Chapter 18

Carrie Jensen needed to pee - badly. Her kidneys throbbed. If Baldy - he hadn't told her his name, and hairless as he was, in her mind, she'd nicknamed him Baldy - didn't return soon, she'd surely wet the bed. She was conflicted. She wanted Baldy to return so she could pee, but he'd raped her repeatedly the previous night, and she feared he'd rape her again if he returned.

If he returned. If he didn't, she'd surely die. Without realizing it, survival had become Carrie's prime motive. Nothing else really mattered. Already, she was extremely thirsty. Hungry, too. Would he feed her? Give her something to drink before he raped her again?

Bound naked and spread-eagled on a plastic-covered mattress, she tested her restraints for the umpteenth time. They weren't uncomfortable - fleeced-lined, he'd said - but lying in the same position all day had produced body aches.

Her eyes moved around the sparsely decorated room. No windows, one door. Besides the huge, brass bed, the room contained a table and one stool, both bolted to the concrete floor. A toilet, pedestal sink and an old-fashioned bathtub occupied one corner of the room. The concrete floor was painted gray, and the walls and ceiling were padded with some kind of foam. Carrie assumed the padding had something to do with soundproofing. He'd told her she could scream her head off, if she wanted, and no one would hear her because he'd soundproofed the room. She'd tested his theory the first time he raped her. She'd screamed her head off, but no one crashed through the door to rescue her.

She groaned with dismay as a trickle of urine escaped. He'd beat her if she peed the bed - one of his rules. Like Carrie's parents, Baldy had a lot of rules. Unlike her parents, if she broke a rule, Baldy inflicted severe, physical pain. She shuddered as she recalled how his ham-like fists had pummeled her body. He hadn't struck her face, but he'd knocked the wind out of her, and bruised her arms and legs and chest. He looked soft, but his rages terrified her. Everything about her circumstances, especially Baldy, frightened her.

"I wanna go home," she whimpered quietly but slammed her mouth shut when she heard sounds at the door.

Baldy entered. He was dressed, wearing blue jeans and a t-shirt, and he carried a tray. "Dinnertime," he announced cheerily.

Adrenaline pumped into her system. The flight-or-fight syndrome took hold, but she could do neither.

"One of your favorite meals," he added in his high-pitched voice. "Fried chicken from the Colonel. Mashed potatoes and brown gravy. Cold slaw and a Pepsi to wash it all down. Oh, yes, the ever-present biscuit, too. Yummy!"

"I need to go to the bathroom," Carrie whimpered, blushing with embarrassment. "If you don't let me up to go to the bathroom, I'll wet the bed."

"Tisk, tisk, we mustn't let that happen." He set the tray with her dinner on the stainless steel table. "I'd have to punish you if you soiled the bed."

He unbuckled the restraints on her wrists. "Sit up and put your arms behind you," he said. "You know the drill."

Carrie obeyed. It was her nature to obey an adult, but even if she were inclined to tell Baldy to jump in the lake, her throbbing kidneys demanded that she cooperate. She felt new restraints snap around her wrists - common handcuffs. "Hurry," she begged.

He jerked her arms painfully up behind her back. "Please. Say please when you want something. Didn't your parents teach you any manners?"

"Please, hurry," she whined submissively.

"That's better."

As soon as he removed the ankle restraints, she rolled awkwardly from the bed and hurried to the toilet. She sat, relaxed and urine splashed into the bowl with force. The noise embarrassed her but not as much as spreading her legs so he could wipe her when she finished. Thank goodness, he doesn't need to wipe my bum this time, she thought.

"Whew!" he exclaimed. "You need a bath. I'll bathe you after you eat."

He sat her on the metal stool next to the table and shackled her ankles to the stainless steel table legs before removing the handcuffs. She didn't try to kick him while her feet were unrestrained, like before. Kicking was against the rules, and Carrie had learned the hard way to never break any of his rules.

"Eat," he said. "I'll be back in a half-hour, and we'll have our bath."

Clarence Frisk pulled to the curb in front of a large brownstone in Georgetown and exited his vehicle. Still disturbed by his meeting with Vincent Bello, he wanted to discuss the issues with another member of the cabal, and James Wilson came to mind. He was handy. Both Frisk and Wilson maintained residences in the Washington, D.C., area.

Wilson answered the ringing doorbell and ushered Frisk inside. As late as it was, Wilson appeared put-together, even dapper. A fastidious man, he didn't understand casual dress. He looked resplendent in a maroon smoking jacket. At six-feet tall, Frisk towered over Wilson's diminutive five-seven.

Neither man spoke as Wilson guided Frisk to a small room, closing the door behind them. It was an intimate room. Flames crackled in a small fireplace, and the walls were lined with leather-bound books. The men settled on leather sofas facing each other.

"We can speak openly in here," Wilson stated. "I have the room swept for bugs daily. I assume this meeting is necessary and urgent, or you would not have risked coming to my home."

With a nod, Frisk detailed his meeting with Vincent Bello.

"It appears our Vincent has some problems," Wilson said when Frisk finished his account of the meeting.

"Agreed. The question is what should we do about Vincent's problems, if anything."

"Would you like a brandy?" Wilson asked and rose to his feet.

"Yes." Frisk assumed Wilson was marshalling his thoughts and had used the drink offer as a delaying tactic. It's what Frisk would've done in the same circumstances.

As Wilson poured brandy into two snifters, he said, "At the moment, I'm inclined to do nothing and let Vincent contain the situation. If the FBI questions him, he'll have one of his lawyers with him and won't open his mouth."

Frisk relaxed, pleased Wilson agreed with his assessment of the problem. He took the snifter Wilson offered him and whiffed the pungent liquid as he twirled it in the snifter. Good stuff, he thought as the brandy slid smoothly down his throat.

"Contact Vincent one more time, Clarence. Tell him we're all behind him. Tell him we expect him to find and eliminate the FBI informant in his organization. Also inform him none of us will contact him again until he deals with the informant. I'll speak with Sean. He has a man in Vincent's organization, so we won't be completely in the dark." Wilson paused and ran his fingers through his curly gray hair. He fixed his clear, startling blue eyes on Frisk. "If the situation escalates, we'll need to deal with Vincent, which will sadden me, but..."

Wilson shrugged his shoulders.

"I agree," Frisk said without a qualm.

"I want to speak with Steve right now," Darla said. "Find him for me."

David raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure? Perhaps it would be better if you let a little time pass, let him calm down some more." David and his sister had arrived at Darla's house only to find it vacant. Carol was tending little George, and Darla was determined to communicate with Steve.

"Uh-uh. Now, David. Please."

David phased out and hovered over Steve. He was sitting at a bar, tossing back a drink. He chased whatever had been in the shot glass with a gulp of beer.

"Another," Steve said to the bartender, his voice slightly slurred.

David returned to his body. "Steve's at the sport's bar on Hayden and Indian School Road. He's drunk, or nearly drunk."

Darla grimaced. "He's not a drinker. I might not be able to reason with him."

"Use body language, then," David said with a grin. "Steve's not a mean drunk, so I don't think you need to worry about him getting too physical, but to play it safe, do you want me with you?"

"No! Your presence would just piss him off. I'll drive myself. Check on me once in a while, though. I might need your help."

As Nora was leaving to meet David, the phone rang. She recognized the phone number listed by Caller-ID. "It's for you, Pops. Carol."

Joe answered the phone, spoke briefly with Carol, and stopped his daughter as she was opening the door to leave. "Carol suggested I ride with you to her house. I'm without wheels. David dropped me off earlier. I can pick up the Escalade after David drops Darla off at her house." He grinned broadly. "Besides, Carol offered to feed me."

As they drove toward the Stanley estate, Nora reflected back to the quick but satisfying sex she'd had with her father earlier and felt her pussy start to tingle again. She didn't want to admit it, but incest turned her on. She'd blustered, even condemned David, his mother and sister, but deep down the idea excited her. She knew she'd fantasized about having sex with her father more than any other male, and finally the fantasy had become a reality.

"Why did we wait so long, Pops?"

"For what?"

"You know. David might check on us, so keep your comments general, but I'd like to talk about the subject."

"You're referring to the I word, correct?"

"Yeah."

"I can't speak for you, but I always backed off because I feared if I let myself do what I wanted to do that I could damage your future."

"With Mom's open attitude about love and sex, did she ever experiment with the subject?"

"No, but I did."

Stunned, Nora spun her head toward her father. "Really?"

"Yeah, with my first cousin, Amanda, my father's sister's daughter."

"I met Amanda once. She's a very striking woman."

"Yep. Amanda was a headstrong, adventuresome beauty in her teens, much like your mother." He snorted. "Come to think of it, Amanda introduced Tess to me. Of course my affair with Amanda was finished before the introduction, or at least that's what I believed. Remember, I told you I watched your mother with another woman. Amanda was the woman." He ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head. "I think the episode led your mother to believe I was more adventuresome about sex than I truly was. Then Tess fell in love with me - I was already in love with her - and she discovered otherwise, ultimately adjusting to fit my more stringent moral approach to love and sex."

Nora squirmed in the car seat. "That's hot, Pops!"

He chuckled. "Got your motor runnin', huh?"

"Uh-huh. So you've never been opposed to the concept?"

"Yes and no. I'm opposed to an adult having sex with a child, whether or not the two are related. Two consenting adults or two teenagers don't bother me. I know I'll sound wishy-washy, but for some reason, I don't condemn Carol." He chuckled. "Heck, with David's ability he probably knew more about sex in his teens than most twenty-year-olds."

"What about Darla?"

He shook his head. "I haven't wrapped my mind around that issue yet."

Nora stopped her car in front of David and Carol's property, pushed a button and the gates started to open. "If Darla and Steve split, will the Arabian Downs' deal still close?"

"I hope so. If not, I'll need to look for another job."

"I'll have what he's having," Darla said to the bartender as she hitched her hips onto the barstool next to her husband.

Steve turned to her and frowned. "Go away."

"Uh-uh," she said. "Let's get drunk together, bubba. You and me. We'll get knee walkin', toilet huggin' drunk. We'll drown our sorrows in an ocean of booze."

"Cute. You're so damned cute. Go away."

The bartender set a shot of something and a glass of beer in front of her. She tossed back the drink - ugh, bourbon - and chased it with a gulp of beer. Bubba, she thought, your hangover in the morning will be a beaut'. She shuddered. Nasty stuff.

"Are you going to forgive me or toss me out on my ear?" she asked.

"I dunno. Depends."

"On what?"

He giggled. "I fergit."

"When you remember, please tell me. I'll do whatever it takes to make us a husband and wife again, a family again."

He gazed at her, tried to focus his eyes, without success, finally brushing his hand across his face. "I take it back. You're not a slut," he muttered without conviction.

She entwined her arm in his and hugged it, pressing her breasts against his side. "Thanks, Steve."

"I still love you, but I don't like you very much right now."

Tears stung her eyes. "I understand. I don't like myself very much, either."

"I trusted you, Darla. I don't trust you anymore. You cheated on me, grew horns on my head, made me a cuckold. Steve the cuckold. That's me. Dr. Cuckold, at your service." He drained his glass of beer. "Barkeep, wadda I owe ya?"

"You're all paid up, Dr. White."

"That's Dr. Cuckold, barkeep," Steve insisted. He turned to Darla. "I'm too drunk to drive."

"Yes you are. I'll drive." She helped him off the stool and out of the bar.

"Where's the baby?" he asked as she guided the car out of the parking lot.

"Mother has him. We'll pick him up in the morning."

"That's right. I forgot. I kept thinking about you and David, and forgot all about your mother. You told me you liked sex with women, told me you grew horns on me with your mother, too, but I forgot. How could I forget somethin' like that?"

She assumed his question was rhetorical.

"I didn't ask before," he continued when she didn't respond. "After you told me you fucked your brother and mother, it didn't dawn on me to ask, so I'll ask now. Have you fucked anyone except your mother and brother, male or female, relative or not, since we got married?"