Madeline spooned strained beets into my mouth, while I stared down her blouse. Madeline was a student at John Henry Fowler Bible College across town. She was also our minister’s daughter. Until the accident, I was an internal auditor for Reliant Reinsurance Underwriters.

Hiring Madeline as a care provider was my idea. The baby food was my wife’s idea. “It shows the jury you’re helpless, like a baby,” she told me.

When the doorbell rang, Madeline walked over, checked the deadbolt, then pushed the intercom button. “May I help you?”

“Open the damned door. It’s raining.”

“I’m not allowed to let anyone into the house.”

Good girl, I thought, slumped in my wheelchair. My wife spelled out strict rules for what Madeline could and couldn’t do while she was alone with my infant son and me. Madeline reached for the phone, ready to dial 911.

“It’s Boggs. Open the door, or I’ll tell Daddy what a bad girl you’ve been.” I perked up. My wife hired Madeline because of her ironclad good girl reputation. Around me she was the Virgin Mary. This guy, Boggs, apparently knew another side of her. He leaned on the bell. “Christ, Madeline, open the fucking door!”

“You’re going to wake up the baby!” she pleaded as she released the deadbolt and threw the door open.

Boggs swaggered in. I’ve always hated punks like him. “Smart move,” he said.

Boggs wore tight black Polo jeans, Doc Martens, and a black and white Newcastle Fighting Magpies soccer jersey. Attached to his arm was a girl in a short calfskin skirt, 3-inch heels, and a red satin blouse wrapped around small but ample breasts. If she was a fellow student at the Bible College, I was ready to enroll. “What are you staring at?” she asked Madeline. The girl could just as easily be talking to me. I closed my mouth and tried to stop drooling, although drool was a key element of my quadriplegic shtick.

“You remember Chelsea from Intro to Composition?”

Boggs put his arm around Madeline’s waist. I wanted to whip his ass, but my wife had convinced the town I was paralyzed from the neck down, brain damaged, and incapable of speech. I was suing the municipality for my injuries as the result of a swimming accident at the town water park. When Madeline babysat my son Bobby and me, all I was supposed to do was eat and drool. I was pretty good at both.

Madeline pulled away from him. “Mrs. Harken will be back soon. Plus, Mr. Harken is watching.” She pointed to me. My arms were fastened to the wheelchair’s arms with Velcro straps. I did my drooling act.

“What have we here?” Boggs stared at the Gerber strained beets smeared on my chin. I slouched in the wheelchair held up by the strap around my chest.

Chelsea walked over to take a good look at me. I prayed she wouldn’t notice my mighty sword breaking out of its Depends adult diaper. I tried not to stare. “Hey, Stud,” she said. I was wearing a red flannel robe with penguins. Calling me a stud was the nicest thing she could have said.

“He’s ready to party,” Boggs told Madeline, “but we need some brew. Chelsea, see what they have in the fridge. And bring the big guy back a straw.”

I watched Chelsea walk into the kitchen. Ten years older and ten pounds lighter, she’d look like my wife.

When Chelsea was gone, Boggs said softly to Madeline, “I heard you sucked Davie Boy off after church Wednesday night.”

Madeline’s face turned a scarlet red. Even her ears blushed. “Mark 14:38. ‘The spirit is ready, but the flesh is weak.’”

“Yah? Well, while Sweet Meat, tonight I own your weak flesh.”

“What David and I have is pure and sacred. We love each other.”

“Explain that to Chelsea,” Boggs said as the girl returned with a six-pack of Full Sail Ale and set it on the coffee table. “Davie Boy was the end of a real long train she pulled last Saturday...”

“Shut up, Boggs!” Chelsea hissed at him.

Boggs grabbed a beer, twisted off the cap, handed it to Chelsea. He picked up a beer for himself. Chelsea took a long deep pull from the bottle. She stared at Madeline’s long-sleeved white cotton blouse, the skirt that covered her legs down to her ankles, and her white tennis shoes with cotton socks. “Why do we need the nun?”

“1 Corinthians 6:19-20. ‘Know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost.’” Madeline was always saying stuff like that. Sometimes she read me Bible stories after she put my son down for a nap, racy stories about David and Bathsheba or Rahab the whore. Those always turned up her thermostat.

Boggs laughed. “Madeline’s got some sizzle. If she dressed like you do, you’d be all over her.”

“Not fucking likely.” Chelsea stood, her left hand on her hip, drinking her beer and daring Madeline to say a word. Frankly, I agreed with Boggs.

He smiled. “Let’s try it. Give her your clothes.” He drank his beer and waited. Finally he told Chelsea, “Don’t make me ask again.” She reached for the zipper at the waistband of her skirt. “Start with the heels.”

Between hiding my boner and maneuvering to watch, I was twisted like a pretzel in the wheelchair. Chelsea removed her black heels. Boggs raised the beer bottle to his mouth.

“I will call the police,” Madeline said. “Mr. Harken is my witness.”

Jesus, this girl was a piece of work. I’m strapped in the chair. I’m supposed to be brain damaged and mute, helpless and drooling. There’s a sixty million dollar settlement on the line provided I don’t blow my cover. And this girl wants me to be her witness? Shit.

“He’s pissing in his chair right now just thinking about how you’d look naked,” Boggs said. How did he know that? He looked over to me. “What do you say, Stud? You going to testify against me?” I lulled my head slightly like I was shaking my head.

“Mrs. Harken will believe me. She knows I’m a good girl.”

“Yes, I suppose she does.” Boggs grabbed Madeline by her long brown hair. “I need to do something about that.” He wrenched her head back and drove her to her knees. “Open your mouth.” She started to shake her head, but he pulled her head farther back while planting his knee in her back. She squealed in pain. “Open your mouth.” She opened, and Boggs poured beer down her throat. She sputtered, trying to resist. “Swallow,” he said as emptied the bottle, then he eased his grip. “You going to tell her I forced you to drink the beer? You think anyone will believe that?”

Boggs tossed the empty bottle on the floor and motioned toward the six-pack. Chelsea twisted open another bottle and handed it to him. He pulled Madeline’s hair back again. “Now be a good girl and drink up.” He poured again and Madeline struggled to keep up with the flow. “Tonight, I own you.” When the second bottle was finished, he released her. “Waste of a good beer,” he said. “Now put on Chelsea’s shoes.”

Madeline sat down on the floor wiping the beer off of her chin. “I have shoes.”

“Don’t mess with me. I’m not in the mood.” He removed a knife from his pocket and extended its blade. “Take your damned shoes off or I’ll cut them off.” Madeline carefully untied the canvas shoes and took them off. “And the socks...” She removed the white cotton socks and stuffed them in the shoes. Her feet were beautiful.

Boggs motioned to Chelsea. “Help her on with the shoes.” Chelsea knelt and lifted the left foot. Madeline pressed her skirt to her legs so that it wouldn’t ride up. That disappointed me. I’d never seen her legs. “Let’s see you walk,” Boggs said.

Madeline tried to stand up, unsteady in the high black heels. Chelsea offered her a hand.

“I’m not used to heels,” Madeline said.

“You’ll be all right,” Chelsea reassured her. Madeline looked in her eyes and realized for the first time that Chelsea might be an ally.

“Walk.” Boggs motioned toward the kitchen door. Madeline took several hesitant steps as Boggs took another drink. “Now shake it.” Madeline tried to move her hips, but stumbled into the kitchen door. “Turn around.” She turned to face him. “Well, Chelsea, what do you think?”

Chelsea looked at Madeline wobbling in her shoes. Strands of her long brown hair fell across her tear-stained face. Her plain white blouse was soaked in beer. “Oh, God, yes, Boggs, she’s hot,” she said flatly.

“You just can’t see her legs with that long skirt on.” He turned to Madeline. “Take it off.”

“I’m not going to...”

Before Madeline could finish, Boggs was on her. “I said...” He grabbed the hem of the skirt and cut it, spilling his beer as she tried to grab the knife. He tore the skirt until the waistband snapped, and it fell away from her body. Madeline screamed.

I tried to climb out of the wheelchair, but couldn’t because of the restraints. I sunk back into my seat. Madeline caught my movement out of the corner of her eye.

Boggs flashed his knife in her face. “Do I have to cut you?” Madeline shook her head. “I didn’t think so.” He touched the knife to her neck. “And what about the baby upstairs...?”

“You wouldn’t...”

“I would. Ask Chelsea what I think of babies.” He stepped back. “Now let me see your legs. Give us a little walk.”

Madeline tried to cover herself by pulling down the tails of her white blouse. Then she focused on her balance as she walked. She glanced over to Chelsea who stared at her. Then she looked at me. My drool flowed like a river. She stumbled. She looked back at Boggs with his knife and started walking again. As she neared the stairwell, I heard a noise from the kitchen.

“Nice legs. Now let’s see...”

“Quiet,” Madeline said. “Somebody’s knocking on the back door.”

“So...?”

“It’s Mr. Padderson from the Neighborhood Watch. He always checks on me.” Neighborhood Watch, my ass. Padderson was a horny old coot who liked feeling up girls.

“Let him knock.”

“You want him calling the police on his cell phone?” Madeline was lying. Padderson wouldn’t know a cell phone from a juicer. “He’ll worry if I don’t answer the door.”

“All right. Go check.”

Madeline didn’t move. “I don’t have a skirt on.”

“Your granny underpants cover all the important parts.” Boggs had a point.

“Mr. Padderson will notice I don’t have a skirt on. Count on that. He’ll want to come in.” The knocks became more insistent.

“Okay, okay. Chelsea, give her your skirt.”

Chelsea unzipped the side, unbuttoned the waistband, and slipped it off. Madeline stared at Chelsea. I stared, too. Chelsea was wearing red silk panties, a garter belt, and black nylons. Erection City. She handed the calfskin skirt over to Madeline. “Be careful with it.”