Chapter 2

If I thought the night before had been rough, the next couple of days made what happened then almost seem like a vacation. Almost. Sally was so preoccupied with Janey she could think of nothing else. Janey, for her part, apparently couldn't think at all. She wouldn't react, wouldn't talk, and wouldn't move. She just lay there. Sally was able to clean her gently every day, although only behind a locked door, and gently force a few bites of food down her, but other than that, nothing.

I was beginning to be very afraid for Sally. Hell, I was afraid for both of them. I was able, after a couple of days, to spell Sally on her vigil beside Janey's bed, but only after I promised to sit out of Janey's direct line of sight. Sally was adamant about that. If Janey woke up, I was to get Sally immediately and not let Janey see me.

I didn't fully understand it, but apparently it was possible for Janey to transfer her hate for Steven and what he had done to her to all things male, including me. The thought of that happening hurt me terribly. Not as much as she was hurting, obviously, but I couldn't understand how I, who cared for her and loved her, could be lumped in with all the rest of those evil bastards.

The first night that I sat in for Sally passed uneventfully. Janey didn't stir once. The doctor had been there earlier in the day, along with a rape counselor and both Janey and Sally were resting comfortably with the aid of mild sedatives. It was a long night, and, I am not ashamed to admit, I took advantage of the solitude and darkness as I shed more than a few tears over the shattered girl lying beside me.

The next day I asked the counselor if it would be OK if I talked to Janey while I sat with her. Since she wasn't responding very much and would be sedated anyway, would it help or hurt? The harried lady shrugged and said it probably couldn't hurt. As long as she didn't react violently to the sound of my voice, it might actually help. I thought that an odd statement, but I decided to try to talk to Janey during the night the next time I sat with her.

That night I sat by her bed, a little closer than the night before. I started speaking very softly, hoping not to startle her, which I didn't. I talked to her about lots of things. I tried to go through every memory I had of her, every time we had spent time together. I told her who had been with us or who she had been with and what was said. I told her of the pride and admiration I felt when I watched her perform at her games. I recounted each and every game and competition where I had seen her. Then I started going through the meals we had shared over the past 18 months. And so on. I was amazed at all the detail I could recall about this girl I had watched grow into a young woman.

Towards morning, after about seven to eight hours of speaking quietly to her, I sensed a change in her. At first I thought she had moved and was about to go get her Mom, but then I noticed she was still asleep. She seemed to be breathing easier, but how I would I know that? I didn't analyze it a lot, but somehow, I instinctively knew that Janey was going to be OK. It was like I could sense her feelings or her aura or some shit. Weird, I know.

It was during this time of slow recovery that all Hell broke loose outside the house. The news of Janey's incident made the local, state, and eventually the national news. It hit the national news wires after the half-assed local police investigation accidentally found that this had been an organized plot involving several other students. Due to the political connections of some of the alleged participant's parents, the local police panicked and the FBI was called in. They used the excuse that this had been an attempted kidnapping.

What the local police had uncovered was Janey's rape had been just one part a larger contest for money. The prize was several thousands of dollars, but with the money these kids had, that was secondary. Winning, at any price, was number one. Apparently, all the male athletes in the school - the jocks - put $100 a piece into a pot at the beginning of each school year. It was not an option. No one was forced to participate in the actual contest, but they didn't stay healthy very long if they didn't contribute. The first jock to fuck all twelve of that year's cheerleaders won the pot.

Janey, being a freshman, was the only conquest left to fuck for two of the guys, one of whom was Steven. The other boy had been making considerable headway with Janey at school, actually going through the motions of courting and wooing her. I had heard his name mentioned in reverent tones at the dinner table, and a telephone call from him was a reason for excited tittering between the mother and daughter. His apparent progress with the beautiful girl had infuriated Steven, prompting him to set up the birthday party scam for Janey.

When pressed by the professionals at the FBI, Steven cracked like a true wuss, and gave up all the names of the organizers and the participants. He even had a list on his computer, complete with names, dates and if the event had been 'voluntary' or 'involuntary'. There were a remarkable number of involuntary notations, AKA 'rapes', and that had caused an even greater uproar, as most had never been reported. The few that had been reported to the local police or school counselors had been dismissed as post-coital regrets by the girls involved.

But it was not just the guys who had been involved in Janey's rape. There was jealousy on the part of some of the girls that prompted their participation, too. Steven implicated three of the cheerleaders for setting up the party, providing the booze, and verifying what color panties Janey had been wearing that night. The girl's panties were considered to be proof in the case of an involuntary score, and they had been pretty sure Janey was not going to participate voluntarily. So knowing what color or pattern of panties she was wearing was the key to verifying the 'trophy' was from the victim. One of the cheerleaders had walked into the guest bathroom at the party when Janey was peeing, her panties down around her ankles. Janey was sure the door had been locked, but, as the girl had OOP'sed her way back out of the bathroom, she had just guessed the lock was broken and had let it pass.

There were arrests and expulsions from the school, some permanent. They involved most of the popular kids, the 'in' crowd. The 'untouchables' had been touched. Hard. Most of them blamed Janey, and they were bitter. Most of them wouldn't graduate, at least, not from this High School.

Then, to make a bad situation a catastrophe, someone, probably some low-level employee from the hospital, had leaked Steven's hospital chart to a sleazy tabloid. There wasn't a male in America who didn't wince just a little when his injuries were described in graphic detail. The tabloid shouted it out in full color, with charts and graphs showing the force of impact required to do what had been done to his popped testicle and ruptured penis by her solid kick to his groin. He got a lot of sympathy from that report, as if his injuries somehow made the two of them even. A surprising number of females were sympathetic to him as well.

As more news leaked and broke over the weekend, it rapidly grew into a media spectacle. Janey had withdrawn into herself and didn't know any of this was going on. But Sally knew and I knew. Sally had to take care of Janey and couldn't deal with this. Me? I got mad, then I started kicking ass and taking names. Literally.

We disconnected all the phones but the one in the back guestroom after several threats had been made on Janey's life, not to mention the countless obscene phone calls. The list of the names we collected from the Caller ID on that phone included some very interesting ones. The calls were all recorded on a system similar to the one that records all 9-1-1 calls and just as admissible in court. The FBI was doing voiceprints and matching up some surprising names to the voices. Heads were going to roll, some from very high places.