust me. The computer club? We compete with our brains, not our biceps. I was winning, for that. But… she was making comments about what was under my shirt. Wanted me to take her to the gym… so? I did."

   "Which was like pointing out coffee girl."

   "My best buddies? So predictable like that."

   "And… they were in the service. They like nice girls."

   "Mm hmm."

   "Holy shit. You're… not only not mad when one of them, sits in your seat… they think they're getting away with something. With the fighting coach, because they know him, they can get away with it. As long as they're very nice and polite about it…"

   "Yep."

   "And… they think, they're… poaching the nice girls, that you cultivate. And that they can, and that you're too nice to say something. In fact, they're always telling you…"

   "Standard guy advice. Quit being too nice, show her who wears the pants, be the man… all that. Uh huh."

   "And… holy goddamn horse shit…"

   "Aha. She's starting to get it."

   "You're buddies. Think they're getting away with murder."

   "Oh. Coffee boy? You should have seen the look on his face. I wasn't supposed to be there that time of day. The look she had on her face, too? Fucking priceless. Oops. Hey, you guys look good together. Have fun. Bye!"

   "Then, you brought it up at boys club…"

   "Yep. Seems its just fine to do that. Great. I'm on board."

   "So… coffee boy, pretty much told computer guy…"

   "Oh. Sure he did. Or, he saw already it could be done. Same thing. See, I didn't just show up 5 minutes early. More like, two hours early."

   "You… you're… you got them all thinking, that they're getting away with murder. Using bros before hoes, to cover over poaching girls…"

   "When I am, in fact… doing what."

   "You… use them…"

   "Well. I wouldn't say I exactly use my buddies, like that. I prefer to think of it, as, I'm allowing them to make themselves more useful to me. And hey, am I not my brother's keeper? The nice girls I was cultivating. Enjoy. They even enjoy them more, because they think… they're being the man. Everyone wins. Everyone's happy."

   "And… the whole time… they think they're getting one up on you here, one up on you there. But, in reality…"

   "They're really just doing my work for me. Letting me see up front, what I have to look forward to, down the road somewhere. I'd rather beat off, than stick my dick in a lying, untrustworthy cunt. What. You think I didn't learn my lesson in high school? Think again. I'm not gonna be some show husband, while the girl runs around with… whatever the fuck it is they run around with. Sooner beat off."

   "And, you did learn your lesson. You turned into…"

   "Yeah. You're seeing Rome. Rome wasn't built in a day. When I ended up the… I didn't like that any better. I mean, its a little better? But, not by much. Relationship? No respect, no sex. Or… sex? But no relationship. I want both. I won’t settle, for half. Sooner beat off."

   "Why me? I really wasn't any better. I mean… I was just like coffee girl. Computer girl. I liked you more, when I…"

   "Yeah. You can't help it. But? You were ashamed of it. You begged me to forgive you for it. And you were looking at me all along. You… humped the heavy pack, as long as you could. I was impressed."

   "You… are something else."

   "You won't let some guy sit next to you. When we met at the party? I watched you. Shove guys away that stand too close. That seat's taken. I was impressed. Most girls? They might not take them up on it, but they smile. When guys try to stand close. Show they can do it. Or, they say something sly. Like… you got ten seconds before my boyfriend gets back. You better be gone by then. But, that shows they like it. You? You just shove. I was impressed."

   "Thought you just liked my boobs…"

   "Those too. And you were so different. You grab my hand, lead me through the crowd, introduce me to people. I'm fine with it. You crossed off my checklist, handed it back to me, and said sign it. Here's your next appointment card."

   "Yeah. Smacked you on your ass, too."

   "All good. I knew I was looking for something out of the ordinary. Something different. Found it."

   "And… what was that little game with your friends called. Which website does that come from."

   "Oh. That's my own creation. The idea comes from a men's rights awareness website. The idea is pretty basic. You have a guy, who you're pretty sure has more game than you? Well… you see if your little princess is worth a fuck. Works best with a large group. Like, in the city."

   "Or? A large university."

   "Hey. You're right. Never noticed that. Thanks for the tip."

   "Uh huh."

   "Well, it works. It shows you which girls aren't trustworthy. Problems exist with this strategy, however."

   "Namely?"

   "Well, when its working? The girl player, gets embarrassed, dumped, and shamed and called a whore. Now? No more playing nice girl, getting wined and dined, not putting out for her show boyfriend. Fucking every player around behind his back. She's shown to be the whore she really is. The other girls in the large social circle? They learn a lesson too."

   "They learn their friend is a whore? They are too. And not telling on each other."

   "Ah. But when publicly shamed and called out? Uh oh. We're screwed. We can be shameless whores, but, no more wining and dining, getting show boyfriends. Landing husbands when we finally feel like it."

   "So what's the problem?"

   "It only works, when the guys provide a united front. Your good looking wing man, that helps you out testing? He's also able to simply tell you she's cool… and bounce her off his dick. In fact? He's able to tell you she's good… keep you being the wine and dine show… while he's railing her whenever he feels like it."

   "Wow. I love the modern dating game, so so much."

   "Yeah. Remember, the whole problem with most girls? They're almost all worthless whores in the first place. They just pretend to be nice girls, while playing the show game. If a rich guy happens along? Ah… that's why I kept the nice girl image. I dish out, work him for cash and prizes. While I fuck around anyways, then dish back into the game when I dump him. Big problem? They're almost all shameless whores in the first place. There's nothing left to salvage."

   "How does it even work then…"

   "What it does, is if every guy gets on board? It forces the women to make a choice. You can be a whore, no one cares. Just own that shit. Be up front about it. A couple girls get outed and publicly dumped and shamed? Other girls take notice. You'll never get a guy to marry you, worth a fuck, without the nice girl image. You have to actually be at least a little bit of a nice girl, if you want any chance."

   "Good plan. Why didn't it take off?"

   "The obvious. The women are shameless whores anyways. You're not salvaging anything. The wing men? Are no better. Soon as the game started catching on? Another website… coached top level guys, to take advantage of this new game. Fuck her for him, tell him he's got a good one… while you rail her, and others on the side. Your buddies think you're doing them a solid, while you're banging all their girls."

   "Wow."

   "Girl websites were no better. How to get more quality dick. When this happens? Fuck the wing man silly, he's the better quality guy anyways, or you wouldn't be tempted. Your guy's the bitch for show anyways. The whole game? Is a race to the bottom. The women started this shit… the men learned to play catch up… now? We're all screwed. The Titanic is going down, just the band is still playing while it dips beneath the water."

   "So… you put your spin on this game."

   "Yeah. For me? Its perfect. See, I don't care about putting numbers on the board. I just want to find the perfect girl, for me. My buddies are happy, they think they're being real players. Always one up on me, and I never learn. So… they're happy with this situation. I even named this game."

   "And you call it…"

   "Ah. The sieve, of Eratosthenes. Its a real mathematical strategy. You start with a bunch of numbers, and you use simple rules, to easily get rid of what isn't the answer… in the end? Only the correct and perfect answer, can make it. Its the sieve of Eratosthenes, it filters out the incorrect answers."

   "Hmm."

   "My buddies sort my girls out for me. If I think I got a winner? I just show them the girl I like. They do their thing. Yeah. Another worthless whore, thrown to the dogs. Thanks, guys! Also, my buddies are hardly complaining about the situation. Me? I never make a fuss. Everybody wins."

   "You… know you can't trust other men, so…"

   "I found a way to make it work for me. See, the more it happens? The more of a way too nice guy I am. The more it filters girls I don't want anyways. Why waste the time. I can now concentrate, on the relatively few girls left? That actually like nice guys a little. When I think I found one? I run them through the sieve."

   "This… is too devious…"

   "Like being too good looking. Not really possible. See, now. I had the entire game, top to bottom? Working for me, instead of against me. I can tend to my studies, instead of wasting years of my life dating for nothing. Any girl that only wants players and bad boys? Won't talk to me. Great. Your buddies? Who will fuck your old lady and think they're slick? Are now working for me, not against me. Everyone, from top to bottom? Is now playing my game, helping me."

   "And… why did you dump this game again?"

   "Duh. The sieve of Eratosthenes? Was designed to find the last good girl on the campus. That's you. No more need."

   "Just like that."

   "Yeah. I really do assign extra points to girls, for being tall and fit. You're my calendar girl, you saw the calendars. There's no faking all those girls, all those old years on the dates. So, you're gorgeous. And? You're even more gorgeous, to me. That's even better. You're smart, as well as look like a little temptress in your jeans and T shirts. Our educational goals line up and work. Our… career goals line up fine. Hell, even our… naughty impulses are strong yin and strong yang. Biggest bonus for me, ever. I could never replace you."

   "Wow. You make me feel…"

   "Special? You are. I can't believe some other guy didn't lock you down a long time ago. They have no eye for talent."

   It was getting a little late, and we'd had a big day. Light was fast asleep, clutching her Teddy Ball. Near the edge. I was on my edge, and had him close to me, towards my side of the middle of the big bed. I laid there, and waited for him to fall asleep.

   When everything was perfect, I took stock. Light was deep asleep. Rapid eye movements were visible, she was deep in some dream. He was asleep now as well. I reached behind me, and felt just under the mattress, between the box springs and the mattress itself. A little stash of small goodies. I lifted my T shirt off, and slipped the neck of it over his head, quite carefully. By the time he stirred? I had it gathered across his open, sleeping mouth and wound my fist up behind his head. Drawing it tight. I leaned into his ear, and whispered quietly.

   "Yeah. That's right… hands back here. Now."

   When I felt his hands on me, I whispered in his ear again.

   "That T shirt moves, you're in even bigger trouble than you already are now…"

   I had the leather craft I had made. Two flat leather belts, that fit his wrists perfect. They were riveted solid together. They had lain flat under the edge of the mattress, undetectable. Now, they were silent to put on. Clicks of handcuffs made noise. I slipped under the covers, and put the matching ones on his ankles. I slipped another one around and just above his knees. So silent, so effective. I adjusted the little cock ring nice and tight as well. Then I grabbed the T shirt again, adjusted it perfect, and wound my hand up tight against his head, drawing him back against me.

   "Not a word… don't even move…"

   I let him feel me getting into my toy behind him. By the time I grabbed the T shirt and yanked again, I had him positioned. He could feel the tip pressing against him.

   "Mm. What's that, huh. You know what that is, don't you. Yeah, you do. And you like it, don't you. Yeah, I think you like it a lot. Let's just see how wet it is…"

   I bumped a little. The tip slid in.

   "Oh. Yeah, that's right. Soaked. It'll go right in. I got you now, little boy, don't I? Yeah, I do. I got you real good. You're not going anywhere, are you. Where you going, huh? Nowhere."

   I bumped out, then back in.

   "That's right. All mine. You belong to me now. I own you. Body and soul, little boy. My goddamn personal property. Just like I own a dirt bike that I can jump on, and ride. Any… time… I… want to…"

   I bumped a couple times. Just the tip, but quick.

   "Yeah. All your big talk… and now? About to get fucked. Ain't that right? Yeah, it is… and you're not gonna make a sound…"

   I slid in and out, slowly. Barely the tip and hardly more, just enough I got started and was able to move some.

   "You think I like all this tough guy act, don't you? Yeah, you probably do. You think you're impressing me? Let's see…"

   I slid around some more. Then bopped in and out.

   "Big speeches, all over, huh? Nice one, too. Girls like phone cunt, can get the back of a boys hand… fat lip… you think that's the thing to do with girls like that, huh? Okay…"

   I gave him a slow but tiny push, then slid around.

   "Showing off… you know how things work… using the system, making it work for you…"

   I claimed a quarter inch, then slid a little. Then bopped in and out, showing what I had gained.

   "Letting your guys know not to go too far… claiming me, claiming her… in public… you think I like all that, huh…"

   I claimed another quarter inch, slid in and out, easily. Bopped around. Chuckled in his ear to show I had it.

   "Well? Do you think I like that? Huh? I asked you a question… oh, that's right. You can't say a word… well… I'll just have to answer for you then. If I like it or not…"

   I showed what I had already, then worked it to mark my territory.

   "Maybe… I don't like it. Maybe I don't like it, not… one… bit…"

   I took a little more, then worked what I owned. Into it, then back out. Jogging the tip before another stroke.

   "In fact, do you know what I think of all that, hmm?"

   I gave a couple slow, confident strokes. I wasn't quite half, but showed where I was.

   "I don't like it, at all. I love it."

   I went back to it, and ended up with half. One nice confident motion, followed by another, and another.

   "That's right. I love it. I am a girl. And yeah, it makes me wet. And yeah, I carry my hay bale. The whole way to where it goes…"

   I claimed a little more than half. A tiny push extra, followed by once again? A series of more bold, confident strokes. Showing what was mine, what I could do. What I intended fully to be about to do, when I felt like it.

   "But get this straight, and don't you ever forget it. Don't you ever, and I mean ever… let it come out of your mouth that I'm some kind of… girl power feminist. You hear me?"

   I showed off what was mine, and slid around easily and confidently. Threatening at any moment, to take more than a tiny bit at a time. I didn't, but I let it be known I could. Pausing at the end, where the next bit comes from, then retracting fully and coming back up against the next bit of new territory again.

   "Because if you ever call me a feminist… oh, boy are you in for it. I'll smack the taste right out of your dirty little mouth, and whip some skin right off of your ass, you hear me? I'm not a feminist, not one bit…"

   I worked what I had already, showed it off.

   "I hate those girls. With a passion, with every fiber of my being. I hate them and what they're all doing, with every breath in me. Green queen, huh? Well… I guess I'm your… corn queen or something. I carry an 80 pound sack of hard corn, as far as it needs to go. To get to the feed bin, wherever the animals drag it to. And yeah, girly girls, get… corn walled, or something. And I wouldn't piss on one, to put her out if she was on fire…"

   I took another tiny bit on my push, and chuckled as I made it happen. I went right back into my motion, and took those now longer slides. Bold, confident strokes. Tip out and barely touching, to all the way up against whatever was left. Bopped against it, and retracted again and again.

   "But you're mine. To do whatever I want with, and right now? You can tell what I wanted. My slut. I wanted him. So I took him. I'm going to take all of you, and you're going to like it. And you better not make a sound, or fight me. Because if she wakes up? There's no reason to be nice about this, like I'm being… you want it nice, huh? You better be good…"

   I only took the tiniest bit more.

   "I can see, I need to start fucking some respect back into you, huh? Only lasts so long. That's not a problem at all. The pleasure? All mine…"

   More.

   "Don't ever think you're safe. There's no such thing. I got that sound proof sub basement? And I'll spend as much time as I want down there, little boy. We'll have all the privacy we need. To have any kind of little talk, I need to have with you…"

   More.

   "And now? Its time. Yeah, time to finish this off… time to show you, that you belong to me. That I can do what I want, with what's mine… any… time… I… want…"

   I gently rolled over, and had him under me. Wrists, ankles, above the knees… all strapped quietly with leather tightly buckled. Helpless. Under me, under my control. Under my spell I cast. I'm the good witch, and I have all the power of any bad witch, and more. A bad witch, can cast a spell on a boy, and it might only last a night. A week, or even a couple weeks. But, it can't last forever. Because sooner or later, they crack. And the boy under her bad spell? Sees through the crack, and sees the ugly witch underneath. Sees her for what she truly is.

   My power is greater. I'm a good witch, and my spell can last forever. I wound that T shirt up nice and snug, and settled gently down onto him. Holding that wound up T shirt like I was riding and had to control my horse, and let him know I was in charge at the same time. I did. My mouth went to his neck, and his ear. My free hand slid down and grasped the belt above his knees, for extra purchase. He could feel it, how securely I had him, how completely within my power he was.

   I touched the tip to where it wanted to go. To where it had already been and then it easily found its way as far as it could, before conquering the rest of its domain. With one hand quieting and controlling him and telling him I was confidently in charge of the situation. With the other firmly grasping the back of my saddle, I went back to my ride. I shushed and cooed in his ear, chewed his neck sweetly. Admonished him how he had better listen to my voice and home in on it, how he better be good and not give me any problems, or else. I went back to confident, smooth strokes.

   I whispered sweet nothings. What Vaquera was going to do to him soon, and why. How I loved it, but still? The rules were the rules, and they had to be obeyed. With all that confident control, I shushed him as I made the slowest push the rest of the way in, to claim what was mine. What belonged to me. My knees to my shins, tucked in and gripping, like I was riding a horse.

   I didn't ask, I did. I staked my claim, and planted my flagpole proudly. I gave my slow, forceful roll of my hips at the end of the long, slow, steady push. That last little bit to own all of him. Even the hip roll was in slow motion, so as not to jar the bed and wake her up. Then I kept both handholds firm, and did my thing. Knees to ankles gripping tight, unable to be thrown, unable to be ignored. Demanding his complete and focused attention squarely on his owner. And getting it.

   When I was done, I rolled back over equally as slow, and had him up. I took a slick hand, and slowly handled his finish, that was ringed off tight and couldn't occur. I had my hot moist breath on his ear, and my teeth gently working his neck. Shushing him to quit squirming, and to quit making noise. Because if we woke our bed guest up? He'd be sorry.

   When I was done, I quietly let him go. I unbuckled my toy, my weapon. I took him in my mouth, then slowly loosened it until things started to barely go. Adjusted just right, it took forever. When I was done, I wiped my mouth and smiled. I let him see it in there, then I swallowed. I opened my mouth and moved my tongue around to show him. Then I kissed him so he could taste it. I grabbed his head with my palms on either side, and firmly and with all my confidence I knew I had, I moved his head down where it needed to be.

   I didn't have to tell him, he knew what his face was there for. What his tongue and lips were supposed to be doing. I took a nice big bite of my favorite bedclothes sandwich, and gave him my wrists. To hold, to keep, to make me stay and enjoy more. When we were done, I curled up against him and we went to sleep.

   I got a couple hours, when I felt a hand on me. I batted it away, and it came again. Slow and insistent. I batted it away a second time and was preparing to grab it and issue a sweet warning that it would have to wait. My eyes were slits if open though, and I took in what was happening. He wasn't trying to rouse me that way, just to be awake. Lightning was sitting up on the edge of the bed.

   She was holding Teddy Ball, and hugging him on her lap. I know enough of her body language now, to know who she is in the moment. Her feet and knees are together, so this is the immature 14 year old. The 19 year old mature beyond her years? Sits with her knees wide and confident, like a boy would. Her elbows tucked in whispered the same thing to me. The mature persona rested her elbows on her spread thighs, and easily draped her wrists down and in. This was the scared little 14 year old girl, who couldn't sleep.

   He gestured to me. Do something. My face, my hands. What? I'm not a miracle worker. I don't just wave the magic wand the good witch has, and some sparkles go over the scene, and everything gets better immediately.

   "Honey?"

   She started.

   "Oh."

   "Bad dream?"

   She nodded. The slow overly dramatic nod of the little girl.

   "Was it real bad?"

   She shrugged.

   "Had worse. I guess."

   "Are you scared to go back to sleep now?"

   "Not scared. Just can't. Come on Teddy. Back to our room. We don't want to keep them up. That's not fair…"

   He spoke.

   "Stay. Fuck fair. We're all in this together. We're family."

   "Really?"

   "Sure."

   "We're not really family."

   "Says who. You don't have to be related, to be family."

   "Well. You kinda do."

   "Ah. No you don't. And I can prove it."

   "How."

   "If you define, having a mother and a father, as… I came out of my mother's belly, and… dad is the guy that put me there? Then no, I don't have a mother and a father. In that case? I have an aunt and an uncle that raised me. But… in my house? We didn't use the word family like that."

   "How did you use it…"

   "I was very little. Some pain in the ass kids, around town. Teasing me. My parents? Weren't my real parents. Went on all day. I ended up crying, and went home. I'm real little. I told my parents what mean stories the kids were telling me. I was waiting, for my mom and dad to hug me. Tell me that those kids were wrong. I was in for a surprise."

   "What did they say?"

   "Well. Every kid had a different version why my parents were dead, and why I was there. About the only thing they had right, was that mom and dad were gone, and… here I was. My real mom and dad were gone, and… my real dad's sister? Took me in. My dad, was really my uncle. But… they told me it didn't matter. I was their kid, same as my older two brothers. We all got treated the same. I never got… slighted at Christmas or birthday. None of that shit. They told me I didn't have to call them mom and dad. But? I wanted to. So, I did."

   "You were lucky."

   "I know. Now, when I say mom and dad? I mean those people. Far as I'm concerned, that's my… real… mom and dad. No question about it. I had a little dog. And he was family too. He had his own Christmas stocking, he had his own birthday party. You lived in that house? Family. All there was to it."

   "That was nice."

   "It was. Now, family is where you find it. Family? Is who understands you, or at least tries to. My dad was great, but, he didn't really get me, if you know what I mean. You can have a friend, and you call each other brother. You can be closer with that person, than with your own real brothers. It happens. Someone I knew, once called that… a brother from another mother. Which I thought was cute."

   "It is cute."

   "When I was out of my house, as wonderful as my family was to me? I ended up being around someone else. Guy. He… got me. He helped me. He… did things for me, no one else could. It was like having my real dad put back on earth for a few years, that's how close I felt to him. He's gone now. But, family? Has nothing to do with who you came out of, or who put you there."

   "My mom, might have been my aunt? But… dad was no relation to me. Just the guy my aunt loved and married. Great guy though. The dog sure wasn't related to any of us, but… you couldn't tell him that. Or me. And… that guy I met. We didn't know each other from Adam, and… he understood me, and helped me in ways I could never fathom."

   "Mm hmm."

   "So… Me. Hurry. You. Teddy, too. All family now. We all get each other. We all help each other. We all love each other. We all live together. And anyone who doesn't understand that? Well, they can just go fuck themselves. So… you don't have to leave, because you had a bad dream, and can't get back to sleep."

   "If you're sure."

   "Sure I'm sure. I'd ask what the bad dream was about, but… I can probably guess. Would I be right?"

   She nodded. The big, slow, dramatic nods of the scared 14 year old.

   "If I say… the good Moody, and the bad Moody… do you think you understand what I mean by that? Without saying it."

   "Bad Moody, was in that room. Good Moody, lived with us."

   "Yeah. So… which… Moody did you see. In the bad dream."

   "Both."

   "Oh. Light? I don't want you to think, that… because you might not be able to tell that I'm hurt by what happened, by what we found. That it doesn't bother me. It does. And, I'm not… better or anything, because I'm able to hide it. I was always with the Military Police. Even when they weren't working, I might be in the car with my buddies. The radio would go off sometimes. Like, bad car wreck. Or anything, really. Well, that canceled our dinner plans. We ran right over to the wreck. Or whatever it was. Sometimes… it was real bad. And I couldn't sleep. I saw… the bad thing in my dreams. It… passes. The… time, between bad dreams? Would get farther and farther apart."

   "I understand."

   "Now. When you see something real bad. Its perfectly normal, to have bad dreams. Real bad dreams. Also? You might get something happen. Its… where you can actually see the bad thing. You can see it with your eyes, and its very real. You… can see through it? But its there. Its like… someone is following you around, and shoving a poster of the bad thing, in front of your face. Out of nowhere. And you can't stop it. Do you… know what I'm talking about?"

   She looked at him, and nodded. One tear down her cheek. Oh my god, he knew exactly what PTSD was. I've read about it, in class. I've never heard a better description of it, outside of a textbook and a lecture.

   "Okay. Light? I know about this. I can tell you, that… its perfectly normal for it to happen. You're not crazy, seeing something that isn't there. People that see things that aren't there? That's different. This is totally normal, and only people who have had to see really bad stuff, know what me and you are talking about."

   "Teddy Ball, was worried about me. I'm seeing something, that isn't really there. That's not good."

   "Honey? Since I know about this, and… its happened to me before. Can we talk about it? We'll go downstairs, and talk. Okay?"

   She nodded dramatically.

   "Can I come?"

   "Honey? That's not up to me, that's up to Light. Also… you didn't see the… bad thing. You might not want to get nightmares. Light? Is Hurry allowed to be there when we talk?"

   She nodded. I stuck my tongue out at him. He rolled his eyes at me. I've never experienced PTSD firsthand, and this is a great experience for me, based on my course of study. Fuck me, here I go again. I'm almost happy someone is experiencing trauma, so I get to know what I'm talking about, and look sharp next time it comes up in a lecture. Its about her, not me. Christ, I have to learn to watch this.

   He took her to the kitchen table, and asked if she'd rather have the lights on or off, she said lights off was fine. He made coffee, for all three of us. He might have been talking about the score of a sports game, his tone and mannerisms. This put her at ease, as opposed to the hands on shoulder rubs, and dramatic voice people that "cared" used.

   Teddy Ball is down with her, and he all but has his own coffee cup. Hell, he'd probably make Teddy Ball his own cup of coffee, if she wanted.

   "Now. Normally, you ask the person what they saw, but… me and you? We both saw the same bad thing. So, we can skip that part. We both know. Hurry? Doesn't need to have nightmares. Two of us, is enough."

   I opened my mouth.

   "I didn't know you had a nightmare."

   He looked at me.

   "Now you do. Can I be all concerned with Light, and we can talk about my nightmare some other time?"

   "Oh. Sure."

   "Thanks… um, you like milk and sugar like me, right?"

   "Yeah."

   He got it, and did both coffee's for the two of them. I had to get mine myself.

   "So. Do you want to know how it was for me? That its normal to see something that's not there."

   "Okay."

   "Well. I got up. Two hours before I had to get up, and do morning PT. Commotion. Come out my room. They're all MP's, and one of them was on call. He doesn't have to work that night, but, if something happens? He gets a call. He's throwing clothes on. He's going to check on something, and backup's on another scene. Fuck it. I tossed clothes on, I'll ride with him, its close. I can walk back when his backup makes it."

   Light watched and listened with interest, blowing on her coffee to get it drinkable.

   "What was it?"

   "Oh. The radio said the guy was drunk, but he had people trying to get in his house, he wanted units there. My buddy's on the radio, he'll check it out. And they said fine, backup will arrive when the real scene is freed up. No one got in the drunk guy's house, maybe he's just drunk, it wasn't considered a priority."

   "Didn't sound real bad."

   "No. It didn't. Just like we didn't plan on finding something bad. So, we get there. Its a base housing. We wanna see if anyone's trying to get in, we walk around. We went around both sides and met, so we could see if anyone was… you know, running away or anything. We might chase. Nothing."

   "Okay…"

   "And. We go up to the door. Now, we're gonna check on the guy. Tell him we found nothing. Maybe he'll want us to stay, maybe he'll say its okay to go. We figured, we can clear this little call up, and let the guys on duty, work the bad scene they were on."

   "What happened?"

   "Nothing. We went back to the car. He radios in, no one around. Can't see any doors or windows have any entry or attempted entry. We shined penlights on the doors and windows, see if anyone was trying to get in. Nothing. Radio says make contact with the homeowner. Cause, a call came in. People trying to get in. If he ain't there, and he's gone… you get the idea."

   "Uh huh."

   "So. We go back to the door again, and knock a second time."

   "He answer the door?"

   "Well. Not like we planned on."

   "What happened."

   "Um. I heard a noise. Sounded like… a penny firecracker, down the block. Soft pop. Nothing scary. I heard a tiny bit of glass tinkling. Again, nothing scary. I look over at my buddy? And… he's bent over, holding his face. Pool of blood on the porch at his feet. He looks up at me, and kind of starts bitching."

   "What's he complaining about?"

   "He shot me. Son of a bitch shot me. I'll kill him…"

   "Was he shot?"

   "I didn't think so. Thought maybe he got hit with some glass, and it cut his lip bad. He's talking funny though…"

   "What happened?"

   "I said let me see… held his face so the dirty porch light, can let me see… and… he's got… yeah, he's been shot. In the face. I asked him can you walk? He says yeah. So I said… then run. We tore the hell off that porch. We ran around the back of the house, he's following me."

   "Why the back of the house?"

   "Dark. We go right down, we're in light. We don't know where the shot came from. Is it one of the bad guys tried to get in this house. Are they in there, and shot out at us. I wanna be in the dark way around and down the house, not silhouetted in light, and he's holding his face and just following me. I gotta make good decisions, and I'm winging it on adrenaline."

   "You guys got out of there."

   "Oh, you have no idea. I didn't know I could run so fast. We get back to the vehicle. We get down this wet grass hill to hit the vehicle. I remember yelling… keys! On the run for that hill. He tossed the keys, I caught the keys in my hand, while sliding on my ass down the hill. Landed on my feet, got in. He's in the passenger side now."

   "You made it out."

   "Yeah. I stopped to check him out. I remember… he's asking if his jaw is broke. I remember going… oh, hell yeah… not what I'm worried about… and, I'm feeling around the back of his head."

   "Where did he get shot at."

   "Right below his nose. Upper lip."

   "So, why you feeling the back of his head?"

   "I was looking for an exit wound. I was kind of expecting, I had a dead man walking, on adrenaline. I figured my hand would go into the back of his head. So, I'm all in his face, my hand running up and down the back of his head. He just looked at me. The hell are you doing?"

   "He thought you were going to kiss him, ha!"

   "I remember I said to him. I'm feeling for an exit wound. Nothing. I don't know where the fuck the bullet went? But… its not out the back of your head…"

   "Then you drove?"

   "Like a bat out of hell. I looked over. He's holding his face, there's blood everywhere. Face is kinda blown apart. Kinda looked like a cartoon character, you know how they get a firecracker instead of a cigar? Blown out like that."

   "Wow."

   "Yeah. He's all… I'm gonna die, ain't I? I remember being calm. I gotta keep him calm. I told him… nine out of ten head shots are non lethal. So, 90 percent chance you live. Them is some good odds. I don't know where the bullet went, but, it didn't go through your head. I'm 90 percent sure, you'll make it. And… I drove like hell."

   "He live?"

   "I'm keeping him as calm as I can, because… I can hear gurgling noises. I know the blood's going somewhere? And there ain't enough coming out… so… that gurgling? I know it's filling his lungs up. If I keep him calm enough, he'll bleed slower, and we have a chance."

   "He live?"

   "Yeah. We barely made the base hospital. Emergency room door? Locked up, like a store after hours. I beat on that sliding glass door. Some… nurse bitch is asking me what the problem is. I grabbed his face and pointed to it, sticking it in the glass door. I punched this… stupid intercom button. Gunshot! Head! Open the fuck up!"

   "They let you in?"

   "Yeah, after fucking around, and seconds count. He's weak, gurgling is worse. These people in the emergency room? Standing around, like, what the hell's happening. I yelled and clapped my hands. Handgun! Shot to the face! Lets go! Lets go!"

   "And then they go…"

   "Yeah. I grabbed him, he's falling over. I pointed at the nearest gurney… get on that… he gets up on the wheeled cart, lays back… they started working on him."

   "You made it."

   "Yeah. I made it. I was supposed to call the ambulance, but… flip a coin. Sometimes they make it in seconds? Sometimes ambulances seem like they stop and grab a burger, fries and a shake. I knew I was close, so… I went for it. Glad I did. Ambulances? All tied up at the other, bigger scene I mentioned. He definitely wouldn't have made it. I got lucky, made the right call. He just made it. Seconds to spare."

   "That was it. You guys made it."

   "Yeah. I grabbed the phone out of some nurse's hand. She tried to stop me, that's my phone… man, I shoved that bitch clear across the room. I called my place. I mean, I got more MP's there in the apartment building I live in, than working the whole shift. Told them what happened, get everybody there. Shots fired, MP down. They wanna know, how many perpetrators. Told them, we didn't find anything, don't know where the shot came from. Be careful."

   "How did it end up?"

   "Well. The guy inside, tells the MP's, who surrounded his house with M16s and night vision, looking for active shooters… before they got there? He fired a warning shot through the door, and scared them off. It was okay."

   "Oh. The homeowner shot him. Thought he was the guys breaking in again."

   "Yeah. About it. You know what the scariest thing was, Light?"

   "Your buddy got shot!"

   "No. The scariest thing? We went to that door twice. First time? I was at the glass, he was beside the door. Then the second time? He was at the glass, I was beside the door. Now… I stood on this cement block trying to peek up and in. Which made me taller had I gotten shot just then. His injury… bullet would have went in right here, on me…"

   He was indicating the middle of his throat. He wouldn't have made it.

   "So, you saw… pictures after that."

   "Yeah, Light. I did."

   "What was your picture?"

   "I'm driving, I look over. He looks up at me. That… I'm a goner look. Face all blown apart. It was like, taking a picture. Same picture, every time. Day, night. Whenever. Its like some asshole is following me around, shoving a poster in my face."

   "How long did it… last. The picture."

   "Two weeks. Little more. Couldn't sleep for days at a time. I got 30 days off work. Every two or three days? If I drank almost a fifth of vodka? I could get two, three hours. Then I was back up, like I wasn't even drinking. I spent all my time at the hospital, with him. Something to do. I can't sleep anyways. He's on a morphine drip. Your eyes open, about every 20 minutes on a morphine drip. Every time he opened his eyes and closed them? I was there. All week."

   "Wow."

   "Yeah. Wow."

   "How long did the picture last?"

   "First week? Constant. Day and night. You can see through it, but still see everything. Weird. Second week… happened way less, and was going down. By the end of the second week? If I concentrated, I could make it appear. On demand. After that, it… slowly went away. The nightmares? I didn't sleep much those two weeks. So, not many. Couple hours sleep, every couple days. The MP's kept an eye on me. I lived with them. So. After two weeks? I went back to work. I was okay."

   "But. It looks real."

   "Oh. Here, I tested it. I concentrated on the picture, and I could look at it, as long as I wanted. I started picking little things out, that I could test. Was this real or not, this picture. There was this… little crack, down near his leg, the corner of the door of the vehicle we were in. I went and found the exact vehicle, and sat in it and looked. Blood was still in it. Looked over? There was that little crack. It was real. I looked at all the other, identical vehicles. No crack. I tested it? Very real."

   "Why do you think it happens? The picture, not people shooting."

   "Um. Your body? Is scared. It doesn't want you to do this, be around what happened. Your body is telling you, this isn't good. Never forget this."

   "But… it went away."

   "Yeah. It was about gone, after two weeks. It still happened, like, once a week? Couple times… then gone. I could still concentrate, and bring it up, but… not if I didn't try. Then? It went away. For good."

   "So… its normal. And it goes away."

   "Oh. Totally normal. How often do you… see it? Yours."

   "Two, three times. Since it happened."

   "Oh. Well. That's good news."

   "Why…"

   "Mine? Happened a lot. Constantly. Plus? You fell asleep for hours. You got it way less than I had it. It'll go away in no time. I bet."

   "You think?"

   "Sure. Its your body's totally normal reaction to a stressful, scary situation. It'll pass. And like I said, you got it way less than I had it. I didn't get any sleep after that happened? Like, three or four days. Then two hours and back up. So… you barely got it."

   "Okay. And thanks. I thought…"

   "No. Its normal, its fine. See, its only bad for people that get it? If… they don't tell anyone, they think they're losing it. Then? It can get worse. But… you know its normal? So, you'll be okay. See, if you don't know its normal, that its supposed to happen? You get all worked up, worrying about it happening. That? Is worse than just seeing the picture. So you'll be okay."

   "Hmm. Teddy Ball was worried about me."

   "Well. You'll be fine. I'm more worried about Teddy Ball. He saw it too."

   "He says you made him feel better too."

   "Well, that's good."

   "So… how did that whole… thing end up?"

   "Oh. My buddy got better. He's fine. He got out of the service before me. He's a cop now."

   "That's good. I meant with the homeowner."

   "Oh, him. That. Well… naturally, there was a thorough investigation. MP gets his face blown apart? You have to answer a few questions, fill out a few forms."

   "More than that…"

   "Yeah. Here's the deal. Upon investigation. The guy had a base house, because he was married. He had a wife and kid. They weren't home when this happened. They were staying at a relative's house."

   "Were they split up? That's why he was drinking."

   "No. The… wife? Had one of those crazy ex boyfriends. You know, stalker kind of deal? Wouldn't leave her alone. The guy had called before, she had called before. This wasn't the first time, that house had reported someone sneaking around at night, scaring them. Trying to get in, or just scaring them that they were trying."

   "They arrest him?"

   "No. Couldn't prove that was him at the house before we got there, probably scared him off. But. Because this had been going on? The guy had a reason to have a gun, and be ready for the crazy guy to come in, if he ever got ballsy enough to make it into the house."

   "He didn't go to jail for shooting the MP?"

   "No. See, he had documentation, from calling for this before. Now… we got there, and we're going around the house with little flashlights. The guy called MP's, they said sit tight till the MP's arrive. Here we are, flashlights, sneaking around. When we went to knock on the door twice? Guy was scared. Prowler… now two flashlights… now knocking at the door, twice… he had a good reason to shoot through the door. Some crazy asshole was stalking him and his wife. Accidental shooting, guy acted in reasonable fear for his life and home."

   "Wow. Wish they got the… crazy stalker. He caused all this, and your buddy almost died."

   "I know. Well, like I told you before. Karma. You put good karma out? More good karma comes back in. But, you put that bad karma out? More bad karma comes in on you. This stalker guy? Had been putting out bad karma, and… no one had to do a thing, because the universe took care of him."

   "Really? He get run over by a truck or something?"

   "No. The MP's found the guy one night. Other end of the base, different MP unit. They found someone, laying in a pool of blood, he got hurt real bad. Funny you said, ran over by a truck? Cause he was laying in a parking lot, and with all the damage and blood… they initially thought he'd been run over by a truck or a car or something."

   "What happened to him?"

   "Oh. No one knew. He didn't even know. He was in a bar… he wakes up in the hospital. They found a picture on him. Someone laid a photograph of a woman on him. That homeowner? Ended up being his wife."

   "Oh. The husband got him."

   "No. They thought that. Husband? Was with people all night, on camera somewhere. Wasn't him. Then, they thought maybe the MP that got shot? He was somewhere all night, people all saw him. Wasn't him. No… no one ever found out what happened to him. I mean, he don't even know. But that photo left on him? I bet he figured out it must have had something to do with her."

   "Did the whole thing… stop, get better?"

   "Yeah. Real quick. Seems crazy stalkers can't stalk so well, when they get hurt so bad, they have trouble walking. Now… see, this is a perfect example, of yet again. Karma. You, don't have to do anything. The universe? Will hand out karma, to the people that deserve it. Good people? Get good karma. Bad people? They attract bad karma. Its automatic. All you have to do? Is… let the universe, put you, wherever it is that you're supposed to be."

   "You make it sound so simple."

   "It is. Now, this isn't a religion. Its a philosophy. Remember, I told you before. Religion? Is for people who're afraid of going to hell. Philosophy? Is for people who have already been there. Now… let's pretend. That everyone in the whole world? Practiced karma. If everyone, only put good karma out? Which is doing nice things for people. There would only be good karma going around. I mean, its obvious it would work. If everybody, only did good things for people? Where would bad things come from. They wouldn't exist. We would all be doing good things for people, and only good things would happen to us, when other people did those good things to us. Life would be heaven."

   "But, its not."

   "No. Unfortunately, there's always assholes. Putting bad karma out. Getting it going around. Take that stalker. He's scaring his ex girlfriend. Scaring the new husband's wife. Guy’s new wife and kid, have to leave home, scared. So, he's there waiting for the bad guy. Now? My buddy, the MP… he gets accidentally shot in the face. All because of that asshole. Then? The universe saved up all that bad karma, and sent it back where it belonged. And no one had to do a thing, it just happened."

   "How do you know when you're where you're supposed to be? Where the universe wants you."

   "Old story. The universe, wants you on top of the mountain. Its where you're supposed to be. But, you can't know that. But, you practice good karma. Neighbor's kid, is looking for the animal that got out. He can't find it. Would you go looking and get the animal? Now… a person with bad karma, will say… ain't my problem. Get the hell out of here. Find your own damn animal. I got my own thing going on. Bad karma. Now… if you practice good karma? You go. Hey, kid. Stop crying. I'll look for the animal. And… you see tracks. You follow the tracks. The tracks, seem to lead up the mountain."

   "Hmm."

   "So. You follow the animal tracks, and now you're on top of the mountain. You find the animal, and you're leading it back down, to the neighbor's kid. When you see someone, who almost fell off the cliff, and is going to fall off. You rush over to help, and you save them. Wow. More good karma. Now? You and the person you saved… come down. The kid? Is all happy, you found the animal. The person you saved? Is quite tickled pink you happened along when you did. Now. One day, when you need it? The universe sends you someone to help you. Because. You helped the kid, you let the universe put you on the mountain, just where you needed to be. Without all that? You would never get helped by some other random person. When you need it."

   "I see that."

   "So. When you do one good thing, for the neighbors kid? It led to another, even greater thing. You do one little good thing, and it sets up a chain of other good things. Now. If you put bad karma out? What happened instead. You said no. The kid loses his animal. The person? Fell off the cliff. And? When you need help, no one comes. Because you were putting out bad karma. So, its now your time to get more of it. You do one bad thing, and it sets off a whole chain of bad things."

   "It does make sense."

   "It does to me."

   "Do you think I'm where the universe wants me, Wizzy? Do you think you're where you're supposed to be?"

   "We never really know those things, Light. We have to guess. Now… you had bad things happen to you, when you were young. I think you were supposed to be a dancer. A real star. Those legs, the way you move. To me, that's my guess. Now. A couple people, did some very horrible things to you. They took that away from you. You couldn't enjoy dancing anymore. Then, Teddy Ball found you. And, he found a whole new use for those long legs of yours. He found a whole new use for your… balance and agility and air you can get. He made you… a star again."

   "Maybe."

   "Well. I think the universe led you here. You're a big star here, doing what Teddy Ball taught you. You… escaped. You finally got to experience boys again. You found Hurry. She's helping you get better. And you're helping Hurry, too. She wants that ring, and I think you're getting it for her. And you're becoming a star all over again, doing it. The coach is happy you're here. Hurry is happy you're here. I know I'm happy you're here. You think even Teddy Ball is happier here?"

   "He says he is."

   "Well… everybody's happier. Everyone? Is doing good things for everyone else, all that good karma going out, and going around. We can't know, we can only guess. But? I think, maybe you're right where the universe wanted you to be."

   "And you, Wizzy?"

   "I think I am. I know I wouldn't have run off and joined the service, if I hadn't of been the show boyfriend three times in a row. I know, I turned into something else there. I got to save my friend, the MP that night. Everybody was happy about that. That led to me meeting my… mentor. He? Helped me understand I could be both people. The geek I was in high school, and the newer, tougher guy I turned into. I could be both. I shouldn't re-enlist as an MP… I should go to college, like I originally would have done, if I hadn't of been running away from the show thing. Then, I get here. Four years later, not four years earlier. Which has me see you. Which, somehow leads to me and Hurry. Which brings me to you."

   "And you're happy?"

   "I am. I know the first two years, I was just living in a dirt hole. Not having any luck with girls. Not even with you. But? No more dirt hole, no more… tampons out of toilets at 4:00am. Now? I live where the rich kids live. I eat healthy food, comes in by the truckload. I have a soccer rodeo calendar girl, and… now another soccer pole vaulter calendar girl."

   "You are happy."

   "Very. I used to wonder what was wrong, what did I do, to deserve being the Groundhog. No girl. Living in a dirt hole, fixing toilets. Now? All luxury, two gorgeous calendar girls… now I wake up some days, and question what the hell I did so right, to deserve all this."

   "I just wish I could sleep. Its not fair I keep you two up."

   I weighed in.

   "You got about 4 hours. More, even. That's not too bad, based on everything. I think he's right. You were able to get some sleep, you're not that bad. Losing sleep? Is kind of like… mother nature's antidepressant. Its probably better for you right now, than any… antidepressant pill anyone could prescribe. I'm tired. Anyone mind if I go back to bed?"

   "Do… you mind if I stay up with Light?"

   "Its fine. Do you two mind if I get a couple more hours of sleep?"

   Both agreed that was marvelous. He said, that he read somewhere that if you were up two hours early, you were supposed to watch your favorite movie. He asked Lightning if she wanted to watch her favorite movie. Which of course, needs no hard guesses to figure out. He got some leftover Chinese he had made before out, and microwaved them some. She went and got her blanket and pillows, so they could eat and watch the Wizard of Oz, on low, on the living room big screen TV.

   I smiled at him and waved before I went up. He smiled and waved back. I went to sleep. When I got up at the correct wake up time, shortly before the alarm, I had a quick morning pee and then took a little nap. Then I crept downstairs. The Wizard of Oz was playing on tiny volume. It had repeated. He had been sitting up against the couch on the floor, pillows behind him. Looked like she had been laying her head on his stomach or thighs. I'm guessing at this. Looked like he fell or slid down and alongside her, laying sideways using him for a pillow.

   So, they were more or less half hugging each other's thigh, shin, knee area. He was stretched out straight, she had one leg cocked up. Which put her ankle about in his hug. Blankets and pillows all over, two empty plates and empty mugs pushed aside. Something about the whole scene, reminded me of a young kid couldn't sleep with a bad dream. Then an indulgent and friendly father with a great attitude fell asleep watching the kid's favorite movie for the umpteenth time. Teddy Ball is even in this little sleepover pileup.

   He's good at this. Real good. He can give a sort of "natural" therapy to a person. I don't know if he was always like this. Empathetic and kind. Maybe he picked it up off his mentor. God, I can feel that little stab in my tummy now too. Wishing that mentor was still around. Coming to visit his former pupil, get to see him work his magic. Because if he's a natural therapist, great at it? How awesome was that guy, you know? Some kind of modern day goddamn zen Buddhist master.

   You didn't find him sitting on top of some mountain either. On accident, following the animal tracks to help out your neighbor's kid worried about the lost animal. You saved someone about to fall off the cliff. Then you, the animal, and the person you helped? Stayed and talked with the master. He told you a few easy parables, listened to your stories, told you some of his own. And somehow explained the whole universe to you. How it worked, and it was easy. Here's all you have to do, and here's how to choose. You all walked down the mountain, and lived happy lives, always following the kind few words of the master you chanced upon.

   Anyone that man met? He touched and changed their lives, effortlessly. Wow. Now I'm watching him do it. For me, for her. He had compared his mentor to some zen Buddhist monk, the kind you find in some temple. But they didn't just teach you the mysteries of the universe, did they? No, they taught you to defend yourself, or to kill with a wave of your hand, as well. Only if you were worthy, only if you were good and had something pure in you. A rare sigma male, had mentored a younger rare sigma male.

   The story, had so much easy detail that I judged it to be an accurate retelling. The time his buddy got shot in the face and he had a touch of PTSD that went away. He was talking to me too, I'm sure of it. The disturbed immature 14 year girl was sitting with him, not the bright and sensitive and mature beyond her years 19 year old. She took his parables for parables. I read his code loud and clear. Damn it, I might have heard the coded language of Moody and didn't hear it for what it was. But? I know his. I know him, and his rare personality type.

   Sigma lightning struck, and struck hard. Once the thought occurred to me, the whole story unfolded itself to me, like a little movie in my head. He can't sleep. He runs around with the MP's he follows to the gym and the range. They're watching him, for his images and not sleeping. MP's were going and interviewing the poor homeowner. He went with, he's a scene witness too and they're keeping an eye on the guy that just happened to be there and save their MP buddy's life.

   They're going over the story again and again with the poor homeowner. Too easy. He heard it all, of course. Looked at photos in the living room, they're in the kitchen. Having coffee, interviewing. He palmed one little picture of the wife. He couldn't sleep anyways. He found the guy, the crazy stalker ex boyfriend ruining their lives to the point the man's wife and child moved out temporarily. He studied his habits.

   When the chess pieces put themselves on the board in just the right places? He crept out and sigma lightning struck in that parking lot. You were terrorizing a woman and a child, breaking up a family. You got my buddy shot in the face, and almost ruined the life of a good man for your shit. He hurt him, bad. So badly, he didn't know what hit him. Literally. He passed for ran over by a truck. He dropped the picture, so he'd know exactly what it was for.

   The husband? Had a perfect alibi. The MP shot? Perfect alibi. All the other MP's that were friends with the poor guy got shot, would have had motive. They were in the clear too. It just… happened. Hell, he probably helped arrange the perfect alibi some way himself. Gently. Without being obvious. You know guys, how about a party? Him, the homeowner, you guys… dinner and a few drinks. What are we celebrating? Hell guys, celebrating our battle buddy lived and he's getting better.

   And when the other MP squad investigated? You looked hard at the husband. Alibi. The guy shot in the face? Alibi. His MP friends… nothing. You run out of suspects. If you even knew, there was a computer guy living there by some stroke of the universe's weird way of operating? You asked around. Oh. That's computer boy. He's the Wizard. Reads a lot.

   Is he like the MP's? Oh, no. Quiet, polite. Why, you can get in his face? He shies away from trouble. Hell, he probably was on camera too, and walked out the back door and returned in minutes. Took a shit, right on camera.

   No. You'd be looking for a different personality. Some alpha male. Not some quiet little computer programmer group beta. A wall flower, a shrinking violet. The intellectual, in the service for computer college money. Electronics hobby. If you dug enough? Look, that quiet beta? Our mascot, we take him with us. His nerves are shattered, from seeing his friend's face blown apart in front of his eyes. Computer guy, not an MP, sir.

   How silly of me. And when you talk to him, look at him. Get your cop's feel. When his sigma personality has him running in default beta mode? All boyish charm, something sweet and innocent. He has it now, and I bet younger he had more of it. No, you sat and looked at your suspects. In a group, brainstorming. Someone asked about him? They laughed. Right, just kidding.

   Now. Sitting here quietly, marveling at him. I'm his… soul mate or something. He was impressed with green queens, but they would mate with obvious alpha males. He found his corn queen. And now that the little movie is done running in my head, I'm realizing it. He's still playing chess. He never stops. For two years? His buddy's, thought they were one up on their fighting instructor. He was one step ahead of them, the entire time. Instead of butting heads with the boys natural inclination to snatch up stray girls, he had used it to his advantage. They thought they were winning, with their usual winning strategy… and they were just doing his own work for him. While he sat back, smirking.

   He's playing another chess game now, too. He knows, part of the therapy for Lightning, is to be able to tell details of the horrible things that happened to her, and not freak from it. He told me, get details. Names. Rough dates. Descriptions of people, places, and things. Anything I could get, and put it aside. What did the business do, what were the buildings like. Where did these things occur, show me.

   My buddies? Oh, they're all cops now. All over the place. It'll take me a while, to figure out just the right one. Its coming to me like a crystal ball, and I can divine the future. I'm looking into Teddy Ball and seeing it, like one of his action movies he likes. He likes the ones with the unstoppable hero running around, sure, the typical male comic book superhero story turned into a juvenile action flick. But, he particularly likes the other ones.

   One guy, runs around the whole movie. On the edge of it all. Taking it all in. And in the end, that one little side character? Actually set it all up. Had everyone hang themselves. The guy that just smirks, pulls the string, and the big complicated plan springs. Interlocking impossible mechanisms all click and whir, and the trap closes.

   Its too perfect. He knows there's a very bad alpha in a small town somewhere. Surrounded by his henchmen and corrupt power structure he sits on. The sort of bad alpha, who should know to be wary of a sigma male. They're terrified of them. They know they're out there, and you can't see them coming.

   He's arranging a gigantic sigma lightning strike. I read his coded messages. You, Little Lightning? You just concentrate on putting good karma out. Then? More good karma will come back to you. The universe, will bring bad karma back to these people. Its just how the universe works, honey. You don't have to lift a finger, its automatic.

   And when you don't reap your bad karma, it builds up and multiplies. When it comes home to roost, its bad. Don't worry honey. One day? People like this will piss off the wrong person. They always do.

   They already have.

   They just never met him, and have no idea. They have no possible way, to see it coming.

   Light has one thing wrong, in her fucked up fairy tale. Hell, the whole fairy tale and its characters and situations are all rearranged and screwed around with. He's not her tin man. No, someone a long time ago gave him a nickname, and it stuck. He's the Wizard. But, this Wizard is running a double blind. Sure, there's a man behind the curtains. You pull back the curtains, and he's actually a small man, and not scary and powerful at all.

   And that's his secret power. Nothing to see here. But, he's back there. Behind the scenes. Smart. Cunning. Ruthless, even. Some… agent of the universe, charged with handling karma. Behind the curtain. Where all the ropes and pulleys and switches and everything gets controlled that you see on the stage. If all the world's a stage, and we're merely players? He's the director you never think of. You see the heroes, the villains. The victims, the ordinary people. You see the stagehands sometimes, if you notice. You see the security guard, the kid making popcorn and handing out cold drinks and candy. There's some old guy tearing tickets in two, and seeing you to your seat.

   But, you never see the man behind the curtain, who's really making it all happen, what you see on that stage.

   I know how he operates, in a way. His buddies he enlists? They won't be doing him a favor. No, he'll be doing them the favor. Hey, guys? Want to all get together, cooperate, and bring down a huge case and be the heroes? Make your careers as the best and the brightest at what you do? Take all the credit. You guys? Were great. You changed my life. Here.

   And? They'll listen and hear it out and take a look. Because this is the Wizard. The mascot, that they learned should hear the stories, and point out little things for them. Hey, we're stumped. Run it by the Wizard.

   Hey, Bobby? You gotta see this one. Where did you get all this? Wow. This is too good to be true. Can't be. Bobby, it came from the Wizard. Oh… right. Well, that's usually another matter then, isn't it. Let's see that all again.

   He's the Wizard.

   He even wore green for four years.

   I can hear Right going to the bathroom upstairs. I let her sleep in too. I'm looking down at them, and its really cute. I could get so jealous so quick under normal circumstances, and so easily. I don't have the heart to bang pots and pans together and startle them. I settled for nudging him with my foot. Gently, gently. He's stirring now, and rolling into her leg and ankle to get away from my offending foot. I finally get his confused eyes opening, looking around to see where the hell he is, why I’ve been replaced with her. He looks up at me, I assumed a cocked hip and crossed arms and my faux pissed face. My best imitation of phone cunt. Its not convincing.

   He looked into her ankle and knee area, up at me glaring down at him. Over at the TV, back again at it all.

   "She got some sleep."

   "And what exactly went on here…"

   He kissed her ankle and knee to rouse her, smiling.

   "Nothing. I need my head examined. Know any psych students I could get to take a look at---"

   "Not off the top of my head. The other kid is up. Would you like examined by a Women's Studies student? I can arrange that. You wanna explain this to her?"

   "Oh, Christ no. It'll be all patriarchy crimes against the poor oppressed women. I perpetuate rape culture. If I'm mean to women? I'm a sexist asshole. But if I'm nice to women? That's a microaggression."

   "Well. You actually do listen to all her rants. I'm impressed."

   He rubbed his chin on her ankle cupped around it a couple times, to more fully rouse her. She's stirring.

   "Okay, I was kidding. But now, I'm jealous. Kisses…"

   I held my foot out for him. I got a smile and some kisses on my ankle, top of foot junction. She's waking up now, eyes are slits and some stretches.

   "Mm. That was you. It tickled. You need a shave… why is it light out?"

   "Because I let you sleep in. Figured you could use it."

   They're both up against the couch now. He got the TV and the DVD player off. Right came around the kitchen. She took it all in. He looked up, upraised palms.

   "Its not what it looks like. We ate leftover Chinese."

   She looked around some more.

   "If anything was going on, you'd both be getting Hurricane-d right now. Are you gonna get your lazy ass up and make breakfast? I'm starving. Then you two can go back to kicking it to the Wizard of Oz, for all I care."

   I picked up the dishes, Light gathered up blanket and pillows and trotted them up the steps and back to her room. His big contribution was the remote went back. I shook the dishes at him.

   "Dish violation, mister."

   Lightning heard it and responded.

   "Actually? I'm starting to miss dishes everywhere."

   I softened.

   "Yeah. I know what you mean."

   Right was practical. If a bit self centered. But then no one's perfect.

   "Are we working out? If we get moving, I can still get some sun. Will you get the breakfast moving already? Mister Lazy."

   He did. But he talked while he did it.

   "Now let me get this straight. You, are old enough to vote. You're 19, and you have yet to carry a dish to the sink, much less heat up an egg in a frying pan. I make you breakfast, I serve you, and I do the dishes. Then? I have to help Hurry pick up after you. But I'm the lazy one?"

   "Which way I go with it, gets the food going quicker."

   "Well. No logic to your argument, then. How you argue, does not affect the temperature of the pan, the condition of the eggs. Therefore? Your argument is silly, and has no merit. The speed with which breakfast gets made? Is governed by, among other things, the laws of thermodynamics. Physics 101."

   I smiled.

   "You're taking the bait, dear. Don't."

   "Oh. I learned that from the MP's. Human beings? Just can't resist bait. You want to catch one? You just need to figure out the right bait. Simple matter of being there and documenting it. I'm human, I'm taking the bait. Here, I'll do it again. Right? What crimes against womankind am I perpetrating right now? Sure I'm doing something. I always am."

   "Well. Since you asked…"

   "No, let me have it. Tell me how horrible I am, while I make you your breakfast. Go on."

   "Hmm. Right off? You're bragging about your male dominated fields. Physics. Oh, look at me. I have a penis. I can make a chart, and tell you the temperature the stainless steel heats up, how long it takes to get to this many degrees. Your field doesn't have any women in it. You stick us all in dresses and make us play with dolls, while you teach sons how to use… tools, and thermometers and stuff. So they grow up to think they're better than you. When its all just made up."

   "Yeah. That's what we do, hun. No girl smart enough to be in the Physics class? You know it. We lock the door, and we laugh. Bah ha ha-h-h. We all whip our penises out. We play with our thermometers. Which are shaped like penises, by the way. And talk about how much better it was, without a girl around that day. I can't believe you girls are finally onto us. We're going to have to devote more time, to oppressing you."

   "Now you're being condescending. Another sexist trait of the patriarchy. You're completely framing the argument about the differences between girls and boys. Which don't exist. Gender is a social construct."

   I cover my face with my hand, I'll bust out laughing if I don't. He's over there laughing. While making her eggs.

   "Yeah. Laugh. Guess you don't have an answer? To that. Hmm."

   "You were being serious? I thought you were just trying to make me laugh. My apologies. I'll take your argument more seriously, if you really want."

   "Better than being condescending."

   "Well. Where to begin. This pan, is not shiny. So, its not stainless. Its made of cast iron. Metallurgy. Which I'm sure is another penis dominated field. Because we're all in on it. Are you seriously going to blame all men, because you can't figure out how a thermometer works? Seriously. Tools. Who ever stopped you."

   "See? Its not about stopping me. Its about no one showed me how. That's? How its perpetuated."

   "I know how to change a tire. Do you want me to show you how to change a tire? Hurry has a car, and I'm sure there's a spare in the trunk. I'll patiently show you, then make you change it. I will not rest, until I'm certain you can make it home, the day you get your first flat tire. I'll go you one better. I'll pick up a puncture repair kit, they're cheap. Tomorrow? I'll show you how to repair the nail in the tire, so you don't have to waste money at the tire shop. I bet Hurry already knows how to plug a tire, she grew up on a farm."

   "Pffft. I'm not some useless twat. There's a puncture repair kit, in the glove box. Right next to the air gauge. Which I know how to use, so my tires last all year. Show her how to adjust air pressure. 28, all around. Now? Its a three day course."

   "Well? Who exactly is stopping you, from learning all this great penis dominated stuff. I'll throw in thermometer lessons, for free. You get to learn how to measure air pressure, and how it changes with temperature. That's practical physics. Several tools and measuring devices involved, here. You'll sprout a penis in no time."

   "I wanna get some sun. Summer won't last forever, you know."

   "Okay. We're getting somewhere. I cook your breakfast. Mainly because you either can't do it, or because you won't do it. Same thing in the end. Not only am I not stopping you? I'll show you how to do it. You should not leave college, with a degree, not knowing how to make eggs and bacon."

   "Eh. Women shouldn't have to cook. That's sexist."

   "I have a penis. I do a lot of the cooking. Know why I learned? I didn't want to starve. How am I perpetuating sexual stereotypes again… I do the dishes. I pick up around the house. I even do me and Hurry's laundry. Ask Hurry… I don't need a girl, to do these things for me. I can manage them myself."

   "Okay. Maybe, you're okay. For a guy. But… you still get to benefit from the system."

   He got mine, he got Lightning's… her turn.

   "Well. You want an omelet again?"

   "Yes!"

   "Hold on. While I oppress you into sexual stereotype submission. With an omelet, made just the way you like it. I will strike another blow. For the patriarchy…"

   "A little more cheese?"

   "Here…"

   Lightning wasn't in little girl mode. She woke up… regular. The wrecked and immature 14 year old fell asleep. The tough 19 year old woke up. Still there. Little half smirk, watching and listening to these two go at it. Teddy Ball could sit in her room. She's got her knees wide, her elbows dangling her arms down inside her legs. She spoke while Miss Patriarchy started stuffing her face with extra cheese and meat omelet.

   "Wizzy?"

   "Yes, Light."

   "If she's gonna get sun, instead of learn how to change a tire, and all…"

   "Yeah…"

   "Hurry said you can show me how to make basic chili. She says its easier than a hamburger. And, it makes it look like you can cook."

   "Real easy. And yeah. I admit it. It made me look like I can cook a little. You'll love it."

   Miss Patriarchy came up from her omelet.

   "I gotta eat her cooking?"

   Light handled it.

   "Go work on your tan."

   "I will."

   When we were working out, Lightning was back in her mode. We had to physically stop her from killing herself more, when we decided enough was enough. Once Right gives up, me and him are barely enough to entertain her, practicing. It takes both of us to try to give her anything worthwhile to practice ball stealing and ball handling. We end up muscling her around, to let her use her speed and slickness to overcompensate. We both pulled on our leg wraps, so we could work on sliding leg steals.

   "Okay. I get sliding in, like I'm stealing a base. I'm curling my leg around the ball, then bumping up and I'm off with it."

   "Yeah. You're a snake, and you're stealing eggs, out the nest."

   She eyed me up.

   "Show me how to take the leg out."

   "I handle the rough stuff. You? Skill and speed."

   "I wanna dish some out."

   "Light? You start dishing it out, you're gonna attract more of it. I'm the bad guy. I attract all the rough stuff. So you three, can run and gun."

   Her face went… funny. She wanted to take a few seconds. As he was coming over to take her aside, he shot me a look. I realized what I did. I said you three. Down to two kids now. I forgot. I triggered her picture. I started forwards, to apologize. He put his hand on my chest, to stop me.

   "She wandered into my world. I think she's fine. Just give her a few seconds. Just… let it go. This is gonna happen. No one else will do what you’re about to do."

   He's right. You're daughter skins her knee? You wanna run and coddle her, but you'll never get a girl that jumps up and wants back in the wiffle ball game that way. She's already tough as nails, and gets her legs frightfully ripped up all season long, and doesn't say boo. Its easy to forget, that she's tough as nails emotionally as well. This is the little girl that broke the hammer.

   She's got that look now. The rattlesnake look. She's clearly aiming at my leg now. Since I do it so much, I know how to stop it. Now she's aiming at one leg, and really coming in for the other. I start stomping on her lead sliding leg. I have no choice. If she's gonna do it, she needs to know what happens back.

   This is fighting without fighting. Flirting and flaunting the incidental contact rules.

   "Stop. If you really wanna do this? Rules."

   "Fine."

   "We only work on it, when we're alone. No Right, no other girls."

   "Done."

   "You don't talk about it. It just happens."

   "I can keep secrets. Good at that. Done."

   "You need to wrap your ankles and your shins, to practice this. You practice slow, then you build up speed. Speed, you got. Leg reach? Tons. You just need to know what you're aiming for. You don't go sliding in willy nilly, at random. You'll get your ankle broke, when some girl figures out what you're doing. And it'll be some big fullback, like me. I'll show you how to switch legs coming in. You cock it, like a gun. Tomorrow. After Right goes to get sun."

   I look over at him.

   "You. Fighting boy. You know anything, about kicking on the ground."

   "Want me to show her how to break ankles and knees?"

   "No. Doesn't do any good. She gets a good steal, and there's an injury? Game stops. Can't get a goal that way. You wanna hurt the girl, not break her. Girl needs to be up and walking, then realize she has no steam left."

   "A little limp?"

   "Yeah."

   "I'll show her where to hit the ankle. Its not where most people think."

   Light is listening to us go back and forth.

   "Think I know where the ankle is."

   "That's just it. To break a knee? With less force? You aim off the knee. The ankle's no different. What you girls want, is to drag the foot sideways. Nice little sprain."

   "Great. You're going to turn her into a headhunter, like me."

   "Big girls aren't out there taking cheap shots at her all game anyways?"

   "She can do this for a hobby. Not main practice. Can I explain something to you, and you won't get mad."

   "Technically? Who knows. But I can promise, I'll try."

   "You might think I'm having fun, running the show. I can tell you, I'm not. The coach is in charge, not me. The coach decides strategy, not me. Straight up… I'm a utility player. That's my big thing. I can play, all the positions. Doesn't mean I'm great at them. My main job, what I'm best at? Is being the fullback."

   "The point is in there, I assume."

   "Oh yeah. I play up, into other positions. That allows me to get rough, and use my size and strength, up front. To protect these girls. To draw those cheap shot artists, which are other fullbacks? Onto me. She starts taking shots, instead of getting them and drawing me up? That's not the strategy. Which is the coach's thing. Her and Right? Can't be replaced. I can. They can't afford to be out for a game or two? I can. That's why I get beat up. To protect them."

   "You're the boss."

   "Actually? I'm not. The coach is. She's the Lightning. Fast, strikes with no warning. Accurate. I'm the Hurricane. I blow around the field and knock things down. She doesn't need to be doing what I'm doing. She's all speed and skill, that's her job. I'm half speed and skill, half rough stuff. She's an awesome wing, playing a wing shooter's game. Me? I'm a big fullback, that can play up and run interference for the wings. Don't encourage this."

   "All right. Coach is the boss then."

   "Light, are you sore enough yet?"

   "I guess."

   "I'm not being mean, honey. Run around the big girls. Don't mix it up. Look. I know it looks like I'm making plays on the field? I'm not really. I'm doing what the coach says to do. That's all. There's nothing any coach hates more? Than a player doing their own thing. Except a star player doing it, because they can get away with it. Don't do things, because you can. If the star does what the coach says? The rest of the team will, too. You just keep doing what you do, and you won't believe where we get in the next couple years. Trust me. I went through this in high school. My coach pulled his hair out."

   "At least show me how to roll and wrap the leg coming in. That's going for the ball."

   "Tomorrow. We'll wrap your ankles, so we can play with this some. We'll do it when you're loosened up, but not fatigued like now. When are the two times you'll tend to get an injury?"

   "Before you're warmed up, and after you start to fatigue."

   "Amen. I'll get you some ankle supports, see if they affect your ball handling or shooting accuracy."

   "All right, sis."

   "Come on, honey. Let's get our spa package on…"

   After the shower, after the tub care, after the rubdown and massage. We didn't take a nap, but we laid there sort of in and out of napping for a while. Eventually Light wanted to see about chili. I sat in the kitchen, and watched him go about this.

   "Okay. Light? We’re gonna make basic chili for lunch. We'll later on make a big pot of real chili, for dinner and leftovers."

   "Why are we eating fake chili for lunch? Just make the real one, and we'll eat some now."

   "Well. I want you to understand the basic recipe. Then? I'll add stuff and deal with it, to make what I call real chili. Think of it as learning to make cupcakes, before you go baking a six story wedding cake."

   "All right."

   "Ever brown meat?"

   "Do you see me cook a lot? Boys didn't have me over to cook. At least not in the kitchen. Well, we did some cooking in the kitchen? But that's another story."

   "Ground meat. We're gonna heat it up. Its basically, just a loose hamburger. Now. Not too hot, and keep stirring. That's the secret to browning ground meat. See this mark on the stove top?"

   "Yeah…"

   "On this stove, that's around 250. Every stove top is different. Later on, I'll show you a trick to find that setting on any stove. Or? You use a skillet, with a temperature you can dial in. Or? You use this…"

   "A laser gun?"

   "Thermometer. Go on. Wait for the pan to heat up, and shoot it down in. Read the temperature."

   After a while, she did.

   "248, 249"

   "Close enough. Dump the pound of ground meat in, and stir now and then. All there is to it."

   "This is easy."

   I was smiling. She was thrilled.

   "Now. Open the packet of seasoning? And dump it in. Keep stirring. Save the empty packet."

   "Okay…"

   "See it going dry? Add a dash of water. The packet says a certain amount, but its not critical. Just make it enough to slop it around."

   "Smells like chili already."

   "Now read the packet. Where it says… instructions."

   "Brown the ground meat, and drain the grease."

   "We don't drain the grease. Grease is flavor. Go to the next step."

   "Add contents of packet of seasoning, and 1/2 cup water. Stir."

   "Next."

   "Uh… two 8 ounce cans of tomato sauce."

   "Know how to use a can opener? Here's the two cans."

   I watched her fiddling. He showed her how it worked.

   "Dump them in. Stir."

   "Now. Next step?"

   "Two cans of beans."

   "Here. Can of kidney beans, can of chili beans. Can opener works the same. Dump them in."

   "Stir?"

   "You can never stir too much. If you burn and stick a bunch on the bottom? You can ruin a dish."

   "Okay…"

   "We'll add some water…"

   "How much?"

   "Uh… that much. If you add too much? You just simmer it off. No biggie."

   "Looks like… chili."

   "You're done. Add a juice glass of water, put it on low. Let it simmer. Check and stir now and then. This? Is where you get to look like a pro. Oh, I have to check my chili… looks like you're doing something. You can taste it, to make it look like you're deciding something."

   "That's it?"

   "Done. You can eat it now, but adding water and simmering it off? I think it mixes the flavors or something."

   "I can now say, I can make chili?"

   "You can."

   "Can I taste it?"

   "Have fun."

   "Wow. Can't believe I made chili."

   "Think you could do it again?"

   "Yeah."

   "Tips. Always buy the cheap ground meat. More grease? More flavor. Also? I can't taste a difference in cheap packets, against the famous brands. Buy the cheap ones, at the best price. If you can get a box in bulk? I go that route. If you're like me, and you love chili and make it a lot? Invest in a big container of the seasoning. But, make sure you're beating the price of the cheap packets, or it defeats the purpose."

   "What's real chili going to be like?"

   "Well. Big pot. Four pounds of ground meat, so, four packets of chili. Now. Chili packets, come in three kinds. Mild, regular, and hot. I tend to use half hot, half regular on bigger pots. Naturally? Four times as many cans of sauce. Four times as many beans."

   "That's it?"

   "No. Big pot. I like to add things. When I started out making what you just made? Next time, I added a cheap can of carrots. Next time? I added can of carrots, can of mushrooms. I started adding too many cans? Flavor disappeared. I added another packet. I added another pound of meat and seasoning. Cut up potatoes. I add baby Brussels sprouts. Chopped up broccoli and spinach. Can of corn and green beans. If you like the vegetable? Add it. A big handful of a vegetable, is a good rule of thumb. Or, save an empty can… use that as a guide."

   "Ooh. I end up with… my own chili recipe?"

   "Yep. All yours. After enough pots of it, you like some more than others. Oh, I added too much of that. Next time don't. Basically? The more and weirder shit you list off talking about your chili, the more you sound like a chili pro."

   "Oh, this is great. People are going to eat my chili one day. Awesome…"

   "I'm going to make a big pot of rice, and put it to the side. I like a big handful of rice, and I put the chili over it. It… stretches the big pot even further."

   "Yeah, you and Hurry both do that with chili."

   "Right… I also add things. You can bomb just about anything you wanna get rid of? Into chili. Chicken? make sure all the bones are out, and… sausage? Hot sausage, sweet sausage, garlic sausage… slice it, throw it in. You'll see me add different kinds of beans. Pinto and kidney beans are the two most popular. I also like a big pack of those… 15 different beans. Its just what you made? With different shit thrown in, basically. Now, you know how the rice is a side dish you serve it on?"

   "Yeah…"

   "We have a big bag of potatoes. Hurry's going to make mashed potatoes. I like mashed potatoes and rice… and chili goes over it. I like macaroni and cheese, cheap box stuff. I add the chili over a bowl of that. Next day? We'll make baked potatoes, and cover them in chili."

   "What else did you start learning to make…"

   "Oh. Macaroni and cheese box? Was my first. I learned to add things to it. Make it go further. I like broccoli, green beans, baby Brussels sprouts, mushrooms, rice…"

   "Okay. And…"

   "Basic spaghetti. Honestly? You make a pot of chili. Eat it till its gone. Next make spaghetti, eat it till its gone. Make macaroni and cheese with stuff in it… eat that till its gone. Toss in taco night, chicken night, egg sandwiches night… you're ready to start over again. For a while, I had a sort of a ten day schedule. It made it look, as if I could cook a little. Oh. An easy one… ham and beans. Easier than chili."

   "Wow. I'm going to know how to cook…"

   "All right. Now, you're never going to measure up to… what I like to call, the secret recipe club. Little pro tip? Nobody else will, either. Their game? Is designed to make it look like… ooh… the secret, mystical knowledge? Has been handed down for generations…"

   "Oh. You mean, its bullshit?"

   "Eh. They probably have experience cooking from scratch? But… honestly, I've been more impressed by the cooking ability, of a lot of what I call the recipe club cookers. Than I was with the… secret recipe handed down. Can I make a crude analogy? I'll be mentioning dear old mom. You can tell me no, I won't take offense."

   She looked at me.

   "Are you making a point? Or, just seeing if I go weird on you."

   "Mostly making a point. But, wouldn't hurt to know the other one."

   "Go for it. I'm in an okay mood, all things considered."

   "Every mom thinks its her sacred duty to pass something down. That, she knows something, that the women in their family use to get men. I knew a girl who's single mom, had been a… pole dancer. She taught her daughter? To work a pole like no one's business. She said… if I'm ever on skid row? I don't have to put out if I don't want to. I can live in the nice part of town, buy a nice house, and buy a new car, and still have money to eat out. And, almost every guy in town just about, will secretly want me. I can make as much or more money than most of the men, with good jobs and college educations. Not saying I'll ever do it, but, its there if I ever think I need it."

   "And, she could work the pole?"

   "Yeah. I'm no expert, but… the boys went nuts. Go figure. I'm not saying you couldn't do it better. But for an amateur… being watched by amateurs…"

   "My mom had other ideas."

   "If things hadn't of gone haywire? If your mom was only half nuts… I'm not saying its right to view men through gold prospecting glasses. But… its not like plenty of girls on campus don't compete that way. And when they get out of college, or drop out? Who's husband makes the most per year, is definitely something the girls brag about. Before she went off the deep end, you were on pace that before you could buy beer? You'd have been able to glance at any guy. Look him up, look him down. Pretty much guess how much he made a year, tell if he was lying about it. And? How to get the guy to go out with you. On that level? She was teaching you what she knew."

   "You don't agree with pole dancing. Or gold digging."

   "No. I don't. Doesn't mean that either one? Couldn't be used for practical purposes. Doesn't mean that either one? Couldn't technically get used, in a way that was… moral."

   "You, would agree with a pole dancer, claiming to be a good girl."

   "I think finding that one? Would be rarer than hen's teeth. Didn't say it would be impossible."

   "And… a gold digger could be… morally okay?"

   "Well, could be. Only if used right. Do you know how many girls believe some guy's lying story, about how much he makes? Get pregnant and get married to the guy who doesn't really have that great job he likes to brag about at the bar… boys have been taught to lie to get action."

   "Where would you and Wizzy end up. If you… got a big belly."

   "Oh, gee. First off. I'd lose my scholarship. So, no more college. Wiz?"

   "I'd end up working, I guess whatever job I could get at the moment. Try to find a better job when it came around. I can afford to be here, barely. But, I live in a dirt hole to do it. I can't expect her to share that dirt hole, with a newborn. I can live in a car if I have to. Not something I could do with a kid. Honey?"

   "Me and Wiz, would end up on welfare, hun. My parents? Would really push me to come back home. My dad would run his mouth until I wanted to punch him in the mouth myself. Wizzy here? I don't even like to think, about how the conversations with my daddy would go. Wiz. What would the optimum strategy be?"

   "Oh. Let's see here. Optimum results? First two years would be rough. But…"

   Me and Light both urged him to go for it.

   "Here goes. I trust Hurry? That she really loves me. And… there's not some… successful, handsome farm boy she hasn't been telling me about all this time in Hurryville. I bet if she goes home to the farm, out of college? I bet a couple of those come out of the woodwork, quick. And? I bet mom and dad are pushing the issue. You should date that one. Did you see his dad's farm? He's the only son, honey."

   "You'd… send me back home?"

   "Two years. I'd have to trust you. To hold the line. That farm? Your dad would have natural instincts to love and protect his grand kid. Optimum outcome for the newborn. You? Better than the projects. I'd take care of the women and children first. Your mom, would say I told you so… then take you out to shop for cute baby socks. She'd make your dad lay off, when he got too out of hand. Your dad? Would have, I'm guessing, three fingers of jack every night after dinner, rather than his usual two. My ears would be burning, at how much shit he talked."

   "Admirable. What would you do."

   "Simple as. Live in a car, find a place to park it. Finish my undergrad degree. I'm a jock, just not a jock on the field. I'm a jock in the computer and math department. I'm kinda like the starting quarterback, sort of, in the mathematics lab, tutoring. Pretty sure, I just have to finish my degree, just not in the luxury style, that I have recently grown accustomed to. Groundhogs live in abandoned cars, when they can't find a dirt hole. Once I make grad school…"

   "Hmm. You teach computer science classes? You'd be low level staff."

   "Would I not get housing? And a paycheck I could afford groceries?"

   "You would."

   "Would… my wife, being married to a staff member… not be allowed to take classes? Like the son of the janitor gets a free education here?"

   "Yeah."

   "There you go. In two years? You'd be back here. You could finish your degree. No more soccer, but you'd have a new hobby. By the time I was starting my doctoral candidacy? You'd be in grad school. Teaching introductory psych classes. Our income would double."

   "Honey? Not bad. Question. How do you break me out of farm prison? Not like my daddy isn't going to be standing between me and… escape. Probably some big farmhand standing around, trying to impress daddy and get a few extra hours every week for it. Farmhands that get to eat dinner in the big house? Talk shit to the other farmhands. Simple farm politics."

   "Not a fun topic. Want an accurate assessment of it?"

   "Oh. This ought to be fun. Dying to hear it."

   "Well. I'm done with undergrad. I got my housing. My first paycheck? I need bus fare for one. From Universityville, to Hurryville. I'm assuming, my email proposal, you said yes. Come get me."

   "Oh. Guaranteed."

   "I need bus fare for one, from Universityville, to Hurryville. I will also have bus fare for three. From Hurryville, to Universityville. Anything, and anyone. Tries to talk me out of my mission, will be ignored. Politely. Anyone, and I emphasize the anyone part… that tries to physically intervene? Between me and completing my mission. Well. Wouldn't be the first person that thought they were going to prevent an MP from taking somebody, to somewhere he thought they needed to be. The, uh, boys had a saying."

   "How's that."

   "Guys? All fun aside. See that person, right there beside you? Going with me. Right now. They can walk, or I'll drag them. You can either be standing here watching? Or you can be laying there watching. Choose. I'm going to count to one."

   "Daddy has a farmhand."

   "Daddy has a farmhand, before it begins. The farmhand will not last more than about a second, maybe a second and a half. I'm not fighting to win points, and pass a class. He gets punched in the throat, he gets his knee kicked out from under him. He gets his head split like a coconut off my jumping knee. Your daddy's eyes will bug out, I've done it before. He'll still be wondering what in the hell happened by the time I get my hands on him."

   "Police? Mom calls the cops."

   "Daddy will have spent two years, talking shit to anyone unfortunate enough to have been within arm's reach of him. Why, that no good college bum shows up here? Why, I'll show him a thing or two. I'm not called Big Hurry for nothing, you know. I'll show you how to handle that kind."

   "That, would probably be more accurate of a statement, than you realize."

   "You? You're over 18. No one, not even your father, and certainly not some farmhand? Is legally entitled to keep you prisoner. Now put a hand on me, keeping me from my wife who said yes. Or my own child. Now, if small town cops wanna try some kind of… shenanigans? I'll have a talk with the chief. Not all him talking and me listening. If they try to pull some, night in jail, this is our town, bullshit? Have fun. I'm coming back, with a lawyer that doesn't give a shit and doesn't cost me a dime. I'm going to buy my wife a brand new farm with how much I make off of that. Try me. I know special words the cops wouldn't think… college boy? Knows."

   "Really."

   "Look. You think MP's don't have to deal with… local cops and the same shit? Any half bright chief, will realize in about ten seconds? This ain't worth it. The more the locals try to up the ante? The more they lose in the end."

   "The chief and the magistrate? Drink beer at the same bar."

   "Oh. That's the whole… who you blow game? Fine. Let's play that game. Do you have any idea, how many local cops. State cops. Couple detectives and investigators, and at least one FBI agent I'm buddies with? Think. What do MP's do for a living, when they get out of the service? They become cops. They go to the head of the class, being cops. And every single one of them? Their mascot, the little brother, their special friend… is in trouble, and swears he didn't do anything. My first phone call might not be to a lawyer."

   "Oh."

   "Yeah. Dare me. I guarantee, one phone call, describing what happened? Chief starts getting phone calls, from all the boys. Other police chiefs and lieutenants start calling. State police. Even one FBI agent calling. I bet he won't be there the next morning. But that weekend? Who exactly is in charge here. Let's have a talk. Now, if the chief is stupid enough, to try to continue down that road, and up the ante? All bad things happen. So no. My crystal ball says? In the morning, I'll get a little talk with the chief. His little talk he planned, will go awry from how he planned on the talk going. And unless he's really retarded? The chief himself, will buy me and you dinner. And probably carry your luggage himself, and pay our bus fare. All smiles, sorry there was such a miscommunication. The boys? Oh, they had you confused with some other guy, sorry about that. I will probably be nice? And let the chief off, with a warning."

   "You're not kidding, are you."

   "Not one bit."

   I looked at Lightning. She looked, a little glum.

   "I'm sorry honey. I didn't mean to sit here and gloat. How wonderful I think my boyfriend is. Look how much he loves me. We were talking about recipes."

   "We were. I just… I don't have anything like that. And I'm not sure knowing how to make easy chili recipe? Gets a girl that anymore."

   He winked at me.

   "Light? Did I not stand at a party, put my arm around both of you girls? Did I not say… pointing at you… I think she's amazing. This? Is my girl now. You had your chance. You? Are very special. Just like Hurry. You, are entitled to all the same… rights and privileges of being my girlfriend, that she's entitled to."

   "Really?"

   "Sure."

   He winked at me, like three times in a row.

   "Truth be known? You, are a slightly better deal."

   "How."

   "You ain't got some big farm daddy to deal with. You're easier to go pick up. I'd probably go pick you up first, then head out to Hurryville. Take you along? As my backup."

   Her mood brightened at the joke.

   "Yeah! I'll kick the farmhand, so you get a fair deal with big daddy!"

   He smiled.

   "See honey? She's all good karma. Just like you."

   "Well, meanwhile. Back at the ranch, Light…"

   "Yeah…"

   Her mood brightened. She suddenly felt an injection of feeling good. That little bit of warmth and goodness, that comes from feeling like you have someone in your corner. That they love you and care about you. The person thinks you're special. It's an essential ingredient to any relationship, particularly between a girl and a boy. I'm glad she feels it.

   "Now. Moms, teach daughters. Whatever they think is in the daughter's best interests. How to find boys, how to keep boys, how to choose among those boys, and pick one out. There are, as we have seen… different strategies, to that end."

   "What's yours? What were you taught. I have to be something, and you aren't half bad, sis."

   "Well. The secret recipe, secret knowledge of cooking. Its part true, its part… ad campaign."

   "And what's true is…"

   "Um. The secret recipe. My grandma, was taught by her grandma… how to make the best apple pie in the world. Crust? From scratch. Secret ingredient, too. No one gets that. I was taught how to pick the perfect apples, too. Boys like to fuck, its true. Boys also? Like to eat. Back in the old days, how good a girl had a reputation for cooking? Carried a lot of weight concerning which girl a guy bragged he was dating. Hey. My girl's prettier. Yeah? Well your girl burns water. Mine's almost as pretty as yours? And boy, can she cook. You? Are going to starve. Me? Everyone loves when she cooks."

   "Cooking good? Moves you… from a 6 to a 7…"

   "Oh. A good personality, a great way around the kitchen… no, more than one girl has wooed the most eligible bachelor in town before, with that. Now. When more than one girl in town can cook? Well… out comes the bragging. I do desserts too. I do cakes and cookies. Me? I have the secret recipe, with the secret ingredients…"

   "Hmm. Me and Right? She had us… making cheeseburgers, for the boys. We, got to pretend we could cook. Outside the bedroom, that is. Fetching beers was another… thing. The boys liked that. Looking back on it? I should of sucked less cock, and made more burgers. I was doing better, overcooking the burgers, to be honest. Any moron can fetch a beer. One cop on one of our movies that Wiz watches? Had a dog, that can do that much…"

   He started chuckling. Light wanted to know what.

   "That's… all service guys. We're young, we exercise, we have appetites. Food? Is a big deal."

   "How, Wizzy."

   "Well. They feed you. A lot, I actually liked that part. But, you get to learn the schedule. There's a 31 day schedule. Some stuff? Available every day. Some stuff? Different days. Things come around once a week, once every two weeks, or once a month. After about 6 months? Its Friday, its the 12th day of the month. You know what to expect you can get. Also? You can only eat at certain times. You miss? You wait. Saturday and Sunday, you might not feel like going in 3 times. Me and the MP's, in our apartment building? The guys that could cook anything, were a commodity. Not to mention… you get out in the field? You eat out of a bag. There's, like, eight different bags, and you trade around for your favorites. Which you get sick of."

   "Oh. So, if one of the boys had a girlfriend in town, that could really cook…"

   "Oh yeah. More than one black eye has been handed out? And not all of them were over who got go out with the girl with the big tits. Girl cooks a lot? Leftovers in the fridge? Stock quote goes up. Now. Service… do you get packed sandwiches and a lunch? Do you get brought a cold drink, a coffee, a beer when you sit down. Good service? Means almost as much as good food. Yeah, all makes the stock quote go up."

   "So, if you bring your buddy over. Big meal, everyone wants seconds. She brings you… drinks, maybe her hand made apple pie while you boys watch the game… she's a catch?"

   "Yeah. Works just like that. Except… you don't let anyone know her name, where she lives, her number, what car she drives… nothing. You lie about what town she lives in, that one. More than one guy learned, better to say you're going bowling, than your buddies learn about a good girl on the loose. Lots of healthy young boys on a big airbase. Only so many town girls to go around. Competition? Is fierce. The better girls? Get… picky. Simple supply and demand. Lots of dicks around with the same paychecks, all of us jogged every morning. Only so many girls. Quality dicks were on sale in big bins, and tits and ass were usually sold out. Do the math. Girls were in demand, and the quality girls? They didn't last long."

   "So. Hurry, would have had all the quality dick she wanted, living near an Airbase."

   I laughed out loud. He did too.

   "Lightning!"

   "Yes, Light. Hurry? Would have been considered quite a catch, near an Airbase. I'd of had to lock her up in a cage, to keep her to myself. That's assuming I managed to get to first base."

   "And her… cooking."

   "Oh yeah. Honest, I've been hearing her main thing is meat and potatoes. Roasts and casseroles. And… a specialty in soups and stews, did I hear right?"

   "I already know the menu, Wizzy. Soon as it gets cold enough out, the season ends… she starts. Soup. There's constantly a giant pot of soup going. A big one, you get sick of it. Then? Soon as its gone, she makes a different one. Same thing. Lots of casseroles and side dishes. You get a break, when she makes the big roast, or a big bird."

   "The big bird?"

   I smiled.

   "The girls are fascinated. That I can buy a turkey in the store. And I can read. Put the oven on this temperature. For this long. And when this thingy pops out? I turn the oven off. Mashed potatoes and gravy, and some vegetables warmed up? Its rocket science. You'd think I was part of some special program, at NASA, where I learned this on the moon or something."

   "Now, this soup thing… is… chicken soup on the program."

   I smiled.

   "We get chicken by the armload on the athlete's order we pick up at the store. More chicken soup than anything."

   "Now, there's chicken soup, and there's chicken soup."

   "The kind with chicken in it?"

   "Okay. Not… just a chicken neck, and some bouillon cubes, with one kind of noodles."

   "No, my grandmother would have strangled me if I tried that shit."

   "Oh. I can't wait for winter. Now… there's noodles, and there's noodles."

   "Hmm. After the season ends? I have all this energy and nothing to work it out on. I scrub the kitchen table, make noodles from scratch. Flour and egg, mainly. The noodles go in other stuff, too."

   "Okay, now when you say noodles… what about those big ones? The ones that look like… white meatballs got whacked with a hammer. Those, too?"

   "Oh. You mean… the dumplings. Yeah. Boiled or fried flour. Big mystery there."

   "Rice? Chicken and rice."

   "Rice on the side. If you leave it in too long? Turns into stew."

   "Stew is good too."

   "Yeah. Just like grandma made when you were little. As a matter of fact? If you find live roosters cheap or no one wants them… help me pull feathers off… I can do it that way, too."

   "Oh, holy shit. All right, I'm getting horny. What other soups."

   "Tomato soup. Grilled cheese sandwiches. They always get us these… big bricks of this weird cheese. We're all sick of it, I make grilled cheese sandwiches, a big old pile, to dunk in the tomato soup."

   "Oh, yes… more…"

   "Ham and bean. You boil ham. You boil beans. More secret NASA technology. The difference between good ham and bean, and great ham and bean? Real ham, and more of it. Different beans, every time you make it."

   "I'm getting a stiff-y."

   "I'm Italian. Wedding soup, is compulsory."

   "Oh my. You do the big roast?"

   "Yep. Ham, beef, whatever animal you cut an ass cheek off of. I do simmer stews, too. Think meat and vegetables and potatoes? In a crock pot? Just a big pot on the stove, simmering all day."

   "Cow. Pig. Deer?"

   "Sheep, too. No farm girl escapes a working farm, without knowing how to cook deer meat. The girls freak out, but. I do squirrels and rabbits and fish… if you can kill it? Farm girls are taught how to cook it. Our grandmas have us convinced until we're too old to know better. That if we can't cook that stuff? No boy will ever kiss us. Then we turn 12, and hear different."

   "Any… desserts?"

   "I'm a little thin on dessert. Apple pie? Okay. My blueberry usually gets good reviews. The one pie I do, that most pie girls don't? Pear pie. If the pears are right, the pie is right. My cherry? Eh. My blackberry pie? Right up there with my blueberry. Yes, scratch crusts. Remember. Big bag of flour in all kitchens. A few basic cookies, nothing to email home about. My scratch cake? Its okay. My scratch icing, is… not too bad."

   Lightning was all smiles.

   "We bitch until she makes cheesecake!"

   "Yes. More secret NASA technology. Instant pudding packet, goes in a store crust. Amazing. They don't know how I do it. Only thing I'll make with a store bought crust."

   "Anything I didn't ask you about?"

   "Oh. After chicken soup? There's left over chicken. I do creamed chicken."

   "Over… like… biscuits."

   "Of course. I'm no great bread baker. Basic bread. Few biscuits, things like that. Its all flour, basically. Big bag of flour. Noticing a trend, here. What else? Oh. The catchalls. Shepherd's pie. They call it meat pie. And casseroles? Anything left over. Meat, vegetables, cheese. I can usually get a casserole out of it."

   Lightning sighed, but smiled.

   "What, dear."

   "I was getting begged for my third date? Now you started in on all this… food talk. You're ruining my… stock quote. Look at him. He's eating out of your hand. What the hell."

   I smiled.

   "Light? On a farm. There's a bunch of other farms, all around you. Those farms? All have one thing in common. Most of them, have farm boys on them. Now, farm boys all have a few things in common. They can all work, from before the sun's up, till the sun goes down. They about all? Have mothers and grandmas, that can cook. They all have these big, healthy appetites. So… if you can cook? Your stock quote, goes up. Also, when a girl goes around some farm boy's house, for dinner? She gets the once over, from the mother and the grandmother. She has to be able to cook a little. Kinda like the girl version, of the daddy giving the boy over, the raspberries."

   "So. You learned to cook. To keep up with the… fast girls."

   "Yes, I learned to cook. No, I didn't learn it, so I could… get more farm boy dick. Though I won't lie. The girls that didn't carry hay bales like I did? Did use cooking for… bait. There's two kinds of farm girls. The ones like me, that are actually useful to have around the farm itself. Then? You got your… house mouses. You're lucky to get any real work out of them, beyond the chickens. They ride horses and switch to riding boys as soon as they can."

   "So… if it wasn't for getting farm dick---, I mean farm boys… why spend so much time in cooking school."

   "Well. On a farm. Spring, summer, fall… all have their own work built into the seasons. Rainy days, and then all winter. You spend a lot of time cooped up in the house. I suppose as much as parents love you, its nice to get a break. I would spend all weekend every winter, and a lot of breaks? Down at grandma's house. I don't know what you're used to growing up, but… grandma's house is a lot more fun, than mom and dad's house, when you're young. Grandparents spoil grandchildren. Grandma would tell stories, when I was young and down there. And I would help grandma cook."

   "Cooking school."

   "Yeah. Grandma and grandpa, lived on the original farm. The rest came later, when they got it and added it on. Daddy, their kid? Lived in that house. When Daddy took over the whole main farm, which was bigger? Grandma and Grandpa sort of retired. Lots less work. Way more cooking. Lot more fun for me as a young girl down there. So, cooking lessons, yeah. Caused a little friction, with me and mom when I came back. But it was okay."

   "Friction?"

   "Oh. Mom. Grandma? She does this, you're doing that. Where's this? Why are you putting that in there. Why aren't you chopping the onions small enough. And daddy? Thought it was cute. Mom thought it was slightly less cute. But, all winter long, you take turns. All eating at grandma's, grandma and grandpa coming to your house to eat next. I was allowed to cook for big family dinners. As a young girl? You get major brownie points, for making a few things on the big table, that everyone likes. Mom and grandma, kind of snip at each other, and daddy and grandpa giggle at it. There's no real fights over it. Just… standard family, I guess."

   "Wow. All those people, at all those meals. Where the hell did you all sit?"

   "At… the table. We had other tables when all the family was over. Hold all the food, place for the kids to all sit."

   "More people? You already got your mom, dad. Grandma, grandpa. More, too?"

   "Couple aunts and uncles. Their kids. Maybe a few cousins, and that. Next farm over might have a dinner party, we go there."

   "That's not a house, that's a restaurant…"

   I laughed.

   "Yeah, Mom said you just put the food on the table? And keep your hands away from the plates."

   "Wow. You make this sound normal. Like… stuff on TV movies. You know. The stupid holiday movies."

   "I guess."

   "What does everybody… do? Just… come in. Eat. Then go? Like a big restaurant. Or, its like on TV."

   "Well, Light. The women, are cooking. Talking. The girls are more with the women. The boys? Are with the men. Its winter, so. They got their football games. Their car racing. Whatever the hell's in TV season for men and boys, I guess. Unless, its hunting season. Then, that's what the men and the boys do. They scout for animals. They hunt and hopefully shoot animals. Bring it home. Butcher the animals. Make fun of whoever didn't get an animal to kill. Or, who got the biggest, makes fun of who got the smallest."

   "Yeah. TV bullshit. You lived it, in real life."

   "Do… you have any happy memories, from when you were… younger? Has to be something."

   "Oh, sure. Saturday and Sunday? Cartoons. My shows. I was allowed to watch anything I wanted. Sunday funny papers. Got my comic books once a month, too. Coloring books, I loved those. I got the big boxes of crayons, too. Not the little ones. I got the giant packs of colored pencils, too. In, like, first second grade? Everyone was jealous of all that stuff. First grade? The size of your crayon box is a big deal."

   "What were your cooking lessons like? Surely you knew something."

   "Mom had a big cupboard. I swear, any box of cereal? It was in there. Always had two gallons of milk, ready to go. Chocolate squirt stuff for the milk, strawberry one, too. Now, the powdered ones were almost as good. Ice cream. Popsicle's. Saturday and Sunday were the best. Cartoons. Cereal, strawberry milk. Ice cream and Popsicle's. Then, when cartoons ran out? Old movies. Black and white ones. Lots of dancing and singing and stuff. Had all my comic books, and coloring books out. It was great."

   "What about real food? You can't live on cereal and ice cream."

   "Peanut butter and jelly. Dunk it in chocolate milk. Hot dogs. I liked canned ravioli, but, the spaghetti was okay. If you got meatballs. Now. Mom had a whole cupboard of cereal? Next one, even bigger. Next two, actually. If it came in a can? We had it. Going to the store? Was fun. I could point at cans, and cereal boxes? Went right in the cart. Comic books, coloring books, right in."

   "This was all for Saturdays and Sundays?"

   "Yeah. Mom had the big microwave. But, she got me my own. Down low, just for me. Just turn the dial. We had every TV dinner known to mankind, too. Oh! And microwave popcorn! That was the best."

   "Light? Were you alone on weekends?"

   "Mom left early. Came home late. She said she was working. When I got older? I think she was out dating. But, that was her working, kinda. Working on trying to find me a new dad."

   "You just, watched TV all day?"

   "Well. A lot. But the other stuff too. Now, I wasn't allowed to answer the door. For anyone. At all. Mom said there were people out there, that would try to take kids away. Cops. Other people. Now, my friends were allowed over. They loved it. You could eat anything you wanted. I had stuff to do. I had friends."

   "Did you go anywhere?"

   "Other than dance lessons? School. Now, if one of my friend’s moms came over? They called first, and then I was allowed to go over and play at their house all day. That was fun too. And we were allowed outside then."

   "What did your mom cook when she came home? After school."

   "Oh, mom only stuff. Hamburgers. Cheese sandwiches. And tater tots. I loved tater tots. French fries, too. Then I got old enough I was allowed to make that stuff."

   "When did your mom get home. During the school week."

   "She put me on the bus. Every day. I wasn't allowed to miss school. I don't know when she left, but… she got home late. When I was old enough mom could trust me to cross the street? I got candy money. Then, I was allowed to walk to the roller rink. That? Might have been my favorite."

   "Relatives? Grandparents."

   "No… they lived far away. Saw them a couple times. Not much."

   "Now. Let me get this straight. Your mom. As far back as you can remember. You go to school. Every day. But, you don't have to get good grades."

   "Mom said school was real important, but, grades didn't mean anything. There were other kinds of smart. But yeah. Real stickler. Every day? I was on that bus. I had to be, like, not able to stand up to not go to school. Then, I guess it was okay to stay home if I was that sick."

   "Yeah. Saturday, Sunday. Mom left early, came back late. Real late."

   "Yep."

   "All week long, you don't know when she left the house, but. She was never home till late, every night."

   "Yeah."

   "You're not allowed to answer the door. To anyone, no matter what. Not even the cops, because the cops might steal young girls, and you never see your mom again."

   "Yeah. Stranger danger. Teachers told us that, too. Not about the cops, but… you don't answer the door for anyone you don't know who they are, and what they're supposed to be there for."

   "You ate… the foods you listed. All day, every day. Whatever you wanted."

   "Sure."

   "How did you get to dancing?"

   "Some other mom would pick me up and drop me off. I get an envelope to give the mom. Gas money. You know."

   "And how old were you, when you were allowed to go to the store, go to the roller rink. By yourself."

   "Oh. By first grade. I liked the roller rink the best. All the kids. I was a dancer, so… I could dance on wheels, for hours. Couple bucks to get in, no more money needed. More fun than dancing, you didn't have to practice, just… go and do it."

   "Then you hit 12 or so, and… we all already know what went on, from that point out."

   "Yeah. But, being a kid was fun."

   I shot him a look, he looked around and… had trouble looking me back in the eye. I Bluetooth-ed him. Say something.

   "Little Lightning?"

   "Yeah, Wizzy."

   "You in an okay mood?"

   "Yeah. Other than… something happened. But, yeah. Why? Are you gonna… start playing cop again, and… make things worse."

   "Lightning? I'm not sure things can get worse. I just… I have to ask."

   "Well, go on. As soon as I get in a better mood, here comes the cops, gotta ruin it. I'm just kidding, Wizzy. Cause one of these days? And real soon, I hope. We're gonna run out of these new things to talk about, and… if you know what I mean? But go ahead."

   "What did your mom look like. You think… people thought she was attractive?"

   "Pretty sure. Wizzy? Do you think I'm pretty?"

   "Yeah. I do."

   "Well. Picture me. But short. Now, I know everyone thinks their mom is real pretty, but… other people always mentioned it too, so."

   "You mom would dress very… conservatively. Country club you called it."

   "Oh yeah. Me too, until… 12."

   "And, did your mom always dress conservatively, or… did she sometimes wear… you know… sexy clothes."

   "Well. She worked at the bar on weekends, so. Pretty girls make more money than ugly ones. And she worked evenings at the bar a lot, too. So, sexy clothes."

   "I'm curious. What jobs do you remember your mom having."

   "Well. There was the nail salon. And, the bar."

   "You ever been to the nail salon?"

   "Yeah. The ladies there were always real nice to me. I liked them. One of them gave me rides to the dance lessons. Another one lived near and I played with her daughter."

   "You never saw the bar?"

   "No. Mom said bars were no place for little kids. Ever. I mean, she was a horrible mom, but, she wasn't all bad. I had to go to school every day. That's something, right? I wasn't allowed to ever see the bar. She said it wasn't a nice place. And little girls didn't belong in bars. I mean, that's something for her. I always had food to eat. I always had clothes. Not much, but… some kids starve, or don't have clean clothes. Until I hit a certain age? She wasn't the worst single mom in the world."

   "Uh huh. Do you know who owned the nail salon?"

   "Yeah. The rich guy. Rich guys own stuff. Own businesses. I'm an adult? Still like that. None of us own a business, right? Well, we're not rich. If one of us was rich? We'd probably all work for the one that was rich. Facts of life."

   "Just any rich guy?"

   "Well. The rich guy. You know the one. Richest guy in town."

   "Okay. I'm done… with the pop quiz."

   "Hey! Thanks Wizzy. You're getting better at this. You didn't make me cry once. Good job."

   "Can I ask one more teeny question? Maybe two in one."

   "Wiz? Just kidding, but… you some kind of weirdo, that only gets turned on when the girl cries?"

   I jumped in and covered it with a joke.

   "No, Light. He gets turned on, when I make him cry. If I thought he enjoyed making you cry? I'd… pinch his nipples, or something. His ass would have to sleep on the couch."

   "Go on Wiz. You get another crack, at making me cry. How about we make up rules, to twenty questions. If you can't make me cry in twenty questions or less? I win some kind of little prize. You make me cry inside of twenty, well… you win instead."

   "Did your mom rent the house?"

   "Yeah, Wiz. Single mom. A lot of my friends? Had to live in apartments. We had a house, with a yard and everything. No swimming pool, but… fence and everything. We weren't as bad off, as you might think. That way."

   "Do… you know who the landlord was? I realize a little kid might not know."

   "Well. Its a little town. Wiz. You got one big rich guy. A couple families well off. The rest? Go down the line. So yeah. The big rich guy? The business owner. He rented houses out. Apartment buildings, too."

   "The same rich guy, that… him. Owned the nail salon, and rented the house out."

   "You're losing, Wizzy. I ain't cried yet. Either you're getting worse at this game? Or I'm getting better at it. Take your best shot, Wiz."

   "I'm pretty sure your mom slept with her boyfriends."

   "You sleep with Hurry?"

   "Yeah."

   "You plan on sleeping with me, after I get my third date out of you, right?"

   "If you'll have me? And you don't have to. I promise you, Light. I won't… do less, or be any less nice? If you don't want to. I swear by all that's holy. But… if you'll have me? Yeah."

   "Well. There's your answer then, Wizzy. Boyfriends, sleep with their girlfriends. Wiz, my turn. What did you grow up thinking your mom and dad did in the bedroom. I mean, they slept in the same bed, right? Door closed. What do you think was going on. Did you think… they were reading comic books in there? Playing checkers? What."

   "I really don't remember when the day came? That I finally realized. Oh my god. Mom and dad… do it."

   "Well. Yeah. There you go. I grew up watching movies. And… first you know that men and women kiss. Sometimes? They kiss a lot more, then fall on the bed. And some movies? Yeah, there's something else going on. Its under the covers, but… yeah Wiz. I knew mom and… the new boyfriend. Were doing whatever those people on TV were doing. We established, my mom wasn't exactly a nun or anything. This shouldn't be that big a shock to you black and white people."

   "Black and white?"

   "Yeah. You, Hurry? You guys grew up… black and white. You know, the old movies. Everything was peachy. Everything? Was swell. All the kids in school, that had two real parents? Grew up in black and white. I had a single mom. I wasn't the only kid at school? That had it that way. The saying went, we grew up in color. The new way. I bet, you growing up? No one swore in front of you, no one mentioned a sex joke, right?"

   "Well…"

   "I know. You grew up in black and white. I grew up in color. People got drunk. Used swear words. Told sex jokes. Real life. Do I wish I grew up in… Hurryville, on a farm? Sounds… really swell. But I didn't."

   "Is it rude to ask, I don't know… how often mom got a new boyfriend? How many there were."

   Lightning chuckled. Stirring her chili she was so proud of. It was simmering, but she was hovering over it the way a gourmet chef on TV would be monitoring carefully, the critical dish.

   "There was always a new boyfriend, Wiz. There was more than one boyfriend at once. Sometimes you saw an older one pop back in. Always a new one. Mom tried to keep that from me. She was a little bit good, in some of those little small ways. No new boyfriend was so much as allowed to speak to me, talk to me, nothing. Now. A good, steady boyfriend? Yeah. They were nice to me. Mom allowed them to… talk to me, pick me up or drop me off. Those were the ones I'd say… what, tried to play daddy a little? It was nice while it lasted. Mom got married a couple times when I was real young, but… arguments. Like you wouldn't believe."

   I asked what the arguments were about.

   "What do you think. When I was old enough to catch the drift of it? Mom had too many boyfriends. I remember thinking I was the problem. Cause the one time, the guy kept saying… I'm not a goddamn babysitter. He said that a lot. Then he was gone. Your next question, no doubt. Will be… did any of the boyfriends, or steady boyfriends… and the answer is no. Not a once. Hurry is my therapist? I would have to tell her the truth. But… life was in color, guys. Black and white? That was TV on the weekends. The old movies. Husbands and wives? In black and white, they would have a glass of champagne, and dance the tango. In color? Well."

   "So, you couldn't guess a number. How many guys, how often a new one popped in, or an old one popped in for a… little while."

   "Wiz? Maybe I'm stupid, because I don't have a degree in mathematics or whatever. But, let me ask you. You… shot guns at the range. With your MP buddies?"

   "Yeah."

   "Go a lot?"

   "All the time. Its free. We had free guns, we had all the free ammo we wanted… why not."

   "Hmm. Now. Exactly how many times did you fire any of those guns, huh? How many times a week, how many guns got fired any one trip… did you ever go back to that one gun? And exactly how many shots got fired. Come on, maybe because half your degree is in mathematics, you know."

   "Well…"

   "There you go, Wizzy. Like that. All I can tell you? There were two different kinds of boyfriends. I guess, after a certain number of boinks or whatever? Or the guy finally licked her just right? The hell do I know what caused it. But… regular boyfriend. They come home from the bar, few drinks, laughing. Hi honey, school go okay? Yeah mom. That's good. I'm going to bed… now, the guy might say something. Hi cutie. Aren't you precious? What's your name. Now, I'd jump up. Hi. I'm eight. My name? Is Sky. I'm a dancer. What's your name? Very pleased to meet you. You know, like your teacher teaches you manners. I guess that much, was black and white. But? Then the color kicks in."

   "Mom would shit a tornado. She had this mean streak. You! That? Is my daughter! You do not speak to her! You? Do not so much as look at her! I ever catch you looking, or talking, even remotely in her direction? I will wrap this goddamn six pack around your head, you got that? Guy would be all scared. Hey, calm down. Just being friendly. Jesus Christ. Mom would say, I warned you. Don't be friendly. Go."

   "Then? What anyone does in the bedroom. Listen to music, loud TV. Maybe? Take a shower. I asked girls at school. Your mom listen to TV or loud music in her bedroom, with a boyfriend? Sure. All moms did that. Sometimes moms and boyfriends shower. Hell, moms and real dads do all these things. Even the famous Hurry and Wizzy. Music, shower room. Kinda normal."

   "Now. Don't know how she picked a steady boyfriend, but… totally different mom. Mr. Wiggly? This… is Sky. My daughter. Isn't she wonderful? And, the guy was allowed to watch cartoons with me, eat ice cream. A steady boyfriend? Mom treated him actually… nice. No, none of them. No one… looked under my PJ's… tried to help me go to the bathroom… nothing like that. Now… gifts. Steady boyfriends? Would buy me gifts. Nice ones. For birthday, Christmas. Or just because. New bike, new… could be anything. Now, if one of them would have stuck around long enough? Stayed? Life could of been black and white, I guess."

   "Now. Even the regular boyfriends, that weren't allowed to look or talk to me, or mom would snap. They'd be going out sometimes, morning. Hey kid. Here. I seen you at the roller skating rink. Other kids had candy and shit. Here, here's 20 bucks. That's for you, you get some stuff. Our secret. Don't get me in trouble, don't ever say where you got it. Now… I never had to do anything for it. They wouldn't let me even hug them, not a damn thing. But I'm not fucking retarded. I stuck the 20 in my pocket? And I got stuff at the roller rink. And if mom found a 20 on me? I'm not stupid. The steady boyfriend gave it to me. Oh. Fine."

   "Now. As a kid, you don't really know shit. Do you think I never looked back on this, older, and questioned it all? Sure. I had four years, to sit alone with Teddy and ask him. Best I ever came up with, and that was after I got here to college? Here we go. My mom? Was the biggest goddamn slut, ever to hit our town. There's no other way to try to color that picture in. But? I finally was old enough to know, and I looked at all the other girls here. And you know what? Mom, was just ahead of the curve. Mom liked dick, the more the better. But, mom knew what a show boyfriend was."

   "Hmm. You wonder why I don't hate boys. Now, other than the really fucked up flying monkey shit that happened when I was, oh… 14? Nothing really wrong, with any of mom's boyfriends. They were… seemed okay. Never saw one hit my mom. They all tried to be nice to me, even if they had to sneak to do it. And the ones that were allowed to be nice, her show boyfriends? They were really great. It was mom, it wasn't them. So? I didn't hate boys. Boys, are basically nice. Most of them. If you let them be nice."

   "So… Wiz?"

   "Yeah, Light."

   "I know you thought I was a really bad girl. I'd pick a boy, then go to his room, and rock his world. Just like I assume mom was doing. With the loud music, the loud TV, in the shower room. When it ended? It ended. My fault. I can't accept presents. I can't go out on car dates. I can't explain why to them. A night, a weekend, three weeks. About once a month or so, I go and do it again. I try. I know you think that makes me a really bad girl, you and Hurry both. But… in my world? I'm a fucking nun. And my mom practically invented getting dick-ed every night, by anyone and everyone… and having a steady show boyfriend she ran around on, with everyone in town, until they couldn't take it and left. And? I refuse to do that. Again? I know I'm a horrible slut, and I'm this totally bad girl, and… maybe in your black and white world? I guess maybe I am. But, in my color world I grew up in? I'm the fucking sweet little Dorothy, almost a nun."

   We were speechless.

   "Twenty questions over, Wiz?"

   "Um… yeah, Light."

   "Hey. I win. I must be getting better."

   I couldn't help it.

   "Light? I think you really are starting to get better. And yeah, soon there will be no more… twenty questions. And, we just go over what we already know, until its routine. Then… we move on from there. But, you seem better."

   "Great."

   "Light? Is there any chance, me and Wiz could… have one of those cop therapist gab sessions, about treatment?"

   "You could. Can I make a suggestion?"

   "Sure, Light. What."

   "You guys need to talk? You two leave the room. I know I'm not head of household, I know I'm second banana to the main girlfriend, but… I'm really enjoying my chili cooking? Good girls make food, they can cook some. I'm actually cooking. I'm beating the ever loving shit out of Right? At the cooking game. I'm afraid to quit stirring it. It makes me feel good to stir it. I'd like to keep doing it. So…"

   We went to walk outside for a second. He stopped and asked if he could put his hand on her shoulders, was that okay. She said it was fine. He sniffed over her shoulder.

   "That… smells, and looks… very black and white. Just swell, honey. And, just for the record. You're not, the second banana. Your banana, is the same size as hers. Okay? Its not like Hurry is the wife, and you're the toy. You guys are best friends. This… you're not a second class citizen. You don't have to do anything. And, if you still want to? I'm honored you pick me. If you want me to… I don't know, beg a little more like I did? You liked that? We can arrange a little more begging. I want things to be a little more… black and white for you."

   "Does Hurry get… begging? Is it a fun game she enjoys?"

   I shrugged.

   "Yeah. Its fun."

   "Okay. Go have a talk behind my back. How to fix me more. I know there's something fucked up. Always is. Its fine. I have chili to stir."

   He smoothed her hair and kissed the back of her head. We walked out slowly, and took a tiny walk and stood. No one around, we'd talk quietly. We could see if our privacy was getting disturbed a long ways off. Was this how MP's went and talked, so as not to spook the witness during an interview? Probably, but I'm guessing. He sighed.

   "Before we start. How much trouble am I getting in with Vaquera, for saying stuff like I just said back there. I mean, obviously you come first, you're banana is bigger, but… I don't know exactly how good dads operate, other than I had one. I'm sure my mom came first, and I was second banana, but… my dad said he loved us all equally."

   "Well. Since you brought it up. What's your thoughts on that."

   "Well. We have our… arrangement. But, that in there? That's real life. That's a fragile little girl to me. That's your best friend. And she's killing herself, trying to get you your ring, and pay you back for saving her life. If you wanna know, that you’re the wife, and she’s the toy? Fine. But… I never say it to her."

   "And. If Vaquera does come in one day, and you get punished for it?"

   "Then I accept it. As long as it doesn't… you know what I don't wanna do to her."

   "Well. You sound sincere. You didn't want to play this game. I demanded you play it. And… the game is not as much of a game as it started. You… would probably risk. Um, a greater punishment from Vaquera? If you were to be mean to her, and tell her she's the toy. Vaquera might even… demand you treat her as nice as you treat me. Its become some kind of… therapy to show her what a decent relationship is. So, I'm on board with you on that."

   "Okay. That, totally normal boyfriend girlfriend talk out of the way…"

   I laughed, and he chuckled nervously at first. Until he saw my laugh was genuine, then he joined in.

   "Yeah. Now. Cop therapist talk. Do I have to draw you a picture what just went on in there, and I'm pretty sure she don't get it, and I get it clear as a bell ringing in town square?"

   I sighed now.

   "You're… ruining me. This, whole cop world shit? The stuff we saw, before we found Moody. The way your cop friend in the city talked, the way you talk about things that are out there. Christ. Yeah… I think I have an idea what's about to come out of your mouth, and I wish I didn't know."

   His turn to sigh now. This was the sighing game, it seemed.

   "Look. With the MP's. We… we have personal lives, and it was even fun. This one time, we had a birthday party. One guy, name was Shooter. He was called that, because he could fight like the devil himself, and he couldn't shoot for shit. And… hey, his birthday. So, Shooter? Is doing shooters of his favorite shot."

   "Sounds nice."

   "Oh. It was. Now, he gets drunk, hell we got him that way. We got him blindfolded at our bar, and we got him playing pin the tail on the donkey. People are yelling out colder, warmer… some are telling the truth, some are lying… he don't know where the board is. He's all… shooter-ed up. He… well, he pins the tail on the donkey? On this cute waitress. I mean, the cloth donkey tail? Is fucking nailed to her ass. And she's running around, trying to grab the nailed on donkey tail off her. We're all losing our shit laughing. He's blindfolded, all drunk. Trying to get away from this cute waitress flipping the fuck out. He goes down in some chairs, she's trying to stab him with the donkey nail… we're all trying to break this up, but you can't buy entertainment this good."

   "Yeah. Been to parties like that. The fun stories, you had to be there."

   "And… she's screaming, we got her now, but she's fighting like a woman possessed, she's determined to stab him with this nail. She's got her own game of pin the tail on the donkey, and it ain't going on the jackass's ass, its going in his head. And this is funny shit. She says something like… just cause I'm Catholic, don't mean I want goddamn spikes pounded into me, you drunk assholes. So we're all taking turns giving her 20 dollar tips, for putting a band aid on her ass, and not calling the MP's on… well, on the MP's raising hell."

   "You guys get in trouble?"

   "No. Hell, she got a couple hundred bucks, said she didn't even have to get naked, and she made as much money as a stripper. She's off shift. We get her drunk on our tab, said it was her pain medication, sorry that's all her HMO would cover. She's now drunk. She starts giving Shooter a lap dance. She's lifting up her skirt, letting everyone see her band aid on her ass, we're fucking dying laughing."

   "So… the MP's have fun, off duty. I always figured as much."

   "That's just the point. No one called the cops, cause shit was fine. The MP's only get called? When the scary music starts playing. When the flying monkeys start buzzing around. Car accident. Pedestrian mowed over. Little girl disappears, parents are frantic. Girl's face beat so bad, her own mother don't recognize her own daughter in the emergency room. You're actually in fear for your safety, and your wife and kid have to move out. So you can wait up all night with a loaded gun, cause it happens on the weekends more. So, you have a couple drinks to steady your nerves… and you sit in the dark with a loaded pistol, waiting. Then you hear it… someone out there, again. That's when you call the MP's. When the flying monkeys are flying to the scary music. Never once do they call us, when the pin the tail on the donkey shit's going down."

   "So… that's why that cop in the city, is… hey, its the city. We got some girls missing. Murder? About steady. Rape's down this quarter. OD deaths? We're trying to get a hold of that one. Not a bad year, all things taken into consideration."

   "Yeah. And… this situation in there? I just… the last thing I wanna do? I wanted to leave that world behind me, I wanted to play with my computers. If I don't get my dick wet, fine, but I get my degree. Living in a dirt hole plunging toilets with a coat hanger, that the kids get drunk and do it on purpose, to laugh? Is in some ways… better than seeing all that. And the last thing I wanna do, is ruin your… little Hurryville view of the world. So, if you're starting to guess what comes out my mouth next? I didn't plan for that to happen. I liked you living in black and white. Never wanted to see you in color."

   "First off. I think its therapeutically significant. That her favorite movie is… what it is. Did you notice? Good things are old movies. Everything is in black and white. People dance the tango. They kiss, and just fall onto the bed and the screen goes black. You know, but you guess. Everything's swell. But her world? Its in color. There's scary music, and flying monkeys crop dust the house sometimes. Its in full color, and she knows her mom and every guy in town? Is wrestling under the blankets and naked in the shower, and what the TV and the music is for."

   "And… did you catch what I think mom is?"

   I sighed.

   "No, no. Mom? Is a fucking honest to god hooker. I got that. I'm not sure we even have to tell her. And if we do? We wait a little while. We got a lot of therapy accomplished, we're ahead of schedule. Let's burn a week, you know."

   "You… drew the picture. Mind if I color it in a little more?"

   "Go ahead. Prove it, like you do."

   "Well. Every so many small towns across America? There's a Swellsville. We call it… a boys-town. You know, its the place to go, where boys can have that special kind of boys fun. Can I continue?"

   "Sure."

   "Every boys-town? Always has a Mister Big. That's the rich guy, he owns this town, and everyone knows it or can sense it. The police chief? His relative or close friend. He owns the big business, he's the big kahuna. Some Mister Big's are actually real mafia? Most are just… some asshole could of had the shit kicked out of him one more time, and then he might have turned out okay. But… he owns the town. Now. Most Mister Big's? Just wanna make more money. They… use that influence to… you know, in a sort of legitimate way. But some Mister Big's? I mean why not."

   "He's the Big Boss. Cops are on the payroll."

   "Yeah. Lots of small towns have fairly open prostitution. You'd be surprised how common it is. Usually the cover is a hair salon, nail salon. Strip bar, cocktail bar. Usually a motel or apartments. As long as its a victimless crime? No one usually goes nuts over it. Cops are usually on the payroll. If outsider cops get called? Local cops cover, warn you of any raids coming."

   "That's nice. Do you think, what we have in there… is victimless?"

   "No. Now, when my assumptions and guesses are correct? Every last little thing falls into place. For instance. I always wondered. Where mom learned exactly how you’re supposed to correctly kick a prostitute, so you don't fuck the merchandise up. Weird skill, very specific knowledge to have. Which always bugged me. I assumed Mister Big, taught her to do it. Still. Hard to imagine any mom, going from… black and white to color… then a year or two later, kicking her daughter to force her to turn gang bang tricks. I mean, that's a goddamn stretch."

   "It is."

   "Aha. What if mom always was a hooker, from day one. Now? This all starts to make a whole lot more goddamn sense. Mom knows exactly how to kick an underage hooker around. Because its happened to her, she knows how its done. I mean, it fits. Explains everything. A hooker got pregnant. Dad, the nice guy? Tried to do the right thing. He tried, to turn a hooker into a housewife? And it ain't never worked once I ever heard of. Explains why he's gone."

   "It does."

   "Explains how a girl on welfare, can afford a decent rental house. Working part time at a nail salon, part time at some seedy bar? No room mates? With a kid? Get real. Buying dance lessons. Able to afford clothes. No… it explains that bit of… weirdness."

   "You're on a roll."

   "Did you notice, the mom freaks. If you so much as look at her kid, let alone speak to her?"

   "Those are the johns, not regular boyfriends. Yeah, that's my daughter, you never look at her again."

   "The regular boyfriends? Some guy she snow jobs into boohoo, help poor me. He tries, but… he's just the baby sitter, and he sees her out all night, every night."

   "Oh, go on with the family portrait. Its endearing."

   "Even the johns feel sorry for the kid. Hey kid. Here's 20 bucks. Go roller skating like a regular kid, buy some stuff. The real boyfriends? Would really feel sorry for the kid, and be extra nice."

   "School is real important. Grades? Fuck that shit. You go every day, unless you're too sick to walk. Then you can stay in bed. Cops or CYS? Or stray johns coming around? No. You don't answer the door for anybody. She's been watching herself, as far back as she can remember. As a little kid? She thinks she was living the good life. No rules, all the cartoons and comic books and crayons a kid could want. Friends come over, have all the ice cream in the world. Watch whatever they want on cable. Oh… peanut butter and jelly, dunked in strawberry milk? Little kid paradise."

   "Yeah. She'd have voted her mom of the year. Young."

   "And? Mom was pretty. Don't you think a short, skinny blonde Little Lightning would be a pretty girl. I bet she was. I bet she made more money than the trashy ones. Remember? Mom used to dress all country club. Mom? Was hot enough to be the call girl. Top dollar. Until she gets her first few wrinkles… when the kid’s around, oh… 12 or 14. I'm gonna say… around 30. Ish."

   "Yeah…"

   "Now. Pop quiz. What happens to a long time dependable top shelf call girl. That doesn't do hard drugs. Doesn't rip off johns. Doesn't attract attention, works a part time job to make it look good. Doesn't steal money, doesn't hook on the side… what does she turn into, when she hits a certain age."

   "Oh god. That's… the lady, pimp helper…"

   "That's called the madam. Something happened to the Mister Big's last madam… wife, girlfriend. She took off, she had an unfortunate accident? Got hooked on drugs, who knows. Something… suddenly? She replaced the madam. Suddenly? She's… dating… the richest guy in town. The madam? Is still gorgeous enough for clients. Just young and fun enough, to recruit young, fresh talent. Show the new girls the ropes, show them how it goes."

   "Do you think…"

   "She was planning from day one to pimp her daughter out? No. I think she was planning on turning her into a stripper. Very popular for a hooker's daughter to have a good career. She tried to double her welfare, but the stupid girl wouldn't get pregnant. Now, we move onto Mister big? And his son, Little Asshole."

   "Oh, great."

   "You can have Vaquera work me over for knowing this, but… do you know what the most desirable, hard to find commodity is… in the world of prostitution?"

   "I'm afraid to ask."

   "Innocence. Not that pretend, dress up in a Catholic schoolgirl outfit kind. No. Real innocence. The big eyes. The fact they don't always know why you're doing it. No. An actually innocent and innocent looking 14 year old? Very valuable. Before the scars, before the needle tracks. Before the foul mouth and the swinging at you attitude. Before the… everything sets in. That? They pay extra for. Now. Gotta be bad enough an innocent girl? That they'll spread em. Has to be cool enough that they won't run away. And a tall one? That moved like a professional dancer? And was still innocent enough but would give up all three holes, and knew it was okay if a guy slapped her to get her turning over, well, boys do that sometimes. Perfect."

   "Its disgusting, that you know that."

   "Hey. Rape classes. You think this is my first rodeo? You think this is the first time I heard all this? No. Every large base, has prostitution around it. Like ants show up at a picnic. Young boys, steady paycheck. There it is."

   "Christ."

   "Hey. If he has the cash? He can get some too. Back to Mister Big and Little Asshole. Mom was already picking boyfriends for her. She becomes madam. Hey, there's this prime commodity here. Pro dancer. Tall, passes for 16 or more. Only 14. Still innocent. Takes a slap and puts out. The older girls in town? Knew not to be his girlfriend. She's young. She wouldn't know. She likes to dance for free, at the college boys keg parties. Little asshole? Was a pimp in training."

   "Daddy's little darling."

   "Oh. He's a charmer. I'd just love to spend some quality time alone with him. Oh. The attitude? You can't touch me, you know who I am? Yeah. I do. Now. This Little Asshole, charm school graduate… is running a speakeasy. You own the cops. You might as well have a place, where you can put moonshine into empty liquor bottles, from your regular bar you throw out… and charge extra, because you can get in underage, and after hours, and hey… why not sell pot, coke, and whatever other party favors are in demand. Why not?"

   "Then… why not have a 14 year old professional dancer, who's tall and looks older. Really doesn't know what's going on… being the stripper. Serving drinks."

   "Oh. Guarantee it. And? She was very, very popular at these special after parties that were held. You see, the right date rape drug? Girl's not so fucked up looking, you'd think she was out of it. She'll do anything she's told, with no question. Looks awake. You'd think she had a few too many drinks. Line up boys… quality here."

   "Then? She read that cranberry juice… does a magic cleansing. Oh, that sounded good to a 14 year old girl who knows things are getting weird, quick."

   "It actually worked. She remembered everything. Put a stop to it all. Now, this explains why mom kicked her around. How mom would kick her, why mom knew to do it that way. And when she wouldn't play ball, no matter how much mom kicked her? No further use for her. She was broken by then. And everyone in town? Knew she was a whore, the daughter of the madam. When she went to the police station? They knew to call the madam mother. Hey, come get your little whore."

   "Mister Big arranged a nice, fat payoff for his madam who tried. No one knows what went wrong the last time, they just know it did. Lawyer, police, mommy."

   "The rest? Is history."

   "What do you need from me? Just tell me."

   "I need details. Names. Mister Big. Little Asshole. Dear mom. Any of the other mom's friends names. I need maps drawn. Hand drawn. What kinds of businesses. What those businesses are. Names of every face that she even thinks she remembers. From that night. Play a game. We're making a list, and we have a little ceremony. Where we burn it, and release the bad things. Make the shit up and make it sound good. Do it slowly. Over time. You're preparing a… case for me. I want every detail you can weasel out of her, just take your time. See, the more detail you can slowly get her used to repeating? The more times I can cross check how accurate it all is. How accurate those maps are. I compare them to the satellite maps on the internet. I can locate things. Work slow, work diligent. Does this square with… therapy."

   "It does. Is… there any kind of a clock ticking on this?"

   "Yes and no."

   "Explain."

   "We have three years. Till she graduates. Are you abandoning her, the year you graduate?"

   "No."

   "Good. I don't want to scare you, but… there's something that bugs me."

   "What."

   "You do realize, that loose ends, like her? A lot of them end up in ditches. I mean, somewhere in the back of your head, you realize this."

   "I figured, if that was gonna happen? It would have happened a long time ago."

   "Right. Now… some Mister Big's? Graduate to… eliminating things quietly. Others? are content to… manage things with money and influence. The police enforce things sort of legitimately. And, if you're a serious problem? Well. The cops just pull you over, and turn in the ounce of cocaine they drop in your truck. You're out of their hair, and in the state pen. No way the cops aren't on the payroll. There was a cop in the gang bang, the night she remembered."

   "She… got managed by mom of the year. The cover story flew. She traumatized and went into a shell. She played soccer and ran away. After saying goodbye to mom of the year on her way to the bus station. Out of sight? Out of mind."

   "Yeah. One day, though. Mister big is going to actually have someone… eliminated the old fashioned way. Little Asshole? Is going to have to do away with a hooker that causes problems. And when that day comes? Mister big is going to sit, and think. You know what? If mom of the year, and the daughter that ran away… were to come to a convenient end, well, it would just make things so much easier."

   "Why do you have to scare me like that?"

   "Its a rule. Sun Tzu, the Art of War. My mentor's? Required reading list. Always credit your enemy with equal intelligence. If I was him, and I had no morality whatsoever? Its what I would do. Or, what I would eventually figure out, that I should have done. Once I discover the old fashioned way of doing things."

   "Thanks. I'll sleep so much better knowing that."

   "Therapy question. Did our Little Lightning cover her tracks in any way? She's not a dumb girl. She kicked her mom into the emergency room, and almost killed her. She might have taken rudimentary precautions to cover her tracks a little. They might wonder where she got to. Hell, they might think she just… ran away. Mom wasn't any too concerned with what she did. Mom might not even know a scholarship was on the horizon. Wasn't exactly mom's field of expertise."

   "So, we pray she did something clever."

   "Problem."

   "Yes?"

   "Possible problem. Again, credit your enemy with equal intelligence, and cunning. If you can see a good move, you assume he sees it too."

   "All right…"

   "What happens, if the biggest university in… the Midwest conference. Suddenly goes from perennial bridesmaids, to full scale bride one year."

   "Oh. You mean… publicity. Well, we're not the boys football team, thank god."

   "No. But when someone figures out, who led the team. And, that's the same little girl that was once national news for her dramatic national high school championship game… the little girl that won the game, and got knocked out and doesn't even remember… the girl that had her 15 minutes…"

   "Oh. There could be publicity. That story, could link up to the new story… here she is again. The Pride of the Midwest. Still kicking balls and taking names. And this time? She remembers her victory. She's… not without a certain… photogenic quality. That helps a girl's picture and story get out, hate to say it. Bootsie would get less attention. Her? More. Especially with the former story, and you get to run the old clip and get mileage out of it."

   "Now. I'm sitting here. I'm Mister Big, and Little Asshole. Having a beer, watching TV. And… we see this. I mean, what if she told her story, to some reporter. Its the kind of story? That would set the heartstrings on fire. The victim, that made star. You hear it every day. The movie star, opens up about the abuse on the casting couch, as a kid. We court this shit in today's world."

   "Zero risk. She'd never say that."

   "I know that. You know that. But… do you wanna guarantee, that Mister Big and Little Asshole would know that? And further guarantee, that they haven't moved on in five years. Gotten a little bigger of a Mister Big, and Little Asshole is now turning into a Big Asshole. I was taught, to always credit my enemy with equal intelligence, equal cunning."

   "So. If it looks like we have a chance to win a championship and take the final series, that's a possible danger time?"

   "Hmm. How would you go about contacting her. Getting her somewhere. Pretend you're Mister Big. I know what I would do."

   "The mom of the year? Wants to say she's sorry, make up? They want to send her a big check, they're sorry things went down like that."

   "Not after the way she said goodbye to mom, in her own special way. No. I'd send… something safe. Something innocent and sweet. Something, from the old days. Something from before the flying monkeys started."

   "Something like…"

   "Childhood friend. The good old days. Cartoons, and comic books. Playing in the fun house, eating ice cream. Someone like that. Because remember I told you. When you use just the right bait? They can't say no."

   "How do we…"

   "Therapy rule. You're not allowed, under any circumstances? To ever call, write back, email… nothing. Even people that were sweet from childhood. Why… that? Could trigger a relapse. Make it up, make it sound plausible. Don't ever let her see you're afraid. Just concerned for her well being. This would set therapy back a whole year. We can't risk that, no matter how innocent it sounds."

   "Would you really not trust, the 8 year old she used to dance with, or play at her house?"

   "Would you trust that any of the mother's friends, weren't hookers with daughters too? And while you're at it, get me the name and location of that dance school. I wanna see who owns it."

   "You're slightly paranoid, aren't you?"

   "Do you trust a single goddamn thing, to be actually swell… in Swellsville? I don't. Every father? Potential rapist. Every cop? I assume is dirtier than the local criminals. I assume everyone, and everything? Is a potential… I don't even know, I don't put anything past this place. So yeah, I'm goddamn paranoid."

   "More… Sun Tzu, Art of War?"

   "It is better to be prepared, for an enemy or his action, that does not appear. Than to suddenly be confronted with it, and to be unprepared. When there are 16 possibilities? I look into every single one of them. I don't cover 14, and say oh well, my odds are great."

   "Is this all… military, or… mentor stuff?"

   "Both. I do this thoroughness thing, with computer programming. If you leave cases unaccounted for? They can throw the computer for a loop, and crash the system. In mathematics and formal logic? We call this… creating a tautology. Every possible case covered. Same thing in logic and switching, same thing in electronics engineering. I mean, does your coach leave areas of the field uncovered? Leave enemy players run around free?"

   "No."

   "Then why should I. An enemy prepared for, is an enemy already defeated. An enemy unprepared for? Is victorious. Its repeated over and over, in the Art of War. I need to get some kind of eyes on these motherfuckers."

   "I hate to set you off, but… if I let something go, and later on you look at me and say what were you thinking…"

   "What."

   "Her name. She's Little Lightning. She was Little Lightning, in high school. She was Little Lightning, the little girl that could. When she led her team to win the game, and crashed and didn't remember her big moment. No one knows her real name, but, there's girls all over in the soccer world? That can't wait to play with Little Lightning. She's a recruiting dream. The girl from the famous clip? Wow. If you're invited to come play here? Well, you get to play with her."

   "That's a security nightmare to me."

   "You wanted every possible scenario."

   "No. Good job."

   "And how do you beat a superior enemy?"

   "You lure or force an enemy, to fight on unfamiliar ground. You yourself, always seek to fight on well known terrain."

   "So, you don't fight them on their home turf."

   "Not when you can avoid it. It also works metaphorically, too. Example. You drag a bully, into court. He can't intimidate the court, he just buries himself. You take a businessman who knows everyone and blows everyone at the country club? And you grab him up in a parking lot."

   "Fighting them on their home turf, would not be a good idea here, would it."

   "Not really. You have the element of surprise, they would never expect it. But… you can't trust anyone in that town. Anyone could owe him a favor, want to be the guy that helped the important guy out. Or simply be on the payroll. And remember. Not everyone in town? Thinks of him as the bad guy. In a little town? Mister Big always does his PR work. You know, he kicks a few bucks for the… tee ball uniforms, or donates the concession stand they want. A monument. To a lot of people? He's a swell guy."

   "Swell guy. In Swellsville."

   "My punny-ness, is rubbing off on you."

   "Are we done?"

   "Sure. I wanna taste my chili."

   "How long, to give you… some details."

   "When therapy gets to names, maps, dates. Give me a weekly update."

   "Okay. Let's go get your chili."

   We went back in, and she was still stirring. He touched her shoulders and she smiled and leaned back into him, body language telling him it was fine and it was appreciated. The skillet they used for her to brown the meat? Was in the sink, rinsed out and sitting in hot water. A milestone of previously unreachable proportions in this house. I felt my heart skip a beat. Tiny spatters from browning meat? Were wiped off, and there was a wet rag nearby. I'm not worthy.

   He sniffed over her shoulder, and went to dip a finger in to taste test the simmering basic chili. Her smile never went away, as I heard her hand smack his smartly and he retracted it.

   "Wash your hands. Or…"

   She got a spoon, and blew on it. Then corkscrewed it around like a mom doing the choo-choo train into a toddler's mouth. She laughed when he opened up at the silly gesture. She was all smiles when he told her it was great, and they could eat anytime she was ready to sample the fruits of her labor.

   "Lunchtime, then?"

   We told her sure, that was great. She got bowls out and divided it up into three big bowls. She pointed her fingers around, and got cold cans to drink out, silverware. Then started and jumped and buttered some bread. She positively beamed. I suddenly noticed her clothes she had changed into after shower, tub and rubdowns were over. What looked like her least provocative pair of jeans she had at her disposal if I had to guess and I did. An awfully regular looking T shirt. Simple ponytail, although that's a mainstay of a good number of the female athletes not only on our team, but others as well across the university athletic program.

   Some girls tried to go all out in the off season. Most didn't. Light was usually doing something with her hair, though. Some hot iron curling, a few clips or whatnot. No. If I had to guess, she was trying to imitate my style as much as possible.

   "So. How to turn the dial on the microwave, was your only cooking lessons, huh?"

   "Yeah. Oh, mom had stuff to say about cooking, but… pretty much the complete opposite of you. No offense. I mean, you hear it all on TV, so mom wasn't alone in it."

   I took the bait.

   "Like what?"

   "Oh. You'll see a lady on some TV show. Bragging how… I wasn't hired for my ability to cook. Or… saying how cooking? Is something only ugly girls have to know how to do. Then, you hear the canned laughter. Its supposed to be funny. Mom had some of her own I don't hear. If you spend your money on the right clothes? Boys will pay for breakfast, lunch and dinner. If god intended women to cook, then why did he invent restaurants and takeout. There was really no end to her… wisdom."

   She sat there, chin in her hand, drumming her fingers on the table.

   "Mom had a sort of a three date rule too, Hurry. But trust me here, it wasn't like yours. Believe me."

   "This ought to be good for a laugh."

   "Eh. Spread the boy out. He's got a car, he's got a few bucks. He wants to date a little. First date? Give him a hand, so you make sure you get a second date. I think we can all figure out mom's little pun there, right?"

   She wiggled her hand to emphasize.

   "Second date? Blow him a kiss. Again, I don't think there's any mystery there."

   "Third date, well. Each date should be getting a little better, so… by the third date. What's left. Or, as she put it. First base? Is for getting asked out on dates. Then, it should be double, triple, homer. About the extent of mom's sports advice, really."

   He couldn't help it.

   "Since we're using baseball phraseology here. First base was any boy you meet and like. Then, the three dates are double, triple, homer. She didn't have a rule on… the grand slam?"

   "What's… oh, gotcha. Mom said boys like that, but… that's only for really good dates, that have a good track record. You don't just do that. You gotta be going nice places, getting presents, guy's showing you he really likes you. Mom said, once he gets every last thing, what you got left to offer? So… stretch them out."

   "Light? I don't think I've heard a single piece of advice your mom ever gave, I'm inclined to follow."

   "Probably not. Looking back, where I am now? Pretty much whatever she says, you do the opposite, you won't go far wrong. How was I supposed to know. I mean, there's ladies on TV shows that say things like her, and everyone laughs at every clever thing they say. Thought mom was kind of… what? Worldly, I guess you'd say. I mean, as a kid, mom just knew stuff. Its your mom, for god's sake. Mom might not have known a lot about a lot of stuff, but… she had enough experience with men, I can tell you that much."

   She drummed her fingers on the table.

   "Gotta be something mom got right. I mean… oh! Hurry? You liked one piece of advice mom had."

   "Really."

   "Well. Remember my… carrot lessons?"

   "Yeah…"

   "That worked out good, right?"

   "He never complained."

   "Eh. I remember one of the rare times mom would get me a free nail job, when I started car dating. Oh, the girls she worked with? All excited. You know, first car dates and all. We all been there. I was nervous about that. Just like you were, Hurry. No one's born with that, you know. No, one of the girls just said to… well I used a carrot, but… I got a hot dog lesson. It was all ladies worked in the nail salon, and they were all friends, place was closed for lunch, so… there you have it. The only good advice mom ever gave. Practice? Makes perfect."

   I almost choked on my chili.

   "Lightning? When I was 12… I got vastly different advice from my mom's friends, on dating."

   "Like…?"

   "It wasn't happening yet. At 12, I was more concerned with figuring out how to put down the perfect pie crust."

   "Ha. I was getting taught how to put down a hot dog! But seriously, no one does… that? Without practice. They giggled watching me try. Couple of them could do it. But, they're older, so… no biggie. They were nice. How I learned the… wet sloppy. Pffft. Problem solved. No more nervous about car dating. Everything else, just kinda happens."

   I was choking on my butter bread now. I thought for sure, she was fucking with me, but… didn't seem like it.

   He's over there, trying not to chuckle into his chili. Jesus Christ almighty. Twelve. You need your nails done, and mom's lady friends at lunch at work, are giving you blowjob tips on hot dogs, showing how to deep throat, but… you gotta want it, you gotta practice. I was working on my soccer and my horse riding then. And pie crusts. How to deep throat a hot dog, just never came up for me. Till much later. The guys mentioned it, but… it was just which girls tried, and which ones didn't.

   There were broad similarities, in my young world and Lightning's young world. Sure, maybe around 10 to 12, I learned that blowjobs existed. Same as her age for learning of the existence of such a thing. End of the similarities. Her world? Some girls can put the hot dog all the way down? Some can't yet, and have to settle for the wet sloppy. In my world? And remember I'm a girl that's considered one of the guys. Older boys mentored younger boys on the finer points of that stuff. Our blowjob world? Was dividing the girls up. Some girls would put their mouth on it, some girls wouldn't.

   In Lightning's color world, all women put their mouth on it, it was a given. It was whether you could swallow it all or not. In my black and white world? Some tried and some didn't. I think I was old enough to drive a car, before I heard a slightly credible report of one single boy that again "claimed" to have been swallowed. He wasn't generally believed, either. The farm boys and I was an honorary farm boy with equal access to any and all secret boy information, mind you. Getting a girl that would put her mouth on it? Was a big winner. There was no grading and rating it, beyond mouth yes or mouth no.

   I had been wondering, if Wiz was maybe jumping the gun a bit and going too hog wild on all his assumptions and conclusions. In the back of my mind, I was wondering if he could be slightly overzealous about everything, but no. There was no chance of that now.

   "Sex wasn't exactly a forbidden topic in your house growing up, was it?"

   "Well. I mean… you know boys and girls kiss and hold hands, from the time you can walk. People on TV are clearly doing something, you just don't necessarily know exactly what. Just in case, health class fills in the blanks. That's if you didn't have a birds and the bees book, or… girls didn't talk to you about boys at all. Then, there's magazines you can sneak a peek at. If you know where to look in the school library? There's medical textbooks if a girl at school knows which one to show you. It only takes one girl to have an older sister, and spills the beans, then all her little sister's friends know."

   "What's a birds and the bees book?"

   "Oh. People used to be all uptight about sex. You know that. Girls got married, and didn't know exactly what was going to go on, hell, the boys didn't know either. I can't imagine getting married, and you spend the entire honeymoon trying to figure out if you're sticking things in the right place. You just know some people were scared and waited and just pretended they were doing it. So… there's the idea, that sex is natural. Not to be ashamed of it. You can buy birds and bees books for toddlers. Right at little kids stores. The cute story of the boy dog and the girl dog that liked each other… they played together, went swimming, played with toys… then they mated… then later on? They have puppies. I remember having a puppy book, and a kitty book. How did you find out?"

   "I grew up on a farm. Trust me, the animals let you know what's going on. Telling me they were playing leapfrog? Didn't last long. Christ, you walk past a horse or a bull? You can see a couple foot long thing hanging out. I mean, its funny now, but I was real young. I asked, all innocent at the table one night. Dad? When the young bulls are all penned up together, why is it they're peeing in each other's butts?"

   We all kind of roared with laughter.

   "I mean, once you notice it, you can't not notice it. You keep looking, you know they pee out that thing… then… no, that is where its disappearing to. No doubt about it. My dad said they weren't doing that, I was mistaken. I said okay… then I tested it."

   "How'd you do that?"

   "One backed up against the fence? I taped a piece of notebook paper over his ass… sure enough, it was no… optical illusion, no trick of the poor lighting, like dad said. Goddamn hole in the paper, plain as day. I mean, you know something's going on. Really no big mystery on the farm."

   "Brought it up the next day at the dinner table, did you?"

   "Oh yeah, Light. My dad about choked on his… whatever the fuck went down the wrong way."

   "How did he explain that one?"

   "He just said, they didn't know any better. They had instinct to make a calf. That when they did that on a girl cow? It would make a calf."

   "In their ass?"

   I choked on my chili again.

   "No. I knew girl cows, had an extra hole to piss out of. And boy cows pissed out their… thingy."

   "Thingy."

   "Yes Light. When you were young, on our farm? Boy animals have a thingy. Girl animals have a hoo hoo."

   "Speaking of animals. Why is it called doggy style? If you're lame at it that way, should be doggy style. If its… good that way? Should be called kitty style."

   It was his turn to choke on his chili. Finally.

   "I'll bite. Explain. Dogs and cats do the same thing, Light."

   "Bullshit they do. You don't hear dogs doing it. You gotta be there. No noise. Couple sniffs, then… uh uh uh… done. Its literally, three pumps and a dump. Watch. I ain't lying. Now. Cats? Man, cats know how to fuck…"

   He's coughing again, thumping his chest.

   "I mean seriously. First off? You can hear that shit, for an hour straight. Wakes the whole fucking neighborhood up. I'm a little kid. See, I had a cat liked me. I would give it ice cream. My buddy. I'm worried my ice cream cat is getting killed, you know? Mom assured me they were just having fun, making kitties. I didn't believe her. She told me. Think I'm lying? Take a flashlight, go look when you hear it. You'll see. So? I did. Eventually, I caught them."

   He coughed, but chest thumping was over. He would live.

   "Man… cats know how to fuck. The boy cat? He's digging his claws in, they're running around the yard. Girl cats gotta be having a ball, she wants everyone up and down the block to know she's getting slammed by a boy cat knows how to put it to her. He's biting her neck. Yeah, to hell with doggy style. Uh uh… I want kitty style. Rowr!"

   "Light? I think the girl cat's getting hurt…"

   "Then why does she come back, like twenty more times. It can take hours. No… you'll see the same two cats, again and again. My back yard must have been, like… cat make out point or something. No, she'd run away if she was being hurt in a way she didn't like. Uh uh, she's screaming to cat Jesus or some shit."

   We both chuckled.

   "I mean, someone noticed cats know how to lay hairy pipe. They named the girl's hole a pussy. If it wasn't supposed to get done like that? It would have been called her doggy, not her pussy. But, it should be called kitty style."

   We agreed, she had a point there. She went on.

   "We even admit it today. Look at all the girls on the internet. You always see a girl with cute kitty nose and whiskers, cute cat ears. You almost never see a girl with a dog face on… duh. An ugly girl? Is called a dog. You do her quietly, get done as quick as possible and sneak off. Cat sex? Is sexy. Dog sex? Boring. You can just hit a button now, and the phone app will put the cat whiskers and ears on for you automatically. They ain't got a doggy button. Come on."

   You gotta hand it to her. She goes from disturbed 14 year old, all shy and in some ways? Innocent and demure. Body language of the young girl. To then? An outgoing, confident 19 year old who can easily seem even more experienced beyond her actual age. Body language shows that. Once in confident, mature 19 year old mode? She's a lot of things, and shy simply isn't one of them.

   "So. My basic chili, went good? You're not just being nice."

   "Its great. You ate it. If Hurry or me would have made you that chili, would you have thought you were being ripped off for lunch?"

   "No. I liked it too. Reminded me of… restaurant chili, some of them. So… this good girl lessons thing, this is new. I never once waited half this long, for… you know. And really, I thought it would suck, like, waiting for Christmas, but… its okay. Like, I know my birthday is right around the corner. And thanks for letting me fool around a little, Hurry. Its kinda fun to try before you buy that way. And you didn't brag or lie, he's… you know… fun size. Much bigger, and fun holes start getting closed. But, kitty fun territory. Kinda perfect. The gym thing? Worked out fine, trust me."

   I spoke up, to have some of my fun.

   "Glad you like him."

   "Yeah. Its almost like I'm in the room."

   She giggled.

   "What. You're all shy all of a sudden. It is cute, Hurry. The nice guy thing. Yeah, you can get used to that. So… that's the basic game plan. You… wait a little. Not too long, but a little bit. And then, I'm a good girl, so. Its not like I pretend I don't want it. But… instead of stretching out those three dates? I'm stretching out… pretending I'm deciding… across those three dates. Do I have the right idea?"

   "Um. More or less. You're not a cock tease, but… not like you're giving a bus ride. Bus pulls in on a schedule every day. You know. Medium. You more or less know you can get a bus ride, but you gotta hit the bus stop every day, couple days, before you catch the bus. Then, the bus pulls up? Hey, here we go."

   "And… you really like when I dress less sexy, at first. I mean, I know he likes it. He's gaga for you, and no offense, but… your whole wardrobe is cold showers. He's still crazy for you. All my closet full of stuff, and… he wants me in clothes like I'm ready to go cut the grass. And… okay I get it. This guarantees, that he likes me, just for me? And my body too, but… him liking me, comes first. Then the bod."

   I nodded.

   "Yeah. Remember. You saw him coming up like a puppy dog, you at the sports girl railing between classes. Coffee? Coffee? Carry those books? No end to it. You know he likes you, wants to get at you. No mystery to it. Now… he met you, and… when did he get interested again."

   "Honest? The first time I had a deep talk. I couldn't believe it. He was all like… sorry I misjudged you, you really are special… I mean, he liked that thing where I couldn't use a guy, and it explained how I was, and all of a sudden? Like a light switch. He's back. And… I could wear a wet blanket over me, he's fine with it. I swear, the less clothes, the less hair, the less make up? Its like… you're right. He likes it even more."

   "You got the right thing, Light. He likes… you. Yes, you're that pole vaulter he stared at for years, and he found one, but… he likes y-o-u. And… any imperfections you have? Don't take away. You could have a birthmark, a burn on your leg, a scar. Something you normally would be sensitive about? It no longer matters. Because he likes you."

   "He… even knows. And… I mean, what I catch hell from other guys for, he knows its, like, a hundred times worse than all they know about me, and… he still…"

   "Yeah."

   "I mean 880 people in that town. Nearly every one of them hated me, mom included. I can count on one hand, the few that tolerated me. For four years. And… then I escape, no one knows? I'm still dirt and no one even knows. Now? He… he definitely knows it all, and… I feel, I don't know. Guilty? Spoiled? Its weird. I got this little nervous thing. I know he likes me. Both ways, not just my physical appearance. And I'm still a tiny bit nervous. Man, I hope he keeps liking me. Part of me is slightly afraid to… be good to him that way, and the other part says… no, he deserves it more than the other monthly guys did."

   "Yeah. You're trying to describe something. That you can't describe."

   "I feel… guilty. That, monthly guys got it quick, and got anything. And he has to wait, when I feel like he's proved something already, that makes him better. And, you're pretty sure that after I… knock things loose on him, it won't… ruin this."

   "Shouldn't, no."

   "Its weird. So… I should be confident, but I'm still nervous. Which fucks with me, because with the other ones? I was confident, but I feel like I should have been nervous. And wasn't. And I'm just calling that something, guilty. More like, slight butterflies before a game."

   "Okay. You might be describing, what I can't describe. Butterflies. But… you're getting over that unsure thing, right? It doesn't matter why he really likes you, he just does."

   "I'm… in therapy. I can't lie, or I shouldn't lie. I still feel like… a public toilet, but… why would a quality guy like this, like me, just for me, if I was nothing but a public toilet. I'm… flattered."

   "You… feel it. I think."

   "This is… love, right?"

   "Pretty sure. Yeah. You were in lust before. Ooh. Guy had a bod I like. Nice. Is this not different?"

   "Yeah… it is."

   "There you go. You've never been in love before. Have you."

   "No. I thought… no."

   "Anything else? Explain. Ask."

   "All right. Explain this whole… how in the hell, is Hurry. The original goody two shoes farm girl. What the fuck. You've hurricane-d girls, practically, for just looking at him wrong. How is this…"

   "Okay. Here's how I see this. Let me explain. You, and Right. You told us, other people know. You and her. You, took her over to a boys house. Hey, we're gonna share you. She wants to learn to do what I brag about. I'm gonna give her lessons. On you. We share you, all weekend. Boy was like, what?"

   "Oh. He took one look at me coming back. With her? Pffft."

   "Now. You didn't love him. You just…"

   "Right, right."

   "She didn't. Just…"

   "Fun. Sure."

   "So? It was nothing. We're friends. I'm gonna share this guy with you. Like you're sharing an ice cream cone, as kids, on a hot summer day. Okay, I get a minute of licks… okay, your turn. Basically. You shared a lollipop."

   "More or less. Yeah."

   "This? Isn't like that. I don't do that. You know that."

   "No. I know. You got two guys in two years. You don't even claim a track record before that. You're serious? Or nothing."

   "Yes. Now… I'm on the internet."

   "Yeah. The internet. Always a good start. Go on…"

   "Now. Here's how it was explained. People talk about… I really belong to him. She really belongs to me. You hear this shit, all the time."

   "Yeah."

   "Okay. They said? No, you don't. If a person really belonged to you? You… own them. They want to be owned, by you. You want? To own them. Now… they explained. And follow this, makes sense. Okay. If you really own something? Prove it. What's the only true test of ownership."

   "Here it is. Um… possession? Is nine tenths of the law."

   "Nope. You can rent a car. Here it is. But… you don't own it. You just have it. Right now. It will go back, eventually. Not yours. Now. You can own a car, but… how can you prove its really yours, you really own it?"

   "Hmm. How."

   "One way? You can give it away. Seriously. I can't give you, sign over, my rented car. Why? Its not mine. I can't give it to you. I don't own it. Only the owner? Can give it away. Giving it away? Proves ownership."

   "Okay. I'm following this. You haven't lost me. Yet."

   "All right. That night. Our first night, you know the one. I explained to him, you? Are mine. You're my property. No one else, just me. He swears, that's fine. He's been through the show game. He's been through the opposite, the guy that the cute Latinas wanted a gringo to play with. But… he wants both. We both want? Permanent. Now. Do I not tell anyone? How many times you heard me say it. This? Is mine. Don't even think about it, we're not playing games about this."

   "Oh yeah."

   "Then, this website. Proof of ownership? You have to own it, to give it away. Or, share it. Okay, pretend you have 10 grand on you. Cash. You can pretend its your money. But, if you're just taking your boss's cash to the bank on Monday? Its not yours, you just have it, and can't give it or loan it. Not yours. Now, if I can give you some. To keep, or… just to borrow and give back? Then its really mine. I proved, I actually own it."

   "Its strange, but… I proved that rape and good sex? Differ only in that you hate or like the person… other than that? Identical acts. So… I'm following this logic. Strange, but… no less strange than I guess my rape-sex theory is to people."

   "You borrow a dirt bike. You can't loan rides or overnight loan it out. No. You can get in trouble. You have to own the dirt bike, to allow someone to ride it, or borrow it for the night or the weekend. He's my dirt bike. I like to ride him. I own him. I'm proving I really own him? By sharing and loaning him, to you. And, if you knew me and my dirt bike? I don't let just anyone ride it. We gotta be friends, I gotta trust you're not going to fuck my nice expensive dirt bike up."

   She nodded.

   "Now. Here's where some of the other stuff comes in."

   "Go on. I'm intrigued."

   "We both know, he liked you. I mean, pffft. Correct?"

   "Yeah."

   "Then… he didn't understand, or know where you were coming from."

   "No, my stock quote dropped. The girl he thought was perfect, was… not like he thought. I get it, he likes good girls. I really don't pass myself off as a good girl. I know how I can come off."

   "Okay. He has to… approve of the person I loan him to. He has to like them. And, they have to be a close friend, so its safe to him. That, he trusts this. I told him, that's fair. I can't just give you to… someone you hate, or don't like them. And? It has to be a close friend. Then… we both already know he likes your body. But, when you talked deep, bang. There he is. He came back to me… wow. I really like her. I didn't know. I judged her wrong. Okay. I'll do it."

   "Now, here we are. Hurry, is sharing her property with me. Wow."

   "Yeah. Now, this goes back. From you, to him, right?"

   "Oh, Hurry. You… know how I get treated. Talked about. Even if its joking, its right to my face. That party? I mean, you let me hang on him, and… no one would say boo to me. Everyone treated me different. Not one guy would smack me on the ass. I felt like… you feel. Then, when phone cunt tried to start shit for me… she sends texts and pictures and videos down… my ex, who was calling me a whore, and just dumped me… he comes up from her shit, brings four or five guys with him… he just sits there, explains how it is. You saw them. Stopped them dead in their tracks. This? Mine now. You gave it up. I took it. Mine. No more whore. Shit stopped. Immediately. I'm getting apology texts now. That… drunk guy? He handled that. I… don't get this treatment."

   "Yeah. And… I don't know how or why. How many times did I ask you… he's there? Bang. We're onto this. He? Gets information out of you that I can't get, and I'm supposed to have an idea what I'm doing. He gets information out of you, that you don't even know! I can't do therapy? Without him."

   "And… this isn't the cheap thrill I had with Right that weekend. This… I'm allowed, to… actually…"

   I smiled.

   "Yeah. We talked about it, me and him. He wouldn't even be here, if it wasn't for you. You…"

   "And, you want me to learn, what… its like. So, I can…"

   "Yeah. I do. I'm not jealous. I'm happy. All right, I won't lie. Originally? My idea was. Yeah. I own him. I can share him. I'm gonna watch. My rules. But… that's not where we ended up."

   "I'm really not a… toy. I'm… I was a toy to the once a month guys. It was what I could get. This…"

   "Mm hmm."

   "I don't… get the plug pulled when the warranty period runs out."

   "No. Not like that. I mean, he's mine, I own him, but… you're the same as me, in a way. He has to like you. He does. If you don't… hurt him. If you're like me, and don't… monthly. Yeah."

   "Rules?"

   "You can't beat on my dirt bike. I mean, you can ride it hard in the dirt, trust me, that's what a dirt bike's for, to get a fun ride, but… you can't hurt him to be mean. You can't… torture him, emotionally. Fuck with him, like you know girls do, like psychotic cunts."

   "I promise. And…"

   "Its a secret. I keep your secrets, don't I? Its not blackmail, but… quid pro quo. We keep this private. Oh, you're his girlfriend too when we go out, but, to the house? They just think he's doing that as a favor to me, and to you."

   "Another promise. Trust me, I don't want my secrets out. And you damn well know, I can keep one. Anything else?"

   "Well. If you want to… be rough? I… have to okay that, and be there. But, short of that? You guys are allowed to. You know. Be private. With both of you understanding, I'm not ignored. Nor you. We… share and share alike. We, can tag team. We can switch nights. We can have weekends on and off, whatever. But… no jealousy. You're not trying to… steal him. I'm not jealous of you getting everything I get. Let's say, I go home for the break. Him and daddy? Big no no. Have fun. My blessing."

   "I don't know what to say."

   "Say yes to therapy, say yes to… I'm not being condescending, I hope not anyways, but… how else would you ever… I feel like, if you experience the real thing, how its supposed to be? You won't want to go back to the imitation, the substitution."

   "Thank you?"

   "And he told me he meant it. If you don't want to… play? You don't have to. Nothing changes. He still, claims you in public. We both still, therapy. You're not paying for anything, with your body. That's why he asks before he touches you sometimes. He doesn't want you to feel… obligated."

   "No. I want to. And… I'd ask what he gets out of this, but…"

   "Pffft. Duh."

   "Hurry? You know there's football players, and others… you're like forbidden fruit. You're the nun. No one can crack that nut. Pretty boys can't, rich sports car boys cant, big guys can't, the bad boy players can't… nothing works. And, along comes Toot. You moved him in, this is mine, we're getting married. Everyone's like… what the fuck. And, now this? They're all scratching their heads, they can't figure it. Yeah, it was so cute. He's sitting there in the hot tub, like some guy with a big cigar in his mouth. Its hysterical."

   "I know. I get to be a bad girl. You? Get to be a good girl. He? Well, he gets the obvious. He's the original player now. We all win. We all… gain something."

   "I know what you mean."

   "You know I listen to the conversations at the parties. I don't get shitfaced, they think they're whispering. I was listening to two football players. They're like… what the hell? How does he work this… nice guy thing? That shit doesn't work on any girls… how in the hell is this a thing. I can't keep from laughing. The other one's like… dude, he has the nun, he has the bad girl. They're both naked in the hot tub. I don't know either. Dude, we're doing something wrong. Our game? Is off somehow. We gotta compensate, bro. They're trying to find what website teaches this nice guy game, that works on chicks. I'm pissing myself about to laugh."

   "Okay. We're alone. What's this thing. Don't think I haven't noticed. He does… anything you tell him to do."

   "That's… a couples thing? Self improvement of the relationship. For another month or so, he has to do anything I say. Pretty much, without question. And yeah? Its been fun. Just imagine the possibilities."

   "After the third date. We're…"

   "Uh huh."

   "Look. I kind of, played a different hot game with every boy. You can imagine. I'm not shy."

   "What one did you like?"

   "One boy, I made the kitty style jokes. I told him, I wanted scratched, mauled, and bit until I screamed. He did it. Couple hours of… mm mm mm."

   "Yeah. Look. He wants to please me. He wants to please you. Now, what boy turns you down just about anything, that first trip to their room, huh?"

   "Not really happened yet."

   "Enjoy."

   "I can take it out for a spin?"

   "We're alone. Go. You? Until I tell you otherwise? She, is entitled to what you give me. You obey her, like you do me. Same respect. Don't disappoint me right now."

   She smirked.

   "Get over here. Stand in front of me."

   He stood.

   "Don't move. I wanna check the goods out…"

   I interjected.

   "Put your hands on the table. Keep them there."

   She unzipped and unsnapped his jeans, and lowered them. She looked at me, and I waved my hand. Go on, have fun was what my wave said. She grabbed his interest meter, and noted interest seemed a hundred percent.

   "I need a ref's call."

   "On…"

   She flicked her finger out of her mouth.

   "Does that count as third base, or a home run."

   "Third base."

   "Well… kinda my thing… tell him to stay still. If he can…"

   She proceeded to show me her, um, technique. This was no workaround measure, the hand in front of the mouth to let a wet sloppy pass for the top shelf deal. This was the real thing. She teased with some lollipop touches under the tip, from one side, then the other. Some mouth on the tip, and back to teasing that under-tip, before… grabbing two handfuls of his ass cheeks and he disappeared into her mouth. She stayed there, looked up at him, and winked. When she retracted? His eyes were closed and he looked like he was about to have a heart attack.

   She did this slowly, a stroke here, a retraction there, lazily. Showing off. I couldn't believe it. No gag, no little gulp noise, nothing. She finally went into a long, slow series of full strokes all the way down and back up, before stopping to lick the underside of the tip with a flicking snake's tip of the tongue. Then back into some more, and back to the tease.

   He looked like he was going to dance out of his skin.

   She wasn't working to finish him off, she could do that in a snap. No, she was clearly teasing him, and going slow and extending what had to simply be complete and unadulterated male pleasure. This, was the ultimate statement a girl could make, and she made that statement. Loud and clear. Even women that can do this, born with the lack of the medical gag reflex? Need to work at it over time. Sit and play with some food item. How long it actually takes? I have no idea.

   I'm seeing the result of the dedication and perseverance usually reserved only for the truly demented. A girl that refused to give up and die when anyone else surely would. A girl that instead asked a soccer ball what to do, and listened to it for years. Cut herself off from her own little world and all she grew up with and knew, now trapped in her own private hell on earth… and somehow thrived and prospered again. Her golden legs and feet didn't happen overnight. She had to be given gifts by the gods, and work on top of it to no end to hone them. This was no different.

   Porn stars wished they could do this, and this well. When her slow performance was over… and that's what it really was. A performance. She was a star again. Look what I learned to do, and how well I can do it. When this star performance was over, she stopped. He hadn't finished, but he was about finished. He trembled and shook, his breathing was ragged. He kept his eyes closed, out of what I didn't know. Some kind of mild shame or embarrassment, and I suppose it was just equal to me closing my eyes when he licks me well and keeps doing it after I wet his face and make noises. You submit in some way.

   She slowly kissed her way up the front of him, and paused around his nipples. He twitched and wiggled, then she came up to his neck. Her hands were scratching his back lightly, and she was licking and biting his neck. He was melting into her, and kept his hands on the table. It was sweet torture. Told to obey her, pledged to obey me. Hands stay on the table, stay still. And this was forced upon him. He was simply sweating, shaking, panting putty in her hands now.

   She finally worked her way up to his lips and shushed him softly, and did her patented light kissing. I knew about the neck from my first make out boyfriend in the cement room behind the pool building, and she had reinforced how important a step that was when she told me how to do things better, if I was asking for advice. She melted him like wax. Her mouth was opening and closing like she did. Every girl had her own style of kissing and making out, and she worked her own magic she made for herself. There's icing on the boys lips and maybe a spot on the tip of his tongue. You want to share it, you want some.

   Her mouth always reminded me of a fish, slowly opening and closing, the light scrape of the soaked lips and the tongue. Not oh my god, a retarded display. Some… exotic and erotic fish. The rare blow-fish, I suppose. It had mild toxins in its lips and tongue, and it paralyzes its victim. It renders them unable to get away and run, while the rare blow-fish feeds, and takes what it wants from its now helpless victim. It wants a boy's time, it wants a boy to be given pleasure, and unable to claim it wasn't a star performance. Something to remember and talk about years later. Well guys? There was this one time… god, I'll never forget "her" you know… so, maybe its the star-fish. The blow-star fish, there we go.

   "Yeah… there we go… do I have your attention now, huh…"

   More blow-star toxin.

   "I'm not bad… not really… but I'll do just about anything you want…"

   More toxin, this creature overloads their system.

   "I know, I know… girls are complicated… they have all these rules… I keep it so simple…"

   More.

   "Yeah, I'm easy. I'm so easy… this is so simple, how can you fuck this up…"

   More, more.

   "Just… let it go, let it happen… there's no outside world when we're together, there's just us…"

   A little more, to top the victim's system off.

   "When you're with me? There's no others… we both probably had others before… we'll both probably have others later on… but that doesn't exist… no, there's just you, and there's me… its that easy, its that simple…"

   More.

   "Rules so easy, they can't barely be called rules…"

   More, more, more.

   "Rule number one… don't punch me, don't kick me. You wouldn't want to beat me up, would you? I'm so good to you… and I'll do any… thing… you… want… just about anything, just tell me… you don't have to hurt me, to get everything you ever wanted…"

   More.

   "Rule number two… we're not bringing guys in on me. Not one, not ever… don't ever ask… your friend doesn't get to watch… you wanna make a movie, that's fine… but you watch it on my phone… I'm not shy, I'll show your friend if you ask me nice. You can brag, and I know you wanna prove it… that's cool… but I will not be sold and shared with strangers… ever…"

   More.

   "Rule number three… don't you ever call me a whore. I'm not a whore, I'm a slut… a whore wants paid, and I don't want a thing from you. I'll give you for free, what boys can't pay for with all the money in the world. I don't care about your job… don't care if you have a fancy car… don't tell me how rich and important your daddy is… all the important people you know… because I don't care… you save that shit for the whores that care about that, because I don't…"

   More, more.

   "This last one? I can't call it a rule… just common sense, okay… no pooping on me…"

   More.

   "Now… let's go back, to what we were doing, okay? Yeah, you want that… you like it, huh…"

   She reversed and went back to the neck, kissed down to the nipples, kissed back down and went back to teasing the under-tip, and slowly swallowing him whole. He looked like he was about to explode into pieces. He didn't get to finish, and she kissed her way back up, and was once again scratching his back, and the blow-star once again attached itself to his lips and worked her poison into his overloaded system. She had her own date rape drug, and had him in her power.

   "Now… you can play rough with me, and trust me… I like it… you can slap, pinch, tickle… you can pull my hair… drag me around, and make be do all those dirty things you just dream about. You wanna spank the bad girl, for being such a slut? Just tell me, that's what you want. You wanna make me do dirty things… you want me to struggle and I just can't fight the bad man off? That's fine… just ask… you can leave hand prints, I'll show it off… just don't kick me and punch me…"

   More.

   "You like it sweet… you like it dirty… anything you want… just ask… now, if you're shy, and you don't ask for anything but sweet stuff, I'm gonna start asking you… maybe you want the bad girl to make you do dirty things? Do bad things to you? Not… a… problem… just don't ever call me a whore, don't beat me up, and no choo-choo…"

   A little bit more.

   "I'm real easy, and trust me, anything goes… cause I'm that fun ride at the amusement park, believe it…"

   More, more, more.

   "Do we have a deal now, hmm?"

   His head nodded like some kind of little model steam engine on some teacher's desk. Then the blow-star fish attacked one last time.

   More. Slower and sweeter, with pronounced "mm" sounds. Like she was tasting icing on his lips and tongue.

   "Glad we could have this little… talk…"

   She reversed again. Kissed to the neck, to the nipples, and back down to her ultimate expression that a girl has spent time and effort into pleasing boys as best she can figure out how to, and simply wants to give herself to them.

   She slowed down, sped back up, paused for the snake's tongue to flick that under-tip… and back down. It didn't take long, and he made noises. She wrapped her arms around the small of his back and hugged him in, and sort of seemed to swallow in place, until he more or less collapsed all over. His hands seemed weak and barely capable of keeping him up. I saw his knees and arms twitch and shake with excitement. He gulped in air like he couldn't get enough oxygen.

   She smiled, and kissed her way back up and stayed at his neck.

   "It can always be like that… or it can be anything you want… all you have to do, is beg me for that third date… come on… shh…"

   He got his arms around her, and he begged. Shamelessly. I would hurt him physically to get this, she could do it with her mouth and her words that came out of it. I thought because I was dominant sexually, I could get what I wanted. She could do the same thing, submissively. I was the good girl, she was the bad girl. Now I was the bad girl, I forced him. She was the good girl, she asked him.

   Wow. The only jealousy I felt, was that I wished I could do exactly what she had done. When she had heard enough shameless begging, she went back to her sweet kissing style for a little bit. Then accepted his third date.

   She had her arm around him, and gave me a little smirk.

   "Do you think he likes me? I don't know…"

   I just shook my head.

   "No. I'm sure he hates it. He's looking to get me back, for putting him through such a horrible, terrible, ordeal. Aw, you poor thing."

   No, the little girl was gone and buried deep back inside her, wherever it went and hid. She was the 19 year old, and confident beyond even those years. Such extremes. The 14 year old girl, seemed even less than 14. The 19 year old? Seemed older. The kind of boldness and straightforwardness, and complete lack of shyness that you expected from an older and more experienced girl. What you might see in the complete, final woman when she had matured. At perhaps 28, 30, 32… around then, assuming it ever hit this point at all. She had it now. Right now, and had it for at least a little while already.

   Oh, she wasn't kidding. She could literally meet a boy at a party. Look him up, look him down. Give that little "Hmm", as she instantly approved or disapproved of his physique and how he seemed to be to her. Say okay. Show everyone she picked him. Kisses, hanging on him. Some fun, some laughter, some dancing. Whatever. Body shots, didn't matter. Show the social approval. Then? Go to his room.

   And then? Exactly as she said. It was no exaggeration. She could quite literally rock the boy's little world. Hey boy. You asked? I said yes. Thought I was kidding? Here I am. Now, you said… how about pigtails, and the soccer game uniform, right? Look. Even brought the big, swirly lollipop from the music videos. Thought I was kidding, huh. Thought I was exaggerating, like all the other girls, didn't you. Nope. Right here, right now. The games end.

   I sometimes said it. Right here, right now. Then pushed his head down, held him helpless over my lap. Gave him ritualistic 1910 styled child abuse discipline. Shamed and humiliated him, broke him down into a puddle of quivering, trembling nothingness over my lap. Then, released him. Had a direct line to his innermost brain. I want this, you do it.

   She had the same effect. She didn't have to get all sweaty, exert herself. She did it quicker, and got the same results. She rocked his world as surely as I did it, but a different way. When she walked in and rocked a boys little world? She left him shaking and panting, wondering what in the hell just happened. Then, she stood up, shrugged and smiled. Said… wanna do it again? Or, something else. You pick. And they didn't know what in the hell just happened.

   We were both like an earthquake just happened. Shock and awe. I just did it by dominating him. She did it by being submissive. The end result, was identical. We were functionally equivalent. We both walked through the boy's door, and reduced them to a sense of awe and wonder. Like after an earthquake. You previously heard about what just happened, the earth just shook. But… you just experienced it.

   The hell even was she, anyways. I knew I was a sigma female. He was a sigma male. We zenned and rode a wavelength. We got each other, impressed each other. Marveled that the other existed, sigmas could think they were the only one, or one of only a handful. Because we were. She was masked. The little girl, immature at even 14 where her emotional development had frozen. That was one personality type. The other, the 19 year old, was another one. She wasn't a dual personality. She was just scarred and lived. Survived and adapted. The little 14 year old wasn't really "her", and neither was this overly bold and confident 19 year old going on 30. That wasn't "her" either.

   Trauma and sustained abuse, until the victim broke and snapped and unraveled. It twisted the Briggs-Meyer personality types into a tumbled mess. Like a kitten played with yarn and left you a jumbled tangle. Go on, sort out the knots. Have fun with that. She was no narcissist. They wouldn't ever take abuse, and give of themselves for others and for the team. No, she had seen what she liked and wanted. Felt she owed me, and brought it to me. Here. I can get boys, you can't easily. I can't take the one you want. You saved my very life, I can't do that to you. You're my best friend in the whole world. Here.

   No narcissist worth their salt would ever. She wasn't passive aggressive, not in the slightest. She was a tough survivor. She hid it, and showed the world the tough scar. She wasn't devoid of emotion, she was no borderline case, no sociopath. She felt emotions and had empathetic insight. A quick, deep understanding of another person’s emotions and desires. She had told him in the shower talk. Oh, well that's not really it right now, is it? He had thought, and admitted. Wow. You saw right through me, and I didn't. You're… deep and understanding.

   No sociopath or borderline worth their salt, can do that. She wasn't under depression. When there's a reason for the depressions, that's not it. And even with reasons to be depressed, she was usually not. She wasn't manic, acting out sexually. She had control and logical reasons for her actions. They were measured. No bipolar presenting.

   So, what the hell was she. Was her personality so fragmented and shattered and glued back together from bits and pieces she invented and copied, that I saw the therapist's hot mess? No. It was coherent. It had predictability. It was… something. This was no random collage. And, there are no others. There are four criteria, and those choices for each, alone. Lectures, and wrote memorization. Definitions. Fall back on them, let them guide you. Identify the streaks presenting. Those streaks, run through the whole mess. Find them, and follow them, like string you feel your way through a cave to come out the other end. To destination, and understanding.

   She was a very bad girl, but that wasn't quite right now was it. No. She was a very good girl, in some ways even the very best. The hell? She would present herself to the boy, and do nearly anything. For some time, for some approval. But? Inviolable rules. I'm a slut, not a whore. Get it right. I'll disappear and leave like smoke, if you violate one of these simple rules. You don't have to know where they came from, you just need to nod your head and abide by them.

   I know I seem bad, the worst. But I'm not. I'm really the best. You can't buy me. No matter how much you offer, no matter how much you have. Your money and possessions? Your connections, they mean nothing. Everyone has their price, huh. Not me. Everything you thought you knew about girls, unlearn it. I'm totally different. Just enjoy it. Don't give me the learned bullshit you boys learn to put on, I just want you. I looked at you. I liked it. I heard you, and again? I approve. That's it.

   Where have I heard this before, why is this so familiar and yet so foreign a concept. What, in the hell, is she. I have to know. I have to know to form a strategy. You approach every personality type differently. What works for one, will not for another. You use the perfect strategy for one, it will repulse the next. What's the common thread, through it all. You probably know enough. Use it.

   Okay. Little kid. Presented with rules. Here's all this cool stuff you can have. The big crayon box. The big colored pencil pack. All the comic books and coloring books the store had, one of each. Here's the cable TV. Anything you want, any channel. Peanut butter and jelly, cereal. Strawberry milk powdered mix, chocolate syrup mix. Any can you want. Here's your own microwave. Enjoy. I can't be here, I know it sucks. But… you get everything else. Just follow the simple rules.

   Kid did. No problems. What kid doesn't test boundaries. Not allowed to answer the door? I'll answer it. No. I get all this cool stuff, and all I have to do is listen? Marvelous. Kid thrived, under what should have ruined her. Just accepted whatever the world presented her, and worked with it. Who does that. What does that. Then what seemed like black and white, predictable swell goodness? Turned into living and breathing unpredictable color. Scary music.

   Oh. Dress like this. Time for boys. You'll help me pick? Cool. This is how you pick. All right. What do I do… oh. Like the cats. I dig. They sometimes scratch and bite you, but. I can see that. I can adapt.

   I'm submissive… these are the rules, these are the demands. I can work with that. Then, the really scary music started. All the flying monkeys came out. Holy shit. Its too much. Now? Fuck every rule, fuck every guideline. Fuck your whole world. I'll make my very own. There's just me. Teddy ball is on my side. All I need. The answers are coming from within me, I just pretend a ball gives them to me. I'm not crazy, I'm just at the end of my little rope.

   You form a plan. Its simple, and it works. You stick to it, you follow your simple rules? You get there. Its not elegant, its brutally efficient. And in the end? We get what we want, we're a big star again. We get what we need, the fuck out of here, we beat feet and me and Teddy Ball escape the world of color and never come back. And hey. Mom? Forgot to say goodbye, forgot to show you how much I really love you. We get revenge, too. All out of following the simple, easy plan.

   Its brutally efficient. You're following the plan, out in the open. Every single day? And no one realizes it. You kicked me around. Far too many times. Watch and see. I'm getting stronger every day, my legs and feet are becoming little monsters. And its right under your nose, you can stop it anytime? And you don't see it. I'm coming for you, cunt. Your ass is mine. You won't see me coming.

   You crossed my line. You had every chance, and you stayed over it. Now reap it. I'll leave you for dead, and walk out like nothing happened. You asked for this. For years. Enjoy it. Justice. Big plate. No mercy. No warmth and compassion. You designed the rules? And I played by them. Look what I came up with. Now watch? While I dance, then kick your face in some more.

   That doesn't come out from abuse and trauma. That's an inborn trait. That rare ability to adapt. Lay low. Whatever. New rules? Okay. Things are getting weird, but… react, adapt, survive. Come up with the strategy that makes the best sense. And when all else fails? Make a long range plan, run silent, then surface and strike like the right hand of the god almighty himself, with no mercy and no restraint whatsoever. And they'll never in a million years see you coming.

   I'm looking at my twin sister. Another sigma female. She's drawn to me. Oh wow, there's another one of me, cool. We circle each other and smile. I'm drawn to her, too. I'm the mentor, she's my pupil. She saw my sense of justice, my tossing away traditionally what motivated all others. I was drawn to him, he's a sigma male. Of course, he's drawn to her too. We're all three the same. The things that make no sense to everyone else? Make perfect sense to all three of us. Justice, loyalty, strategy. The holy trinity of life.

   "I love you."

   He looked at me, she looked at me. They looked at each other. Which one?

   "I love both of you… come here…"

   They both approached me, we all three came in. Looking, unsure, then settling in. I kissed him, then he kissed her. I kissed him like I do. Hard. He kissed her like he did, and she did it back. Soft and little. Then I kissed her, a little hard. She looked at me. Then smiled and kissed me back. Little and soft. All three of us kissed. I looked at him.

   "You… me… her. We're all in this. Together. Understand me?"

   He nodded. I looked at her. She nodded. I know what I am though. I'm the dominant personality. I can gently and naturally, lead. He's primarily submissive. So is she. Without just cause, they'll just go with it. I give them no cause, I'm doing okay? I have followers in this relationship. I make a mistake, and they sense something is amiss? They'll rise up. Take temporary charge, and dip back below the surface. I just have to let them. He does this with her therapy.

   We're all three of us, lone wolves. Joined up. We're a wolf pack. Three German submarines, running below the surface. Quietly, giving no cause for alarm. We can surface and strike with no warning, and create hell on earth. Then, just dip back below the surface and run silent again.

   We work together. Unique strategies. Each bringing their own individual weird take on things. We're all sigmas. We all play beta, we can all play alpha. We're all what true alphas fear when they go bad. We? Are what terrifies them. They know we're out there, and we can't be spotted and stopped before its too late. Ruthless, with all cunning, and no mercy.

   "Little boy? Go lock that door. Throw that bolt. Then come up to the bedroom."

   I gently led her by the shoulder, and she went with me, not a hint of hesitation. He joined us. I pulled up a desk chair, and grinned. I have the dominant personality, but only for the purposes of a relationship. A sexual relationship. I'm a sigma otherwise. I run beta, I surface and play alpha, then go back under radar. They're both sigmas. But submissive in sexual relationships by nature. I lead sexually, and in the personal relationship. Outside of that, we all run beta, and take turns playing alpha when the need arises, then go back to beta.

   "Lightning?"

   "Yeah."

   "Me and him. I'm the therapist. He's the cop. We work for you. You? Are the client. Every last thing we do, is to benefit you. Do you trust us?"

   She looks from one to another and back.

   "Yeah. I do."

   "All right. He figured something else out. Cop boy. Mister… military policeman. Want me to wait to share it with you? I don't want to overwhelm you. If you want time, take it."

   She sighed,

   "Fuck it. I'm a big girl. Let's just get the hell there, and get to it. Any day now, gonna be the last one. Go on, you two. Grab me by the hair, bend me over and stick it in my ass. See if you can make me cry. I'm getting good at this game."

   Crude analogy. I expect no less from her. I order him. Roughly. I can do that. I'm dominant. I lead.

   "You. Tell her."

   "Are you sure, that it---"

   "Did I ask for your… or did I give you an order. I asked her. She said yes. I then told you? Tell her. Or don't you know when I'm giving you an order. Go."

   He shrugged. He eased into an explanation of what he surmised, and now knew. Your mom? Worse again. A complete whore. Literally, not figuratively. He explained, patiently too. Every signpost, how it proved and reinforced his take on things. How it proved it. He puckered, and had the look of someone just ordered to kick an unwilling victim in the teeth, and didn't want to.

   "Done?"

   He shrugged.

   "I am. Light? I'm---"

   "Zip it! I'll take over. You? Cop. Investigator. Interviewer. Me? Therapist. I put it together. Cool with you?"

   He nodded it was.

   "Good. Now Light… do you trust me. Trust him. That we have your best interests at heart, as best as we see it."

   "Yeah."

   "All right, honey. He doesn't like to see you cry. It hurts him. Bad. He's seen girls like you before. Crying. For similar reasons. He doesn't get off on making you cry, it makes him feel creepy. It fills him with… a creeping dread. He has to do it. Do you accept this? That he did it, for your good."

   "I do."

   "Light? Does some part of you realize. That in Swellsville. There were other… Little Lightnings before you. There will be other Little Lightnings after you."

   She softened. The little girl started to come up and out, then the face hardened. That hard face. The one that could take being kicked, and roll with it and anticipate it, and sort of learn to like it. If that was the best survival strategy at the moment, until some better strategy presented itself.

   "I'm not retarded. Yeah. I don't know who came before me? I don't know who replaced me, but… yeah."

   "Light. You've seen him. Fighting with the Army boys. Surprised you, huh?"

   "Yeah."

   "Me too. You know he ran with the Military Police."

   "Uh huh."

   "I mean, its obvious. Now… you know what a team mascot is, right?"

   "The… person that dresses up in the costume. Dances around…"

   "Okay. He's not an MP. But… he ran with them. He trained with them. He even saved one of their lives. They love his ass. He? Was used as a training aid with new guys. Hey, you can't do this? You can. But nothing. See him? The tough guy? Fucking computer guy. Does this? For fun. Not? Even his job. You? Can't do it for your job? Get fucking real. Now do it again."

   She looked at me.

   "Now. Light. Where do you think. All those MP's go? When they finally dish out, and come back to the real world, huh? They're all cops. They're all over. He? Has access to them. Imagine, if the team mascot? Was in trouble. Needed help. The whole team, all those big, scary guys. They come running. The mascot? That saved one of their own. They can't wait to pay him back. He? Is going to help them. Hand them, on a silver platter no less. The case of their lives. To answer his call, to help the mascot asking for help? Is going to increase their pay, their benefits, their families lives. Now. I ask you, Little Lightning… do you not understand, and recognize… the unique position you're in?"

   Her cogs were not just turning. They were whizzing and whirling. Finally, she spoke.

   "I guess I do."

   "Wanna help? Bring that whole town down. Like the god almighty himself, decided that Sodom and Gomorrah, needed a pillar of fire to destroy it. You came out of hell itself, Light. Help destroy it."

   She looked at me.

   "What can I even do?"

   "Oh, deary. Everything. Look. Your normal therapy? Would be first telling me the whole truth. He got the rest of it. Its done. Now… the rest? You keep going over it with me. More details, until there's none left. And in the end, you could tell the whole story, and were desensitized to it. And can move on. That's all I want. And, while you're desensitizing to every bit of it? What. I write it down. We keep track. He… gets a file. That he can give to the MP's, that are in a place ready to strike."

   She took it all in. She waited. I waited, he waited. Then she decided.

   "I ran. I escaped. I'm free now. What if I'm not willing to…"

   "Then don't. You might not have the same streak of justice and morality that he has, that I have. You, might not care that there's another Little Lightning, before you. On that blanket, in that park. That there's more after you. On that same blanket, in that same park. That the one before you? Didn't escape. She didn't have a Teddy Ball. That the ones after you? Maybe… I don't even like thinking about what might happen to them. I'll puke again."

   I had her on the ropes now.

   "But… if you feel what I feel. What he feels. And? I think you do. You should hate boys. You should want to dress in potato sacks, not bath and not do your hair. But, you don't. Justice. Those boys every month, they didn't hurt you. And you still want boys. That? Is fair. You really should have come out of this, hating sex and intimacy. But, not you. You crave it. You even realize, and came up with your own theory. Brutal rape? And hot sex. Same thing. Only difference, is that you like the guy doing it. Only a person that shares our sense of justice, and morality? Would come up with that. Out of where you’ve been. Think about it."

   She did.

   "What do you want? If therapy, is the same thing as getting these… details. Why bother. Get it anyways."

   "It all moves quicker, with you on board. When I have to back off, another week or two. To get the next detail. Then, when it comes? It was okay. Now, with you. On board. Knowing the destination? Every time you choose. To want a week or two to take that next detail, that next step. Or, to do it today, now. You'll choose now. To get there. What do you say."

   She looked at me. Him. Back and forth. Back down to the floor. But, it wasn't the 14 year old. Younger than 14. It was the 19 year old. The 19 year old going on 30. Knees spread wide as fuck, leaning arms down inside the legs. Confident.

   "Okay."

   "All right. That's all there is. To that. There's just one thing left."

   "What."

   "You? Shared all your secrets with us. We're all three, one unit now. You wouldn't betray our little secret, me and him, would you?"

   "Never."

   "I figured. You!"

   "Me?"

   "Frog in your pocket? Get over here. Stand right here…"

   I pointed. He knows what that means. He hears the tone in my voice. The look on my face. He's both scared and fascinated at once.

   "Stay."

   She looked at us. Said nothing. He stood next to me seated on that chair. She? Sat on the end of the bed, and listened. I gave a brief and concise explanation. The essentials. I would fill in all the little details later. As she asked, as I volunteered them. As my own therapy, happened. I admitted what I was, without spilling it completely. To her. So she could draw the whole truth out of me, slowly over time. As I moved closer to the admission of what I was, and what he was. To me. I came so close to disclosing the full Monty it was unreal.

   She giggled.

   "You're so serious about this…"

   "What. I'm coming out to you. Pouring my soul out. My deepest secret, from when I was 14. That I lived with, and hid. I know its not as terrible as yours, but… I don't have anything else to share, sis. No more secrets."

   "Hmm. Hurry, its a hot game. Now, you really really enjoy this one hot game? That's cool. So, dig your hot game. Who are you talking to, huh. Its me. You think I never played hot games before? Pffft. Those boys? Alone, in their rooms. Tell me their deepest, darkest, heart's desires, hun."

   "Really?"

   "Duh. Think. Champagne boy? Not the only dark desire I encountered. And, I moved forward. On each and every dark desire I ran across. Trust me, more than one boy wanted something. Some wanted tied, some wanted spanked, some wanted fucked in the champagne hole. Whatever. They tell me what they want? I give it to them. They wanna brag, that's cool. They want me to keep their secret, that's cool too. I used to keep track, Hurry. 12… 16… 20… lost count."

   I stared. Speechless.

   "What. The fuck you think I found in those rooms, Hurry. Boys. They saw I'd do anything. Any… thing… they asked. First night, three weeks later, the last night. It came out. What they really wanted. One boy? I talked the kitty style joke to him. I ended up… tied up. Screeching, like the female cat. Fucking hot, I'm telling you. Now. Another one. After a couple weeks. Would I spank him? For being such a naughty little boy. Putting it in my bum that hard. Fucking A, sis. I asked him. You really want this? I had his fraternity paddle. He looks up, yeah. Fuck it. I paddled that little ass. Cried like a little bitch. I gave him more than he asked for, trust me. And when I was done?"

   "Yeah…"

   "Fucking thanked me. For finally, giving him what he wanted. You think some of those boys, didn't have girlfriends? Pffft. They told me. What they really wanted. And I? Gave it to them. Twice or three times. Trust me, Hurry. They fucking loved it. I'm so dirty? I'm somehow safe. Now, I'm having fun, but… when I finally get a boyfriend of my own? I know all the tricks. Every last one. Can't be much left. That last boy, is gonna admit his heart's darkest desire, or… I'll figure it out if he's that shy."

   I'm still speechless.

   "You. Wizzy. What's your deepest desire."

   Nothing.

   "Still shy. Cute. Wizzy?"

   "Yeah…"

   "I ain't shy. Guess you didn't notice. Wizzy? You fell in love with me. When I got deep with you, is that right?"

   "Yes."

   "Get ready. You're a fighter. You learned to fight. You were the show, then you were the bad. Then? You wanted both. You want some hot game? Fuck it. Just admit it. Then? Come and get it. I mean, you ain't scared to get into it, with guys bigger than you. You ain't scared, to stand down four or five guys at a party. That are coming for you. Why be scared, of a girl or two, and what you really want."

   I had planned? On plopping him across my lap. Sending her for the big brush, and surprising her with how bad I really was. There went my big plan. She defused the whole thing. She looked at me.

   "Hurry. You doing something. I doing something. What?"

   I went and sat on the bed next to her.

   "So. You… know what we are."

   "Duh. Have for a while, more or less, anyways. Hello?"

   "Christ. What do you…"

   "Like?"

   "Yeah."

   "I like. No? I love… giving some boy. His heart's desire. That thing he wants and can't get or ask for. Now. If you wanna know my heart's desire?"

   "Yeah."

   "Me. I want it sweet. And I mean, extra sweet. So goddamn sweet you puke. And then, every now and again? Fucking kitty style. Make me scream, let the whole block know I found some boy kitty, to give it to me good."

   "You? You heard her. Give it to her. Sweet. You hear me?"

   "Hurry. You can't make him be sweet. He's gonna lay there, and stare into my eyes. All amazed he has his calendar girl. That… pole vaulter… and then? Sweet, it just happens. He gets up the nerve to kiss the calendar girl, I get the nerve up, to kiss the nice guy I still can't believe still likes me, after he goddamn knows. Hurry, that's what I want. That? Is what I can't get. Sweet. Real sweet."

   I sat there and stared.

   "Do you… really like me? For me."

   He nodded.

   "I don't know why you wanna go out with human garbage. But… fine."

   I sat on the bed next to her. I had this entire thing played out in my head, and she destroyed it. I looked at him.

   "You. Do fetch."

   She sat and watched. As I went and got some socks, and threw them around. I smiled, I was in my glory. I love this game. He brought me socks I threw around. I looked over, and she smiled. I nudged her.

   "Hey."

   "Yeah."

   "Wanna play fetch?"

   "Hmm. I don't know…"

   I looked at him.

   "You. Want her to play fetch with you?"

   He smiled. That silly smile. Nodded. She shrugged and nodded.

   Next thing I knew? She's down there, with him. On all fours, shouldering against him. He's doing it back. I tossed the next sock, they fought and pushed who got it, who brought it back, and who could bite it off the other.

   Absolutely not what I intended, not in the least.

   I kept throwing socks. They got retrieved, after a fight to see who could muscle the other out of the way. They got into a sort of tug of war battle over one return. With a sock in their teeth. I had two of them. Two little doggies, playing fetch. I finally laughed at the absurdity, and got back into it. As much as I did with just him. After all, playing fetch with him? My heart's desire. Another player can't hurt any.

   And, after a good while of fetch. Which I enjoyed, clothes on fetch or not. She stared at him. They were on all fours, and staring into each other's eyes. She rubbed noses with him. Next thing I knew, she was doing the blow-star. Delivering her toxin into his system. That soft little kissing style, just scraping her lips and tongue off his. She got him down onto the ground at my feet, and he never knew what hit him. She shifted her neurological toxin attack from his neck, and then back to his lips.

   I eventually took a break, after another game of fetch. With two little doggies pushing and shoving to do the fetching for me. I managed to get her back up on the bed with me. I had him at my feet. I took a short little knees over the shoulder kissing time. Then I whispered something in his ear, had him get me something. With little fanfare, and without her completely noticing exactly what was happening… I was walking the dog.

   I walked him around a little. Held him. Had him pick things up and carry them. Drop them on command. Had him do tricks. Walked him some more. I brought him over to her, and had him do some tricks for her as well. She smiled, and pet the doggy. I got up and handed her the leash. She asked what we were doing now. I said I was going to take a quick pee, and be right back. I was going to see if she wanted to play walk the doggy. I figured this would go better than my earlier "failure" when she ended up carousing as another doggy in my beloved game of fetch. Okay, going better. I saw her drawing him in on the leash to her, out of the corner of my eye. I finally had given her the idea.

   When I had left, she had been reeling him in slowly. I saw her snapping her fingers silently, grinning, having him sit up and beg. I planned that I was coming back from my pee to see her in charge of the doggy, walking and heeling him up. Or doing tricks. I came back in, and sat down on the bed. She had the collar around her neck, and he was walking her. I sat down on the foot of the bed. I put my face in my palm. Christ almighty, so this was abject failure and what it was like.

   I pointed my finger at him, and pointed at the bed next to me. He came over and sat down. She hurried on all fours to keep up. She was kneeling at his feet, sitting back on her heels. Looking up at him with her little grin. I shook my head slightly, and pointed at him sitting next to me on the bed.

   "You. Speak."

   He glanced at my face, then briefly at my lap, then back up to my face. He was deciding something, cogs turning. He made the "ruff" cute little doggy noise. She giggled. Got up on her knees and put her hands, and next her head in his lap. She closed her eyes contentedly as he stroked her hair.

   I gave a little sigh.

   "Speak… words."

   "Okay. What do you want."

   "Well. You could explain what you think you're doing. Pretty sure you knew what I wanted to see when I came back, you know?"

   He glanced at my lap, then back to me. He had that slight nervousness. It was not always cute little birthday taps to go over my lap. Such could be real punishment. I doubt she understands these coded glances, but me and him know them well.

   "I'm obeying you. As best I can. That's why when you said speak? I did that. Last you knew, I was the doggy, so…"

   I was remaining calm. My cogs were turning now, and while they were clicking and whirring, I wasn't landing on answers.

   "So, you know what I'm trying to do here."

   He glanced at my lap, then back up.

   "Yeah."

   I pointed at her head on his lap, the collar around her neck.

   "Then, I want an explanation. For this…"

   "You said, I had to obey her. I know what you wanted, and I tried."

   I smoothed her hair. She felt the difference, then opened her eyes and looked at me. Little grin.

   "Hun. This isn't what I planned on."

   "What? I thought you were letting me see your own fun game. Your own hot game. Thought you wanted me to play it with you two. You asked me if I wanted to play fetch, so… I did."

   "Not like this. I was planning on… you know, letting you have some fun. With him."

   She cocked her eyebrows a little.

   "I am having fun."

   Thank god I've learned my lesson with therapy being about her, not about me. I would have just planned out therapy in my mind, and issued polite orders. When I should have had the client in on the process.

   "The idea, was… you know. Some rape clinic fun? You've been a victim. You've been used. I thought… putting you in charge, would be some kind of therapy. People exercised power over you. Abused that power. Betrayed you. I figured, I'd put you in power. Let you enjoy it."

   "Oh. I'm not playing your game right. I don't wanna ruin your hot game you wanna see, Hurry. Tell me what you want, then."

   I realized it now. My therapy game I had planned out. I just assumed things. Assumption is the mother of all fuck ups. She'll do what I want. She follows my lead. If I hadn't realized what I'm realizing right now? I would have had her playing the game to my benefit, how I figured it should go. How I thought things should be.

   If I show her fetch, and ask her if she wants to play? She chooses to fetch. I showed her walk the doggy game. I realized now, that I had told her to walk the doggy. So she did. But, when I asked her if she wanted to play the walk the doggy game? She put herself into the game where she wanted to be.

   "I'm just making sure, that I didn't leave the room. Then, he put the collar on you."

   "Oh. No, it wasn't like that. He was trying to do it that way. I wanted to see the collar, though. It was cute. It says… slut. You told him he had to obey me, so? I reminded him of that, and took the collar off to try it on."

   "Just checking."

   "Is it all right? Like I said, I don't wanna ruin your hot game you wanted to play."

   "I thought you liked it. Thought you had fun that night. We took him out to the tree. We played a trust game. You learned to communicate with no words. You seemed like you had fun."

   "Well, yeah. Like I said, it was something new, something different. It was what you wanted, obviously. You were sharing with me, so? I played your game."

   "Then, you and your… rape clinic. What you would do to him."

   "Oh. That. You know, the first time I said that. That night."

   "Go on. If it won't make you…"

   She was a little quiet, but nothing that seemed serious.

   "I think I'm all right. You were right about how therapy works. I'm getting better at talking about it. I might not break down any more, maybe. That's good, right?"

   "Sure is. But go on. You were saying."

   "I… knew I'd lose it. If I said everything. I was trying. The only way I could get it out? Was… to say it like that. What I would do to Wizzy. I guess, you know how sometimes if you phrase it just right, you don't go red in the face when you're caught lying?"

   "Explain that."

   "Okay. There's cookies. The teacher says you can't have one. You take several. You eat them when her back is turned. Then, she asks if you ate one of the cookies, there were 24, now there's only 20. She had one for everyone. Did you eat a cookie? And… you say to her. I did not eat one single cookie. She's studying your face, seeing if you're lying. You can sometimes get away with it, if you phrase it right and they don't catch it. I did not eat one single cookie. Not lying."

   "Oh. I get it. You didn't eat one single cookie. You ate several."

   "Yeah. I remembered that, and… I was trying to find a way to tell you. That seemed like the only way I could get started. And I still broke down, and didn't even tell you everything. I was trying. That's how the whole… rape clinic joke got started."

   "I see. And, us talking about what we were going to do with him, having fun with him."

   "Well. Easy to see what your hot game with him is. Figured that was what you wanted."

   "All right. And if you get to do whatever you wanted to do? How would that go."

   "Oh. My game? I do whatever the boy wants, just about. That's my game. I give them, whatever they wish for. No strings attached. They don't have to give me anything for it. They don't have to pay for it. I got called a whore, for years. And I'm not. I refuse to be a whore, by some other name. The way girls treat boys, the way women treat men. They're whores. You want to fuck me? Its gonna cost you. They even work the guy for as much as they can get, while giving him as little sex as possible. So when they want something? They can just blow him, and get what they want."

   "That really bugs you, doesn't it."

   "Maybe because of what I went through. I guess I'm more sensitive to it, but yeah. They call it being a girlfriend. They call it marriage. They call it, knowing how to handle boys. They're trading money and gifts for sex. You can call that whatever you want, but… that's straight up prostitution. Those girls? Are straight up whores."

   "I guess they are. I only say whore, when its so up front, like phone cunt."

   "Oh, come on. What girl doesn't know how the game's played. You want something. You pout. What's wrong? Oh, nothing. When the guy figures out what she wants, and gets it and gives it to her? Oh, happy again. Suddenly? In the mood again. You think guys are that stupid? No. They know exactly what's up. I gotta buy this, I gotta do that. Then? I can start getting sex again. If that's not being a straight up whore? I don't know what is."

   I shrugged.

   "Then I get called a whore. For not being one. I can't take it. I won't take it. I mean, I know I'm fucked up, don't get me wrong. But, to me? That's even more fucked up. Or, I'm more screwed up than I ever imagined."

   I didn't know exactly what to say to her. So I said nothing.

   "Starts when we're young. Every boy knows why you want that nice car. Gets you a prettier girl. And she's more willing to put out when she gets in it. And if you get a brand new expensive sports car? You just point at the head cheerleader. She hops right in. And she fucks you for it. And everyone knows. The boy brags, and the girl brags, too."

   I couldn't tell her no.

   "And that show boyfriend game? Jesus Christ. A whore has a job. Get as much as you can, for as little sex as possible. Look at me, I'm a good girl. No, that's being a good whore. A successful whore. You're getting the most, for giving up the least. Then, they run around and fuck more boys than I ever once did. They're complete whores, and bigger sluts than I ever was. Then, they have the nerve to call me the whore."

   Again nothing out of me.

   "I don't lie. I don't sneak and cheat. I don't put on an act. But… I'm the one with something wrong with me. Hurry, if therapy… you know, fixes me? Please tell me, it ain't gonna make me like that. Cause if that's normal, and the goal of therapy is to make me normal? Not sure I even want it."

   I could finally speak.

   "Okay. You're not the only girl that sees… how things are, and isn't happy about it. You can ask him, I agree with what you're saying. The really strange thing to me is, that you wouldn't have arrived at this conclusion, without everything horrible happening to you. Maybe that's the only good thing that came out of it all. But, you paid a terrible price to learn that lesson."

   "There's not that many of us. Girls that see the whole thing for what it is, and think its all bullshit and lies."

   "I think one of the main things. People see they can get things, and they do. Most people won't stop and question if its the right thing to do. Lots of people are doing it, it gets you things, its not against the law and there are basically no consequences for it. Actually, you get rewarded for doing the wrong thing."

   "You were taught different. On your black and white farm."

   "I was. There's a pie. There's a last piece of pie. I was taught, you ask everyone first, if they wanted it. You're not to be greedy, and just grab it. I was also taught, not to be a sheep, to just be a follower. Think for myself. Just because everyone is doing it? Doesn't mean its the right thing. Its not just a phrase on a farm. Sheep really are like that. Wherever that first sheep goes? They just follow. They zip around like a school of fish. How about you, Wiz."

   "Just like you. I think I can put my finger on the problem, though."

   "Please do."

   "Okay. I'm little. I get all these lessons. Manners. What the right thing to do is. That just because you can get away with something, doesn't make it right. I was told it was wrong to fight. It takes two to tango."

   I shrugged.

   "All good values. What's the problem."

   "Getting there. Here's the problem. Starts when I'm little. I go out around the other kids. Me? I did what I was taught. You be polite, and ask everyone else first, if you can have one. Well guess what happens. I don't get one. Other kids get more than one. When I said, you're being greedy. That's wrong. They all pointed and laughed. Sucker… you snooze? You lose, baby."

   "I could see that happening."

   "It just kept on happening. I was told I'm not allowed to fight. That's wrong. Violence solves nothing. It takes the bigger man, to walk away. Sticks and stones will break my bones, but names will never hurt me. That? Made me a target. When I was little? All the other kids learned they could do anything to me, and I'd take it or run away."

   "Yeah… its hard to find the balance."

   "I was taught to never hit a girl. Open doors and be polite. You don't force yourself on a girl, that's wrong."

   "Well…"

   "You're doing it yourself, hun. Right now. Soon as I hear that… well… thing start. I'm taught good values. Right from wrong. I followed all the rules. Then? Everyone laughs at you, takes advantage of you, and everyone else makes fun of you for being good. Even girls? Oh, you're too nice. I don't wanna fuck you. I'd rather find a guy that will slap me, and treat me like shit. That's hot."

   I couldn't say anything. He was right.

   "None of the good values? Square up in practice. Everyone else, I guess, got the memo. You only follow the rules, when you're parents are watching, when the teacher's there. As soon as you're out of sight of authority? Fuck the rules, we do whatever we want."

   I'm silent.

   "Then, you got other parents. Yeah, I taught my son. You bully people around? Or you get bullied. Yep. I ain't raising a sissy. Guy gets basically rewarded for being a jackass his whole life. Other guys think he's cool. Girls fuck him for being an asshole. He gets a promotion at work, because he can assert himself. So. Here we see the parent teaching the horrible wrong value to their kid? And… the kid has a more successful life from it. So… in a strange way. Before Light ran into… the horrible thing? I'm not saying her mother taught her good values, but… they work. She was popular with the other girls, she was happy and was basically viewed as being successful. She might have went on, to snag a very rich husband. Then? All the other wives would have been jealous of her."

   I can't argue with anything he's saying.

   "And when you try to explain what's right, what's wrong? Everyone just laughs at you. If they don't laugh, they give you this… well, you see… and you get this sort of… well, you just don't get it…"

   "Yeah. That's what my… well… was going to turn into. You're right."

   "No. I get it. You're supposed to pretend to have good values. Then? Chuck them and do whatever gets you the most cash, prizes, and pussy. Then sit back and pretend you have good values. Us guys are taught this. Or, we come in last. Lightning is right. Those other girls? Are all whores. And we all pretend its some other way than it really is."

   I tried.

   "Well, how do you manage to…"

   "How do I manage to what? Pull it off, you mean."

   "Yeah. You pull it off."

   "First off? You, are seeing Rome. After its built? Yeah, its pretty cool, I guess. Took a long time to build Rome, let me tell you. School? Nothing worked. No good value got rewarded. The more I did the right thing? The more I got shit on for it. I guess I'm the opposite of Light here. She was raised with bad, but very practical, values. Notice… she got rewarded for it, all the way around. Until her tornado hit."

   "But, you balanced it out…"

   "I had to learn to fight better than anyone else, basically. So that when there was a problem I couldn't ignore? I could handle it. We teach kids, violence solves nothing. Bullshit, violence solves everything. Girls like it when they find out you can be very violent. Guys respect you and like you then. You can make people follow the rules, and not steal off of you. Which is what chaps my ass with these people that run around… oh, violence solves nothing. Violence? Is the gold standard! How do you teach a kid not to hit people? By smacking him! The whole system is fucked up."

   "I never…"

   "I have to have all these complicated strategies. Just so I can do the right thing, and not get fucked over for it. I mean, look at my buddies. Great guys, don't get me wrong. But you notice? When they can steal my girls, everything is fine and dandy. While I'm still working on the girl. I pick up with his girl, after he dumped her, and complained the whole time he was briefly with her? Here he comes, with several buddies. What do I think I'm doing."

   He's right.

   "Now. I followed the rules. Very carefully. Their own rules, their own system. I followed their own rules, better than they did. And did you notice, that the minute something didn't go the way he wanted? Oh, there's a problem. They can steal my girls, I'm supposed to like it. I can't even date one of his, after he dumps her. Well, fuck that. And, they didn't like hearing about it either. And, we all know. That the only reason it floated? Was because I'm who I am, and they know it. Yeah, I'm the fighting coach. They know it takes three of them, to have a chance to get me. And, they're worried I might take one out fast, even the odds up quick. And these, are the actual nice guys. Imagine how bad the assholes are, or the real criminals."

   "Its fucked up."

   "Oh, it is. I can't go into any kind of business, or work at businesses. Good values are a liability. Nice guys finish last. Fuck everyone over. You say anything, what you're doing is wrong? Hey. This is business. Well, I'm not playing that game. So, I'm into what I'm into. In computer programming, in mathematics, in electronics engineering? There's no penalty for having values, and sticking to them. But… you can see how the computer club gets treated. Most of them are nice to girls, and most girls don't want anything to do with them."

   I can't argue with him.

   "It pains me to say it. But… real criminals, are more honest than most so called good citizens. At least they're honest about it. I'm a thief. I steal shit. Its what I do. I don't want my shit stolen, but I respect the honesty. I don't agree with prostitution, at all… but? At least a hooker will tell you straight up. My pussy costs this much. Would you like me to do a cost to benefit analysis of a man with a wife?"

   "I'm afraid to ask."

   "And you should be. Take a guy, gets out of college. Has that good job. Now. He wants pussy. He has a certain amount of pretty he needs, to really like it. Now… typical woman, with typical values. Which are shit, by the way, and we can all agree on that point. By the time you add up how much he spends. House payments, car payments, insurances. Dinners, gifts. Clothes, furniture, jewelry. Add it all up… then? How many times is he really getting laid. You make enough money, you have enough of a cunt for a wife? He could easily be paying way more per sex act, than what a top of the line escort would charge him. And? That call girl, will treat him like gold. His wife? Will bitch and nag non stop. Its all so fucked up? I don't know where you begin to unravel the knot."

   I stayed silent. Lightning looked up at him.

   "Wow. Thanks Wizzy. You're on my side."

   He smoothed her hair.

   "On a lot of things? I am honey. You have some excellent values. I'm just sorry about what you had to live through? To get them."

   "Let me ask you, and I'm asking Lightning, too. What are the goals for therapy."

   We both looked at her, head in his lap.

   "What do you think, Wizzy…"

   "My opinion is worth what you paid for it. Nothing. But, for my money's worth… job number one? Getting her over it, get her liking herself. The pathological phobia of being in a car with a boy? Even in a harmless situation? Is very important too. Last, the ability to accept a gift from a proper boyfriend, is to me a reasonable goal. Now, the last thing I'd worry about? Accepting dinner and dates, where the boy is footing the bill. If she wants to put her values into practice, and always go dutch. Even… have totally separate finances when she's in a relationship or married? I don't see anything wrong with that."

   "That's not a bad assessment. Could I throw in, learning how to judge boys? This whole… bad boy business, is ridiculous. And all the girls put it through them."

   "I'm philosophically torn on that count."

   "You want her to like dating worthless assholes?"

   "No. But… I want to point out. The only time most girls are actually being honest? Is when they're out banging bad boys. They go on dates with nice boys, just to get freebies. They only date the nice guy? For all the freebies. At least when they're bent over banging some bad boy? They're being honest."

   "That promotes the system the way it is. Girls run around until they're about too old to have children. End up with kids to every loser in town. You can't think that's a good outcome for her."

   "Well? That's why I said, I'm philosophically torn on that point. You're right. If she has a serious relationship, or gets married? I want her to actually like and respect the guy, and not have to go running around to get what she really wants."

   Lightning looked up at him.

   "I like you. You're really nice. Sweet, even. And… you're badder than any bad boy, if you know what I mean."

   "Thank you, dear. But… I'm kind of rare."

   "Nice guys that aren't pushovers? Are really rare. I found two in two years. And that could have easily ended up, one in two years. Had not Lightning helped me see. In fact, entirely possible? I could have ended up… one guy in all four years by the time I graduated. Lightning? I stick to my guns on what I want, and… you girls saw me. Spent a lot of time without a guy. Now, pre med boy. I compromised, and he made me pretty happy. He wasn't half the tough guy, that Wiz here is."

   He smoothed her hair again.

   "Lightning? Values are easy to have, when they get you what you want. Its when values leave you behind the eight ball? That you find out if you have real values or not. Hurry spent time at home a lot, when you girls were out running around. Waiting for a guy that had the qualities she wanted. I did too. I was willing to wait. I spent two years and a little more, before I found her. Being a good person? Unfortunately sometimes means not having the fun everyone else has."

   "You guys make it sound so hard."

   He looked at me.

   "It can be. Dating or marrying a bad boy, who has no real job prospects? Isn't any kind of a life. That said, neither is marrying for money."

   "Don't I get to share you, until I get lucky and find one?"

   He looked at me.

   "Yes, you do. I'm sure there's a guy out there, just for you? Somewhere. And while you're waiting? You get to see what a decent man is like. What a half decent relationship is. Without decent parents to get that model from? Well… as you can see, society is getting worse, not better."

   I went on.

   "Lightning. Do you agree with his… therapy goals? I more or less do. I'd add a few little things, like you learn how to judge boys. But, in general I like his take on it. What about you?"

   "Yeah. I liked his… therapy list."

   "Okay. We need a place to work. You two? Follow me…"

   I led them out and around to the sub basement. We went in. We dragged a spare desk out a little from the pile of stored old furniture, and there were a few chairs.

   "Therapists? Don't require much. A quiet place to work. A desk and a few chairs. We have mattresses there, so we have a therapist's couch. We'll figure out a schedule, and try to stick to it. Also?"

   They both looked at me.

   "Um. You two? Will… soon be on a third date. And then… you'll sometimes require privacy. I can be with Wiz by taking him into my room, and locking the door. Or, even all three of us can spend some time down here. So it doesn't raise eyebrows. And Light?"

   "Yeah, Hurry."

   "I sometimes bring him down here, too."

   "Why? You have your own room…"

   I smiled.

   "Think about it, Light. I'm sure you could come up with a reason why we would come down here for privacy, when the room mates are home. In case you didn't know? You're underground. Its soundproof in here. Get the idea?"

   It dawned on her.

   "Oh, right… you guys play the naughty games down here…"

   "Yeah. We do. We keep your secrets, and…"

   "Oh. I won't tell. I promise."

   "Okay, Light. In other news… you guys going to go get stuff to make chili for tonight's dinner?"

   "I get to go in the car? With him?"

   "Sure. Why not. If you want to. If you think you can. Its also good for your therapy, its one of our goals."

   "Wizzy? Can I?"

   He looked at me. I smiled and nodded.

   "Of course. Hun, you have a couple bucks on you, for groceries?"

   "Yeah."

   "I'll pitch in too."

   "Hey!"

   "What, Light."

   "Me too. If I'm not running around like usual anyways, I'd rather pitch in. And what about Right? She should too."

   "Oh. She can pitch in on shared groceries next time."

   "Okay!"

   Lightning was beaming, at the simple prospect of going out in the car, alone with a boy. Like a little kid, all excited to ride in the car, just to go to the store. There was something innocent and heartwarming about it.

   "Let's go up, and I'll lock up here anyways. And Light?"

   "Yes…"

   "Come here, would you?"

   I took the collar off of her she was still wearing. I stuck it in my pocket, to return it to its hiding place in our room. They went and came back with ground meat, packets of chili seasoning, and vegetables to add to it. More and different beans. She was amazed she was able to follow everything on the "advanced chili", because she now knew how the basic thing was made. She was inordinately excited to show me the big bag of dried beans specifically for her next project, ham and bean soup. The big chunk of ham that was on sale while they were there.

   I could remember being somewhat similarly in my glory, down at grandma's house in the winter on holiday break or on weekends. Learning more about cooking, and proud of being able to help her or even do some myself. She now wouldn't leave the kitchen, watching over things simmering.

   When Right made it home, she wasn't particularly charitable. Which was predictable, though by no means helpful. Light to her credit either ignored her, or only took tiny jabs back. They were close friends, room mates and team mates all rolled into one. The back and forth is normal to the relationship.

   Right rolled her eyes, at the prospect of having to eat Light's cooking. Like always, she's fascinated with the concept of sitting down to eat the final product, and not at all interested in doing any of the cooking. Her only contribution while the work was being done, was to make fun of Light because she was "setting the women's rights movement back 20 years". Charming. Light to her credit, took it in stride when carping back.

   "Yeah. Because you weren't right down there with me at the Army house, making burgers for the boys. Bringing them the burgers on paper plates, and handing them beer. Or, was that some other girl that just looked like you. Hmm?"

   "Well…"

   "Yeah. Now, imagine if I'd been able to go to the store, and get the stuff to make a big pot of chili when we were down there. Like boys drinking beer for the weekend in the summer, wouldn't like bowls of chili with the burgers and the beer. We would have looked pretty damn good, wouldn't we?"

   I was chuckling.

   "Was Right lecturing all the boys on the patriarchy and feminism down there?"

   Light laughed.

   "You know? I don't remember a peep out of her about all of that, while she was down there."

   I giggled.

   "I wonder why that was. That's suspicious."

   Light laughed, more of a belly laugh.

   "Oh. I can solve that big case. She was getting dick-ed every night, and those boys all make jokes about all that stuff. She zipped her lips up on the subject? And never brought it up once."

   Wiz started teasing her.

   "Oh, what do we have here. Little Miss Two feet… and her best friend. Little Miss Two Face. Now, don't I remember hearing something about being a serving wench, and fetching beer?"

   Light smiled.

   "That's right. The boys would yell… serving wench! Fetch me a beer! And, she comes running. Big smile on her face, too. I'm a serving wench, whee! Oh, guys, you should have seen her. She kept losing burgers on the ground, trying to flip them cooking. She pretended they were deliberate, for the puppy to have. So she didn't look bad."

   "Shut up. You were right there with me, doing it too."

   "Yeah, I was. But… I'm not the one always going on and on all day and night about… all that stuff. Turns out, Wizzy? All it takes to shut her up about it, is a cute boy with a stiff dick."

   "Shut up!"

   "Well, quit making fun of me for learning how to make chili. You're eating it, and you already had a second bowl. Can't be that bad. Me? I'm going to improve my chances."

   "Of what?"

   "Right? Its no secret. We're tall. We're taller than 90 percent of the men on campus. Or anywhere else we go. Even if we wanted to date shorter guys? Shorter guys simply won't ask us out. So, out of all the cute boys on campus… 90 percent are off the table. Then, everyone knows it. Most guys prefer to date little girls. So, the guys tall enough? Are mostly looking for little girls. There's not a lot left. So, excuse me if I want to improve my chances any way I can, if learning how to cook a little, improves my odds."

   I couldn't help it.

   "You guys know something? Right here, magically trying to make burgers and fetch beers, shutting all up about feminism all of a sudden because the boys didn't go for that? She's not exactly alone, doing that."

   Light wanted to know what I meant, and Right was waiting.

   "Well. Turns out in studies? As long as their names aren't on the survey. You know, tell the truth as long as no one can pin it on you? A large study was done. All the study, was exclusively women that reported they were big on the feminist cause. Girl power, smash that patriarchy. Guess what was found…"

   Light and Right were both interested.

   "Hmm. Turns out? All these women running around, supposedly these big feminists? When, they go out looking for guys to fuck… they just love guys that openly make fun of that stuff. Its a turn on. More than one girl magazine writer? Has been busted on dating sites, right on their profile… dating guys that laugh at all that stuff."

   Wiz started laughing his ass off.

   "Oh. So what you're saying is… its complete bullshit, and even the girls spouting all this nonsense… know its bullshit. Hmm. So, basically they're just all saying it, because it seems like its the in thing to do. Wow. Interesting."

   "Pretty much, Wiz. Pretty much. Survey after survey supports this finding, and by a huge margin. Now, let's look at the so called bad boys. You know, guys that a lot of them will slap a woman, and make fun of them?"

   "Go on…"

   "Turns out? Most of these so called feminists? Report being turned on by this behavior. So basically, you got this huge feminist. Making her living, writing all these articles about girl power getting published in Retards Monthly magazine? Goes out for dick, and looks for a bad boy. That will slap her in the face, make fun of feminism right in front of her. And? It turns her on."

   Wiz was howling with laughter.

   "But wait a minute. What about all these so called male allies? You know, those sensitive modern men. What about them."

   "Well. You have to have a show boyfriend, or a show husband at home. While you go out to bang bad boys behind the guys back a couple nights a week, for girls night out."

   We all had a laugh. And Right had another half a bowl of chili before retiring to the living room to plop in front of the TV. Light casually and deliberately talked about going back to the store with Wiz. Right picked up on it.

   "Wait a minute. Hurry, you said you stayed here and Wiz went to the grocery store to pick stuff up."

   "He did. Light went with him. To get her chili stuff."

   "Wait a minute. You rode in a car, with a boy? Alone?"

   Light smiled and nodded.

   "When did this start happening?"

   "Its a new thing, trust me. I'm still… getting used to it."

   "Does he lock you in the trunk?"

   "We almost had to try that, the first time. Trust me. I thought I was going to die, just driving around in the parking lot here."

   "How do you do now?"

   "Oh. I kinda close my eyes, and turn the radio up. Or wear headphones. Trust me, I can't do it with just anybody yet. And I still feel like my heart's going to explode. But… I can do it. Its a start."

   "Well. Good for you. One day we're both going to be graduated, and I won't be there to double date with you. I was worried about you. Good job, Hurry. I assume this was your doing?"

   "I helped. A little."

   "Well? Good job."

   "Thanks. That's means a lot. To me, and, I think to Light, too."

   Light admitted it did.

   We started official "therapy" the next day. Lightning was working out harder than ever, and she seemed to enjoy her shower and tub, and especially her massage and rubdown more. I quickly learned to tell when she had one of her "pictures" appear. Wiz amazed me with his quick work on PTSD. He was right. Simply explaining what it was, that it happened naturally. Talking like the weather about his own. Simply knowing what was happening, took the edge off it. He told me on the side, that as long as you know what's happening, its not as bad. Not sleeping was horrible, but she still slept. Not as much as normal, but she got some.

   I realized that while this was going on with her, she went into a 4 to 5 hours of sleep mode. Which was what Moody had lived with. Moody had lived her short life with an ongoing issue. Poor thing. I couldn't help stabs and pangs of guilt over her.

   The first therapy session was basically a rehash of everything up until now. She went through the whole entire story, so I could see how she was doing. Not nearly as bad as before. Mainly quiet, soft voice. Constant starting and stopping. Lots of nervous tics. And yeah, the 14 year old came out for it. Body language and everything. I asked for and got a few minor details, and kept track.

   When we were done, I went over how she felt. I pointed out everything that indicated she was a lot better than the first time she talked about it. No more pretending it was someone else with the manner in which she told it. While she was clearly uncomfortable, she admitted she was way better at it, and it was way easier on her.

   It didn't take an unreasonable amount of time, and we took a break afterwards. A fairly short time of small talk saw her change slowly back to the 19 year old. Quieter than normal, less exaggerated body language. But still a version of normal. Then, I asked her what she thought about going on her third date. Her face brightened considerably.

   We all three talked amiably, and we all decided that her and Wiz simply going out and sitting down for a simple pizza was the right thing. Wiz teased her at first with a serious face, that it was going to be a big expensive romantic and candlelit dinner. He was picking up the big tab.

   When she stammered, he winked at her.

   "If you pull my other leg? It plays jingle bells. We were thinking, just sit down and get a pizza. Eat some pizza, bullshit like normal people. We come home. Not that big a deal, really."

   She was relieved, and shook her fist at him for teasing her. Then she giggled in the course of talking about the simple pizza date. She would pay for the tab, so he had to put out. She smiled. Being able to laugh at the whole situation was good, I suppose. Keeping your sense of humor about anything difficult seemed okay. When I hinted around at wondering if it was okay if Wiz paid for the pizza? She closed her eyes for a couple seconds, exhaled, then opened them.

   "Guys? You two, just… wanna go around the world with me, huh?"

   We asked her what that meant.

   "I just started taking car rides, alone with a boy. Its still rough on me, but… I do it now. Then? An actual date. In a car. Now? You want me to let the guy pay? You're… asking for all three holes at once. Jesus. Can you guys pop my cherries one at a time. Is that too much to ask for."

   We apologized, I said I was just wondering. I asked her if they each paid half was okay, she said that was better. She said she would be way more comfortable if she bought pizza and drinks, but Wiz complained he didn't want to feel obligated to put out. She smiled and shook her fist at him, but giggled.

   I offered a compromise. You each pay half. But, he would actually pay at the register. She agreed. My plan? If they went half a couple times, but he paid at the register? She would become desensitized to seeing it, so when the time came it would be less stressful to try that for the first time. It would be practicing.

   The therapy "date" went successfully. We all talked about the experience when they got back. She was as excited as a young girl in high school back from a small routine date. All smiles and girly excitement. The car riding was still scary and exciting, and going to a new destination was an added thrill. Describing the tiniest details about where they went. Where they parked. Which door they went in. What size pizza they got and how they agreed on toppings. What kind of pitcher of soft drink they agreed on, and how that conversation went. How polite and considerate he was. There was no end to it.

   I didn't have girlfriends at that age, 14, so… this must have been what I missed. The three of us talking in my bed was a common thing. She laid back, fingers laced behind her head, describing things. Her feet and legs danced excitedly. She would roll over, chin on her hands, and her lower legs would swish.

   I intuitively realized, this was what she had missed out on. This was what she had been robbed of. Right at 14, she should have been starting to go on car dates for pizza and back quick. Instead? She had been traumatized and abused, and subjected to a 4 year sentence of solitude interspersed with public humiliation. A soccer ball for pretty much her only friend.

   Then she finally calmed down, but still smiled a lot. It wasn't terribly late. I asked her if she had forgotten something. Took her a while to come up with something.

   "No. It came to about 20 bucks. I popped him a 10 spot…"

   I waited a little while, before I gently reminded her.

   "Not that. You just had your third date, honey. You, are now… home run certified. Approved by the board of good girls, I might proudly add."

   "Mm. I forgot about that, until just now. Its all been so exciting. Car rides. First car date. Well, not the first one. Not really, but… you know. First time, with me being a good girl about that sort of thing. Hmm."

   I prodded.

   "Kinda like the first time. In a way…"

   She giggled.

   "I know, it sounds silly to say that, when we all know… but yeah. In some way? Sort of like that. How should I do it, Hurry…"

   "Well, I mean, I'm not picking your… positions… I'm the therapist, not the porn director."

   She laughed.

   "No, I meant. Well? This was your game. Originally, you got to watch. That was what turned you on, right? Watching."

   "Oh. That's changed. You don't have to… do that."

   "Well. You can, if you want. Not like Right hasn't seen me with a boy, you know. Its okay."

   "Wouldn't it be a lot more like… starting over? If your friend wasn't watching."

   "I guess you're right. How do I make it… special."

   "Uh. I don't think I was too original, when I used candlelight and incense, for us once or twice."

   "Hmm. Candles, incense. Okay. And… I know its silly as fuck, but… I want Teddy Ball to see. Wizzy? Is it okay if Teddy Ball can see? I want him to see I'm… getting better. God that's so fucked up to hear myself say that, but…"

   He smiled.

   "Its fine. I know how much… Teddy meant to you. Means to you."

   "Now. What should I wear. Wizzy? Anything special you want."

   "I always wanted the girl to wear a suit of armor. Sword and everything. Joan of Arc? She was a hot little slut… its why I like sports chicks, you know…"

   She giggled when she realized he was deadpanning her.

   "But seriously. If you want a certain outfit, just say. Wham bam and a get lucky?"

   "All the guys get that, right?"

   "Sure."

   "Give me something else, then."

   "Well. You like sports girls. You… want the game uniform? Pigtails with it?"

   "Didn't someone already request that?"

   "Yeah."

   "Well, I definitely want that? But… later. Not our first time."

   "Okay. What then."

   "Light? Its about you. Its not about the outfit you wear. I mean, when game uniform night comes, that will be fun, trust me there. But… how about… regular jeans. And… how about a flannel."

   "A flannel work shirt?"

   "Yeah. To me? That's hot."

   "Really? How."

   "Rodeo girls… lot of them, have a flannel work shirt."

   "If that's what you request. Done. Want me to leave the flannel on?"

   "Hmm. Yeah. It comes off later, but… yeah."

   "Okay. Now… what do you want."

   "You."

   "No, silly. What do you… want. What do you like. Anything you want, you never got yet, maybe."

   "I don't have any special game requests, no."

   "But, what do you like. Oh… you and Hurry. Naughty games. Hmm. I don't know exactly what you guys do, but… I know its naughty. Give me some examples. I want you to like it."

   "Light?"

   "Yeah."

   "I don't want you… imitating what Hurry would do. Well, this is like the soccer game outfit, that will be fun, but… not the first couple times. I just want… you."

   "Hmm. Without a special request, I usually pick… around the world, plus one. You know, you get the… sample platter."

   "Is that what you like?"

   She was quiet for a short time.

   "When I was young? Dating, before… it happened."

   "Yeah."

   "It… was about… I put out. So I got taken out more. It was about, I wanted seen riding around in the older boy's car. The other young girls were jealous. It got me taken to the older boys and even the college boys parties. And everyone knew I was there, and they were impressed. I got that out of it. I put out… to get that. That's what it was about. That's what it was done for."

   "And here at college? You don't get anything for it."

   "Nope. I refuse to get anything for it. I don't get anything for it, I give. Its not a sale, a trade anymore. Its my gift. I go to the boys room? And I give to him. Whatever he wants. If he's too shy to ask for what he really wants? He gets… the sample platter."

   "Could… I get taken to your room?"

   "Oh. I always go to the boy’s place. Just my thing. Don't really know why."

   "Would you be comfortable in your room?"

   "Hmm. With you. With how this is now? The… new thing. I guess, maybe I could."

   "We'd have to wait until Right was out. Preferably, all night out for her. Then? We could… you know. Break my room in, so to speak. In a way, it would be like riding in a car with you. And… it would be… how do I say this. More… normal? I'm trying to be normal."

   "I would like that, very much. I'd be your first. In your room, I mean. That's some kind of cherry."

   "I'm sorry I don't have any cherries left to give you, Wiz. You deserve one. But, the cherry bowl's empty. Four cherries. First come, first served. You have my apologies on that one."

   "You give me your room cherry."

   "Okay. Jeans, flannel. Candles and incense. Teddy Ball's there. My room. Cherry room, too."

   "I'll bring a bowl of cherries. My treat. You get a teeny tiny gift. To celebrate the occasion."

   "Okay. Wow, I just realized something."

   "What."

   "More waiting. For Right to be gone."

   I spoke up.

   "Army, girls soccer mixer. Pig roast mixer. That'll start early, and end real late. Right will probably be there. If I had to guess? She'll probably hook up with someone else not from the Army house. For obvious reasons. I go. I can call and warn you if Right's coming home… or call to let you know you're all clear and have all night, if and when she makes her hookup. My guess? You'll have an early start, and a late night at worst… and an all niter at best."

   "You'd do that for me?"

   "Sure."

   "Wizzy? You might get around the world plus one… and I start on the seconds… If I do that? Warning you… you don't get any sleep. I mean, you get breaks, obviously, but… I don't quit."

   "Sounds pretty special. I can't wait."

   "Hmm. This waiting thing, is kinda neat. I never would have guessed that. Thanks, Hurry."

   "Not a problem, Light."

   "Hmm. I'm getting tired. I might fall asleep. Can I sleep in here?"

   "Sure."

   "Hmm. I'm… a little nervous."

   "About what, hun."

   "Honest?"

   "Why not. Stranger things have worked. Or, you could lie about what's got you nervous. I'm sure your friend, your therapist, can help you best when you lie about what the problem is. So lie."

   "Its Teddy Ball. I'm worried about him."

   "Really?"

   She giggled.

   "No, silly. You said to lie, I lied."

   "Oh. Well, what is it."

   "This. Wizzy. Everything. I'm nervous. Probably silly."

   "Well. Being nervous? Has an up side. You know what's got you nervous. You said it might be silly. That tells me you know what it is. Which is good. If it was… anxiety, or depression? You don't always know what causes it. Hard for me to help. But, if its silly? You know what it is, and probably not a big deal."

   "Well. I'm nervous."

   "About…"

   "When I was young. Those first car dates. If it didn't go good. If… it went wrong. No big deal. After one or two, I was confident. I knew there's another boy, another cool car. There's one around every corner. Dance around that next beer keg, the boys all talk to you. Pick one. They show you that sports car. Nice car. Take me for a ride? Off you go. I was… confident."

   "You were in control."

   "Yeah. Guess I was."

   "So why are you nervous."

   "Well. After 4 years with me and Teddy. I'm here. I escaped. Its all over. Lots of boys. Beer kegs. Not like I didn't know how to handle college boys at keg parties. Unlike other freshman girls? Been there, done that. Let me show you how its done. First party. I'm like… well Teddy? Lets see if I still got it. Hmm. Turns out? I did. Old confidence was right back."

   "Lots of girls are nervous about boys. You're confident. It shows."

   "Now I'm nervous again."

   "Why, hun."

   "I know Wizzy is… this isn't my game. This isn't my dance routine. I was always one of the fast girls. Hey, I can handle boys. Watch this. Hold my drink. So, I'm nervous."

   "I don't get it."

   "I have to… I can't… I'm not a fast girl now. There's not going to be, another keg party. I have to make this work. And if I screw it up? There's nothing. Or, I go back to being fast. I'm scared, I guess. I dance in color. Modern dance. This? This is black and white. You do the tango, and fall on the bed."

   "Its still dancing. You're good at dancing."

   "Well. In color. Modern dancing. You get a new partner, for every show. This is black and white. Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. They make it work. You're a team. You don't get a new partner every show. When a rental car breaks down? They just send another one out. When your car breaks down, though. It's your problem now. Or you don't drive."

   "I think your nervousness, is unfounded."

   "I know all about driving rentals. I don't know a thing about owning a car. Or how to take care of it. I dance in color. New partner every show. I don't know a thing about having the same dance partner. I'm scared."

   Goddamn it. The bed was shaking. I had been like all of us were now. Laying down, talking idly while falling asleep. That easygoing falling asleep talk. I came out of that and looked. Poor thing was trembling. She wasn't nervous, she was scared. Terrified. Shock, that wasn’t good. An ashen white face. The 19 year old was gone. This was the immature 14 year old. Worse than a normal 14 year old that would be as nervous as any 14 year old. This one had been trapped before.

   She had been trapped on a blanket, with older boys and young men. Unable to leave, unable to stop it. Then trapped for years with a candidate for mother of the year, gunning hard for mother of the decade. Trapped in a small town. Where everyone pointed at her. There, that's the one. The mom's a slut? Not just a slut, a real whore. She's a whore, too. Half the town's had her. At least in a city, you can move around. Go a couple blocks away? You're like the newcomer again. But a tiny town? Everyone knows you, anywhere you go. No escape. Trapped. She'd had a four year sentence. Trapped in an 880 inmate prison. With a sadistic warden for a whore of a mother, and plenty of prison inmates that knew how to belittle another prisoner to make themselves feel better about their pitiful selves.

   I kneed him.

   "You. You have ears, you have eyes. Go get Teddy Ball. Move it."

   Teddy Ball went and sat on her lap, or on the desk for therapy. He had went on her date. With eyes closed, and music in her ears, and her familiar Teddy Ball on her lap and in her arms? The car ride was a lot better. She had felt so elated and so good, that he had gone back on her bed right now. He brought Teddy Ball back. He reached around her on her edge of the bed, and her arms went around him, her knees came up to cradle him. I had him in the middle tonight. After all, the slut goes in the middle. I'm always on my side. She was on her side. My equal. My partner. We shared the slut in the middle.

   He went to get back in the middle, his spot he had. She quickly scooted into the middle and took his spot before he could think about getting to it. He laid down on her side of the bed. She cradled her ball in the middle. Knees up, arms around him, chin pressing down onto him. Like he could float away. She looked at me, and looked at him. She couldn't decide which one to go to.

   I'm not a whore. I'm a slut. Sluts go in the middle. She put herself in the middle. A young girl who gets married too young, then later gets divorced… is nervous about going out running around. Didn't do it hardly when young, married too young. Which used to be a great thing, but not in today's world of marriage divorce turnover rate. This was the opposite. The fast girl was scared of settling down, even in an ultra safe and temporary permanent relationship. The boy had air bags and was the safest model possible. She could have him as short or as long as she needed.

   You could turn a housewife into a whore, and everyone knew it. But everyone else also knew, the opposite. Impossible to turn a whore into a housewife. She was no whore. She was a slut. Seems you can turn a good girl into a slut, and easily. We've all seen that around campus more than enough times to know it comes as easily as dew on the windows. I don't think its impossible to turn a slut into a good girl, just not going to be the easiest thing in the world. I remember being a good girl, nervous about playing bad girl. Here was a dyed in the wool bad girl. Scared shit-less about playing good girl.

   Christ, all I want is a time machine. To go back, to whoever came up with the brilliant plan for our society. Hey, we should trash thousands of years of human evolution. Yeah, let's just turn it on its head, make it a mad animal scramble of a mating season. It'll be like one of those old time table football games. Where a giant vibrator made the little "players" randomly bump into each other. It'll be fun to watch that. Oh, great idea, lets do that. I could be there, and just smack the goddamn taste right out of their mouth and end that shit before it got started.

   She jumped and started when she felt my hands on her upper back. I could feel trembling under me. Thick and pungent sweat that didn’t run. It clung. He smoothed her hair, and her arms. Stroked her like a scared cat. It took us 15 or 20 minutes to get her calmed down. The attack passed. This wasn't nervousness. This was a panic attack. The response to facing a deep rooted phobic fear.

   Disposable dance partners were safe and you were confident with them after your first dance or two. You just get another after a couple of dances. The dance hall is loaded with new ones. Grab another tissue. Toss it if you soil it. Whole pack of them right there. You run out? Just go get another box. Me and Wiz knew from our grandparents about handkerchiefs. Same thing, ostensibly. But, it was yours. You blew your nose and dabbed your tears with it, but you didn't toss it. You washed it carefully, you used it again. It was yours. You took care of it, and you didn't lose it.

   She knew all about disposable tissues. How convenient they were. How cheap and easy they were. She knew nothing about handkerchiefs.

   You can't do anything about a panic attack, but ride it out. She's tough and fit and healthy. A 220 beats per minute racing heart, is nothing but a fast 20 minute run. There's just no reason for your heart and system to feel like a brief, intense sprinting workout.

   We have people brought into our classrooms and lectures. People okay with their condition, its a part time job for them to describe it and answer questions we have. I remember the panic attack guy. Someone asked about how it felt. The description was generic. Heart at top speed, adrenaline response. Can't stop it, can't get it under control. You have to ride it out. If you're athletic, its a lot easier. It can kill someone out of shape with a bum ticker. What was the real life, person to person description he would give. So the client in the future wouldn't feel like the therapist just read a definition in the book and said… yeah yeah, I know.

   He said. You know how you're all safe and warm and snuggled into bed. Sure, everyone knows that. Okay. And there's a cat. You feel that little tickle on your hand. Cat hair. Tip of the cat's tail swishing on you. Feels great. Sure. So, you glance at the cat's tail tickling your hand gently… and it's not the cat's tail. Its this… gigantic, hairy spider. With 8 glowing eyes, and those giant fangs dripping poison. Bigger than the giant ones you know exist in the jungle somewhere. Its right there on your bed, it was tickling your hand with fangs.

   How would you react? Yeah… heart would fucking explode out of your chest. You want to jump and run, but you can't for a few seconds. That afraid. You open your mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. That terrified. You can feel and actually hear, your heart exploding in your head. You're just sure this is a heart attack, your heart feels like its going to rip in two, it shouldn't be able to beat that fast, that hard.

   But, he said. There's no goddamn spider. There's not even any real reason for this. It… just comes on. 15, 20 minutes… you lay there, drained. Oh, I made it. I lived. I can't take too many more of these things.

   She's okay now, it passed.

   "I'm all right. I don't know what the hell, just… I was nervous. Then…"

   "Shh. It passed. I know what it was, honey. You're fine. You're here. We're here. Teddy's here. All good."

   She laughed. Nervous laughter.

   "I don't know what… Hurry? I'm more fucked up than I ever…"

   "No. You're not. I know what it was. And its gone now. You're not fucked up. You're not crazy."

   "Well… what the---"

   "You panicked. Its a panic attack. You were scared. I guess, nervous thinking about changing. I don't know."

   He gave me one of his looks.

   "I'm busy. What?"

   "Well. I'm not supposed to tell you no. I'm not supposed to interrupt you. Talk over you. Correct you. I'm supposed to ask politely. So, I'm asking politely."

   I look at him. I look down at her. My first instinct, is to tell him later. It can wait. Mommy's working. But, I don't. He's good with her. She's great with him. He has some weird natural therapist thing. He wasn't supposed to know about violent rape, he knew all about it. He wasn't supposed to make rape jokes, either. Turns out they worked wonders. I was supposed to know about PTSD reactions. Another little present he had for her. With his track record, with her?

   "Go."

   "Honey? We talked about the pictures."

   She's wiped out now. Tired and can't fall asleep, but can just lay there.

   "Yeah. Not really a problem. Hardly come, really."

   "I know what a panic attack is."

   "How."

   "You know how if you hang around someone, means you're around their cousin, too. Whether you want to or not. They just show up."

   "Sure."

   "You get used to pictures. They start to go. Then you meet their cousin. The panic attack. I didn't know what one was. All I knew? I wasn't scared. Nothing to be scared of. Shit was all normal. But, it felt like I was on a ten mile run. Even though I wasn't. I'm young, I'm in shape. It passed. Weird. Happened again. I just sat down. Passed. I wasn't even scared, it was just something that didn't make sense. Do I have, high blood pressure? A bad heart? What the hell."

   "What did you do."

   "Well. I did what I always did. Went and asked an MP buddy. Cause they're like my older brothers. They? Seem to know everything. He goes… oh. Yeah. We were waiting on that. You had an incident. The incident passed. Yeah, you get a couple of those. They'll go away. Just like the pictures are going away. No biggie. Lot of us have had incidents. Lot of us have had pictures. So… you get that. Don't sweat it. You just started sleeping again, so, you get a few."

   "Its normal."

   "Yeah. I didn't believe him. He had a few older guys, that had a few incidents under their belt. Totally normal. Like, getting a zit from shaving."

   "Wizzy. Why is this like this."

   "Light? Human beings are like animals. Now, normal animals. If something scares them? They just don't go in that field anymore. Because animals are, in many ways, smarter than people. Now, you might not know this, but… if you squash a bug. Other bugs, of the same kind? Will come along… and touch antennas on the squished bug. One of their own… and they'll run around like crazy."

   "Why?"

   "Because. If you see one of your own kind, dead? Probably not a good place for you to be there, either. That's why in war, you put your enemy heads on sticks, and put them around. Let's the enemy see it, and just like that bug? They run around and go to pieces, and leave. Normal reaction. Hey. That head? Got the same helmet on, as I wear. This ain't a good place to be."

   "But, we're not in war, Wizzy."

   "No, Light. We're not. Better way to explain it. If you were a mouse. You might have never seen a cat before. Don't know what one is. But you don't have to. If you're wandering around, and you find mouse heads, mouse feet. Laying around? You just freak out, scurry around. And get the hell out of there, and you never go back. You don't even have to know what a cat looks like. Its automatic. Its why mice, have survived."

   "Okay."

   "Now. You? Came across one of your own. Not just another person, but another one of you. A tall soccer girl. One that didn't have all her parents. One that had some kind of issue from when she was younger. Lived right with you. Your body? Has this mechanism built into it. Your body, that mechanism. It doesn't understand, like a human being understands. All that mechanism knows? Hey. One of our own here. This isn't good. Look, pictures! Pictures! Get the idea? You should be scurrying around. Why aren't you scurrying around, you stupid body. Scurry!"

   "I… scurried. A little."

   "Yeah. You can outlast the… scurrying feeling. Now, that mechanism has another trick. The panic attack. It gives you a few of those. See, when the pictures start to fade. And yours weren't bad. You start to sleep again. You, are sleeping. You get a few panics. Little reminder, from that mechanism. They pass too. Its like, the sign at the edge of the town you're leaving. Just keep walking. Its just a sign."

   "If you say so."

   "I do. I asked people that knew about that stuff. Lived with it for work. They all agreed. This is no different than the pictures. I was waiting on it, when the pictures weren't that bad, and you were sleeping. And just like the pictures, as long as you know why its happening, and its normal? Not scary. This is the same. You know what it is, how normal it is. So? Just say… oh. I'm dizzy. I need a second. Sit down… you're in shape, it can't hurt you."

   "Just a normal survival mechanism, huh?"

   "Totally normal. See, an animal would scurry away. Because, a mouse in its group? Well… something happened. All the animal knows, is that those pictures come, to keep it scared. Then, when you lay down and sleep in the same place, a few panics. To get you up and moving. You scurry away somewhere new. Humans don't do that, but that survival mechanism? Doesn't know that. Its built to keep you alive living outside. Survival mechanism was built into us, before luxury townhouses existed."

   "Makes sense."

   "Of course it does. There's no cat. The mouse… did it to itself. Its perfectly safe to keep living and sleeping in the same place. Just let it pass. See, in the past? People got scared they see things that they know aren't there. They get concerned, that they're scared of nothing at all. So, they get more scared of all that, and it sets up a whirlwind and you go to pieces. Its like a noise in the dark. Sounds scary, to hear it. What is that? Every time the wind blows. One day, you find an old saw, hanging on a hook. That's what makes the scary noise every time a breeze blows. Oh. Its nothing. Next time you hear it? Its comforting. You know there's a breeze blowing. The scary thing? Becomes a comforting wind chime."

   Wow. I'm jealous. Not of the way he's smoothing her hair and arms and shoulders. Not from the soft, even tones he's speaking in. His technique. He takes the scary, unknown thing. Explains it gently, easily. In layman's terms. Its not unknown anymore, its now known. See? Not so scary. In fact, its normal. Perfectly normal. Now, he's making an analogy. The scary thing, you know what it is, now its a comforting wind chime. She's all cuddled up against him with Teddy Ball between them. That's what I'm jealous of. He has this natural technique, and it works faster and better than my textbook definitions and cliched responses.

   My textbook. This, is a panic attack. What to do? Calm them down. When they're calm and in the wiped out phase? Use that, to explain what it was and how its okay. Then, keep reassuring them. Yeah. Calm them. Easier said than done. Explain it. Again, two words that doesn't really cover the best reality technique.

   "Wizzy…"

   "Yeah, Light."

   "Pictures. Panics. Any more of this… mechanism. Hmm? Its been fun, but… you know."

   "Oh. All you got left? Is one or two… over reactions. Then? Pffft."

   "Over reactions."

   "Yeah. You'll over react to something stupid. We all love you, we just smile and won't make fun of you. That'll be it. Nothing."

   "Like what."

   "Oh. Like… Poor Right will put her coffee cup on the wrong side of the dish. You'll pick it up and slam it down on the correct side. It goes there! The fuck's wrong with you! Like that. No biggie."

   "That's normal? To act like an asshole."

   "Infantry guys do it, when they get back from theater. Their buddies know. Cops, MP's do it, with the family. They know. You'll do it with us. We know. No big deal. After you over react a few times, you get embarrassed you did it, and you watch it. Then it goes away."

   "Because we know its coming. Like pictures, and panics."

   "Sure. Defense mechanism again. Better to over react, than not react. Animals that don't react? Don't get away, or fight back quick enough. Now. Over reacting? That's a mouse biting another mouse. No need for that, it happens a few times. It goes away. Its fine."

   "Over reacting is bad?"

   "Not reacting is bad. Over reacting is just not good. Over reacting, you get used to doing it? It covers over your sixth sense."

   "Sixth sense."

   "We have six senses. We think we have five. Animals? Don't know they're supposed to only have five senses. So, they naturally obey it. Humans that learn its there, and what it is, and what it isn't? Do better."

   "Do you have it?"

   "We all have it. We're taught to suppress it. I was, too. The MP's? Brought it back up in me."

   "How's it work."

   "Watch an animal. One that isn't looking. Just stare. The animal? Will start looking around. If you keep doing it? The animal will get up, and walk somewhere else and sit down. It feels the sixth sense. All humans have it. We get taught to ignore it."

   "Like what. How's it work."

   "If you talk to violent crime victims. Every single one of them, will all say about the same thing. Can't tell you what or how or why, but, I just knew something was off. Later that night? Sure found out what it was though. What it was, they were being watched. They looked around, they didn't see it. They suppressed that feeling. I'm being silly. Then? Later. Something happened."

   "How does it work."

   "If you're calm. You feel a slight something. Can't put your finger on it, but something little. Doesn't go away. You're taught to ignore it. Don't be scared. Don't be a baby. You don't see anything. So, you ignore that. What it is, a slight rise in your heart rate. Instead of 60? Its… 70 or 75. Once someone shows you it works? You can recognize it. You won't know what or where, but you'll calmly start moving away."

   "What's it feel like."

   "Hmm. A really mild, and I mean really really mild… taste of… deja vu. Not scary, just weird. Just a hint. Like when you're watching a movie. Normal. Then, you notice. The sound track. Just a little… dink dink. Dink dink. Not the scary music. Not the rising tension music. Very, very slight. What is that? What's that mean. Dink dink. You stay calm. You don't give yourself away, that you feel it. You just… make it natural that you move away."

   "You've felt it, huh Wizzy."

   "Practicing? Yes. But in real life you mean. Yeah."

   "What was it? What did you do."

   "Out. Stopped at a bar, for a soft drink and a snack. I'm on a trip. From base to base. For computer work, installing the software I had written, somewhere else. Driving myself there. They give you a car out the motor pool. You stop and eat, take a break when you want. You move on when you want. Was at a place where you stop, get a soft drink or a beer. Eat something. You can sit at a counter, its not really a bar. But there's a jukebox, a pool table, some video machines. Kind of a road house, on a long lonely desert road. In the old days, they had those before convenience gas stations. So, Texas and Mississippi and Missouri, those states still have them. Its normal, people expect them on small, long lonely roads."

   "Wasn't good, huh."

   "No. Just it. Couple guys, counter worker. Everyone was real friendly. Hey, you're not from around here? No. On a trip. Hey, relax. Shoot some darts. Tired of losing to this guy, need some new blood. Everyone's smiling. Everyone's friendly. I'm tossing darts, couple soft drinks after my food. Pretty cool, really."

   "So… what set you off."

   "Don't know. I'm the new guy. Someone should have been… teasing me. That wasn't there. Everyone was smiling. Someone, should have been frowning. I'm a northerner, in the deep south. Everywhere I went? People called me Yankee. No one did that. Now, the dart guys. Normal for the new guy to offer the quarters for the dart machine, but, its okay. I got quarters. Then. Something about the way the one guy said… we need some new blood. Normal phrase. Thought another guy smiled too friendly at it. Eh. Kind of thing you shrug off. You're around strangers, you're being silly. Everyone's friendly. Relax. I pretended to relax. I went to the bathroom. I wanna leave. This is just like the practices. I should go collect my twenty and some ones up at the counter? But, that signals I'm leaving. No. Fuck 22 bucks."

   "You ran out."

   "No. You don't run. Prey? Runs. Scurries. You keep your shit, and you do it… calm. I felt silly. I came out the bathroom. There's the door to the bathrooms and the place. But… there's a back door. Went out that back door. Dipped under the windows, so no one knew I was leaving. Got in my car, and just left. As other people were coming. To cover the noise. Just… oozed away. Because I'd been taught, what that feeling was."

   "You never knew what set you off about that place, you just left. You were on a long trip."

   "That's the thing, Light. Told my MP buddies about that. Cause, my older brothers? Man, they just know everything. They all listened to my story. They called around. I'd showed them on a map, where I was. State police called back couple days later. Wanted to talk to the guy they were talking about, when they called around, and got someone wanted to hear the story they were selling."

   "What did he say."

   "He came out. Met with us. We all had lunch. When the story was done, he's just nodding. Pulled out a file. People traveling, alone. Men and women both. Had disappeared. On that long road. Its a couple hundred miles of nothing. Turn offs and the occasional road house, that's all. Its a long point A to point B road. Smaller, older road. Not a major highway. State police in two states had been working that road, concentrating on road houses. But they couldn't find out where things were happening. He said this was great, they could concentrate on that road house, that area."

   "Why would…"

   "You travel. Alone. You probably have traveling cash. Phone, laptop, tablet. Credit cards. Car can be chop shopped. Great engine and transmission, you liked it for a trip. Girls present people like that with a special… bonus."

   "How did you learn that? Sounds like a wonderful thing to have."

   "MP's. They're not just cops. They guard Airbases, that can be remote. Near enemy territory, or in places where not the entire population is in love with you being there. They need to understand combat, remote terrain. Track or evade, as they need. You go camping, play capture the flag. At night. They give you this class, then they talk and explain that feeling. You go around on paths, sometimes looking for your object person. Sometimes, trying to keep away. Thing is, you don't know it, until you get it right. Then? You just have it after that."

   "What was yours?"

   "I was with two other guys. Walking down paths. We're talking, about this. I remember saying… this is a great place for an ambush. But, one never came. And we were talking, whether one of us had that feeling that was described to us. I said I did, and this was a good place to be ambushed. Clump of trees near the trail."

   "You got ambushed."

   "Nope. Later that night, my buddy sits down. See, I'm not an MP. I just go camping on these. Fun. I play the games, for fun. He said something, and smiled."

   "What."

   "The two new guys you were with tonight? I said yeah… he said… hey. This really is a great place for an ambush. I froze. I knew what he meant. There were three of us, so they let us pass. If one of us had been alone? We'd have gotten snatched and started over. He was letting me know, I could do it now. I got the feeling, and was talking about it? A hundred yards before that clump of trees came up. No different than all the other clumps of trees you walk past. But that one? Dink dink. Dink dink."

   She waited a while. Then spoke quietly.

   "I'm a violent crime victim."

   "You were. Once."

   "I know what you mean."

   "Figured you would. They all report it, just about. People assume, its just… some reaction to stress and trauma. I know its not. How was yours."

   "Well. I always thought. That… pleasant trip to the park. On a pleasant day. That, was the time. That I was a victim. But, as we now know. You… proved it was going on, and that was just the one time I ruined the fun for everybody that was having a ball. With the stupid little girl, that was too dumb to know the joke was on her."

   She waited.

   "Those other times? Some parties I was at. Just some. The way you described it? Slight deja vu. Yeah. You're saying…"

   "Something was wrong at those parties. Something didn't fit."

   "Different people. Lot of the normal late crowd? Wasn't there. Some new faces. Maybe a little more lines getting done, than was normal. And you describe that… dink dink. Not like I wrote down funny feelings in a diary or anything, but. Maybe, they lined up with nights… I couldn't figure out why I got drunk then drank too much and… blacked out."

   "I bet it did line up. Now. In the future. You can't be scared all the time. Or, you can't feel it. But… if you ever feel anything like that. Don't worry about your twenty bucks. Just, slip out a door and quietly go."

   "You ever felt it? After you got back."

   "I was fishing by myself. Late. River. Where I was? Almost everyone thought there was no way down to the river. Small cliff face to the water, all along that town and up both sides from it. But, if you knew just where to go? There was this steep trail, and you could get down to the water. Then, there's some brush and woods, between the cliff and the water's edge. Its peaceful, I like being alone."

   "You felt funny."

   "Around 4 in the morning. I like to fish, from sundown to sunup. As much about relaxing, as fishing itself. Me, a folding chair. Felt it. Would not go away. I got my gun on me. I stayed put. Waited for first light, then left."

   "You find out what it was?"

   "Yeah. There were coyote prints in the deep mud where I was fishing. Realized it at first light. This was their watering hole, deer too. Only way to get from the train tracks the animals use, down to the woods up and down the river's edge. If you get in a coyote's territory? They'll watch you. Hang back. See what's going on. A wary animal. That's what I felt. I was in his watering hole, that was where he likes to sit and wait for a baby deer he can snag."

   "Its a useful thing to know."

   "It works in reverse, too."

   "What…"

   "I can use it to… hunt."

   "What do you mean."

   "If I'm hidden. Watching. Surveillance. Seeing if I found the guy I think I found. I don't wanna set his creepy meter off. A lot of criminals? Might not be the smartest book smart people you ever met. But… instincts? Oh yeah. They take one sniff, one look. They can tell prey, from the rest of the herd. You don't want… some guy, in a dark parking lot, you're watching… to feel funny."

   "Oh. You're looking. How do you not set him off."

   "Never look directly and stare. You look around him, not at him. You look out the corner of your eye. In a crowd? You fixate on someone close to him, but not real close. That's who you're watching. You don't want to spook your prey."

   "But… you'd only watch a predator. You… wouldn't hunt… prey."

   "If I'm looking for a predator? I need to find his type of prey. Then, sit back, and take it all in. I'm looking for someone else. Who's doing what I'm doing. Sitting back, taking it all in. Everyone else at the party? Is in the party. The predator? Isn't there to be in the party. He's just there. Scanning the herd. Looking for what he can cut from the herd."

   "You're kinda scary when you talk like this."

   "I don't mean to be. You think of the mouse as the prey. The cat? The predator. But mice? Are actually very capable little hunters. To small things, they hunt like a little lion. And a cat? Predator, but… prey too. You notice. A cat, will sleep where it sleeps. Then? Go sleep somewhere new, a night, a few days. Then? Back home to the main nest. Its instinct."

   "Instinct for what?"

   "Cats have an instinct. That if they sleep in the same nest, night after night, their whole lives? Good way to get eaten."

   "I'm prey. You're a predator. Are you going to eat me in my sleep one night?"

   He chuckled.

   "First off, if I do? It'll be a good kind of… eating you. It'll be because I'm trying to make you talk to cat Jesus."

   She giggled in his shoulder.

   "But, you're a cat. You're no mouse. You have instincts. Go, sleep somewhere else once in a while. Don't bring anything back to the main nest. You go out? You hunt. For mating. You dress for bait. You move in for the kill, and the boys don't know what hit em. You use strategy, and cunning. I saw how you got that Pardee house boy. That? Was some very fine work, by the way. That's one young lion, that knows to watch out. When a female ostrich is around. You were protecting me. I haven't felt like that, since being around the MP's. You, Hurry. Very dangerous ostriches."

   "Hmm. We have the legs of an ostrich."

   "You're not just prey. You're a predator, too. And that's not the first time something dangerous dismissed you as no threat, and let you get too close. They got too comfortable. Some prey can be very dangerous."

   "Hmm. How could I be dangerous. Other than that trick."

   "If you were being chased? Lets say by some guy. Not an athlete. Some guy, thinks he cut the right gazelle from the herd, chases you. You? Could wind him. Tire him out. When he's too tired? Circle back around. And give him the ostrich kicks. The lion's too tired out from the chase, to fight back now. Ostrich wins."

   "So. You wanna eat me. In my room. Make me talk to… cat Jesus, huh? You don't wanna eat me. I'm all gristle."

   "I hunt and eat deer. I have a taste, for low fat game meat. And, I heard ostrich? Is good eating. Just saying, what I heard."

   "Hmm. I thought I was… dangerous."

   "You are… those long legs… that speed. That killer instinct. No one would ever think if they didn't already know, that a tall bird could be so deadly…"

   He's rubbing her legs now. She's tucked around her Teddy Ball, up against him, facing him. Big sleeping T shirt and panties. Typical girl townhouse PJs. He's running his hands from the top of the backs of her thighs, down her legs, and down the sides of her shins.

   He's doing it while he shifted gears. Talking about those dangerous ostrich legs, touching them to emphasize it. Making her feel powerful and not so much like an easy meal. Talking about eating her in her room. She's relaxed now. Feeling more confident and powerful. Feeling pretty again.

   "Very dangerous. I have to watch out for those killer legs. Get past them. The good meat on the ostrich? Its up here…"

   He emphasized by coming up the legs with the caress. Over the hip, to the front of her, up above her legs. To show her where he wanted to eat the good meat.

   "Hmm. You, are bad…"

   He's done it. She's all but drifting off to sleep now. And she's good again. He slid down a little, and got his head just below Teddy Ball she has clutched in. His hand went up the back of her sleeping T shirt, to rest on her warm back. He scratched it some. She liked that, and nestled into him.

   "Mm. Be careful… I'll eat you back, you know…"

   She's tired now, and feeling much better. He successfully tucked the scared 14 year old in, and brought out the confident 19 year old to replace her, as it should be. He had her asleep within a half hour. I crept out of bed, and came near him on his side. We went downstairs after I motioned to him. She stayed asleep.

   I sat at the kitchen table while he made us a nightcap coffee. Getting to bed early had been too good to be true. He started tap dancing about an apology without saying the forbidden "sorry" word, for taking over and doing what he had. I waved him quiet with my hand in the air, swishing at nothing but it shut him up as if I had lit him up.

   "Fuck that stuff right now. This is work, you're fine. Forgiven. What the fuck just happened?"

   "You saw it. I saw it. You even named it. It was just a panic attack."

   "Without you there, I would have assumed the panic attack came on, from fear of… a real relationship being scary and new."

   "Now that you mention it, I guess it could be, but… I'm betting on it goes with the pictures. If she was going to panic over suddenly trying out being a good girl in a relationship? Wouldn't we have seen nervousness, then fear, as it approached? She would have put off the third date, it leads directly to the scary thing. No. She was all smiles about it. And, I know how much the pictures and the panic attacks go together like peas and carrots."

   "It just seemed like it came from…"

   "You said it yourself. Panic attacks come from nothing. If you get one sitting there having breakfast, doesn't necessarily mean the bacon caused it, right? This was no different."

   "Thanks. I'd have made another major therapy mistake, and spent a long time chasing down a blind alley before I recognized it. I'm getting over the jealousy of you being better than me at my job."

   "You? Are better at your job. I just have practical experience at these two things. Crime victims and PTSD stuff. Don't let the amateur with time in, outshine the real expert training. By the time you have your degrees, you'll make me look like a toddler at this."

   "By the way. You're allowed in her room. With the door closed, locked. Whenever you want. Day or night."

   He almost spit out his coffee. I smiled.

   "What would you even get punished for? You're explicitly allowed to be shared. You heard me say I don't need to be present. Not only that, but, what if she wants to talk, and I'm not available. Free pass. While we're at it, I guess you're allowed in Moody's room too. Not like anything can happen there. Now, you set one pinkie toe within six inches of Right's room? Just don't."

   "Thank you. Pity the stash isn't still in there."

   "We'll wait till… oh Christ, I hate to be practical about her room. But… as soon as, the words out. We'll have to… clean it out, I guess."

   "I'll call the detective in the city. While it isn't official? If he says its not being looked at as a crime scene, yeah."

   I sipped my coffee.

   "Another master stroke. From the intrepid therapist there, on that one."

   "Hey. I didn't see anything there either. We both knew she had issues, but… when the victim and the perpetrator are the same person? You gotta let them take a little bit of the credit, you know."

   I put my tan feet on the seat of his chair. I don't know why putting my feet on him like a cat makes me feel more secure, but it does.

   "You happy with how therapy seems to be going? Getting your details, for your little file folder you want."

   "Very. You got her very much calmed down talking about it. You know, there's two kinds of rape therapists."

   "Really?"

   "The one, works for the victim. Police and what they want and need, comes second. The other? Is who most prosecutors and police recommend. They… technically are there to help the victim first. But in practical terms? They're working for the prosecution first, and the victim's needs second."

   I blew on my coffee mug lip.

   "Which one am I."

   "Interesting question."

   "Lightning comes first. I'm that kind."

   "I would be inclined to agree with you. Normally."

   "In what alternate universe, would you even consider making a therapy choice, that benefits the police over her needs."

   "How many movies have you seen. Mister Big runs the small town. Its an action movie trope, for a reason. You can get a grip on a tiny town, that's impossible in a city or even a bigger town."

   "So? That's… another state. Upstairs, is all that matters to me."

   "I dig that. And I'm with you. You know though, there's someone else somewhere, just like you right now. Dealing with another… upstairs. Somewhere else? A mother is visiting her daughter's grave. And if not now? It'll happen, if we wait long enough."

   "I'm not ruining, or even slowing down? Her recovery, to make… that easier."

   "Okay. Monkey in your wrench. Is keeping her alive and safe, not in her best interests, too? Think about my scenario I laid out. She's out of sight, out of mind. Suddenly, she pops up in a clip on a sports show. Or, years down the road? She makes the Olympic team. You honestly don't think, that would seem like a threatening situation? See, way I see things… Mister Big, had it where no one could believe her story. Mom of the year polished that turd. Suddenly, his viewpoint changes, when he sees her out on her own, getting publicity."

   "What do you want then."

   "Right now, therapy for her, and what I want from a police standpoint… are aligned. Getting her able to describe everything, start to finish in detail? You want to desensitize her to the trauma, and… I just happen to want all those juicy details and facts. Our goals are different, but the way there? Same."

   "I'm learning to decipher your code."

   "What code?"

   "You started that, with the two words… right now. That? Means when we're no longer right now… those goals might… diverge down different paths."

   "The ultimate goal of the victim first therapist? Is the victim's well being. The ultimate goal of the police paid therapist? Is to get as much factual information as possible. And, ultimately? To see if testifying is possible."

   I yelled and whispered at the same time. Low volume, gobs of emphasis.

   "What?!?! Are you insane?"

   "Hold on. The goals of the victim therapist, and the police therapist? Need not be different. If I may."

   "Oh. This better be good. Or… we might need to have a little talk, somewhere private. Hey, I got such a place. Where I can explain to you, the meaning of upstairs first."

   "Let me make my case. Then? You make the decisions. You're in charge."

   "Here I go. I'm about to get… sigma-ed… Christ."

   "We agree, to do what's best for her. Right now, you achieve your goal of desensitization. Just, work those details. Make little video clips, like you did today. They go in their own password protected folder."

   "That's today. Later on…"

   "Well. Let's say, she ends up doing so well, that… being a star witness becomes a possibility. Her choice, not ours. It would be awesome, to be ready. Hear me out. If she desensitizes enough…"

   "I thought she wouldn't be needed."

   "I'm pretty sure. It won't be difficult, to get… drugs, and that's sales, distribution, possibly manufacturing. On Mister Big and Little Asshole. Mom? Scot free. Prostitution is going on, fairly openly. Anyone there getting documentation on the drugs, will get prostitution too. Now that, might touch the mother. I think she's the madam."

   "See? She's not needed."

   "What about the dirty cops. You want them left in place, after Mister Big and Little Asshole are taken out? They, will just fill the vacuum. Nature abhors a vacuum. The corrupt police chief, will become the new Mister Big. That rapist young cop? Will become the new… Little Asshole. When the authorities come in, the police will play stupid, even try to appear to be helping. If you just yank the weeds showing, the roots sprout right back up again. Not to mention… she knows faces, and names. That young cop, is but one of them. She gets one of them? She gets all of them. I bet I could get that teacher and guidance counselor to remember the story… bet there were others…"

   "You want to put her through that?"

   "What if the goals, of the two therapists were once again aligned. This is the little girl, that kicked mom almost to death on her way out of town. Revenge? Might be the best therapy. Remember. Everyone that was in on the… ahem… prostitution, violent rape, underage gang bang… kept making fun of the victim, for four years. They told on themselves, again and again, basically. By pointing at her and calling her a whore, talking about what she used to do? They were admitting to their guilt. She might… want… to kick half the town in the face."

   "Her choice. Not yours. Not the police or prosecutor's choice. You promise me that, right this second? Or I swear, I'll go have a talk somewhere with you. You know where, and you know how I'll extract that promise out of you. Quick. Her choice, not yours."

   "I promise. But, we should try, if it doesn't hurt anything doing it. To lay the groundwork just in case she wants that later on when she's better. Also? I can promise for myself. I can't promise someone in law enforcement won't come looking for this prime, prime witness."

   I have tools at my disposal. He's manipulative, devious, deceptive. He runs games and strategies, and you don't know you're working for him. But, I do have my tools. Stern mommy look and voice are but two of them.

   "I dare you to test me right this second. Shut up now. I'm thinking. Don't speak until you're told. Do I make myself clear? You may answer. Answer properly, and then immediately shut up, until told otherwise. Go."

   "Yes mommy. Crystal clear."

   I said "Thank you", then immediately followed it up with an even sterner look, and an index finger in his face. Which kept him quiet.

   I finished my coffee in silence, and he did the same. There was no discerning his true plan. I was up against the literal reincarnation of Machiavelli himself. Fuck, the twists and turns were myriad, and this was just the opening moves on the board.

   He could be being completely honest, true, frank, earnest and forthright with me right now. Circumstances could veer suddenly and things could change later. Those circumstances could stay as now. They could veer slowly and imperceptibly over time, like a gentle pressure on an object moving over a great distance. Like a gentle side wind, pushes destination far off of original course. Things could move as now, then suddenly and violently swirl around and take a new direction out of nowhere, like a plane being tossed around by a tornado crossing its path. Its the police, its an investigation, its the court system and the media. Like you can predict all that shit in our lovely little "system".

   I can trust him. I don't trust anyone else. Other cops, prosecutors, lawyers, media, you name them? I don't trust them right in front of me swearing on a stack of bibles. No one but me and him, will put poor Little Lightning first above all else. We're her family, everyone else has their own ideas, responsibilities, oaths, careers, motivations.

   He can go one way, then suddenly way down the road, exactly what he told you… had a new and true purpose. His strategies can also adapt and change. I can't control shit in this. I'm sitting here, opening moves in a chess game. I'm trying to control how the game gets played, and guess and predict the outcome. That's impossible.

   I do, however? Control one thing, and very well. My coffee was now drinkable, and I finished the last third of a mug left. I pointed at mine, then his. He followed suit.

   I got in his ear.

   "Sit. Stay. Mommy will be back. Not a word…"

   I came back, with a little bag and keys I held tight. I dropped his own jogging shoes into his lap, and I already had stepped into mine. I still wore my big sleeping T shirt over my panties. He still had his boxers on, and I dropped a T shirt in his lap as well. He stepped into the shoes, and slid the T shirt on. I pointed at the front door, and made the index finger over the lips motion. Shh. I closed and locked the door as silently as only someone who lives there can do. We walked without a sound around and back. I unlocked the sub basement, and we went in.

   "Not a word. Strip."

   To his credit, he did. I reached into my bag, and took out a pair of the hinged handcuffs. I stepped behind him, and confidently manipulated his wrists. Knuckles together, palms twisted outwards. The tightest, securest hold possible… behind the small of his back. I dipped my knees, and returned up holding my coiled bullwhip in my hand.

   I walked around him, and touched, rubbed, slid and tapped at times the coiled up bullwhip all over him. I took my time. I slid my panties down, and stepped out of them. I twirled them, grinning while walking up to him and plopped them into his mouth and fed them in with my fingers.

   "Scared right now? Don't be…"

   I walked around some more, then whispered in his ear.

   "Be terrified instead."

   I went to the walking around slowly, and the touching with the coiled up threat.

   "You only know what I've done with this up until now. I can shred soup cans into confetti with this thing. I can take a little chunk out of a pine board with it. I once opened up some asshole's arm so bad with a cut from it? He got a zillion stitches to close it back up."

   More walking, more touching and rubbing and tapping. I got in front of him and rammed the coil up under his chin and lifted it up so he could see my face, I used what I think of as the "strict mommy" face, or the "Vaquera" face. Its an act. I went for barely contained murderous rage, for my motivation to put my face on for this act. How much was motivation, and how much was real method acting meaning it was real? Was anyone's guess. Even I didn't know for sure. Some of each though, to be sure. More pressure up under the chin, enough to make it uncomfortable to breathe a little.

   "You listen to me? And you listen good…"

   I snaked it out and wiggled it around some. When I do this, it resembles a large black rat snake somewhat.

   "This isn't a game. There's a little 14 year old girl upstairs, basically. There's no way to fathom, how many times she was violated. No possible way to accurately count the number of men that participated at different times, and how many times each of them did it."

   I shoved the handle butt end under his chin rough.

   "Her own mother sold her ass, and probably planned on that for quite some time before she did it. She might have even had her trained to dance, with some kind of shit in mind. If she was setting her up to be a stripper? That's the best that was planned for her daughter. Neither one of us likes to even guess what the worst possible reason for the dancing even was."