Connie Mccabe
Chapter 1

Copyright© 2016 by Allen Wilson

Sex Story: Chapter 1 - All she wanted to do was to go home and sleep. It had been both the luckiest and the most horrible day she'd ever experienced. Instead of sleep, she found something she didn't know she was missing. This is a stand-alone story based on my story '35', as seen through the eyes of Connie McCabe, an Eastern Airlines Flight Attendant.

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Rape   Heterosexual   Fiction   Slow   2nd POV  

Exhaustion was a word that she knew all too well, or so she thought. After five years of flying for Eastern Airlines, she really thought she knew what the word meant. Working her schedule and then turning around and flying to another city because someone else had enough courage to quit added to the burdens they all were carrying. That forced a reshuffle of the schedule. No one was happy with it, but they all understood. That was the worst, and it was expected by management, as part of their job description, that the women would just say yes and ignore the forty-eight hour rule between flights, which used to be seventy-two for longer trips. So much for picking your schedules, she grumbled to herself. Soon that's all going to change, she reminded herself. It's either that, or say yes to that job in your uncle's company. Even though the invitation had always been there, she had never taken it seriously. As bad as the pressure was in the ever changing industry, she still loved it. There was a grim smile on her face as she waked away. Keep telling yourself that girl. Just keep reminding yourself, with only a couple of hours sleep.

This was a completely different kind of exhaustion, though. Today had put a completely new meaning to the phrase 'dead on your feet'. She had tried, really tried, to close her eyes and sleep on the flight home, but the much-needed sleep eluded her. There was a responsibility to the passengers after what had happened, and she understood that. They had all gone through the same thing, and instead of dividing them, it seemed to draw them closer together. Not that it wasn't bad, because it was. In fact, it was really bad. It could have been worse, though. Losing the nose gear as they rolled down the runway was not only a first for her, but it was the first time the five-year veteran had actually had to deploy the slides in an emergency. As hard as that had been, what followed was even worse. Between the airlines flying in their own investigators from New York and the Fed's poking and prodding into everything, she didn't know who to curse out first. All she wanted was to go home. Not some motel, but back home to Atlanta. So, much to the surprise of everyone, she let them all have it. She smiled grimly, as she remembered the look on their faces when she told them in no uncertain terms that they were all tired of answering the same questions over and over. Her cabin crew had been up since five-thirty the previous morning and wanted to head home like they promised. There was the mandatory three-day leave that they were entitled to. With the weekend, that made for five days before a new round of questions, forms and statements at the Miami Headquarters.

It had only taken a couple of calls before Eastern Airlines relented and had the Beechcraft Queen Air refueled and warmed-up. Connie didn't think it was as big a deal as management thought. After all the company's investigators had flown to Harrisburg in it only hours before. Seeing as the three-man flight deck crew had had already been hustled off to a local hotel, leaving them alone at the airport departure area, it would be just the four flight attendants and their luggage going back to Atlanta.

Now that she was back in Georgia, she felt better. Connie McCabe smiled for a moment as she spotted her Camaro sitting in the employee parking lot. It was her birthday present to herself, and it was loaded. It even had one of those new-fangled cassette players in it, not an eight track. If you had the right machine at home, or knew someone who did, you could even make your own tapes with your favorite music. In her case, she knew someone and they had a Beach Boys collection that would make the local radio station jealous. She knew what she was going to do. She would get in her car, turn on the tape deck and listen to Pet Sounds until she could get out of the funk she was in before driving home.

That's exactly what the redhead did.

As she listened to the Wilsons and their cousin, Mike Love, it soothed some of the irritation that she felt. There was something else that tickled the recesses of her mind. It had nothing to do with the near fatal crash of flight she had worked. That was strange, almost spooky, in itself. Just not the way it happened, but everything afterwords. The flight deck crew was extremely competent and well versed in handling even this emergency. Of course, the sound of the collapsing nose gear and the peeling away of part of the undercarriage was enough to panic everyone, passengers and crew alike. Thankfully, the plane was less than half-full, and the wheels under the wings remained locked in place. As Connie and the other four flight attendants deployed the slides and evacuated the plane, the sound of the crash trucks added to the confusion. It was a near thing, but everyone walked away relatively unscathed.

The redhead leaned back behind the steering wheel and closed her eyes for a moment. It was only when the Beach boys started to sing, 'Wouldn't It Be Nice', that the nagging thought finally came to the front. It was that thought that brought a new twist to her stomach. The guys in the operations shack told her about her sister coming in that evening with someone they had never seen before. They were pretty sure that he had been on her flight, but he didn't look like your usual businessman.

Not only that, but they were more than eager to tell her about her sister losing it when she found out about her sister's "little mishap" on Satan's plane. Now there's a nickname that fits, she thought, of the Boeing 727 that had caused everyone so much grief. How stupid was it to have a registration number painted on the side with a 666 in it. Connie wasn't very religious, but every time she saw the plane it gave her the chills. All of that drama was behind her when she got off the plane in Atlanta, or so she had thought, but she was wrong – again. She walked into the Operation Building she stepped into even more drama. This time her sister was the cause of it. Sis has gone off the rails again, she told herself. What caused it was the very public display of affection between her sister and this guy that nobody had ever seen before. That wasn't like her sister. Not that she'd never taken a liking to some passenger on her flight, but the public display in front of her coworkers was what was different.

Is it ever going to end? She told herself between verses of the song. Why all the hugging and kissing in public with someone she had just met in Miami - a total stranger? Her sister was strange, but that public sign of affection wasn't even close to the sister she knew. The answer didn't bring joy to her life. Connie McCabe had been down that well-worn road before, and had hoped that phase in her sister's life was over. I guess not, she grimly thought as she sighed.

She turned the key in the ignition and smiled as the Beach boys started to sing a different song: 'I guess I wasn't made for these times'. Ain't that the truth. She kept the grim, slightly sad faced. The drive from the airport to her mother's family house went by quickly in the early morning hours. As she drove, keeping just under the speed limit, she thought back to the last twenty hours. Even while Connie McCabe was not the Holy Roller that most of her family were, you'd have to be pretty jaded not to recognize when a higher power touched you. She had taken off from Harrisburg many times before, and she knew they had been only minutes away from gaining the airspeed needed to take off. If the nose gear had failed when the landed in Charlotte, North Carolina, there might not have been any survivors. All of the passengers, the flight deck crew and the five women of the cabin crew would be nothing but a memory.

She didn't have to force the smile when she remembered the comments made when the FAA crash investigation team boarded the plane in Harrisburg, as ordinary passengers. That was another hint by the Almighty that he was watching over them. They came aboard her flight all dressed in the identical navy blue sport coats, looking so important. Of course, they didn't look as important as they hurried along the smoke and dust filled cabin, waiting their turn to go down the emergency slides. She found out later that several had more miles in the air then all of the Eastern employees crew members on that flight combined, but like her, this was a first for everyone. Investigating a crash was a lot different from being in one, was mentioned more than once. That's something everyone could have done without, girl. The fact that the crash investigation team had experienced and observed the crash, made everything go a lot more quickly. The cabin crew really didn't need to stay, because the people from the FAA had witnessed everything. All the women had to do was write out their statements, and give a brief, on site, interview. Connie figured that even the pilot, co-pilot, and the engineer who had been on the flight deck would probably be home later on that day.

There was going to be a formal investigation in Miami on Monday, and that would be a pain in the butt. There would be two, maybe three days of interviews, going over every word of their written and oral statements, looking for errors or discrepancies in what each of the four flight attendants had written down. Then they would compare them with the exhaustive written and taped interviews with the flight crew. Finally, there were the black boxes, which were already on the way to Washington, DC.

Normally, it would have been a long, slow drive home, but not tonight ... well, this morning. She was so preoccupied with everything that had happened that the long drive seemed to be done on autopilot. She was already on the two-lane road state road that led to the Crew Quarters before she realized it. "We're going to have to stop calling it that," she told herself aloud. Some of their coworker's had rented bedrooms at their house, but eventually they had found their own places. She smiled again. Some people just can't seem to take all the peace and quiet. As she passed her cousins' restaurant, she knew she was close to home. Her smile started to fade.

By the time she turned off the paved road and passed through the open, wrought iron gates, she could start feeling herself start to tense up again. She wasn't exactly sure what to expect, but she hoped that it would be just her and her sister. Connie was relieved to see her sister's pickup truck sitting in front of the house. That's a good sign, she thought. No other cars - that's good too. What wasn't good was that the lights were on throughout the first floor. Normally, the only lights on would have been in the front hall, and maybe one or two in the living room. As she drove by the front entrance, it looked like every light on the first floor was on.

She drove around to the back of the old plantation house and parked at the rear entrance, just like always. What wasn't like always were the lights that were on in the kitchen. Not good, she thought to herself. Even Debbie turned off the kitchen lights before going to bed. Before getting out of the car, she carefully ejected the cassette tape and placed it back in its clear plastic case. When she reached into the trunk of the Camaro, her already sore muscles started to complain even more. Connie McCabe hoped that whoever it was who had been with her sister at the operations building was long gone. The redhead didn't even want to hear her sister talk about the latest guy, let alone see him. All she wanted was a long hot shower and some sleep.

Connie carefully unlocked the back door and cautiously stepped through. The large, old plantation house was quiet. Everything was as it should have been, and that eased her mind considerably. She slowly rolled her suitcase across the wooden kitchen floor, turning off the lights as she went. The formal dining room was just as neat as always. Their housekeeper, Cleo, always kept things perfect. It seemed like the black woman had always been there. Connie didn't give it much thought, but the woman and her family had actually been there forever, even before her and her sister were even born. She remembered seeing Cleo, when Connie was a very young girl and used to visit her mother's family during the summer. The colored woman was in her teens back then, and was already helping her mother keep up the Sullivan house, just like her mother had helped her mother before her.

No one seemed to take notice, or care, that a black family had taken the last name of the former slave owners. In fact, it was fairly common after the Civil War, but what wasn't common was that they lived on the property, side-by-side. The very plantation that their great grandparents had been slaves on. Cleo Sullivan and her family lived in what was once considered the gatehouse for the plantation, back in the day. Unlike many of the wooden out buildings that existed on the property, the gatehouse was made of stone found on the plantation. It was one of the very few buildings that hadn't been touched by the blue coats. Well, not too badly, anyway.

It was something that Connie McCabe didn't think about at all. Well, hardly. The colored woman was always just there. It sometimes bothered her that, after Cleo, there wouldn't be anyone to take her place, but that was pretty much all she worried about. Sure, Cleo had two daughters and three sons, but there was only one boy left to keep things up. The rest had moved to the city for work. Just like everyone else, they left us, she thought.

The redhead walked through the dining room, not noticing the rich dark brown color of the wainscoting or the massive table that had been in her mother's family for over two hundred years. What she did notice were the chairs that had been purchased years after the end of the Civil War. General Sherman's scroungers had taken the original ones and left the table. The only reason it was left was because they couldn't carry it away and they weren't interested in firewood.

Connie turned off the lights and shook her head. I suppose I'm going to have to check every room. One of these days, I'm going to show Debbie our power bill. As the redhead walked into the living room, she put up her rolling suitcase next to the last door in the hall. She sighed as she crossed the massive living room with its two fireplaces before walking into the grand entrance of the house. Glancing around, she found everything in order. The wide, white stairway, stretching and curving up gracefully to the landing on the second floor, was largely ignored. There was nothing of importance anymore up there after the roof caved in decades ago, flooding the whole upstairs. The white railings surrounding and overlooking the ground floor were right out of Margret Mitchell's book. That was where the bedrooms used to be before a tree fell, caving in the roof and part of the second story. They had never finished repairing the rooms that were damaged, and Connie thought that was too bad. She could remember those rooms filled with family and friends; now they were ... gone.

Connie McCabe walked into a smaller entranceway that had been built back in the nineteen twenties. Her grandmother never liked it and called it nothing more than a fancy mudroom for guests. The redhead's mind must've been elsewhere, because it was only when she heard something go crunch under her foot that she looked down. Lifting her foot, she saw a shard of pottery, and there were a couple of other small pieces scattered on the floor. Connie McCabe's anxiety level rose as she tried to imagine what had happened. There was no telling what had gone on, and if she was honest with herself, she really didn't want to know. She quickly looked at the table directly opposite the front door, and her eyes widened. Definitely not good. She stepped over and checked the lock on the door, and found it to be bolted tight. Returning to the table, she noticed that someone had tried to clean up the evidence of the destruction of her great aunt's favorite vase. No great loss there, she told herself as she smiled for the first time since coming in the house. It had to have been the ugliest thing ever made.

Her stomach tightened as she inspected the table in the mirror behind it. There were smudge marks on the high-gloss of the table. Handprints, small handprints at that. For a moment she wondered if Cleo could have left them. Connie knew it was unlikely, but she was grasping at straws. Anything that would tell her it wasn't her sister. She carefully placed hers over them and they were a perfect match. She felt her head starting to throb again as it confirmed what she feared. They were exactly the same size as hers. Those were Debbie's handprints. She looked at the mirror and saw several smudges that weren't handprints, as well. Connie was afraid she knew what they were, and wondered where her sister was. Was she hurt?

Connie walked back into the house, leaving the entrance light on. As she walked back into the entranceway with the massive staircase, her steps were less unsure. This house, in which she had spent her whole adult life, now seemed foreboding to her. Before, she had only glanced up at the second floor; now she focused on every shadow, looking for something – anything – to tell her what had happened.

Not finding anything, she quickly walked over to the open entrance way that went into the living room. She hesitated for a moment as she quickly looked to find something out of place. Her heart quickened as she stared at the couch by the fireplace. It's been moved, she quickly told herself. She wondered who could have done that. Certainly not Debbie, because it was much too heavy for even both of them together to move. It had to have been someone bigger than both of them to slide it several feet from its usual place. As she stood behind it, she saw that the back cushions had been pressed down, as if someone had leaned over it. It was then that she noticed that there were stains on the cushions. They were dark, almost a dark brown in color. The redhead cautiously touched it with her fingernail. It had dried, whatever it was, but as she raised her hand to look at it more closely, she gasped when she saw the reddish brown crust under her fingernails. Her hand quickly started rubbing against the cushions to get rid of the dried blood. Growing up on their daddy's farm, she knew exactly what it was. She'd seen more than her share of cuts and injuries, growing up. No one was immune to everyday life on the farm, not even her, even blood. The redhead started to panic. She was afraid she knew who the blood belonged to.

Connie McCabe suddenly shut everything out as she stared at the long hall that led to the bedrooms. She didn't even bother turning off the lights as she left her bag standing by the couch and started walking quickly to her sister's room. She didn't even glance around at the other furniture in the large living room, she was so focused. She stood in front of her sister's bedroom door, which was just across from hers. She threw the door open, without bothering to knock, looking for her sister. To her surprise, the room was empty. She looked around, disappointed, not in what she was seeing, but in what she wasn't. She should be here! Connie slowly entered the familiar room. In all of the years they had lived here, she could have counted the number of times she'd been in here on one hand. The room was darker in color than hers, but seemed to fit her sister's disposition. The bed was identical to hers and was still made, just like Cleo always did them. She has to be here, she told herself. Where else could she be? Connie looked everywhere, even under the bed. She stood in the middle of the room and tried to compose herself. Looking around once more, she saw everything was as it should be. There were all of the little trinkets and things that her sister loved so much. Everything was where it should be except for her sister.

She turned around and slowly walked out of the door, even more determined to find out what had happened to her sister. She looked at the door to her immediate left and turned the doorknob. She didn't even have to walk in to the tiled bathroom to notice that someone had been in here. As she finally walked into the room, she knew it hadn't been Debbie from the way things had been put back. Her sister was not the neatest person Connie had ever met. It was a bone of contention between her sister and Cleo about her lack of tidiness and her having to straighten up behind her.

No, whoever had used the shower was very careful and considerate. They tried to put everything back just the way they found it. Even the towel this someone had used was folded back on the rack, instead of crumpled up laying on the counter or the floor. For some reason, the thought crossed her mind that it might have been a woman. She didn't know too many men who took the time to straighten up after themselves. But, then, there had been that man her sister was kissing at the operations center. She looked over the room one more time, and it finally struck her, only one towel had been used, not two. Once more she thought, Where are you, sis?

She slowly backed out of the bathroom and back into the hall. The redhead looked down the hall toward the unused rooms. No one had been in there in years. Those were her grandparents' rooms back when they were alive. After they passed on, the linens were stripped from the beds and sheets were placed over all of the furniture. It'd been that way for as long as she and her sister had lived there. Connie looked away, knowing even Debbie would never enter those rooms. She turned to go back into the living room when she suddenly stopped and looked at the door across the hall. She wouldn't go in there, would she? She asked herself. That room is almost as sacred as their grandparents' room. That was her aunt's room when she was a child. She lived in Alabama now and had grandchildren of her own, but that was still her room. If Debbie was in there, there would be hell to pay if anyone found out. The collection of dolls in there was probably worth ... She really didn't know how much they were worth, but it had to be at least tens of thousands of dollars. Some went back as far as the seventeen and eighteen hundreds.

She looked up and down the hall, checking to see if anyone was watching. Connie McCabe took a deep breath and shook off the feeling that she was ten years old again. This is crazy, she told herself. I'm a grown woman, and I've lived in this house for years. This is more our house then anyone else's in the family. Still, she cautiously reached for the door knob and turned it. She opened it just wide enough to peek in, and her breath caught in her chest.

Oh, Debbie, what have you done?

She looked at her twin sister's naked body sprawled out on the antique bed. Her green eyes looked quickly around the room and took it all in. Debbie was alone, and whoever she brought home wasn't in the room with her. Her aunt's doll collection seem to be pretty much in place and undamaged. However, the ones that decorated the bed had been moved to a rocking chair in the corner. Looking back at her younger twin lying there, not moving, she wondered if she was dead. Connie McCabe was unwilling, almost afraid, to enter the room.

Connie took a deep breath and pulled the door wide open. She cautiously stepped inside, looking around for the ghosts and spirits that so many of the stories that they grew up with. She walked up to the bed, and a groan escaped from deep from within her chest when she saw the bruises and welts on her sister's back and arms. Her first thought was, you've done it now, girl. You brought home the wrong guy. As soon as that thought flashed through her, she felt ashamed. It wasn't her sister's fault that this had happened to her. It was Mister Brown and his so-called friends that did this to her. They were still imprisoned, but what they had done to Debbie and the others, remained. It was one of those animals that did this to her. They're the ones that used her young body in ways that had made the judge and the prosecutor sick.

Now there was another two legged animal on the loose. She wasn't sure where he was, but she hoped he was long gone. But what if he was still here? What if he was somewhere in this house? Every part of her screamed for her to just call the Sheriff and let them handle it. Inside, she knew that was something her sister didn't want. She didn't need everything brought back up again. It had been bad enough when they were children and lived with their parents in Athens, Georgia. The ridicule, the looks, the whispers behind their backs, had been too much for them to take. Because they were identical twins, people didn't even bother trying to figure out which sister was the sick pervert that had let grown men do those horrible things. It didn't matter who it was that would let grown men user her like a sick toy. Connie received her share of looks and hushed comments, even though they were directed at her younger twin. She could've told them that it hadn't been her who was raped and used so brutally, but she hadn't. Sure, she tried early on to explain, but she realized that they didn't want to listen to what she had to say. The excuses. So, she held it all in and the twins drew even closer together.

Now that they were adults, it was even more precarious. All of the airlines, not only Eastern, wanted young, good-looking, vivacious, happy women to take care of the needs of the ever-growing flying public. Even the pinheads in their offices knew this, and they encouraged and cultivated it. Connie McCabe knew exactly what would happen to her sister if they were to ever find out that she had been raped and placed in a mental institution for almost a year. Her twin sister would never work for Eastern or any other airline, ever again.

With all of the years that she had been trying to protect her twin from everything that could happen to her, it was almost a reflex action. There's no way I'm gonna let this fucking pervert ruin things now! she told herself as she watched her sister carefully.

Slowly, she walked up to the bed, looking for some sign that something was wrong. As she got closer, her heart started to break. She saw the bruises on her neck and shoulders. There were other marks that her rapist left on her back and buttocks, her legs and hips. Dark ugly purple things that she knew Debbie would carry for days, if not weeks. As she hovered over her sister, she saw another dark spot close to her hairline. That's going to be harder to hide, but not impossible. Connie realized she should have been surprised at the thoughts she was having, but then again, maybe not. She'd been doing it for years, helping Debbie keep her secret from prying eyes.

She wanted, no, she needed to wake Debbie up, but she was reluctant to do so. Connie watched her twin sister sleeping peacefully, almost as if she didn't have a care in the world. She thought she saw a little smile on her sister's face, but it was so out of place she dismissed it. She placed her hand lightly on Debbie's naked shoulder. You have to get up Deb, please wake up.

She heard a moan coming from her sister, but it wasn't one of pain. With Connie's hand still resting on her shoulder, she saw the smile fade into a frown. "I'm sorry, Gene," Debbie mumbled in her sleep. "You were wonderful. Just hold me."

Connie was stunned as she listened to her sister talking in her sleep. What did she have to be sorry about? It was this Gene person that had raped her – abused her – used her. She couldn't help it, not in the state she probably was in, but it didn't make any difference one way or the other, not to the older sister.

She could feel Debbie starting to stir under her touch. She slowly started to roll over onto her back, very carefully. Connie could tell she was in pain, but there seemed to be something different about her this time. Recognition of where she was, and who was with her, came slowly to the younger twin. In fact, it was only when she was fully lying on her back that she noticed her sister.

The first thing out of her mouth was, "Where is he? Where did he go, Connie?" she quickly tried to get up, but the pain of the bruises made her stop and sink back into the mattress.

"You're safe, Deb", she quickly told her sister, trying to reassure her. "I think he might've gone. Don't worry, the house is all locked up. We'll tell Cleo before you leave for work this morning to see if he's still on the property."

The look of anger and shock on her sister's face scared Connie McCabe. That was before a look of anguish came over Debbie's face. "Gone? He can't be gone. He's got to stay here." Debbie's head started thrashing from side to side as if she were having a seizure. That scared Connie, but not as much as the next sentence. "She's going to kill me, Connie. I promise to take care of him, and I went fucking crazy. I'm so screwed, sis, she's going to rip my heart out, and I don't blame her." She started to see tears forming on her sister's face

Connie started to panic. She'd been through countless episodes with her sister, going back to those bad old times, but never like this. In Connie's mind, it didn't make sense. This Gene, whom Debbie was talking about, had raped her. True, she knew her sister sometimes lost control, but this? She reached over to give her sister a reassuring hug, but was surprised when she felt her sister's arms wrap tightly around her, pulling her onto the bed.

"It's all right, Deb. Nobody's going to hurt you. Who is it? Who are you afraid of?" Connie felt her sister press her face into the blouse she was still wearing. She heard a loud sniff, and felt the tears that were soaking through the thin material. The redhead didn't care about her uniform blouse or anything at that moment. She heard her sister mumble to herself.

"What?" she asked.

Debbie pulled her head away from her sister's shoulder, and Connie couldn't believe how pitiful she looked. "Agnes," Debbie simply told her. Connie was confused, so she just stared at her sister, forcing her to continue. "She called me when I was down in Florida. I don't know how she got our brother's phone number, Con, but she called me. She told me that her boyfriend was flying out of Miami on Eastern Airlines, and laying over in Atlanta, and wanted to know if I could take care of him." The words seemed to be coming out of Debbie faster and faster. Connie was still confused, because it didn't make any sense. Agnes? "I met up with him at the gate, and he looked pretty normal. In fact, he was a step or two above her last boyfriend, Captain Alexander. Anyways, he's definitely not a flyer. I could've sworn he was going to hurl even before the plane took off. It was almost like he was afraid of..."

The thought suddenly hit Connie hard. She grabbed hold of her sister's shoulders, causing the other redhead to flinch in pain. "Sunny! You're talking about Sunny Davenport, aren't you!" She started to shake her twin, oblivious to whatever pain she might be in.

Debbie struggle, as she sometimes did, against the grip that Connie had on her, "Ow! That hurts, Connie ... Let go, you're hurting me." Connie eased the hold that she had on her sister, but didn't release her. Connie saw her sister nod her head.

She couldn't believe it, because she knew what kind of an asshole her sister's rapist was. "Sorry, sis, but it can't be her new boyfriend. The last time I saw Agnes, she kept on going on about what a butthole he was and how he didn't really want her. All he wanted her for was sex, but he wasn't willing to give her what she really needed."

Connie felt more than saw Debbie reach around to give her a hug. That was weird enough, being held by a twin who hated intimate female contact. Even the thought of shaking hands with another woman made Debbie feel uncomfortable. What's happening to my sister, Debbie thought.

"That's okay, Connie," her bruised twin started to comfort her. "She said she's going back to her real name. She said it's something that Gene wanted her to do, and she seems okay with it." She pulled back and looked into the same green eyes that Mother Nature had given her. "I know, because Agnes told me when she called. She said she was an idiot before, and dumped a whole bunch of crap on him that he just couldn't handle. She said she didn't blame him anymore for trying to break it off, because it was really all her fault."

Connie looked at her sister as she tried to come to grips with what she was being told. It had been less than a month ago when the redhead had spent three days in Miami going through some training at Eastern Airlines headquarters. Of course she stayed in Agnes' apartment, and even used that wreck of a VW beetle the blond owned to get around. Connie was lucky enough, this time, to have Agnes there two out of the three days. She tried to be friendly to Agnes' roommates, and she succeeded, mostly. Except for the one that Agnes seemed to like the most, Donna.

It seemed to Connie that the two of them had more in common than just being roommates. The redhead seemed a little surprised at the possessive thoughts she had when it came to Agnes Davenport. Every time she was around Donna, she somehow felt inferior and that something was missing. With Agnes, it was the complete opposite. She couldn't swear on a stack of Bibles, but she was pretty sure her friend and the Amazon did the same thing that she and Agnes did when they got together. Connie wasn't one hundred percent comfortable with that arrangement, but Agnes seemed to be okay with whatever was going on. She knew that anything having to do with Donna would raise Debbie's ire, but it had to be done.

Connie looked up at her sister, almost embarrassed by the sexual thoughts she was having about the smaller blonde headed woman. "It doesn't make sense, Debbie. When I stayed with her in Miami, she was devastated. I'd never seen her like that. Her roommate, Donna, said she had been that way ever since coming back from Raleigh. She said it affected her so bad that she was afraid Agnes might lose her job over it."

That raised Debbie's eyebrows, but she took Connie's hands and gently squeezed them. "I don't know about any of that, but if you're taking the word of that dyke about it, I don't trust her. There's something really strange about her." Connie knew that her sister had no patience or compassion for homosexuals of either gender. She suspected that her younger twin knew of her more open attitude toward gay people, and probably suspected that her friendship with Agnes was more than a platonic friendship. She thought Debbie didn't know specifically about her and Agnes, or maybe she did and for once wasn't trying to manage things. Most relationships didn't seem to bother Agnes Davenport, and she wanted to keep it that way. She looked at Debbie, who was looking clear eyed back at her. "All I know is that he is probably one of the nicest men I've ever met," Debbie continued. "The whole flight up was same thing. Like he didn't want to be a bother, even though, I could tell, he was scared to death. You weren't there at Operations when those buttholes handed me a piece of paper that said your flight had crashed. He thought you had died, and while I was screaming and cursing at the world, he held me as if he knew exactly how I felt."

Connie shook her head, "Unless this Gene McGuire has had a head and heart transplant in the last month, he just wanted to get into your pants, Deb." She wanted to squash this surprising, and really annoying attitude her sister had developed. Her annoyance was increased as Debbie smiled, and her face started to turn red.

"He did," she told a surprised Connie McCabe. Debbie's embarrassment and her smile were obvious. "Agnes told me he has this fantasy about sleeping with a redhead. Then she told me that he'd never had a three-way!'" Debbie suddenly looked up in mock horror. "Can you imagine that? Someone his age and not having multiple sex partners, with everything going on nowadays? And you won't believe it, but he's hung like a frigging horse?"

Connie thought she was going to suddenly pass out. That was way too much information being delivered from someone who had just been raped. I've got to put an end to this nonsense, she thought. Debbie is getting out of control – again. The look she gave her younger twin seemed to calm her down a little. Still, there was a brightness in her eyes that shouldn't have been there. Connie squeezed Debbie's hand, "Look, sis, I don't know why you're getting so worked up about him. I don't care about the reason why you think it's okay for him to use you like some kind of punching bag, but it's not. There's a ton of guys out there that would give their eye teeth to sleep with a redhead. It's like we're some fucking magnet or something, and you know it! Besides, there are a lot of guys out there with big cocks. That doesn't mean that they know how to use it. The last guy I knew that had a big dick was a pig. I couldn't buy an org..."

"I had one." The whisper was so soft she almost missed it.

Debbie brought her sister's little speech to a sudden end. It had been delivered so softly that Connie thought she had heard it wrong. "What?"

In a little louder voice, Debbie repeated, "I had one. I had an orgasm when he had me bent over the couch in the living room." Debbie McCabe's voice got even stronger, "He drove into me with that big cock of his so hard my face kept bouncing off the back of the couch so hard I was afraid I broke my nose. I swear, Connie, I thought my teeth were going to fall out of my head." Connie could see a dreamy look come over her sister's face. "Then I had another one here, right on this bed, well, a couple of them ... I think." Debbie frowned, "I think so, anyways ... maybe three ... no wait ... definitely two." Debbie's eyes suddenly flashed at her, as she broke the hold her sister had on her. "It was so sudden, I was confused and kind'a scared, Con, but not really. I knew he wouldn't hurt me anymore. He was touching me all over ... real gentle like. I don't know what he was thinking, but he held me and I asked him to..." Connie saw this was going to be personal, very personal, for her sister. She had never described in detail what her rapists had done to her. Not even about Mr. Brown and his gang of monsters. But she was willing, if not eager, to Connie all about this. "It was incredible, sis."

Connie knew that her life had suddenly changed. Their lives had changed, actually. For the first time in almost forever, the Crews Quarters suddenly felt like a prison. She felt trapped in Debbie's impossible world, and she was afraid she was going to get caught in it. Things were moving so quickly that she even wondered if this McGuire fella hadn't drugged her.

"You've had orgasms before, Debbie," Connie insisted. She had to get a handle on this and not let this fantasy of her sister's take over. "What about that guy you met in Boston on your layover a couple of months ago? You said he was..." Connie looked at her own reflection, and it was smiling. That's what made Connie McCabe stop. Debbie had been raped and beaten only hours ago, and now she was smiling – at what?

Next came the universal answer to any question – "What?" The redhead was wondering why she suddenly felt like the bus landed on her, instead of just being shoved under it.

Debbie seemed to be enjoying her sister's sudden discomfort. "Agnes wanted to know if you were going to be around last night."

Connie stared at her sister, Oh, fuck sakes, no!

"She said she wanted both of us to keep him busy till his plane left this morning." The expression on Debbie McCabe's face showed she was really enjoying this. "It seems he has some kind of house near Myrtle Beach," Debbie happily told Connie. "She told him about me, and, I guess, you..."

It was just too much for the older twin. "No!" Connie almost shouted in Debbie's face. No way I'm going to let this McGuire butthole anywhere near me." She was so angry that she rolled off the bed and onto her feet. "I've got three days R&R plus the weekend off. I'm going to spend them in Athens with the folks, and not worrying about some redneck from Raleigh drooling all over me just cause we've got mom's hair color!" Connie glared at her sister as she realized Debbie was leaving something out. A really big something.

Connie stared at her twin, not believing what Debbie was asking. "You want to do a three way with him? Is that what this is all about?" She stared at her sister, who hadn't moved a muscle. "Are you out of your fucking mind?" Connie was yelling at her sister now. "You can't hardly stand it when you have to touch another woman, and you agreed to have sex with McGuire and me?" She saw the smile vanish from Debbie's face as she wondered what had gotten into her friend and lover, Agnes Davenport.

Connie half expected her sister to explode in anger. It had happened before when someone, usually some guy, wanted to know if the two sisters had ever had three way sex together. That seemed to be another common fantasy that most guys had, besides their good looks and red curly hair. That was also when Debbie would explode in a fit of rage. If the guy was lucky, he escaped with only his ego slightly bruised. Looking at her sister, however, she saw nothing, no anger, no rage, just a quirky little smile on her lips. Connie watched her sister closely, because she knew she wasn't beyond doing something totally outrageous and off the wall. Besides, she was a redhead.

Debbie cautiously rolled to the side of the bed and sat there looking up at her twin sister. Connie watched her take a deep breath and sigh as she exhaled. "I actually thought about it, sis, but I can't." The smile on Debbie's face dissolved. "When Agnes asked me to let him spend the night with us, that was one thing I knew I couldn't do." Debbie looked at her sister again. "You know Agnes better than I do, Connie. Why would she tell me that Gene is the best lover she's ever known?"

Connie watched her sister cock her head to the side. "I didn't even know what that means, but I think I do now. I admit that it was scary, but I think that's what I needed and he knew, somehow. And when I went back to my little girl life he was just wonderful. So kind and gentle, he was some..."

Connie had to stop her sister right then. "You mean you remembered all of the other yous?"

Debbie nodded her head. This was turning out to be, as their nieces and nephews would say, freaky. That was a side of Debbie's multiple personalities that she hadn't seen in a long time. Usually, it was her going ape shit on some guy and getting abused, pushed away, ignored and left alone in some motel or on a back road somewhere. As part of her condition, she seemed to forget the details of what happened. The unlucky object of Debbie's attraction wasn't so lucky. He'd carry vivid reminders for a long time. What was with this Gene McGuire that could bring this out of her sister now? Connie raised her hands to her face and started rubbing it. Whatever it was Debbie still has to go to work today, no matter what

"You okay, Connie?" she heard her sister ask.

She pulled her hands away and looked at a very composed Debbie McCabe. Look at her, sitting on the bed looking all fresh and normal. Well, except for all of the bruises and marks he left on her body. I'm the one freaking out – me – Connie McCabe! What the fuck is wrong with her.

Connie looked at her twin and totally felt drained. Her day had started at five-thirty yesterday morning with a short hop from Cleveland to Detroit. It went downhill from there, as it ended at three-fifteen in the afternoon, with Satan's Plane nose down on the Harrisburg airport tarmac. "I need a shower," was all she told her.

Connie was so tired that she didn't even bother to go to her room to get something to wear after her shower. If she had been thinking about it, she would've asked her uncle to add a small bathroom with a shower to the rooms he remodeled for her when they first moved in. Her feet were dragging as she walked across the hall and entered the bathroom that Debbie's ... Debbie's... ? Why was she having such a hard time saying what he really was? She knew this McGuire person had recently been in there, but suddenly she was too tired to care. So, subconsciously, she decided she wasn't going to use his first name. She didn't want him to be on a first name basis with her ... whatever he'd done to her sister. Rapist, She finally told herself. That's what he is.

After turning on the shower, she stripped off her uniform, dropping it on the tiled floor. It was soon joined by her undergarments, but not without a little cursing. She had snagged her pantyhose as she pulled them down. My last pair of pantyhose, she reminded herself. Now she'd have to go shopping when she got back to the home place. She glanced at herself in the big mirrors opposite the shower. Connie McCabe smiled as she thought, Not bad for someone who's going to be twenty-six years old next year. She critically looked at herself as her hands massaged her breasts. It wasn't meant to be sexual, after all, just the thought of having them encased in a bra for over twenty-four hours straight was enough to make her girls hurt.

Stepping into the shower, the redhead noticed that the showerhead had been moved. Connie idly thought, This McGuire's a tall one. Reaching up, she tilted the showerhead down as the sharp spray started waking up some feeling in her skin. She slowly rotated under the spray with her eyes closed. She wet her hair and reached for their favorite shampoo. Her fingers dug deep into her hair as she worked to clean three day's worth of grime out of her hair. It felt good, good enough to make her forget the weird conversation that she had just had with her sister.

The redhead continued to soap and rinse herself down as she cleaned away the sweat and grime of the last twenty-four hours. As she washed, she paid particular attention to her breasts. She hated wearing a brassiere, and any time she could've avoided it, she had. Unfortunately for her, she needed to wear one. She was always jealous of women who had an A or B cup. They could probably get away with not wearing a boulder holder if the dress was heavy enough. July in the Deep South made that almost impossible. With Connie measuring a generous C, she had never had that option. Of course, the male passengers would have enjoyed it immensely if she had.

The enjoyment of getting clean was suddenly replaced by a sense of fear as she heard the shower door slide open. He's awake! Debbie's rapist is behind me. What's he going to do now? He probably thinks I'm Debbie. She was facing the shower-head with her back to the intruder, afraid to turn around.

"Connie," she heard the familiar voice over the running water.

For a moment, relief washed over her, as her heart that was in her throat sank back into her chest. She waited for her breathing to return back to normal before she turned around. That was when her heart started to beat faster once again.

"Debbie?" She said aloud, even as she chastised herself for looking at her reflection staring back at her. That was common enough. Looking at your reflection, your twin sister, standing in the shower naked was not. "What are you doing here," she asked. She was surprised by the calm tone of her voice, because she was anything but calm. They had always taken their baths and showers separately, even as small children. It drove her mother crazy, because it was twice the work, but Debbie was adamant.

Connie had always accepted this little quirk of her sister's. After the rapes and the trial of Mister Brown, her younger sister had become more ... even more ... shy about her body. The two sisters stood in the shower looking at each other. Connie saw a need in her sister's face. She wondered what her sister saw as she looked back. What am I going to do, Connie wondered?

The elder twin didn't have to wonder, because it was Debbie that took the few steps needed till they were almost touching. Connie stood still, not trusting herself to move or even look into the eyes of someone she'd known all of her life. Someone she loved, even when no one else did. This wasn't the Deborah McCabe that she knew. The spray from the shower continued to plummet on her back and shoulders as her eyes cautiously started to look at this woman who she suddenly no longer knew.

Connie could see the telltale signs of her sister's nervousness. It was all there, the way she subtly shifted from foot to foot, how her eyes moved to avoid eye contact, as well as the clinching and unclenching of her fists. They both had seen the same thing in passengers, but this was different. This wasn't some frightened passenger, this was her sister. And the reason for this change was probably still somewhere in the house.

"What's going on, Debbie?" The shower that Connie was taking didn't feel as good as before. Why can't I just take a shower without all of this drama? All I want to do is to drive over to Athens and be with the folks for a few days. I really need – I really deserve some time off.

The redhead was so wrapped up in her desire to spend some time away that she didn't realize her sister had walked up in front of her. The shower spray was hitting both of them now, and she couldn't help but admire the fitness of her sister. Of course, because they were identical twins, Connie had the same body shape, and even being naked without the bruises, someone would be hard-pressed to tell them apart.

Debbie looked at her sister, "I want you to talk to Gene, please. Even if you won't play our little game with him, just talk to him, please."

Debbie's infatuation... ? Was this all it was? Infatuation? Whatever it was, it was dangerous. "Why, Debbie?" she asked. "Why should I put myself in a position like that? When he sees me he's probably going to think that I'm you anyways. Don't you think I've gone through enough today without bothering with your perverted boyfriend?

Even with the shower pelting her in the face, she could see that tears were starting to form in Debbie's eyes. "I did something really bad to him. I swear, it drove him to do what you did, and it's all my fault. I can't talk to him about it. I want to apologize, but I know it's not going to be enough. It was really, really bad, Sis."

Connie couldn't imagine what was so bad that her sister couldn't apologize. She knew almost everything that her sister had done over the years, and she knew Debbie had it in her to apologize. So, what did you do, sister? What's the big, evil thing that you did?

She didn't want to ask, but her curiosity compelled her to. "So, what did you do, Deborah?"

Watching Debbie's face and seeing the mixture of shame and sorrow on it almost drove Connie out of the shower. "Agnes says that he has an eight-year-old niece who lives with him. Agnes said that she's one of the smartest kids she's ever seen, and you know how much Agnes dislikes children in general. Anyways, she said that when they're together, it's more like father and daughter, rather than uncle and niece."

This guy that beat up my sister and raped her, has an eight-year-old living with him? Connie's imagination went into overdrive.

Connie was interrupted a very serious looking Debbie McCabe. "See? That's exactly what I thought, Connie. An older adult male with an eight-year-old girl, it's all there. The only problem is, I put two and two together, and it came out five. Just like you did just now. I don't think he'd do that, even if you put a gun to his head." Constance McCabe looked at her sister and slowly realized what Debbie had done.

"Tell me you didn't," Connie cautiously asked her sister, as a ball of lead formed in the pit of her stomach. Looking at her own reflection, all Debbie could do was nod her head. "Deborah Athena McCabe, how could you?" She was almost yelling at her younger half again. "You know as well as I do that Sunny Davenport would never go out with someone like that!" Connie stared at her younger sister, not believing what she had done.

It was then that Debbie McCabe broke down. It was out of pure reflex and sisterly love that Connie wrapped her arms around her sister and pulled her close to her. "Sh-hhhh, Deb, It'll be alright," she tried to calm her sobbing sister. "Everything will be alright." Debbie McCabe's arms slowly, almost tentatively, went around her sister. Connie could feel her sister trembling as she held her close, Debbie's face pressing into her breasts.

Debbie carefully placed the side of her head against Connie's shoulder. "No, it's not, Con. I accused him of having sex with his eight-year-old niece. He started to deny it, but I kept picking at him, hoping that he would get mad at me and give me what I needed." Connie could feel her twin sister moving her head against her shoulder as she tried to look up into her face. "He kept apologizing and telling me I was wrong. He kept on saying over and over again that he loved his niece, and he couldn't hurt her like that."

Connie listened to not only what she was saying, but how she was saying it. It was something that she had learned to do with Debbie and her many moods. She could feel Debbie moving against her, not in a sexual way, thank god, but in a nervous way, twitching a moment. "I started to lose it, Connie. I started acting like Mister Brown, and I..."

Connie held onto her sister more tightly as the water cascaded down on both of their bodies. "Sh-hhh, Deb!" She whispered. "Mister Brown was a monster and animal, and so were his friends. You're nothing like them, Debbie." Connie's fingers reached over and absentmindedly started to stroke and pull on her sisters red, curly hair.

"For a moment there – in the truck – I was," Debbie almost serenely told her sister. "I had the power to make him do whatever I wanted. But then it was gone, and I got scared and told him I was going to call the Sheriff and tell them that he was a child molester."

Connie was stunned by what she was hearing. Debbie was the victim, never the aggressor. She looked at her twin, open mouthed, "So, did you?" She knew it was a stupid question as soon as it left her mouth, but Debbie didn't seem to notice. In fact, her sister seemed stronger than she had ever seen her.

"There was something in his eyes that scared me, sis. It wasn't just some guy going all caveman on me. Trust me, I know the type. This was different. I think I told him that no man his age would take in an eight-year-old girl, unless he was some kind of pervert." Connie watched her sister lower her head in shame. "At least, that's the way I remember it ... I was kind of out of it, so I could be wrong." She looked back up at her sister and the intensity of Debbie's stare shook her to her core.

This wasn't the Debbie McCabe that she had grown up with. She wasn't sure anymore what was going on in her sister's head, but she was pretty sure that it had something to do with Gene McGuire.

She felt Debbie take her hand, clutching it tightly. Looking into her sister's green eyes, she felt that connection that twins sometimes have. "What is it, Debbie? What's wrong?"

Debbie looked at her sister, and Connie could tell it was something she didn't want to say. Finally, a huge sigh escaped from her lips, "I think we're supposed to help him."

It was all Connie could do to not laugh at her sister's suggestion. Why in the world what I want to help the man that raped and molested you? What kind of help does he need that a very sharp knife wouldn't fix. Instead, she simply asked, "Why."

Thankfully, her sister didn't have a ready-made answer. "I don't know, Con. When Agnes called me from Myrtle Beach, she told me a little bit about Gene. She said he'd been in the Navy for a long time, and got out because of some kind of problem. She didn't actually say what it was, but I'm guessing it was some girl he was dating, or something. Anyways, and Agnes said that, after that, he only had a couple of female friends. She thinks his niece, Jennifer, is the only female that he trusts, with the exception of one other. That's kind of weird, though. How can a grown man trust an eight-year-old girl like that?"

She held her trembling sister closely to her, and felt an unwanted happiness that her sister trusted her enough to be this close. "I don't know, Deb, I don't know." She collected her thoughts, and was amazed at how she suddenly felt. Constance McCabe, with everything that had happened to her in the last twenty-four hours, was at peace. She knew Sunny Davenport, no, Agnes, she corrected herself. As open and carefree as the little blonde seemed to be, she was anything but. The more she got to know her, the more she realized how cautious she really was. She was sure that there were some things that she didn't know about her blond headed lover and friend. Maybe, in time, Agnes would open up to her, but in the scheme of things, it didn't make any difference.

She gently pushed her sister away from her and looked into Debbie's eyes. "I'm not sure what's going on in Agnes' head, Deb. The fact that she trusts us to take him in is one thing, but you having sex with McGuire, that's strange, even for Agnes. She's never offered up her boyfriends before, not that I would ever say yes to some of those creeps she's dated." Connie suddenly stopped and stared at her sister.

She could tell Debbie was starting to get self-conscious, not from just standing naked in the shower with her sister, but also from the vacant stare she noticed on her sister's face. "What is it, sis?" Debbie asked.

No! Definitely not! After all she's been through and all of the bottom feeders that ended up in her bed? Agnes Davenport had to pick McGuire? The thought didn't come easily to her lips, She can't be serious about the guy that assaulted and raped my sister?

"Uh-hh, nothing Deb. All of this talk has got me hallucinating, that's all."

Debbie smiled back at her sister. "You think you're hallucinating? I think I really like Gene. Agnes chose well."

Connie managed to reach around and turn the shower off without shaking her head at her sister's comment. They both dried off and pulled the matching, oversized terrycloth bathrobes around them. They even stood in front of the twin sinks together without saying a word. Occasionally they would glance over at each other, but the conversation and the unexpected intimacy had disappeared when the shower was turned off.

They finally ran out of things to do so they wouldn't have to talk to each other. Connie turned to her sister, "You've still got about four hours before you have to leave for the airport. Why don't you try to take a nap or something? I'll wake you up in time for us to have breakfast before you have to go.

Connie saw a smile crossing her sister's lips, "Sounds like a good idea, sis. Could you do me a favor and check the house, please? I don't think Gene is the kind of person to just run when things get bad. He's probably sleeping somewhere, maybe in one of the bedrooms."

The two sisters separated, Debbie going to her bedroom and Connie standing there, wondering why she couldn't catch a break. Debbie's "good idea" didn't sound like a good idea to the older sister. No matter what Debbie said, she still couldn't get by the one thing that made this all so creepy. Gene McGuire, Agnes' boyfriend, had used her sister as a punching bag. That made Connie McCabe seriously considered pulling the old 38 caliber revolver out of her underwear drawer, just in case. Then she, not so seriously, thought about the 30.30 long gun and the 10 gauge double barrel shotgun that were sitting in her closet. All three weapons were loaded and ready to go. Her father and her uncles had told her that an unloaded weapon was nothing more than a licensed club or rock. When someone broke in, that wasn't what you needed to defend yourself.

Proving to herself that she was as crazy as her sister was, she dismissed the idea of stopping by her bedroom and pulling out the .38 she had gotten for her nineteenth birthday.

Connie McCabe wandered through the big house. She checked all of the bedrooms, including her grandparent's rooms at the end of the hall. She rechecked the mammoth living room with the double fireplaces. The couch closest to the front door made her shake her head again. The back of the couch was stained with blood, her sister's blood. That made her reconsider wandering through the house unarmed, which she rejected for a second time.

It was only when she was going to check the upstairs that she noticed him sleeping on the other couch. As she cautiously approached, she wondered how any person could sleep as heavily as he did. Especially after what he had done to Debbie. Maybe it was because of what he did to Debbie. Didn't he feel anything? From the end of the couch, she watched him sleeping, as if he didn't have a care in the world.

She slowly walked around the back of the couch, watching for some movement from him. She was really amazed at his ability to sleep undisturbed. She expected him at any moment to suddenly spring up and grab her, thinking she was Debbie. But it never happened.

She walked all the way around the couch looking at this man that her lover, Agnes Davenport, seemed to think so highly of. The first thing that came to Connie's mind was that he was old. It wasn't like he had gray hair or anything, but if you looked at him, you could just tell. He's probably around forty, she told herself. Even at forty he looks pretty good. She knew quite a few men who were around his age. Most of them had sunk into the sedentary life. Couch potatoes, came to her mind. Well, at least he wasn't a couch potato. From the outdoorsy look on his face, he probably works outside a lot. Probably in construction or something like that. You can usually tell by the way they're built. Connie could feel herself relaxing a little as she tried to figure out this McGuire person.

Everybody has their secrets, Connie told herself. Debbie said he had secrets and Connie was sure that Agnes had a couple of her own. It's not like the McCabe sisters don't have something to hide. My sister is a wacko, and I'm helping her to hide it from everyone else.

Maybe, if I just sit here, I'll be able to figure this out. She was comfortable with that thought ... sort of.

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