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.

When I started walking towards him, we were about 50 feet apart and I had covered about half the distance before he ordered me to stop.

I again tried to talk, while slowly, very slowly, inching closer to him.

“Look, little girls make terrible hostages,” I said, “why don’t you let her go and take me instead?

“I have a car and I can get you out of here before the police get here or anyone gets hurt,” I told him, “Just tell me where you want to go and we can leave now. I even have some money on me ... not a lot, but we can stop at an ATM and I can get you as much as you need.”

By now I was only about 15 feet away and he again ordered me to stop.

I continued to talk very slowly to him, while moving closer at almost a snail’s pace.

“You don’t want some young kid who may panic and start screaming at any moment,” I explained, “take me instead and we can get in my Jeep and I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.

“I can get you all the money you need, even a couple of thousand dollars and you can also have my Jeep. Just let the girl go,” I told him.

He started looking wildly around and I used the opportunity to close to within about 10 feet.

When he looked back at me, I stopped and raised both hands.

“Look, I am not carrying anything and you have a knife. I’ll do anything you want, take you anywhere you want, just let the girl go.

“Look, I’ll even put both hands behind my back.” As I said this, I moved both hands behind me, while again moving a little closer. And taking that opportunity to remove the bat from my belt.

I could see that he was actually thinking about what I’d said.

“You can get me a couple of thousand dollars?” he asked.

“Yes Sir, I can get you two or three thousand dollars if you’ll let the girl go,” I answered.

“Okay, but keep your hands behind you,” he ordered. “If you move your hands, I’ll kill you.”

And with those words, he flung Christy away where she fell in a heap on the ground.

He started moving over to me, while holding the knife straight out in front of him.

I had already released the bat from my belt and now it was like hitting a ball on a tee.

I stepped closer and swung the bat as hard as I could.

The bat caught the knife and the hand holding it, along with the wrist, and made an incredibly satisfying sound. I could hear the bones breaking and the knife went sailing 20 or 30 feet away.

He screamed and tried to reach over with his left hand to grab his now severely injured right hand and wrist and I just reversed the trajectory of the swing and now caught his left elbow and forearm.

Again, I could hear the bones breaking as he screamed again.

So far, I had been concentrating on disabling his hands but now I tried to imitate a golf swing as I swung from the ground right up between his legs.

I think I hit a home run! At the very least there were two balls that would never be used again.

He collapsed on the ground, unconscious.

I threw the bat down, then ran over to Christy, who had been watching everything from only a few feet away.

I knelt down beside her, took her in my arms and all I could say was, “You’re safe Christy. You’re safe now, Honey. You’re safe, he can’t hurt you anymore. I’ve got you, Baby, I’ve got you!”

Christy was obviously still dazed by what had happened but she suddenly threw her arms around my neck and started crying hysterically and squeezing my neck.

Her shoulder was against my throat and she was squeezing so hard I literally couldn’t breathe.

It took 30 seconds to loosen her arms enough so I could take a breath.

Then Christy just started repeating over and over, “You saved me, John, you saved me. You saved my life.”

By now Beth was beside us and she was crying and trying to hold Christy, but Christy refused to let me go. Beth finally had to put one arm around Christy and the other around me.

All three of our heads were just inches apart and Beth was crying and crying, then tried to start talking to Christy.

She kept telling Christy how much she loved her and how sorry she was she had gotten angry with her. Christy finally let go one of her arms and she and Beth were now hugging and telling each other how much they loved each other and how sorry they both were for what had happened in the garage.

Christy still refused to let go of me with her other arm and continued to hug me even after the police arrived. She hugged me the entire time the police were there getting statements and spent most of that time with her head resting on my chest. She continued that after the ambulance arrived. She wouldn’t even let them examine her without sitting in my lap, with one arm around my shoulder or neck.

They put bandages on both her knees and doctored up her face as much as they could and Christy still refused to let me go.

Beth had also called her parents, Kevin and Rachel, and soon they were there. Christy finally let go of my neck long enough to hug her Mom and Dad but was soon back in my lap with one or both arms around my neck.

One of the neighbors had recorded everything on her cell phone and she played it over and over for the police, the guys in the ambulance, Christy’s parents and any of the neighbors who wanted to watch.

The police were calling me a hero, Christy was calling me “MY HERO,” her parents were calling me a hero, Beth and the neighbors were all calling me a hero.

Then the “hero” threw up all over the ground, barely getting Christy out of my lap so I could fall forward on my hands and knees. I must have thrown up for several minutes.

I couldn’t even make it back to my place where at least I could have puked in private.

I puked in front of Christy, Beth, their parents and our neighbors, the guys in the ambulance and the police. Of course one of the neighbors also recorded my puking on their cell phone as well.

Christy knelt down beside me the entire time and kept one hand on my back. Soon, Beth was on the other side and her hand joined Christy’s in rubbing my back.

The EMTs (Emergency Medical Technicians) said it was actually a fairly normal reaction for such a stress-filled activity, but it was and will always be, one of the most embarrassing things to ever happen to me.

And now the neighbors have it recorded for eternity.

I’ve read hundreds of books about all kinds of people doing all kinds of heroic things, both fiction and real-life. And written a few myself.

Why is it I’ve NEVER read about the “hero” losing his lunch after doing something other people call heroic?

I’ll try to make a long story short about what happened to Christy after she left the garage.

She was still crying really, really hard and had stopped running and was then walking very slowly home. She wasn’t paying any attention to anything around her.

Christy let herself into the house and had already walked a half-dozen steps inside when she finally looked up and saw the “Creep” standing in the living room.

She immediately turned around and took off running. Fortunately, she’d been so upset with what happened in the garage, she had not closed the front door, so she didn’t have to stop and open it. She’d run a half-dozen steps outside the house when the “Creep” tackled her from behind. Since she was on the concrete walkway leading up to the house, when she was tackled she scrapped both knees on the concrete and the side of her face, where it hit the concrete, was also bruised and scratched.

As she was being tackled, that was when she was finally able to unleash the terrified scream Beth and I heard. She was still in mid-scream when she hit the ground, knocking the wind out of her lungs.

The rest you know.

The police later told us the “Creep” had an arrest record longer than your arm and was actually suspected in the rape and murder of at least two young girls – one Christy’s age, and one about 12.

At least he will never be able to rape anyone again – even if he ever gets out of prison, which will be almost impossible. The baseball bat made sure none of his “equipment” would ever function again. He actually had to have both testicles removed, due to the damage caused by the bat.

Christy refused to let me out of her sight the rest of the day and evening. She wouldn’t even let me go home to change clothes and brush my teeth, after throwing up, becoming almost hysterical when I tried to leave.

I finally had to send Beth to my house to get some clean clothes and a toothbrush and Christy had to sit right outside one of her parents’ bathrooms while I took a shower, brushed my teeth and changed clothes. Beth sat beside her the entire time.

As soon as I walked out of the bathroom, she leaped into my arms again and I had to carry her to the living room.

Rachel and Beth cooked dinner for us and I had to sit at the dining room table beside Christy while we both ate.

After we moved to the living room, Christy insisted in sitting on one side of me, while Beth sat on the other side. We all, Beth, Christy, Rachel and Kevin, talked for a couple of hours.

Christy finally fell asleep, sitting beside me. Kevin picked her up and carried her to her bed. I wouldn’t be surprised if Christy slept for 12 straight hours. She’d been through more than anyone, especially a child, should ever have to go through. Despite her IQ, despite her extraordinary mind, she was still just a child, just a 14 year old. Luckily, today was Friday so there was no school the next day.

Beth had gone with her father when Kevin picked Christy up, but quickly came back into the living room

“John, I’m going to lay down with Christy for a little while, but will you promise, I mean really promise, not to leave without telling me?” she asked.

“Of course,” I told her, and was more than a little surprised when Beth gave me a very tight hug and kissed me on the cheek, then lightly kissed me on the lips.

Rachel and Kevin came over and also gave me a hug. Rachel was really crying while Kevin had some tears as well, but was doing better at hiding them.

“John, what do you say to someone who saved your daughter’s life?” Kevin asked. “Words just don’t seem enough to show how much what you did means to us.”

Rachel started crying even harder and gave me another hug.

Rachel looked like an older version of her daughters. Same red hair, same green eyes, same slim and trim body lines. She was breathtakingly beautiful. Like Beth, Rachel probably weighed around 110 pounds and was actually a little shorter, probably about five feet, three inches. A little more buxom but they really could have passed for sisters, not mom and daughter.

Kevin was a couple of inches shorter than me, probably about five feet, nine inches, but weighed at least 220 pounds, maybe more. And not an ounce of fat. His shoulders were immense, his arms were huge and his legs looked like tree trunks.

Kevin also had the most extensive home gym I’ve ever seen I don’t think there was an exercise machine made Kevin didn’t own and use nearly every day. He told me I was free to use any of the equipment any time I wanted, but after a couple of times working out with Kevin and the girls I finally had to stop.

It was a little embarrassing to see Rachel lifting heavier weights than I could and even Beth usually matched the weights I’d lift.

Not to mention the sight of Rachel and Beth wearing just sports bras and very short shorts while working out made it a little difficult for me to concentrate on weights.

I could almost have sworn Beth would deliberately wait until she knew I was looking at her and then bend over in front of me, or strike some provocative pose. If it weren’t for the seven-year age difference between us, I would have thought she was interested in me.

I knew that was ridiculous since Beth could have any guy her own age she wanted and the last thing I needed in my life was an angry father, upset with me for messing around with his, back then, 17-year-old daughter. I did my best to be nice, but a little distant with Beth.

Kevin had reddish-auburn hair, and blue eyes, and was, and don’t take this the wrong way, one of the best looking guys I’ve ever met. If you could describe a guy as being almost “pretty,” then that description fit Kevin. In fact, the only thing marring his features was a nose that looked like it had been broken a couple of times. And on Kevin, it just seemed to heighten his other features!

I knew he and Rachel owned their own company, where they made electronic components for missiles. Rachel was actually chief engineer.

I knew Kevin had graduated with a degree in engineering from the Georgia Institute of Technology (Georgia Tech), while Rachel had graduated, with honors, from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT), and had added both a Master’s Degree and a Ph.D. in engineering.

We are talking about some serious brain power here.

I knew Beth was also incredibly smart and had no doubt she had a genius level IQ. Unfortunately, from previous conversations with Kevin and Rachel, I also knew Beth had rarely applied herself during high school.

Since it was so easy for her to get good grades without even trying, she rarely really tried in high school. That was the primary reason she was attending the local junior college. She needed to get serious about her education and from what I had gathered, was really doing well in her first year of college.

I like to think a few – actually more than a few – conversations with me about the importance of college had something to do with how serious Beth had become about her education.

Christy has already tested as well above a Mensa level IQ. What I didn’t tell you was, despite the fact she was a senior in high school, she was also taking college courses from the same junior college Beth was attending. In fact, Christy was scheduled to graduate from both schools in the same week. High school diploma from one and Associate Degree from the other.

Christy also spoke at least half-a-dozen languages I knew about and read and wrote in even more.

She is the only person I know of who has read Tolstoy’s War and Peace in the original Russian, Dumas’ The Count of Monte Cristo in the original French and Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey in the original Greek.

“John, I know you are a free-lance writer and I’ve read some of your stories in different magazines,” Kevin began, “but I also know those magazines probably don’t pay a lot.

“Look, I’m not going to beat around the bush. I’d like to offer you a position with my company. I know I can pay you a lot more than you are currently earning,” he said.

“To be honest, John, I don’t even know how you are able to afford to pay your mortgage in this subdivision. I know what these houses sell for and I don’t understand how you even qualified for a mortgage without a steady source of income. I also know your house was listed at well over $1 million when you bought it.

“This is not some kind of ‘gift’ for saving Christy’s life,” he hastened to add, “Rachel and I have talked about this and about you, before. Our company needs a Public Relations Director and I’d like to offer you the job since you have a degree in journalism. I’m talking about a real job, making really good money. You’ll work your ass off, but the rewards are really great.

“What do you say? Will you come work for Rachel and me?” he finished.

I didn’t say anything for a minute or two, wondering just how much of my life story I should share with them. I finally decided that, in the circumstances, only the whole, unvarnished truth would suffice.