The following fictional story is being reposted by Mr Double.  If you are the author of this story and would like to receive proper recognition (an Author's Page at my website), contact me at mrdouble@ix.netcom.com.



+---------------------------------------------------------------+
|                    *** DISCLAIMER ***                         |
|                                                               |
| This is a story of pure fiction.  Any resemblance to persons  |
| living or dead, incidents real or imagined, places real or    |
| imagined, is purely coincidental.                             |
|                                                               |
|         IF YOU ARE UNDER 18, DO NOT READ FURTHER.             |
|                                                               |
| No part of this story may be reproduced on any media of any   |
| kind without the written permission of the author.            |
|                                                               |
+---------------------------------------------------------------+


                             - 7 -


   This was my first time upstairs in the Swift's home.  The house
wasn't old enough to smell this musty, but it did.  No doubt the steam
from the spa had something to do with it.  Someone had made an attempt
at tasteful decoration.  Only an attempt.  The kindest thing I could
say was that everything was... functional.  There was a single
bathroom, outside of whose closed door I now stood.  Two bedrooms on
the right side of the hall and a third, a big one, down at the end.
Three people.  Three bedrooms.  Perfect for them, I thought.  But I'm
number four.  Where will I sleep?

   I stared at the doors to each room, trying to guess who slept
where.  The doors were all the same, not like the people who slept
behind them, hmm?  But now the flush of the toilet, the slam of its
seat... I knew who was in there.  And when the door flew open and
Peter rushed out, I complimented myself on how well I was beginning to
understand this family.  He stopped at what must have been his room
and looked back at me.  Then he entered the room.

   I cleaned up and made myself ready for bed.  I had no pajamas.
Steven had not offered to loan me a pair, so, well, underpants have
often worked in the past.  He did loan me a toothbrush.  And soap, and
a towel, and... well, everything I needed.  No pajamas, though.

   So now I walked down the hall with not even the slightest idea
where I was supposed to be headed.  I passed the door where Peter
vanished and was nearly at the room at the end of the hall.

   "He wants you in here," announced the twitchy 12-year-old.

   I turned just as Peter came out, his arms embracing his pillow, his
blanket, his book.  His book?  He reads?  He breezed past me and I
spun around.  Peter disappeared into the big bedroom at the end of the
hall.  That couldn't be Zoe's room.  Steven wouldn't, couldn't put
those two together.  So the little room next to Peter's must be hers.

   I entered Peter's room and set my, Steven's, things on the bed.  I
looked around.  Definitely a boy's room.  Soccer stuff all over.  A
desk with school all over it.  Magazines scattered across the bed.  I
gathered up the magazines and piled them neatly on the desk.  I sat on
the mattress.  I bounced.  I pushed on the top.  I can survive one
night here.  I removed my socks and shoes, my shirt.  I stared at the
open door.  Despite the events of the day, I was bored out of my mind.
I was obviously extra baggage here.

   The sound of pounding bare feet and through the door stormed Peter.
He looked all around, then focused on his desk.  He glared at me, then
rifled through the neat magazine pile I had just created.  He selected
one edition of whatever, then pounded his way out.

   Where was Steven?  Where was Zoe?  I was tired.  Did I remember to
lock my car?  Where was Zoe?  I got up and looked through Peter's
magazines.  Strange, otherworldly, fantasy.  Strange.  No humans in
any of the profusely illustrated stories.  Hmmm.  I looked out the
window.  Black.  I could feel the cool air pouring off the glass.  The
room was hot.  It felt good.  I straightened the sheets on the bed.
Where was Zoe?  Somewhere, a clock chimed.  I counted.  Ten bongs.
Ten o'clock.  Where was Zoe?

   So I left my sanctuary and entered the hallway.  I listened.  I
looked.  Quiet.  The door to the bedroom at the end of the hall was
closed.  I walked toward it.  The floor creaked under my bare feet.
I stopped and listened again.  Nothing.  I stopped just short of the
room I suspected was Zoe's.  The door was ajar.  Should I look in?
Would I disturb her special privacy if I did?  What if she was hurt?
What if she was sick?  I tried to find a reasonable excuse.  'Oh, I
just wanted to make sure you're all right.'  Yes, that's the one.
That one usually works best.  'Just wanted to make sure.'

   I pushed the door and it opened.  I walked in.  "I just wanted
to..."  But the room was empty.  This was indeed Zoe's room.  Today's
dress was draped over a chair.  The dress from the mall, the one that
brought me to this point, had been carefully hung on the knob of the
closet door.  Her little black shoes.  More clothes.  All very neat.
But this was not her room.  Oh, she slept here when she was not with
her mother.  But this was not her room.  Her touch was here, but it
didn't belong to her.  I scanned the room for more signs of Zoe.  Her
neat school work.  The bag she carried her things in.  Possibly her
outfit for school tomorrow, already laid out and waiting.  A short,
pleated gray skirt, navy blue knee socks, and a bulky cream colored
sweater.  This child had taste.  I inhaled slowly, trying to find her
in the air, but a slight breeze from the window made the room smell
like oak and apple and birch, burning in a nearby fireplace.

   I spotted her lace trimmed panties, the ones she wore this evening.
They sat flat on the edge of her bed.  I looked around.  I listened.
Then I walked to the bed.  I knelt down and held my fingers above the
delicate fabric that only recently cradled her body.  My hand hovered
in the air like some indecisive insect.  I allowed the tips of my
fingers to graze the silky surface of the panties.  I rubbed harder.
I could feel her wetness.  Or was it Peter's?  Damn!  I smoothed out
the fabric, then bent over and brought my face to within inches of
that delicious underthing.  My nose found the little section in the
middle that had been made round by the shape of her.  I pressed my
nose into it and slowly inhaled her fragrance.  I pursed my lips and
kissed the spot, still wet from her.  From Zoe.  I dreamed the panties
onto her delicate shape and felt her moving beneath me.

   Somewhere a door opened and closed.  I stood up like a jack-in-the-
box.  I looked around and tried to think of a reasonable explanation
of why I was in here.  'I just wanted to make sure you're all right.'
It still sounds good.  But no one came in.  No one walked past the
open door.  Now I was curious.  So I tiptoed to the door and looked
each way, up and down the hall.  No one.  Nothing.  And silence.  I
walked as quietly as I could back to my room.  Peter's room.  But I
didn't go in.  Instead, I turned around and walked slowly down the
entire length of the hallway.  I stood in front of the door to the big
bedroom.  I listened for sounds of life.  Nothing.  I debated.  I
turned away, then back.  I knocked, very lightly, almost not at all.
There was no response, so I knocked again, this time only a little
bit harder.  Still nothing.

   Then the sound.  What was it?  Sort of a clumping, or a clicking,
like someone gently tapping a wooden stick on the floor.  It was
on the other side of the door and coming toward me.  I involuntarily
took a half step backwards.  I braced myself.  The noise stopped.  A
moment of fearful silence passed, then the door knob squeaked as it
slowly rotated counter clockwise.  I held my breath.  I focused on the 
knob as the door creaked open, and when it had opened about a third of
the way, it stopped.

   A tiny hand flowed over the edge of the door, pulling it open even
further.  My gaze drifted from the hand, up the slender arm that grew
out of it, to a familiar little bump of a shoulder.  I exhaled.  My
eyes broke free.  I looked at the half familiar face of a young girl
child, Zoe.  But she had changed.  Her hair had gone completely wild.
Her eyes were wet from crying.  Her beautiful, full lips had been
plastered with lipstick and the red stuff had been smeared all around
her mouth.  I gulped.  I looked at the floor, and saw that she stood
in a pair of child-sized high heels.  All she wore was lipstick and...
and those shoes.

   My heart sank.  I looked even closer and saw that there were
lipstick smears all around her tiny breasts.  And on her legs and her
thighs.  And, oh God, between her legs.  She sniffled.  Her eyes
wouldn't meet mine.  I inhaled to speak, but she pulled back.  Her way
of telling me that there was nothing I could do.

   "C'mon, Zoe.  Get back here."

   Zoe turned her head and I followed her eyes as they pointed me to
the bed that stuck out from the wall.  It looked to be a queen or a
double and sitting up in it, the source of the voice, was Peter.  I
could see that his lips and face wore a good portion of what once
covered Zoe's mouth.

   "C'mon," came the command.  And now another figure walked into
view and stood on the far side of the bed.  Steven sat down and swung
himself onto the sheets opposite his son.  Zoe turned her head to me,
then turned away and started to walk back to the bed.  She was oddly
skilled at maneuvering in high heels.  As she left me standing there,
I watched Peter's face.  He smiled at Zoe's approach and watched her
intently.  Steven patted the sheet as if to say, 'Here.  Here's where
you belong.'  So Zoe reached the foot of the bed and climbed onto the
sheets.  She crawled to the spot that Steven had patted moments before
and lay down on her back.  Peter reached over and took one of her legs
in his hands, Steven took the other.  They spread her legs wide and I
could see Steven's hand disappear between them.  He stroked her gently
as Peter massaged her leg.  Peter bent down and started to kiss Zoe on
the mouth.  I couldn't see very well, but I knew what was happening.
I knew what was going to happen there tonight.  And I wondered how
many other times this scene had been played out.

   Peter kissed Zoe with increasing passion.  He held her arms across
the pillow, way above her head.  Steven continued to work his hand
between her legs.  And they let me just stand there and watch.  And I
did, and felt foolish and helpless in the doing.  Peter broke off his
attack on Zoe's mouth long enough to look up at me.  His face was wet
all over and Zoe's lipstick surrounded his open mouth.  Then he
smiled.  Not a smile of friendship.  No, more like a smile of victory.
He didn't need a soccer win anymore.

   I don't know why, but I pulled that door closed as fast as I could.
I retraced my steps back to my cell.  I had learned a lot.  I learned
that Steven was not the diminutive onlooker I thought he was.  I
learned that Peter would always get his way.  I learned that Zoe was
a little lady through and through, but was caught in some black hole
of submission.  And I learned that I was being drawn into that black
hole too, differently, but I could feel the pull of gravity getting
stronger and stronger.  I would fight it, I decided.  As I promised
to unknowing ears earlier this evening, I would rescue the fair maiden
Zoe from these evil creatures.  Somehow... I would.


                            *  *  *

------------------------- (End of Chapter 7) -------------------------
------------ (Comments, pro or con, are always welcome) --------------

