Chapter 1

“John, there is something I need to tell you,” said my neighbor’s young daughter.

“I think I might be a lesbian!” she declared.

I had to turn my head away for a minute, to hide my smile.

“And why is that, Christy?” I finally was able to ask this precocious 14-year-old genius.

“Well, I’ve looked at all the boys my age in the neighborhood and ALL the boys at school,” she answered in a very serious voice. “And there isn’t a single one I’d ever consider kissing!” she exclaimed.

“Well, if the guys at school are anything like the guys in the neighborhood,” I said with a grin, “then that might only mean you have very good taste. Most of the ones in the neighborhood look like complete dorks.”

Christy laughed at my comments.

“Why can’t I talk to my parents as easily as I can talk to you, John?” she asked. “The other day when I tried joking with my parents about being a lesbian they both freaked out ... completely freaked out and started yelling and screaming at me.

“Mom told me I was going to be grounded until I was 21 and Dad said I can never go to any slumber parties or have any slumber parties at my house again,” she complained. “Not that I ever went to any slumber parties anyway. One time was enough. Other people my age are so ... juvenile. All they want to talk about is boys ... or clothes ... or other stupid stuff.

“When I try to mention fractals or quarks or string theory, they look at me like I’m an idiot! I have an IQ of over 200 and they act like I’m an idiot,” she complained.

“Anyway, my parents never asked me why or even gave me a chance to explain my comment about being a lesbian,” she said, adding, “and yet the first thing you ask is ‘why.’”

“Have you studied anything about hereditary traits?” I asked, “You know, chances of a child having a certain hair color or eye color, based on the hair or eyes of their parents?”

“Of course, John, I was reading about that when I was eight,” she answered. “I’ve read almost everything I could find about molecular biology and genetics and DNA.”

“Well, then you should understand that being crazy is an inherited factor,” I said, with a perfectly straight face, “Parents get it from their kids.”

Christy started to nod her head, then realized exactly what I’d said.

“What? That doesn’t make any sense at ALL, John,” she said. “How can a parent inherit something from their children?”

“I don’t know, Christy,” I said, “but most parents were perfectly normal until they started having children, so it must be some kind of reverse hereditary trait.

“Just think about it Christy,” I advised her, “You have two perfectly normal people. They get married and are still perfectly normal, then they start having kids and suddenly they go crazy.

“Insanity is inherited from your children!”

I could see Christy really trying to understand what I was saying until I could hold it no more.

I started laughing.

“John, you are teasing me again!” she accused me.

I had to nod my head in agreement.

“But only a little,” I added. “How many of your friends’ parents seem completely normal?”

“To tell you the truth,” Christy answered with a laugh, “not many!”

We both started laughing again.

“You’re the only one who ever teases me, John,” she admitted, somewhat wistfully. “Nearly everyone else is afraid to try and tease me, because of my IQ, yet you do it all the time and I almost always fall for it.”

“I love teasing you, Christy. In a lot of ways you remind me of my little sister,” I said. “I ... I used to ... used to tease her all the time ... before...” My voice just kind of trailed off.

“It’s all right, John, I know you loved her and miss her,” Christy said. “If somehow I remind you of her, then I’m glad. But I don’t like seeing you sad like this.

“You said I remind you of your sister,” Christy added, “and I know we share something in common ... we both love you. Even if you are a dork yourself!”

“Okay, Miss Brainiac, let me ask you something. Is being called a dork by a complete geek and nerd an insult ... or a compliment,” I asked and we both laughed.

“John, I really mean it about how easy it is to talk to you,” Christy said.

“But it seems I can never talk to my parents” she added. “I mean I can talk to them about science or engineering or computer programming, but not about ... not about stuff about being a kid. I ... I think they are both a little afraid of me at times!”

Christy usually got home from high school (yes, she is a senior in high school at age 14) about 2:30 each day, while her older sister Elizabeth usually didn’t get home from the two-year junior college she was attending until 4:00. Their parents, Kevin and Rachel didn’t get home from work until around 5:30 or 6.

Since I normally worked out of my home, it had become a habit all school year for Christy to come over and hang out at my house until Elizabeth (Beth) got home.

I’d moved into the subdivision two years earlier and had quickly become very good friends with Christy’s parents. Such good friends they’d trusted me to look after their daughter during the hour or so before Christy’s older sister got home.

“You know, if you weren’t SO OLD,” she said, smiling “and if I was a few years older, then I would probably let you kiss me. Just for scientific analysis, of course.”

I was 26.

“And if I wasn’t SO OLD,” I agreed, with a big smile of my own, “and you were about four or five years older, then I would be VERY interested in kissing you. Just for scientific analysis, of course.”

We both started laughing again.

“John,” she asked in a very serious tone, “can you promise to keep a secret? I mean an absolute, cross your heart and hope to die promise? You can never tell her I told you or she’d kill me, I mean kill me deader than an atom at absolute zero.”

“Of course, Christy,” I replied.

“My sister is in love with you! I was reading in her diary the other day about how hot she is for you...” she began.

Then we both heard a very upset voice.

“CHRISTINE LYNN ADAMS, shut up!” the voice commanded.

Just then 19-year-old Beth, the sister in question, walked around the corner of my garage.

Once again, just as almost every time I saw her, I was nearly struck numb at her beauty.

This was – truly – one of the most beautiful girls I’d ever met.

Beth was about five feet, four inches tall, and probably didn’t weigh much more than 100 pounds.

Her glorious red hair hung nearly to her waist and Beth had the most incredible green eyes. I could almost swear that her eyes were so deep that if you weren’t careful you could just fall in and never reach bottom.

Beth was very slim and trim, with incredible, muscular legs. The legs were topped by a truly gorgeous, very firm butt. Beth’s breasts were small, but were perfect for her slender body. And a number of times when I’d been to their house and gone swimming in their pool, I couldn’t help but notice sometimes her nipples would be poking against her bikini top.

Usually Beth had a beautiful smile on her face, but she wasn’t smiling now. Instead she had a truly menacing grimace as she bore down on her younger sister.

I’d always heard that redheads have trouble getting a tan because they often burn in the sun but Beth was the exception to that rule. Every time I’d ever seen her in a bikini she had a gorgeous tan.

Only today you couldn’t tell she had a tan! Her face was as red as a tomato and from what I could see the red extended down onto her chest as well. Her blouse only had the top few buttons opened, so you couldn’t see too far, but from what I could see her chest was also a deep red.

Christy was about four inches shorter than her sister and shared her slim and trim body. If I had to guess, I would guess she weighed about 75 pounds. I had no doubt that in a few years she would be Beth’s equal in beauty.

Christy also shared the glorious red hair and green eyes and also usually had a deep, beautiful tan as well, but today – after being caught by her older sister – Christy’s face was as white as a ghost.

Beth was so angry she just ignored my presence as she approached her sister.

“I ... I can’t BELIEVE you’ve been reading my diary! And ... and I can’t believe you’d tell anyone what I wrote,” she said, and was so angry her voice was trembling.

I think about then she realized I was still standing there, listening to every word because, she glanced at me.

“And I REALLY can’t believe you would make up stuff and say I’d written it,” she added.

At hearing this accusation against her, Christy’s face flushed red.

“I didn’t make anything up,” Christy angrily replied.

“You were the one who wrote how wet you get just thinking about John and how you play with yourself in bed at night, pretending it is his fingers inside you,” she answered.

Beth, if anything, turned an even deeper shade of red.

“CHRISTY, SHUT UP!” Beth screamed.

I think Christy finally realized that she had crossed some unspoken line in the relationship between sisters, because she started crying.

“Beth, I’m sorry,” she began, but Beth immediately interrupted her younger sister.

“Christy, just go home,” Beth said, in a very low voice, “before I do or say something I’m always going to regret!”

I think both Christy and I could hear the pain in her voice.

“Just please go home, Christy,” Beth again said. “NOW!”

By now Christy was crying even harder and started to leave.

I walked over to her and put my arms around Christy and gave her a quick hug. I leaned down and whispered, “It will be okay, kiddo, just give her some time. I’ll try to talk to her so at least she won’t kill you yet.”

Christy sort of laughed, then kissed me on the cheek, before running out of the garage headed to her house, still crying.

Beth and I just stood in the garage, neither saying anything for a minute.

I was looking at Beth but she was just staring down at the floor and couldn’t bring herself to meet my eyes.

“So ... how much of our conversation did you hear?” I asked Beth.

Still looking down, Beth started speaking.

“I was starting to walk around the corner of the garage when I heard Christy tell you she thought she might be a lesbian,” Beth said. “She was right about how bad Mom and Dad freaked out when she told them.

“I was curious to hear what you would say, so I hid around the corner,” she admitted. “I was very impressed how you handled it.

“Christy was right about how much easier it is for her to talk to you, than it is to talk to Mom and Dad,” Beth said, “and it was all I could do to keep from laughing out loud when you told her insanity is inherited. That parents get it from their kids.

“Then she had to bring up my diary...

“ ... Look, John ... I don’t know what to say...” she began.

“Hey, Beth, I used to have a younger sister myself,” I answered, “and she was always embarrassing me with things I shouldn’t have said ... or written.”

When I told Beth my younger sister was always embarrassing me with things I shouldn’t have said, she started nodding her head in agreement, but when I hesitated, then added “or written,” Beth again flushed red.

“I ... I think I better leave now, John,” she said, “I’m going to go give Christy hell for reading my diary and telling you ... telling you what I had ... had written.”

Beth was starting to walk outside the garage when I put my hand on her shoulder to stop her.

“I know you are very upset right now, Beth, and I understand,” I began, “but I would give anything or do anything if my little sister were still here to embarrass me that much.

“You never really realize how much you love someone ... until they are no longer around,” I told Beth.

“My sister and I used to fight like cats and dogs,” I continued, “but we both knew we loved each other. Unfortunately I don’t think I ever really told her how much I loved her. I mean she knew I loved her, just as I knew she loved me, but I never actually TOLD her how much I loved her.

“And now ... I never can,” I finished.

I couldn’t help myself, I had tears running down my face.

“Beth, please don’t talk to her when you’re this angry,” I asked.

“If anything, just tell her you are too angry right now to talk, but you still love her,” I advised. “Tell her she really hurt you, but you still love her.”

“In fact, that will probably make her feel even worse than if you just unload on her.”

“Okay, John,” Beth answered, “I won’t say anything yet. But how ... how can I ever come over here again or even look at you, knowing she told you what I’d written?”

I was trying to figure out how to respond when both Beth and I heard a bloodcurdling scream that was abruptly cut off.

“Christy!” Beth yelled, and we both took off running. I paused just for a second to retrieve an old baseball bat from one of my workbenches.

The bat was actually one I’d last used in Little League probably 18 years ago. It was only about 24 inches long but was made of aluminum.

I honestly don’t know what made me stop for a second to pick it up but I’m glad I did.

Beth and Christy’s house was literally next door in the cul-de-sac we live on and Beth had only run a few feet outside the garage where she had stopped.

I almost bowled her over and couldn’t help but notice the look of horror on her face.

I looked over at their house and I think I probably had the same look on my face as well.

Christy was crying and seemed to be gasping for breath, while some guy had one hand clutching her long red hair and was wildly waving a large butcher knife around in the other.

The knife was only a few inches from Christy’s throat!

Time seemed to nearly stop.

I noticed that one side of Christy’s face was bruised and bleeding and both her knees were scraped and bleeding as well.

The guy holding her was probably several inches taller than me (I’m 5 feet, 11 inches), but was emaciated. I doubt he weighed more than 140 pounds. He had long, stringy, greasy shoulder-length hair and was wearing filthy blue jeans and a t-shirt that might have been white at some point, but was now filthy gray. If I had to guess I would’ve said he was in his late 40s or early 50s.

His eyes were unnaturally bright and I’d little doubt he must have been a hard-core drug user. He was shaking Christy by the hair and yelling at her to “shut up, shut up you little bitch or I’ll cut your fucking throat.”

I looked around for a second and saw a couple of the neighbors were now coming out of their houses, in response to Christy’s scream.

I was still holding the small baseball bat so I reached around behind me and used one hand to pull my belt out a little, then slid the end of the bat into my belt. I was pretty sure he would not be able to see that I had any kind of weapon.

All this, observing what was going on and putting the bat in my belt had only taken a few seconds, but now time seemed to speed back up. I knew I only had a few seconds to do something...

I nudged Beth and told her to call 9-1-1 on her cell phone, then slowly started walking towards Christy and the Creep. That was how I thought about him.

I also started talking very slowly and deliberately and tried to look and sound as non-threatening as I could. I was also holding both hands out in front of me, so he could see I wasn’t carrying anything.

“Look, Sir,” I began, “you are really scaring the girl. Why don’t you let her go?”

“I’ll kill her if you get any closer. Stop right there,” he commanded.