My name is Raymond Miller. I just turned 16 last January (I’m a Capricorn). I have brown hair and blue eyes. And I’m just over 7.5 centimeters tall (that’s about 3 inches for the metrically impaired).

When I was born, I got my fifteen minutes of fame on page 5 of the National Mirror. Sandwiched between stories about a man who could see out of his glass eye and a demon-possessed spider monkey was a picture of me curled up in the palm of my mother’s hand while she looked down lovingly. The headline read (I swear I’m not making this up), “MOTHER MILLER’S MIRACULOUS TOY BOY!”

That was how SPECTRUM first found out about me. Apparently, they have a couple of specialists on staff that do nothing but comb the tabloids for potentially interesting articles. I still think it’s funny that a nationally renowned research firm would cite the Mirror as a source, but Gary says it’s these unconventional strategies that have kept SPECTRUM out in front. But I digress…

When the powers that be at SPECTRUM learned of me and became convinced that I wasn’t a tabloid hoax, they approached my mother. I don’t know the particulars of the deal—I like to think it was my best interests, and not the substantial monthly checks, that persuaded her to turn me over to them. I do know that my mother’s visits came less and less frequently and finally stopped altogether when I was five.

I don’t remember much about my mother. Her face is faint in my mined, and would have probably been long forgotten if not for the pictures in the Mirror. I remember her hand, the soft warmth of her palm and the gentle caress of her fingers. I remember red fingernails and the smell of lotion and perfume.

Let’s not mince words. I’ve spent most of my life as a specimen. However, it really hasn’t been so bad. I mean, at least I had a room that was designed for me. I had clothes custom-tailored, and I had meals specially prepared. I had a TV, a stereo, and all the books-on-disk I would ever care to read. And I had friends. Louise, Gary, Sally, Alan… These people cared for me—hell, they raised me! I’ve never had to endure a single moment without at least one of them nearby.

Until now…



I’m standing at the upstairs window of my dollhouse, staring out at the vast expanse of the living room beyond. My stepsister Nicole is lying on the floor, watching TV. Naomi, my stepmother, sits on the couch behind her, smoking a cigarette before she goes to start dinner. My father is working late again. I get the feeling this happens a lot.

It’s only been two days, but I hate it here, living like a hamster among these cretins. I hate Paul Dalton, who fathered me sixteen years ago and popped back up in my life, unwanted and uninvited, two months ago. I hate his wife Naomi, a skinny blonde who wears too much makeup and smokes too much. And Nicole—sweet, pretty eleven-year-old Nicole—scares the living hell out of me!

As if reading my mind, Nicole glances over and sees me standing at the window. She bares her teeth at me in a predatory grin, then turns to her mother. “Momma, can Ray watch TV with me?”

Naomi looks at me and shakes her head. “No, sweetheart. Leave Ray alone. He doesn’t like to be touched.” She’s still looking directly at me when she adds, “Although we may need to work on that.”

She’s still pissed about the trip from SPECTRUM two days ago. She and Paul came out to pick me up, and I spent the entire trip riding in a shoebox on her lap. The box was a bare, boring prison of cardboard that smelled faintly of leather. I was wishing she’d put the lid back on; it would be dark, but at least I wouldn’t be subjected to Naomi’s unstopping scrutiny.

“You doing okay, sweetie?” she asked as I sat huddled in the corner, as far from her as I could manage. I looked up into her massive face, and she smiled when I met her gaze.

“I don’t like cars,” I said, shouting to be heard. “I don’t like traveling.”

“Well sorry, your majesty,” my father said, glancing at me from the driver’s seat. “We could’ve had SPECTRUM mail you to us, but I figured this would be more comfortable.” I think he was trying to be funny, but I didn’t feel like laughing.

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” Naomi said. “We’re almost home.” Her smile widened into a grin. “You know, Nicole is so excited about you. She can’t wait to meet her new brother.”

I said nothing, contemplating the fate that lay ahead for me. Visions of Elmyra danced through my head. The cooing and the petting… “Oh, the cute widdle cuddly-wuddly…” It was the idea of being played with that terrified me.

“Aren’t you bored just sitting there?” Naomi asked. “You want me to hold you up so you can look out the window?”

“No!” I shouted, wincing as her enormous hand moved toward me. It stopped and jerked away suddenly, and Naomi frowned.

“I was just asking, sweetie,” she said, a bit icily. “You don’t have to be rude about it.”

Paul sighed and said, “For Christ’s sake, Naomi. Why don’t you leave the boy alone?”

“I was just asking him, Paul. I don’t need the two of you biting my head off about it.”

She glared down at me, then slammed the lid down in place. I spent the rest of the trip in blessed silence and darkness…



Naomi snubs out her cigarette, stands up, and walks past my dollhouse on her way to the kitchen. I find myself staring at her feet as she walks by—the way the sandal dangles from her toes as she lifts her foot, then slaps against her sole with each step. I feel like a voyeur, a pervert, but I can’t help it. It’s just one of those buttons that is so easily pressed.

I can still hear Louise’s voice explaining to me, with great patience and only a modicum of embarrassment, how boys my age tend to go through a “sexual awakening” in which they experience feelings of pleasure mixed with guilt, yadda, yadda, yadda. She also explained to me that sometimes people associate sexual feelings with non-sexual objects or body parts. She called it a fetish and she assured me that it was nothing to be ashamed of. I remember her giving me a reassuring smile, but I was too embarrassed to smile back.

The thing is, there’s more to it than that. Unless you’ve spent your life the size of an action figure, you can’t possibly know what it’s like. In my mind, people are little more than a group of their various parts. Louise is a lovely, gentle face that loomed over me for most of my life. She’s a soft hand with long, elegant fingers that held me so lovingly so often. That’s how I relate to people—as collections of vast body parts.

I wonder if Noami has seen me looking…



Nicole has been watching me steadily since her mother went into the kitchen. I keep hoping she’ll forget about me and go back to watching TV.

No such luck. With one furtive glance towards the kitchen, Nicole crawls over to the dollhouse on her hands and knees. I back away from the window as she peers in.

“Raaaay,” she whispers. “Come out and play.”

“Not now, Nicole,” I answer as reasonably as I can, hoping she can’t hear the tremble in my voice. My legs are shaking from her sheer size and nearness, but I don’t want her to know how nervous I am.

“Come on,” she says. “I won’t hurt you.” She taps a fingernail on the plastic window frame. “I just want to hold you for a minute.”

“Just leave me alone,” I shout, and this time my voice does break. She giggles and her malicious smile fills the window.

“Little pig, little pig, let me come in,” she says in a gruff, playful voice, climbing to her feet. “Or I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house in.”

The floor shakes violently, and I stumble onto the green sponge that serves as my bed. I watch with mounting horror as my dollhouse slides away from the safety of the stucco wall. I feel vulnerable, suddenly at Nicole’s mercy.

Her grinning face fills the vacancy of the fourth wall, and I can smell that weird, fruity perfume that she wears. Her hand comes slowly towards me. I roll off the bed and scamper to my feet, bolting through the bedroom door. I run past the plastic stairs, towards the bathroom. The doorway is suddenly filled with her palm as she blocks it from the other side. I turn and run back towards the bedroom, but she has done the same thing with her other hand. I jump around the banister and start down the stairs.

Too late, I see her bare foot blocking the bottom of the stairs, her monstrous toes slowly wriggling. I try to go back up, but she has laid her hand on the floor above, blocking my escape. Frustrated, I sit on the stairs and shout, “Leave me alone!”

She flicks at me with her enormous finger, knocking me down the stairs. I hit her foot and roll off it, landing on my back. Helpless, I watch her hand descend on me. I squeeze my eyes shut as she grasps me between her thumb and forefinger. Gripping me tightly around the waist, she holds me up to her face.

“I told you to come out,” she whispers. “You should have listened to me.” Her breath washes over me, smelling of cinnamon gum. She sees me wince and blows on me through puckered lips. Warm, wet air blows the hair from my face, and I nearly gag on the sickening sweet smell.

“Nicole, please…”

My protest is cut short by a sudden, fierce pinch that forces the air from my lungs. I throw back my head but I can’t find the breath to scream. I kick and flail and pound on her fingers until she finally relaxes her grip. Defeated, I hang limply between her fingers. I blink back tears of frustration.

“Say you’re sorry,” she says. It hurts to talk, but I finally manage a weak apology. She grins at me. “Now say, ‘I love you, Nicole!’” I painfully squeeze the words out, and she smiles triumphantly. “Now say…” she trails off, trying to think of something properly demeaning for me to say. It doesn’t matter; at this point, I’ll say anything to placate her.

“Nicole!” Naomi’s voice is shrill and angry. Nicole thrusts me back into the dollhouse, knocking my plastic dining room furniture aside and dropping me in a heap on the floor. I hear the slap of Naomi’s sandals as she storms in angrily from the kitchen.

“I was just looking at him,” Nicole says, glaring at me. Naomi grabs her by the arm and snatches her away from the dollhouse. Nicole’s foot catches the wall, jarring the house and knocking everything in it askew. I cover my head, bracing myself for the collapse that never comes.

“Go to your room,” Naomi shouts. Nicole starts to protest, but Naomi cuts her off. “Get your ass in your room right now.”

Nicole storms off, grumbling under her breath. After a couple of seconds, I hear the bedroom door slam. I look up and cringe as Naomi’s hand reaches for me. I back away instinctively from her outstretched fingers, and I hear Naomi’s exasperated sigh. She snatches me up roughly and yanks me into the air with a speed that makes my stomach lurch.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Ray,” she says, glaring at me with enormous eyes. “I just want to see if you’re okay. Why do you have to be so goddamned skittish?”

For several uncomfortable seconds, I lay huddled in her palm as she prods me with the nail of her index finger. She rolls me on my back and studies me, taking some kind of perverse pleasure from my discomfort.

“She didn’t mean anything by it,” Naomi says. “And if you didn’t get so melodramatic every time one of us wanted to hold you, shit like this probably wouldn’t happen.”

An angry retort pops into my head, but I bite my lip and simply nod. Things may suck right now, but starting an argument with Naomi can only make them worse. “I know,” I say, trying my best to sound reasonable. “It’s just going to take some getting used to.”

“You’re not the only one, kid,” she says, setting me down on the carpet next to her foot. I stand up and walk back to the dollhouse, trying not to stare as I walk past. The white leather strap of her sandal runs along the top of her foot and down between her toes. Her nails are adorned with chipped, pink polish. I have this overwhelming urge to touch her foot, to run my hands along her toe… It’s a crazy thought, but one I can’t seem to exorcise.

“Something wrong?” she asks, wiggling her toes.

“What?” I glance up, my cheeks flushing. I see a small smile creep across her face and I realize that I have been busted.

“I asked if there was anything wrong,” she says. “You’ve been staring at my feet all day, and I was wondering.”

Sheepish, I shrug and stammer, “I wasn’t… I mean… I didn’t…”

Her laugh is a mean, humorless snort that makes my stomach knot. She raises her foot slightly and says, “You’d better get back in your dollhouse before somebody accidentally steps on you.”

I bolt for the safety of my house, stumbling across the shag carpet until I reach the garish plastic floor. Naomi is still chuckling when she steps over the dollhouse and nudges it back against the wall with her foot. I spend the next twenty minutes huddled in the corner, wondering if I’ll ever feel secure in this place again.

As far as my life is concerned, it’s hard to say just when the shit hit the fan. But my best guess would be my sixteenth birthday party last January.

That day went pretty much as usual until my stint in the lab with Gary. He set my carrier down on the table and opened it up, as he always did. Only this time, when I stepped out onto the table, everybody jumped out and yelled “Surprise!” and started singing Happy Birthday. There was even a birthday cake of sorts—a Twinkie with a burning candle.

They finished singing and Louise lifted me up so I could blow out the candle. One of Gary’s assistants, a fat college kid named Tony, raised his camera to snap my picture. Gary sighed and muttered something about security, but Tony just grinned back and promised him the photos would never leave the lab. “Just one,” he begged. “For the bulletin board? I’ll develop it myself.”

“Okay,” Gary relented. “For the bulletin board.”

It was the last time we ever saw Tony.



The picture appeared in The National Mirror in February, in a special WHERE ARE THEY NOW edition. I was on page two this time. The headline read, “SPECTRUM’S SPOONSIZE SPECIMEN.” The article gave a lurid account of how my mother had sold me to the lab, where I was subjected day in and day out to inhumane experiments. And next to the photo of me in my mother’s hand was a new picture. The Twinkie had been cropped out—all that remained was me, dangling between Louise’s finger and thumb near the open flame of the candle.

I can only imagine what kind of battle SPECTRUM’s public relations people were left to fight. Alan Macky, one of their top security guys, was called back from Germany to investigate the security breach and figure out who was responsible. Poor Gary was called to the carpet for allowing the photo to be taken. For nearly two weeks, everything came to a halt. The tutoring, the experiments, the therapy sessions, everything. Then one day, Louise came in to talk to me.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” she said. “The project should resume on Monday.” Even so, she didn’t look terribly happy about it.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“We got a call this morning from a man named Paul Dalton. Ever heard of him?”

“No. Why?”

She sighed. “He says he’s your father.”



I met him about a week after that. He was a short man (well, relatively speaking), incredibly tan, with black hair that stood up like a pompadour. I disliked him on sight.

“I can’t believe it,” he said, shaking his head as I stepped out of my case. “I’m glad I finally get to meet you.” His voice choked when he added, “Son.”

“That remains to be seen,” I said. “If you’re my father, why would wait until now to show up?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” he said, his voice growing whiny and defensive. “Your mother and I split just before you were born. I didn’t even know she was pregnant. Hell, she didn’t even know. But I saw her picture in the Mirror last month, and when I saw your birthday I did the math and figured it out.”

“Well, thanks for stopping by,” I said. “Nice meeting you.”

He shook his head. “I’m getting you out of this place.”

I clenched my fists and shouted, “I don’t want to leave. You’ve got no right!”

“You’re just saying that because you’ve been brainwashed,” he said. “I read about the kind of things that go on in this place, and I can’t allow them to do that to my son.”

“They’re good to me here,” I said, feeling panic creep into my voice. “Really. They’ve been like a family to me since Mom…”

“I’ll never forgive your mother for selling you to these Nazis,” he said. “I only hope you can forgive me for not being there for you before now.”

“I’m not leaving,” I said as defiantly as I could.

“We’ll see,” he said, standing up and stepping back. “I’ve got a lawyer looking into it.”

“No!”

“It’s for your own good, son,” he said, walking toward the door. “I’ll see you in a week.”



Louise held me in her cupped hands, trying to soothe me as I cried. “He can’t take me away from here,” I kept yelling between sobs.

“We’re going to do everything we can,” Louise said. “Gary and I won’t let you go without a fight.”

“You’re damned right,” Gary said. “’Nazis,’ my ass.”

Louise nudged him with her foot. “Language.”

We were sitting at a large conference table with Alan and a bunch of people I didn’t recognize. One of them was a scary, thin guy with white hair and thick glasses. From the way he spoke, I figured he was from SPECTRUM’s legal department.

“From the mother, we have this nice, legally-binding document,” he was saying. “But unfortunately for us, the father never signed anything.”

“Have we made him an offer?” Gary asked. “Maybe we could pay him to walk away.”

“Maybe, but I doubt it.”

“Come on,” Gary shouted, slapping the marble table. “You’re not buying his line of crap about protecting his son, are you?”

Louise’s hands closed protectively around me and I felt her stand up. “I’m taking Ray back to his room,” she whispered.

“We’re thinking he might have gotten a better offer,” the lawyer was saying as we left the room.



I still don’t know the particulars, but apparently Paul Dalton showed up at the preliminary hearing with some unexpected legal firepower. I was remanded into his custody until the matter of my guardianship could be settled. Gary was furious when he got the news. Louise cried. But I was just numb—I had been crying nonstop since Dalton had first shown up. By the time that creepy SPECTRUM lawyer explained to me that I would be going to live with Dalton and his family, I had no tears left. Just the chilling resignation that my blissful life at SPECTRUM was soon to end.



Naomi is putting dinner on the table when my father gets home. He gives her a perfunctory peck on the cheek, then goes into the bathroom to wash up, still grumbling about the day he had.

Nicole sits at the dining table, toying with her silverware and occasionally glaring at me. When she sees me looking back, she presses her bare foot into the carpet and twists it, as if grinding out a cigarette. She then gives me an evil grin.

She’s mad at me because she got grounded. No TV for two days. And to add insult to injury, Naomi made her come over here and apologize to me. Which she did, sweetly and sincerely. Hell, I was almost convinced until she leaned in close and whispered through the window, “I’m going to squish you.”

I turn away from the window and fall shivering into a yellow, plastic chair. I’ve never felt so alone and so helpless. I miss my friends at SPECTRUM and I would sell my soul to be there and away from this place.

I hear the slap of Naomi’s sandals approaching. “Dinner time,” she mutters. Before I can stand up, my house is moved away from the wall. She crouches and thrusts her hand into the room, setting the little plate on the floor in front of me. The plate contains a chunk of chicken breast, a couple of pieces of shredded lettuce and the torn corner of a piece of bread. At my size, the meal is repugnant. But I know Naomi is in no mood to hear about it, so I thank her.

“You’re welcome,” she says. But instead of standing, she stays and watches me a few seconds. Then finally, she whispers “Ray?”

“Yeah?”

“That thing that happened this afternoon, between you and Nicole? I don’t think your daddy needs to know about that.”

Leverage! For the first time, I realize I’m not completely helpless. If Naomi wants my cooperation, she’s going to have to earn my trust. I pretend to mull it over, saying, “I don’t know. It’s kind of early in mine and Dad’s relationship for me to start keeping secrets from him.”

She leans in closer, her angry face suddenly way too close for my comfort. “Let’s put it this way,” she says, her voice dripping with menace. “If you tell your daddy, he’ll punish Nicole and then he’ll yell at me for letting it happen. And when he goes to work tomorrow, I’ll have you all to myself…”

And suddenly, my illusion of power is gone. I realize just how helpless my situation is. I’m at her mercy, and she knows it. And, God help me, I think she enjoys it.

“Okay. Fine. I won’t say a word,” I tell her. A tight-lipped smile appears on her face. So smug and arrogant… I clench my fists at my side and once again choke back the anger and frustration.

“Thanks, sweetie,” she says. She touches her fingertip to her lips, then gently touches it to me. I close my eyes and sit there defiantly, refusing to flinch or move away.



They all three eat their dinner without talking. The awkward silence is broken only by the sound of silverware clinking on the plates. Then Nicole’s voice pipes up, “Daddy? Can Ray sleep with me tonight?”

I hold my breath, honestly afraid of what his answer might be. Fortunately, Naomi says, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetie. Maybe later, when Ray is more comfortable in his new home.”

“Say, that reminds me,” Paul says around a mouthful of chicken. “I was talking to Rachel Foster today, and she warned me that the media is going to go nuts once Ray’s story breaks. Her firm is supposed to handle the publicity, so if any reporters call or come by, we’re just supposed to give them her name and number.”

“Reporters?” Naomi asks. “Nobody said anything about goddamned reporters.”

“Naomi, honey, it’s to be expected. Before this is all over, I expect we’re all going to be a little famous. Ray, most of all.”

“Cool,” Nicole says. “Are we gonna be on TV?”

“Maybe,” Paul answers. “Maybe some big shot producer will see you and decide to make you a movie star.”

“Oh, Daddy!” Nicole giggles. “I can’t wait to tell Kim!”

Naomi heaves a martyred sigh. “So, does that mean we don’t have to keep Ray a secret anymore?”

“Right,” Paul says. “I was thinking about throwing a barbecue or something this weekend. Invite our family and friends over and introduce them to Ray.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake Paul,” Naomi snaps. “Thanks for giving me so much notice. I’ll have to go grocery shopping tomorrow, and the house is a mess. I told Suzy not to come this week because I thought we were supposed to keep Ray under wraps.”

“Well, call her and ask her to come tomorrow,” Paul says. “Hell, invite her and her parents to the barbecue.”

Paul and Nicole chatter on happily about the cookout, gradually warming Naomi to the idea. In a matter of minutes, they’re all tossing out names to be added to the invite list. Cheryl and her daughter Kim from next door… Jim and Barbara Rose… Linda and her husband… Naomi’s sister Debbie…

God, I am so not looking forward to this…

It’s late. I don’t know how late because I don’t have a working clock in my house. All I have is a plastic grandfather clock eternally set for 2:30. But it’s been at least an hour since everybody went to bed. Nicole went first, glaring at me as she passed the dollhouse and whispering “Goodnight, Ray,” in an icy voice. Naomi went soon after, flashing me a thin smile as she passed by me.

Paul stayed up for a while after that, watching the Honeymooners on Nick at Nite and drinking rum from a plastic Batman cup. At last, he stood up, turned off the lamp and the TV, and stumbled by the glow of the nightlight into his bedroom. When I heard his door shut, I breathed a sigh of relief and lay down on my sponge bed.

It’s taken about an hour for me to relax and unwind. I’ve got knots in my shoulders so tight that my neck pops every time I turn my head. When this used to happen at SPECTRUM, Louise would wrap me in a hot washcloth and then gently prod my shoulders with her fingertip until the tension melted. God, I miss her so much…

Louise Herndon is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known, and I love her dearly. She’s in her mid-forties now, but she looks like she always has. Long, black hair and pale, smooth skin. Deep brown eyes and a smile that makes my heart pound. It’s almost Oedipal, I suppose, since she’s been more of a mother to me than anybody else, but I love her deeply and whole-heartedly the only way I can. I think of the days ahead without her, and I feel empty.



My “sexual awakening” (as Louise so tastefully referred to it) happened a couple of years ago, when I was 14. It wasn’t a gradual thing, but rather a sudden, brutish onslaught of lust and shame. I was frightened by the ferocity of these uninvited feelings, but…

Okay. I’m trying to make it sound more poetic than it was.

The therapy session began as any other. Louise set my carrier down on the coffee table in her office. I stepped out of the case and sat down on the edge of the table, letting my legs dangle. Louise sat in a chair a few feet away. It was summer, and she was wearing a short green dress and brown leather sandals.

For some reason, the sight of her sandaled foot made my heart race and my throat go dry. I felt a nervous excitement gnawing in my belly that seemed to sink to my groin. The next thing I knew, I was sporting an erection.

She was asking me about an argument that I had had with Leslie (my math tutor), and I was trying to answer her as best I could, but my eyes kept wandering back to her foot. Her toenails were pale pink and freshly painted. She flexed her toes unconsciously as she spoke, and the sandal dangled slightly from the sole of her foot. My face was burning and I choked back a gasp as I struggled with this sudden, inexplicable lust.

“Are you okay?” she asked. I nodded and muttered something about not feeling too well. I forced myself to look away from her foot and into her eyes. I felt guilty for my mental violation and I refused to allow myself another moment of weakness. I shoved the invading thoughts from my mind and concentrated on the session at hand.

I kept myself busy throughout the evening with the extra math homework Leslie had given me and tried not to think about what had happened in Louise’s office. But that night, as I lay in bed watching Letterman, I found myself unable to push the thoughts out. They crept back again and again. I closed my eyes and saw her foot, vast and beautiful. Finally I turned off the TV and dropped off into a fitful sleep.

The next day, I could hardly concentrate on my classes. I kept thinking about Louise and said a silent prayer that she would wear sandals again. I barely ate my lunch and Gary got onto me for blowing the work in the lab. But 4:00 finally came and my heart nearly burst with elations when I heard the slap of Louise’s sandals on the tile floor.

It was even better this time. She kept her feet on the floor, but she slid her foot out of her sandal and toyed with it while she talked to me. I kept telling myself to look away, that she was going to figure out what I was doing, but I couldn’t stop watching her toes grip the sandal strap and lift it before letting it drop back to the floor. I don’t remember what she said. My answers were evasive and probably made little sense. She finally called an end to the session and took me back to my room.

I couldn’t even eat my dinner because my stomach was tied in such knots. I tried to read another chapter of Pride and Prejudice, but I couldn’t keep my mind on it. After reading the same paragraph over and over for an hour, I finally switched off the monitor and lay down on the bed.

I thought of her pink toenails and wondered what it would have been like to paint them. I remembered the sole of her foot and I imagined myself beneath it, watching it descend on me. My erection became so tight that it hurt. I rolled over on my stomach, without really knowing why, and thought of her toying with the sandal. I pictured myself between her toes, struggling to free myself as she wiggled them. I felt an explosion in my groin and my stomach was suddenly warm and sticky. Every muscle in my body tensed. I arched my back and raised my head as a convulsion wracked my body. I gasped and let my head fall to the pillow, exhausted and relieved.

This went on for almost two weeks. I spent the session ogling her feet and I spent my evenings fantasizing about them. I created these incredibly sordid fantasies where Louise caught me looking and punished me. I spent most of my time in these fantasies wedged between her toes or dangling from her sandal strap, while she said such inane things as “So you like feet, do you?” or “Submit to me, my little foot slave.”

I’m still not sure why I brought it up in our session; maybe I was going crazy keeping it to myself, or maybe I just wanted to hear her say out loud how she would feel with me pinned beneath her foot. I was feeling pretty cagey, and I figured she was still in the dark about my petulant fantasies, so I just tried to bring up the topic as subtly as I could. I mentioned that I’d had a dream about her the night before in which she had almost stepped on me.

She asked me how long I’d been having these dreams, and I told her for a couple of weeks. She frowned, and I knew I’d given the wrong answer. She crossed her feet at the ankles and slid them under the chair as she leaned forward, and I knew my cover was blown. Of course she knew! She was a licensed therapist, for God’s sake! And I was some smart ass kid trying to trick her into talking dirty to me.

Louise didn’t get mad and she didn’t chide me for being a little pervert. Instead, she explained to me that boys my age tended to go through a “sexual awakening” in which they experienced feelings of pleasure mixed with guilt. She also explained to me about fetishes and tried to assure me that they were completely normal, and nothing to be ashamed of.

Things eventually got back to normal, for the most part. The fantasies dimmed and eventually became no more than a piece of my nighttime routine. My sessions with Louise became less awkward as the weeks rolled by. But although she claimed otherwise, I knew I had embarrassed her to some degree because she never wore sandals in our sessions again.



A noise just outside the house awakens me. I bolt upright, and my aching neck immediately makes me regret it. I see a shadow brush by the window, and I turn away, afraid to look. Afraid that I’ll see Nicole’s face staring back at me.

I lie there in my bed, listening to somebody breathing outside my window. Idiotically, I feign sleep, thinking whomever it is might lose interest. Surprisingly, it works. Whoever it is moves away and walks into the living room.

For a second I lay there, my heart pounding at the close call. I hear the phone being lifted from the hook with a soft beep. Somebody dials a number. Cautiously, I climb out of bed and peek out the window. Naomi is sitting in the chair in the living room, her legs tucked beneath her, dialing the phone. She glances in my direction and I drop to the floor, praying she didn’t see me.

“Hey,” I hear her whisper. “It’s me.” A pause, then a giggle. “I know. I had to wait for everybody to go to sleep.” Her voice becomes quieter and less distinct. Occasionally, she giggles and clamps her hand over her mouth to muffle it. “Quiet,” she admonishes whoever is on the line. “You’re gonna make me wake up Ray.”

The rest of the conversation is murmurs and whispers, and when the air conditioner kicks on, I know I won’t hear another word. I still watch her from the window, amazed by the smile on her face. I don’t think I’ve seen her happy since I got here. She makes a kissing sound into the phone, then hangs up with a giggle. She glances towards the dollhouse again and I bolt away from the window and leap into my green sponge bed.

I hear her approach, the muffled footsteps of her slippers on the carpet. I lie there, forcing myself to breathe deeply and regularly, praying she can’t hear the pounding of my heart.

She’s right outside my window. Even with my back to her, I can feel her eyes on me. I have this urge to leap up and scream into her vast face, “Just leave me alone!” But of course, I don’t. I lie there, pretending to sleep, waiting for her to walk away.

She lights a cigarette, and for about ten minutes, I hear her inhale sharply, then exhale with a deep sigh. I can smell the smoke as it wafts through my bedroom. I fight the urge to cough, afraid any signs of consciousness might encourage her to do more than watch me.

Finally, I hear her stand up with a soft grunt, and she pads back into her bedroom. It’s only after I hear her shut her door that I sit up and heave a sigh of relief. Which, of course, sets me to coughing. My bedroom reeks of cigarette smoke.

I think of how Naomi acted on the phone, all giddy and giggly, afraid of getting caught. The kissing noises, the tender smile…

I think she might have a boyfriend…



I’m standing in the break room at SPECTRUM, the one where we had my birthday party. Only everything is my size. My body feels awkward, as if only barely under my control. I see the Twinkie with the extinguished candle sitting on the table… the wick is still smoking. I take a stumbling step forward.

“It looks like your wish came true!” Louise is standing on the other side of the table, smiling at me.

“What’s happening?” I ask her.

“We made you normal,” she says. “You’re not a freak anymore, and you don’t have to go live with the Daltons.”

I’m filled with a strange elation as I realize that everything is going to be all right! I gaze into Louise’s beautiful brown eyes and clumsily make my way towards her. Smiling, she walks towards me, her arms outstretched…

An evil giggle fills the room, and I catch a glimpse of Nicole’s monstrous eye in the window.

I wake up sobbing.



It’s morning. Paul left for work an hour ago, and Naomi just went into the kitchen to make breakfast. Naomi’s tuneless humming is soon drowned out by the splatter-pop of bacon frying.

I’m so hungry—I haven’t eaten a decent meal since I got here—but the smell of the bacon mingled with cigarette smoke makes my stomach clench. God, I’m going to starve to death if Nicole doesn’t get me first.

As if on cue, Nicole comes bounding into the dining room, swinging her backpack. She drops it to the floor with a thud, “accidentally” letting it fall against my dollhouse. She stops and kneels, filling the window with her leering eye.

“Oops,” she says. “I’m sorry, Ray. I hope I didn’t knock any of your itty bitty things over.”

I suddenly remember my dream, and the acute pang of loss I felt when I realized that’s all it was. I turn from the window and clench my fists, commanding myself not to start crying again. Not now. Not in front of her.

“Don’t you turn your back on me, midget,” she snaps. “Get over here right now, or I’ll squish you…”

My sadness and fear give way to anger. With the exhilaration of someone with nothing to lose, I whirl towards the window and shout, “Jesus, would you just fuck off and die, you bitch?”

The smile on her face falters; she jerks as if slapped, and then shouts in a voice so loud and shrill that it tears through my head. “Momma! Ray just called me some bad names!”

From the kitchen, Naomi says, “Leave Ray alone and sit down. Breakfast is almost ready.”

“But Momma, he said the ‘F’ word and he called me the ‘B’ word!”

“And I’m gonna whip your ‘A’ word if you don’t sit down right now.”

Nicole glares at me through narrow eyes and I, with a feeling of gleeful abandon, flip her off. She stands up and I feel the house shake as she lays her hands on it.

“Nicole!” Naomi storms over and yanks her away from the dollhouse. “I swear to God, if you don’t stay away from Ray, I’m gonna ground you ‘til college! Now sit your ass down at that table right now!”

“But Momma!”

“NOW!”

Nicole sits down and sulks as Naomi slides my house away from the wall and sets my repugnant meal of egg pieces and bacon slivers down before me.

“Are you okay, Ray?” she asks, smiling that annoying patronizing smile of hers. I wish I were big enough to wipe it off her face.

“Fine,” I mutter, my arms crossed. Her hand hovers, as if trying to decide whether or not to stroke me.

“You don’t have to worry,” she says. “Nicole won’t hurt you. She’s just…”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” I shout, leaping to my feet and kicking at her enormous fingers. She yanks her hand away and glares at me.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” she asks.

“Like you even care!” I grab the plate of food and throw it at her. It bounces ineffectually off her cheek and splatters all over the plastic floor of my bedroom.

“You little bastard,” Naomi snaps, brushing her cheek.

“You see, Momma?” Nicole says, running over to watch. “Ray’s being mean today.”

“Nicole,” go sit down and eat your breakfast,” Naomi says. “Ray and I are going to go have a little talk.”

“I’ve got nothing to say to you,” I shout.

“Oh, we’ll see about that,” Naomi says. I scramble backwards as her giant hand comes towards me, but there is no escape. She grasps me between her thumb and forefinger and pulls me roughly from the safety of the dollhouse.

Instead of cradling me in her cupped palm, Naomi simply lets me dangle between her fingers as she carries me down the hall into her and Paul’s bedroom. She kicks the door shut and sits down on the unmade bed.

“Okay, now,” she says, holding me up. She smells of cigarettes and fried food, and her angry face is surprisingly severe without makeup. “What the hell has got into you this morning?”

“I hate this place!” I shout back at her. “I hate all of you! Why did you have to take me away from SPECTRUM? I was happy until you people came along and FUCKED EVERYTHING UP!”

“It’s not gonna be so bad,” she says. “Once you get used to things here, I think you’ll like it better. And you gotta understand that this is just as hard for me and your daddy…”

“Just because Paul Dalton fucked my mother seventeen years ago doesn’t make him my father,” I shout defiantly. “And you’re not my ‘Momma,’ so quit pretending like you are!”

Her finger and thumb pinch together fiercely, and I scream at the sudden pain. I writhe and kick in her grasp.

“Be still,” she says. “You don’t talk to me like that, you little shit. Do you understand me?”

I wipe at the tears in my eyes and glare at her. She pinches me again. “I said, do you understand me?”

Frustrated, helpless, and tired of feeling that way, I nod and whisper, “Yes ma’am.”

“Good.” She releases her grip and I drop into the palm of her other hand. “Now I don’t know what kind of bug crawled up your ass, but this little tantrum of yours is over. Your daddy and me have gone through a lot of trouble for you, and I’m sick and tired of your little pissy attitude.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“You do it again, and you’ll see how bad things can get. No more dollhouse. No more hot meals. I’ll tape you up and stick you in a drawer. Understand?”

“Yes ma’am.”

She smiles. “Good boy.” She stands up and we head back to the kitchen. Just before we reach the end of the hallway, she whispers, “Now you be good, and Momma will give you a bath after breakfast.”



It’s amazing the things you take for granted. Like food that doesn’t make you retch when you look at it. Or your own TV, stereo and personal library of digital books. Or, for that matter, plumbing.

When I lived at SPECTRUM, my little apartment had running water, including a working toilet and a shower. Unfortunately, my current residence lacks this convenience. My drinking water comes from a shot glass that Naomi keeps filled and sets in my kitchen. My toilet consists of some small, white paper ketchup cups that Naomi lifted from Dairy Queen. And bathing… well, bathing really sucks.



Nicole has gone to school, and Naomi is sitting in the living room, chatting on the phone with someone named Cheryl. From what I can tell, Cheryl lives next door, is divorced, and has a daughter named Kim who is close to Nicole’s age.

“Oh yeah, you’ve got to see him to believe it,” Naomi says on the phone. She looks towards the dollhouse, sees me, and smiles. “Well, Paul really wanted to wait until the barbecue tomorrow night to show him to people but I guess you can… oh, he’d love that, I’m sure.” Naomi giggles and holds up her bare foot to regard her toenails. “Well, yeah, I am in dire need of a pedicure. I was thinking about putting Ray to work.” She giggles again and says, “Cheryl, you dirty-minded thing!”

God, it just gets worse and worse.

“Well, how about this afternoon?” she says. “I still need to shower. Besides, Suzy’s coming to clean today and I kind of need to be here because she hasn’t met Ray yet. I’d hate for her to accidentally vacuum him up or something.” She giggles, then says, “Okay, Cheryl, I’ll see you about noon then. Okay. Bye-bye.”

She hangs up, then stands and ambles toward the dollhouse. “Ray, sweetie,” she says, peeking through the window at me. “Momma’s gonna go take a shower. Why don’t I go ahead and give you a bath while I’m at it?”

For the past two days, I’ve dreamed of a bath. I feel so grimy and itchy right now I can’t stand it. And I’m really starting to stink. I figured it was beneath Naomi’s notice, but when she put me back in my house this morning, she made a comment about how it was starting to smell like a gerbil cage.

But the prospect of bathing in front of Naomi makes me cringe. And what if, God forbid, she wants me to bathe with her? I can’t even think about that. I know I don’t stand a chance of talking her out of it, but I try anyway. I sigh and say, “I’d really rather not right now.”

For a second, I expect her to be angry. But she smiles and says, “I suppose you could shower with me, if you wanted to.” Her giggle makes my blood run cold.

“No, that’s okay. A bath will be fine. Give me a minute to get ready.”

I rummage through all the clothes I brought with me from SPECTRUM, and I pull out my bathing suit. I step into the corner, out of her sight, and slip it on. Then I go downstairs and out the front door to step into her waiting hand.

Naomi carries me into her bathroom and sets me down on the marble counter, right next to her clam-shaped sink. She turns on the faucet and holds her finger under it until it’s warm enough. Then she flicks the stopper into place.

“Let’s see,” she says to herself. She sets the enormous bar of soap and a bath rag down on the edge of the basin and turns off the water.

“Okay,” she says, turning her attention to me. “I think we’re about ready.”

“I can take it from here, Naomi,” I say. “Really.”

“Okay, sweetie,” she says. She scrapes a sliver of soap off the bar with her fingernail, then offers it to me. She picks me up and starts to put me in the sink, but reconsiders.

“Ray? Maybe you should take those trunks off.”

Horrified, I crane my neck up to look at her. “What? Why?”

She shrugs. “You’re supposed to be bathing, not swimming. Besides, what’s with all the modesty?” A scary, predatory grin appears on her face. “What could you possibly have to hide in there?”

“Naomi, please.”

“Oh, okay.” Her fingers envelop my body and her hand lowers me into the sink. Her hand withdraws, leaving me sitting chest deep in warm water.

From inside the sink, I can’t see her. But I hear the shower start up, and I hear her digging around for a towel. After a few minutes, I can see the mirror behind the sink fogging up. I can hear her humming, but I don’t recognize the tune.

I lather up with the sliver of soap and splash around to rinse off. God, it’s incredible! I rub the soap into my hair, then dunk my head to rinse it. I’m done in a matter of minutes, but I’m pretty much trapped in the sink until Naomi lets me out. So I lay back and float in the warm water, feeling my tired muscles relax. For the first time in three days, I feel almost human…

After a few minutes, I hear the water cut off and the shower door open. Naomi continues to hum as she towels off. I can hear her rub her hair vigorously with the towel. Soon, I hear her wet footsteps on the bathroom tile.

“That’s better,” she says, peeking into the sink. Her hair is wrapped in a white towel. “You done?”

I nod and stand, glad to have the bath over with, and relieved that it wasn’t nearly as bad as I had imagined. Naomi reaches down and scoops me up into her palm. She starts to set me down on the counter next to the bath rag, but she reconsiders. Instead, she picks up the rag and begins dabbing at me with it.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Just drying you off, sweetie,” she says. She rubs gently with the rag, wiping my chest and stomach. “Hmmm,” she says, putting the rag down.

“What?”

She smiles. “Nothing. I just think we’d better get you out of those wet trunks.”

“No!” I struggle as her fingers tighten around me. Her other hand hovers above me like a monstrous bird.

“Don’t,” I plead as she grasps my swimming trucks with the tips of her fingernails and slides them off of me. Despite my protests, she effortlessly pulls them from my kicking legs. She tosses my trunks onto the counter and picks up the rag to continue drying me off.

“There we go, sweetie,” she says. “Feel better?”

“I’m fine,” I say, just ready to return to the relative safety of my dollhouse.

“Good,” she says, carrying me over to her vanity. She sits on the stool and bends to set me on the floor.

“Now what?” I ask.

“I dried you off,” she says with a tight-lipped smile. “Now it’s your turn.”

I find myself standing on the bathroom floor in a puddle of water. Naomi’s bare feet are on either side of me, still wet from the shower. Her hand comes down and drops the washrag on the floor in front of me. I take the rag and drag it over to her left foot. I begin wiping along the arch, down towards her toes. It’s debasing and humiliating, but what bothers me most is that some part of me wants to do it.

“Get between the toes real good, sweetie,” she says, fanning her toes apart to make it easy. Nervously, I dab between her big and second toe, my heart pounding from the feeling of sheer helplessness. She giggles suddenly, clenching her toes together and snatching the rag from my hand. Startled, I jump backwards.

“Sorry, sweetie. Momma’s ticklish there.” She releases the rag and slides her foot towards me, spreading her toes apart again. I’m suddenly, painfully aware of my erection. I grab the rag and continue to wipe the water from her foot, praying she doesn’t notice. I make my way around her heel, trying not to notice the way her toes are slowly wriggling. Trying not to imagine how it must feel to be grasped helplessly between them…

When I’m done with her left foot, she turns slightly and brings her right foot to rest on the tile in front of me. For a glorious, terrifying second, I can see the sole of her foot. What must it feel like to be trapped beneath it, to feel its flesh press me to the floor? Shaking my head, desperate (yet reluctant) to be done, I start to work.

By the time I finish, I’m pretty much drenched again. Naomi reaches down and snatches me into the air along with the damp rag. I squirm and shift in her grip, trying desperately to hide my erection from her. Fortunately, she doesn’t notice, or at least pretends not to. She just wipes me dry with the rag and tosses it onto the counter.

“You’re not still angry at Momma about this morning, are you?” she asks in a teasing tone.

I choke back the resentment in my voice as I shake my head. “No ma’am.”

One of my friends at SPECTRUM was an engineer named Sally Mabudafhasi. She was an older woman, fifty or so, from South Africa. I remember that she spoke with this beautiful, exotic accent that was clipped and vaguely European. She also wore these thick glasses that made her brown eyes amazingly large.

Three years ago, Sally was working on the lights in my apartment. I was lying on my bed, watching her brown fingers as they nimbly navigated the tangle of wires and circuits. It was almost frightening to realize just how complicated my home became once you peeked beyond the bare white walls.

“Ray?” she said. “Have you ever heard of the abatwa?”

It sounded like one of my vocabulary words. “Isn’t that a slaughterhouse?”

Sally laughed. “No, not abattoir. Abatwa.”

I shook my head. “Uh huh. What’s the abatwa?”

“The abatwa are this race of little tiny people that the Zulus believe in. My aunt used to come visit us in the city, and she would tell me stories about them. They’re supposed to be really shy, and they only show themselves to babies, holy men and pregnant women. In fact, my aunt used to tell me that my mother had seen an abatwa sleeping in an anthill outside our house when she was pregnant with me. I never believed her though.”

“How come?”

“Because if you’re pregnant and you see an abatwa, you’re supposed to have a son. That’s what the legends say, anyway.”

Her hand withdrew from my quarters, then returned with a tiny soldering probe. The air was filled with the sour, bitter smell of soldered wire.

“Anyway, my aunt told me that the abatwa were so tiny that an entire tribe could ride on one horse, sitting behind one another from the neck to the tail. They would ride the horse to hunt food and if they didn’t find anything, then they’d eat the horse.”

“Cool. Then what?”

Her hand withdrew again, then returned one more time to snap the panel back on the wall.

“I don’t know,” Sally said. “I guess they would go looking for another horse.”

“Well, did anybody ever catch one?”

“Probably not,” she said. “They carry these poisoned arrows that can kill a man easy, so most people go out of their way to avoid them. In fact, my aunt said everybody in her village wore thick, hard shoes when they went walking in the hills just in case they accidentally stepped on one.”

“Ewww.” At the time, the idea of being stepped on was repugnant and frightening.

“Anyway, I thought you’d be interested,” she said, finishing up her repairs. She tapped on the wall with her fingertip, and the lights flickered on above me. “That should do it, Ray,” she said. “Give it a try.”

I clapped my hands twice, and the lights went out. Clapped again, and they came back on.

“Cool,” I said. “Thanks!”



I’m lying on my green sponge bed, wishing right now that I had some of those poisoned arrows. Just three would be enough…

Naomi is sitting in the living room, reading a magazine. The Price Is Right is on the TV, and the constant blare of “Come on doooowwwwn!” is starting to give me a headache. Life sucks, but at least I’m fully clothed. And clean. Now if I could just get something decent to eat…

“Ray, sweetie,” Naomi calls me from the living room. “You wanna come watch TV with Momma?” Dammit, why can’t she just leave me alone? I just lie there, wondering how long I’ll get away with pretending I can’t hear her.

I find myself toying with the idea of fleeing the dollhouse and living like a rat. I would never dream of trying to make it in the outside world, but for some reason the idea of scampering for cover and avoiding capture appeals to me. Darting under furniture, or even burrowing an elaborate network of tunnels throughout the house.

I remember Louise reading me The Borrowers when I was younger. The idea of living secretly in the world of giants was exciting and oddly tantalizing. I concocted elaborate fantasies in which I was a Borrower who had been discovered and captured. I spent many nights imagining that my guerilla brethren would mount a massive rescue mission to free me from the giants and take me home. Of course, I would never leave Louise, so in my fantasies she would always come along to live with us…

What can I say? I was eight.

“Ray?” Naomi calls from just outside, startling me. I didn’t even hear her approach. “Why don’t you come out now, sweetie?”

I just lie there, hoping she’ll go away if I ignore her.

“Ray?” The house shakes as she nudges it with her foot. “You in there?”

Just go away, I chant silently to myself. Just go away. Just go away. Just go away.

“I’m going to count to three.”

Justgoawayjustgoawayjustgoawayjustgoaway…

“One… two…”

“I’m coming,” I call out to her. Defeated, I climb down the stairs and go out the front door to stand at her feet. That’s the problem with fantasy. It sets standards too high for reality to ever live up to.



She sits on the couch, cradling me in her palm. Her foot rests on the edge of the coffee table, her toes toying idly with the TV Guide. I catch myself staring, then glance up nervously to see if she saw me. Fortunately, Naomi is too entranced in her “stories” to pay me too much attention. Bob Barker has left the air, giving way to The Young and the Restless.

I have no idea who these people are, but Naomi watches this show religiously. I’m treated to her non-stop commentary: “Oh, I hate her. She’s such a bitch. She won’t be happy until the rest of the world is as miserable as she is.”

She strokes me absently with her thumb, which isn’t so bad. Her thumbnail pokes gently at my chest, then traces a path down my stomach. I take a deep breath and lean back against her fingers, feeling the warmth of her skin through my cotton clothes.

“Suzy should be here any minute,” Naomi says during the first commercial break.

“Who is Suzy?” I ask.

“She cleans the house every Thursday, and she baby-sits for Nicole when we need her to. She’s a real sweet girl. Oriental, but sharp as a tack and she speaks English real good. I think you’ll like her.”

I doubt it seriously. In fact, I’m fairly confident that when this day is over, I will have added yet another name to my Dalton Household Hate List.



The doorbell rings just as Jill Abbot is divulging her plan to screw Victor Newman once and for all. Naomi sets me down on the table and goes to answer the door.

“Hey, Ms. Dalton.” I crane my neck, trying to catch a glimpse, but Naomi is blocking my view.

“Hi, Suzy. Come on in.”

Naomi comes back into the living room, accompanied by the most stunningly beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. She’s petite, barely up to Naomi’s shoulder. Her lovely Asian features are framed by long, silky hair that hangs down past her shoulders. She’s wearing a Love & Rockets t-shirt and denim shorts. I find myself trying to guess her age—she looks about seventeen, but I suspect she’s a little older. With a shiver, I realize that in my entire life, I have never been around anybody this close to my own age.

Her green eyes widen with astonishment when she sees me. Her jaw drops for a second, but she quickly regains her composure with a small, shy smile.

“Suzy, this is Ray. He’s Paul’s son from a previous… well, I mean he’s Paul’s son. Ray, this is Suzy.”

Suzy approaches and kneels in front of the table, bringing her lovely face tantalizingly close to me. “You are so beautiful,” she says. Her breath, smelling of spearmint, wafts gently over me. Her complexion is perfect, without a single blemish.

“So are you,” I say. My heart skips a beat when she smiles at me.

“Careful,” Naomi says, coming to stand behind her. “Ray’s kinda skittish sometimes.”

Suzy moves back and brings her hand to rest on the table. Her fingernails are pale green, which looks quite nice next to her olive skin. Her hand slides slowly towards me, then hesitates. She looks at me and asks, “May I?”

“Ray doesn’t like to be touched by strangers,” Naomi says. Her hand swoops down, snatching me up roughly from the table. I tumble into her palm and find myself pinned as her fingers close around me. “I better put him back in his house so you can get to cleaning.”

“Sure. Okay.” Suzy’s phenomenal green eyes fix on me, and she smiles. “Nice to meet you, Ray. I’ll see you later.”

I’m cursing under my breath as Naomi carries me back to the dollhouse. She slides it away from the wall with her foot and drops me onto my bed. She lingers for a moment, as if she’s about to say something. Then, abruptly, she’s gone. The house slides roughly back against the wall.

“There we go,” Naomi says. “Better stay put so you don’t get sucked up or stepped on.” She walks past Suzy and heads down the hall to her bedroom.

I watch Suzy through the window as she drags the vacuum cleaner from the hall closet to the living room. My heart nearly leaps out of my chest when she kicks off her clunky, black shoes. Her toenails are pale green, just like her fingernails. She presses the on-switch with her toe, and the vacuum roars to life.

Damn Naomi, anyway. Why can’t she go two minutes without making me miserable? I watch the vacuum cleaner slide across the carpet, coming close to the dollhouse without touching it, leaving a track behind it. Suzy spots me in the window. She winks and grins at me, then returns to vacuuming. My heart pounds at the sight of her bare feet walking past the dollhouse and I finally force myself to look away. It just suddenly feels wrong, like I’m spying on her.



Suzy has finished vacuuming and is dusting the living room furniture. Naomi comes into the room, dressed and ready to go. She’s wearing a short, red summer frock and about a quarter-inch of makeup. A cigarette dangles from her sticky red lips, and her blonde hair has been teased up and sprayed. All she needs is a lamppost to complete the two-dollar whore ensemble.

She clops by the dollhouse in her white sandals, upsetting the neat tracks in the carpet as she walks across the living room. She picks up the phone and dials. “Hey, Cheryl. You ready? Okay, sweetie. See you in a few minutes.”

She hangs up and takes another drag on her red-smudge cigarette. Suzy looks up from her dusting. “Going somewhere, Ms. Dalton?”

Naomi nods. “Going to get my nails done with Cheryl from next door, then I gotta run to the grocery store. Oh, that reminds me… we’re having a barbecue tomorrow night to kind of welcome Ray into the family. You and your parents are invited.”

Suzy glances at me and says, “Sounds great! I’ll let Mom and Dad know.”

“Great. Now can you manage without me this afternoon?”

“Sure.”

“Good. I just put the sheets in the dryer. Can you make the beds for me?”

“You got it,” Suzy says. “No problem.”

Naomi walks over to the dollhouse and kneels. Her perfume hangs in the air like a sickly-sweet fog. “Ray, sweetie? You ready to go out with Momma and Cheryl?”

“No!” I say, perhaps too quickly and emphatically. Naomi’s eyes narrow, creasing her mascara. “Uh, I mean I don’t do real well with crowds. I can’t stand being around a lot of people.”

Naomi shakes her head. “It’s okay, sweetie. You can ride in Momma’s purse. You’ll be safe.”

“Please,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m really scared of public places. Please don’t make me go.”

Her hands are on the side of the house, and I can feel it moving slowly away from the wall. “You’re just being silly,” she says. Her hand reaches into my room. I back away from her fingers, desperately trying to think of something else to say.

“Don’t!” I scream melodramatically. “I’m serious, Naomi. This is a real issue. Louise and I were working on it when my father showed up. I’ve got this condition…”

Her fingers grasp me and lift me from the dollhouse. She stands, holding me kicking and screaming in her hand.

“Agoraphobia,” Suzy says, standing next to Naomi. Naomi jumps and I clutch her thumb to steady myself.

“What?” Naomi says. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Agoraphobia,” Suzy repeats. “It’s a psychological disorder, a fear of open or public places. Causes panic attacks, shock…”

Naomi glares at me, then at her.

“I’m a psychology major,” Suzy says. “Remember?”

Naomi is looking down at me when the front door opens and a hoarse voice barks out “Knock knock!” The woman who comes into the living room looks like Audrey Hepburn would look if a truckload of hard life had backed over her face. Her hair is dark and fashionably short, and she wears dark glasses that hide most of the lines around her eyes. She’s wearing a green dress and a pair of thong sandals.

She takes the glasses off and spots me in Naomi’s hand. “Oh my God!” she brays in a voice that has been murdered by four packs a day. “Oh, Naomi, he’s just adorable!”

“Cheryl,” Naomi says. “This is Ray. Paul’s… you know…”

Cheryl reaches over and prods me playfully with her ragged fingernail. “Oh, you are just too darling,” she croaks. “Maybe we can put you to work at the beauty shop today.”

“I’m afraid Ray won’t be joining us this afternoon,” Naomi says, frowning down at me. “He’s afraid of open spaces.”

“Really? Well, I bet I could keep him safe and cozy.” She looks down at me and grasps teasingly at my hands with her thumb and forefinger. “Right, sugar?” She laughs, a harsh bark that sends a shudder ripping through my body. The thought of being in Cheryl’s hands is almost enough to make me appreciate Naomi.

“You and Ray can get better acquainted this afternoon,” Naomi says, flashing me a mean smile. “When we get back.”

“Oh, okay,” Cheryl says, a tad disappointed. “See you later, sugar,” she croaks as she slides her sunglasses back on.

Naomi makes a point of walking past Suzy to set me down on the table. She touches her finger to her sticky red lips, then touches it to me. The look in her eyes tells me that I’m going to pay later for not going with her and Cheryl. But right now, I’m so relieved to have dodged that bullet that I hardly care.

“There’s sandwich stuff in the fridge, in case you get hungry,” Naomi is saying as she grabs her purse from the dining table and rummages for her keys. “If you make yourself a sandwich, you can just tear off a corner to feed Ray.”

“Right,” Suzy says.

“Nicole should be home around three or so. She can have some cookies, but don’t let her spoil her dinner.”

“Right,” Suzy says again. She glances at me and smiles, as if sharing a joke.

Naomi digs through her purse again and pulls out a twenty-dollar bill. “Here’s your money,” she says, holding out to Suzy. “Don’t forget to unload the dishwasher, and if you could load the dishes in the sink, I’d sure appreciate it.”

“Sure, Ms. Dalton. No problem.”

Naomi finally turns to follow Cheryl out the door, still calling instructions over her shoulder. “If you get a chance to fold the laundry, you can just leave it on the bed. I’ll put it up when I get home…”

The front door shuts and Suzy sighs. “Sure thing, Ms. Dalton. And while I’m at it, maybe I can rotate the house a little bit to the left.” She looks at me, then walks over to the table. I peer up into her face as she kneels over me.

“So, what’s the deal?” she asks. “You really afraid of public places?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I’ve never been in one. I just didn’t want to spend the afternoon riding around in Naomi’s purse. Plus Cheryl scares me.”

“You and me both,” Suzy says, laughing. God, even her laugh is perfect. “Her daughter’s a basket case, too. Cheryl’s got her on lithium.”

My neck is getting sore from craning upward, so I glance down at the green toenails on Suzy’s left foot. Her toes are long and slender, her nails meticulously pedicured.

“So, you really don’t like being touched?” she asks.

“I don’t mind,” I tell her, wondering if she can see me blushing. “Naomi just gets mad because I don’t like being touched by her.”

Suzy grins and nods, then asks, “Are you hungry?”

Just the thought of food makes my stomach growl. “Yeah, I am.”

She lays her hand on the table, palm up. I step into her palm and sit down as she delicately cups her fingers around me and slowly lifts me up. It’s the same way Louise used to pick me up, and it’s a welcome relief from all the grabbing and snatching that Naomi does.

She sets me on the counter and goes to the refrigerator. She sets the packages of turkey, pastrami and Swiss cheese on the countertop next to me, then rummages through the crisper for a head of lettuce and a tomato.

“Was she kidding about tearing off a corner?” Suzy asks as she opens the bread and pulls out a couple of pieces. “I mean, Christ. Are they feeding you table scraps?”

“Basically,” I say. “I haven’t eaten well since I got here. I guess I got kind of spoiled.”

“Well, we can do better than that,” she says. She pulls a paring knife out of the drawer and goes to work on the bread with surgical precision. She slices off a square about the size of my head, then gingerly slices that in half.

“Oh, you don’t mind my fingers, do you?” she asks.

“No, that’s fine,” I answer, amazed by the sense of gratitude welling in me. This is the first kindness I’ve been shown since I got here.

Suzy slices off the remnants of the crust, then taps the mayonnaise jar with the blade of the knife. “Mayo?”

“Please.”

She dips the blade into the jar and dabs a tiny dot onto the bread. She does a decent job of spreading it, then asks, “What all do you want on it?”

I start naming off ingredients and she does her best to neatly trim them and lay them on my sandwich. Her beautiful fingers move fluidly and easily as she stacks the tiny squares of turkey, pastrami and cheese. She slices the tomato, then shaves off a piece to lay on top of the cheese. Then, finally, she tears off a small piece of lettuce. She places the other piece of bread on top and gently taps it into place.

“Uh, plates?” she asks.

I point to the stack of plastic dishes that sit on the counter next to the sink. “They came with the house,” I explain, giddy from her grin. She places the sandwich on one of the plates, and then sets it down in front of me.

“Voila,” she says. The sandwich is about the size of my head, but it looks great. My mouth is actually watering a I heft it and take a difficult bite.

“Wonderful,” I say over a mouthful.

“I’m glad,” she says. She then goes to work on a sandwich of her own.



“So, you like Love & Rockets?” I ask her. She’s sitting on the couch with a pile of warm laundry next to her. I’m standing on the arm of the couch, watching her fold.

“What?” she says, then glances down at her t-shirt. “Oh, yeah. I love them. I went and saw them in Dallas last April.”

“Really? That must have been cool.”

“It was awesome,” she says. “I don’t like their new stuff so much, but they did a lot of old stuff too. It was… you know…”

“Awesome?” I offer.

“Yeah.” She smiles at me as she tosses another folded shirt onto the coffee table. “I don’t guess you’ve ever been to a concert or anything?”

“Afraid not,” I say. “There’s apparently some concern as to whether or not I could survive the mosh pit.”

She bursts out laughing. “You’re a funny guy,” she finally says.

“Yeah, well. You know, I work out…”

Her laugh is beautiful and lilting. I bask in her smile, tremble in the beauty of her eyes. It’s quite confusing. She reminds me so much of Louise—kind, gentle and considerate. There’s this part of me that wants her to toy with me, to bully me, to remind me just how insignificant and powerless I am; the thought excites and sickens me. But I know that she won’t because, like Louise, she sees me as a person. Not a toy, not a pet, but a person.

And that thought simply excites me.



Suzy’s in the back, cleaning Paul and Naomi’s bathroom, when Nicole gets home. She drops her backpack on the table, glances at my dollhouse, then looks around. She finally spots me on the arm of the couch, next to the remote, and her face breaks into an evil grin.

“Where’s Momma?” she asks, walking over to me.

“Out with Cheryl,” I say, then add quickly, “but Suzy’s here.”

Nicole’s eyes dart to the hallway, then back to me. I stumble as her hand shoots forward, snatching me from the arm of the couch and yanking me into the air. She’s warm, her face flushed from the walk home. I can smell sweat and that cloying perfume as she presses me to her chest. I can hear her heart pounding through her t-shirt as she carries me down the hall.

I begin screaming when she carries me into her room and closes the door.

“Well, what should we do?” she asks, giggling as I writhe in her grip.

“Put me down!” I shout.

Her insufferable grin widens. She sits down on the edge of the bed, holding me out so that I’m dangling high above the floor. Far below, I see her kick off her sneakers.

“If you insist,” she says, bending over and setting me on the carpet between her feet. Her socks are damp and cling to the shape of her wriggling toes. The smell is so overwhelming that it makes my eyes water. Far above, she giggles with maniacal glee. I glance around the room. Yesterday’s clothes are scattered along the floor. A teddy bear lies on its side at the bottom of the unmade bed. I notice part of a sandal jutting out from under her dresser…

If I can just make it to the dresser, I can evade her until Suzy figures out where I am. I move slowly, watching her watch me. My heart is pounding, my legs are trembling. I brace myself, get ready…

I bolt for the dresser, stumbling across the carpet. I hear Nicole squeal with delight as I run frantically for safety. Her foot is suddenly in my way. I try to run around it, but I’m clearly outmatched. Each time I turn, her foot comes down to block my progress.

“Dammit, why can’t you just leave me alone?” I shout, shaking my fist at her. She lifts her foot and lets it hover over me. I catch a glimpse of the rough, white fabric of her sock before I spin around and try to leap out of the way.

My world goes dark and miserable as I’m buried beneath her socked foot. I’m gagging, struggling to get out from under. I can feel her toes through the fabric, slowly clenching, trying to grip me.

“Smell my feet,” she says gleefully. With her toes, she rolls me over and pins me down. I try to work my hands free, but Nicole presses down. I try to shout, but I can’t get the air into my lungs. Each struggling breath is thick with the smell of her foot.

I finally stop struggling, hoping she’ll relax a little bit. And suddenly, her foot is lifted.

“Don’t run, or I’ll squash you,” she says. “And I’ll flush you down the toilet and tell Momma that Suzy accidentally vacuumed you up. And Momma will believe me because she says that Suzy’s not real responsible.”

“I won’t run,” I tell her. “Can we please go back to the living room?”

Nicole crosses her leg and pulls the sock off of her foot. She then leans forward, placing her bare foot on the floor next to me. She dangles the sock, brushing it against me. “Does it stink?” she asks, giggling.

I flail blindly at the sock, trying vainly to knock it away from me. “Stop!” I scream, but she’s relentless. My stomach lurches and I struggle to keep my lunch down, but it proves to be too much. I fall to the floor on my hands and knees, puking up the sandwich Suzy made for me.

“You nasty little thing,” Nicole says. I’m on all fours, gasping for air and trying to stop retching when she suddenly grasps me between her toes. I’m too weak to even struggle as she crosses her leg and lifts me up. She plucks me from her toes and holds me to her face. I try to hold it in, but I can’t. Frustrated and helpless once again, I being crying. I pray that the worst is over.

Nicole drops me, and I fall, kicking and screaming, into the damp, dark recesses of her sock.

In the distance, I hear a muffled knock at the door. “Nicole, are you in there?”

“Help!” I scream, but my voice sounds pitiful even to me. I’m jerked about roughly as Nicole’s fingers pinch at me through the sock. It’s not until I hear the sound of her toenails rubbing against the cotton that I realize she’s putting her sock back on.

My struggles have all but ceased. I find myself held fast between the sock and the top of her foot. My face is being pressed between her big and second toe. I try to raise my head, but my face slams back down against her as her foot hits the ground.

I hear the door open and Nicole say sweetly, “Oh, hey Suzy. I didn’t know you were here.”

“I’ll bet,” Suzy says. “Where’s Ray?”

“I don’t know. Isn’t he in his dollhouse?”

I try again to shout, but feel the air jarred out of me with each step Nicole takes. I’m drenched with sweat, and I think my nose is bleeding. It’s miserably hot and damp.

“No, he’s not. Where have you got him?” I hear Suzy opening and closing drawers.

“He’s not in here,” Nicole says. Weary and hopeless, I’m suddenly struck with an idea. I raise my head and slide my arm up, reaching my hand between Nicole’s toes. I stroke the flesh gently, as lightly as I can. Nicole slams her foot on the floor, smacking my face. I hear her giggle.

“You think this is funny?” Suzy says. “I swear to God, I’m going to slap you if you don’t answer me.”

I tickle her again, and hear her snicker. This time, her toes clench together, holding my hand. As I try to tug it free, I feel her other foot press down on me, pushing my face down between her toes.

“What the hell are you…” Suzy trails off. My prayers deteriorate into a rapid litany. Please please please please please please… “Oh my God,” she says. I hear a smack and Nicole’s scream as I feel myself flying through the air.

“I’m telling Momma,” Nicole says. “Let go of my leg!” I feel the sock slide away, leaving me exposed and dangling, my hands still caught between Nicole’s toes.

“You little bitch,” Suzy shouts. Her fingers envelope me, freeing me from Nicole’s grasp. Sobbing and trembling, I huddle in her palm.

“I’m telling Momma,” Nicole repeats.

“Get in line,” Suzy says. “I swear to God, Nicole. I’m going to kick your ass for this.”

“I was just playing with him,” Nicole says, a trace of panic in her voice.

Suzy shakes her head and turns to leave. I glance at Nicole and I see tears welling up in her eyes. It’s not enough, but it’s satisfying all the same. I find myself fantasizing about the poisoned arrows again…



Suzy gently touches the tip of the wet cloth to my face. “Feeling any better?” she asks.

I nod, slightly embarrassed. I’ve spent the last fifteen minutes sobbing helplessly as she held me. Now that I’ve regained my composure, I’m ready to put that humiliating scene behind me.

“Your nose isn’t bleeding anymore,” she says. “You’re a little bruised, but not broken. You’re a lucky little guy.”

“Yeah, I’m feeling pretty lucky right now,” I say. “Nicole thinks I’m a toy. Naomi treats me like a pet. And I get the feeling Paul is just protecting his investment.”

“You poor thing,” she says, cradling me. She sets the rag down and strokes me gently. “Listen, how badly do you want to see Nicole get in trouble?”

“Why?” I ask, looking up into her face.

“I was just thinking, she looked pretty scared when I caught her with you, and she’s been in there crying for the last fifteen minutes. Maybe I could tell her that I won’t tell Naomi if she promises to leave you alone. In fact, if I tell her that you talked me into it, she might be a little nicer to you.”

She’s right, of course. If Suzy tells Naomi, Naomi will hand out some half-assed punishment and Nicole will take it out on me. And next time, Suzy might not be there to save me.

“Okay,” I tell her. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Good,” she says, grinning. “Well, I’d say you could handle yourself pretty well in the mosh pit.”

I laugh and she laughs, and suddenly my ordeal with Nicole seems distant and less menacing. I lean back against her fingers and relax, enjoying the gentle touch of her fingertip on my arm.

I have no experience with this, and I may be severely jumping the gun here, but I think I might be in love with her.

Suzy left when Naomi and Cheryl got home. She gently kissed me, then placed me in my house. “See you later, Ray,” she said, and I watched her leave. My mind raced, praying with each step that she would turn around and offer to take me with her. It was a petulant and unlikely fantasy, but I was still disappointed when she walked out the door. Now I’m standing on the kitchen table, waiting for Cheryl and Naomi to get bored with me. They’re about halfway through a bottle of wine, and their giggles get louder with each sip.

When they first got home, they put me on the floor so I could admire their pedicures. I walked back and forth between Naomi’s pale pink and Cheryl’s bright red, oohing and aahing appreciatively, as if I were at the Guggenheim. Both women slid off their sandals and displayed their toenails for my approval, wriggling their toes and sliding their feet to block me if it looked like I was about to wander off.

I hate to admit it, but I was really beginning to enjoy myself. I was a little nervous at first, after the ordeal with Nicole, but Naomi and Cheryl were both so pleasant and playful, vying for my attention. Perhaps it was the euphoria of my afternoon with Suzy, but I really began to relax and throw myself into the part. I touched their toes, ran my fingers along their polished nails, and informed both ladies that I had never seen more beautiful feet in my entire life.

When they finally decided I’d had enough, Naomi picked me up and handed me to Cheryl so she could hold me. They cooed and stroked me, passing me back and forth as they drank their wine and smoked their cigarettes. Even this I didn’t mind so much… I began to wonder if I had been unduly harsh in my judgment of Naomi. Maybe I had been a bit of an ass since I’d gotten here…



For the past fifteen minutes, they’ve been talking about Naomi’s sister Debbie, who shares a trailer with some guy named Walt, who spent two years in prison for the statutory rape of a girl named Ellen, although there’s a good chance she was just making the whole story up because she comes from white trash and everyone knows her daddy smokes crack all day while her momma busts her ass waiting tables at the Denny’s, yadda, yadda, yadda…

I finally walk over to Naomi’s hand and touch her finger to get her attention. I tell her I need to use the bathroom.

“Okay, sweetie,” she says, scooping me up. She carries me over to my dollhouse and sets me down at the front door. I run inside and latch it shut, safe at last. It was more of an excuse than anything, but I still run upstairs and take a quick pee.

“Oh shit!” Naomi says as she walks back to the table. “Cheryl, it’s almost six. What about your little girl?”

Cheryl’s voice, as always, is hoarse and grating. “Oh, Kim’s having dinner with The Prick tonight.” The Prick is, naturally, Cheryl’s pet name for her ex-husband.

“Well, at least he keeps in touch,” Naomi says. “Nicole’s daddy won’t even send a goddamned birthday card if I don’t call him first.”

“I’d settle for that,” Cheryl says. “The only reason The Prick even bothers is so he can turn her against me. No wonder the poor kid’s in therapy. No telling what kind of stories he’s filling her head with.”

“We married some worthless sons-of-bitches all right,” Naomi says. I hear the clink of their glasses.

“I’m never making that mistake again,” Cheryl croaks, before slurping loudly at her wine. “I’ll rot in hell before I ever get married again.”

“Never say never, sweetie,” Naomi says. “I used to think the same thing until I met Paul.”

“Never,” Cheryl repeats, then adds, “except maybe someone like Ray.” She giggles and looks right at me. “I’d love a man I could keep in a jar by the bed.”

Naomi snorts with laughter. “Stop that, you naughty thing.”

“Manicures, pedicures, and occasional service in the tub,” Cheryl says. “And if he ever forgot his place, I’d flush him down the toilet and go find another one.”

“You’re terrible,” Naomi says, still laughing.

“I’d like to catch The Prick like that.” Cheryl’s voice is cold now. “I’d take a pair of fingernail clippers to him…”

I can’t listen to any more of this. I storm down the stairs, trying not to hear Cheryl’s sick fantasies. I open my front door and peer out towards the kitchen table. Neither of them are looking at me, so I slide out the door and move quickly across the carpet.

Nicole’s door is slightly open. I squeeze through, looking around cautiously as I walk past her nightstand. Nicole is lying on her stomach on the bed, reading a magazine. Some annoying n’Sync song is buzzing from her clock radio, and she’s humming along with it.

Just before she left, Suzy told Nicole, “You’re lucky Ray’s such a nice guy. I wanted to tell your mom, but he convinced me to give you another chance. Maybe you should try being nicer to him.” Nicole simply glared at her without answering.

I’m tired of being scared, and I’m sick of waiting for the other shoe to drop. So now I’m standing on the floor near her bed, wondering what’s going to happen next. I take a deep breath and call out her name.

She looks down at me, brushing the hair out of her eyes. “What do you want?”

I shrug, and try to sound nonchalant. “I just want to talk.”

She eyes me suspiciously. “Did you tell Momma about what I did to you?”

“No.”

“Are you going to?”

I shake my head. “No.”

She sighs. “Okay.” Her hand comes down to take me, and she gently lifts me up to her bed. She sets me down on the mattress and rolls onto her side, propping her head on her bent arm. The mattress trembles beneath my feet and I put out my arms for balance.

“Sorry,” she says.

“It’s okay,” I say. “Just need to get my sea legs.”

“No, I mean about this afternoon,” she says. “I really wasn’t going to hurt you or anything. I was just trying to scare you.”

“Why? Why did you want to scare me?”

She shrugs, making the bed shake again. “I don’t know.”

“Look, Nicole. I know we kind of got off on the wrong foot with each other, but I could really use a friend right now.”

She says nothing.

“Of course, if that’s too much to ask, then could we please just leave each other alone while I’m here?”

She frowns. “While you’re here? Where’re you going?”

“Depends on the court case. If SPECTRUM wins, I’ll be going back there.”

“How come you wanna go back there?” she asks. “I thought they did mean things to you there. Daddy said they did experiments and stuff.”

“They were my family,” I tell her. “I miss them.”

“We’re your family too,” Nicole says. “Are you going to be sad if you have to stay here?”

I sigh. “That depends. Are we friends?”

She reaches for me again, her enormous fingers wrapping around my body and lifting me into the air. She rolls over on her back and lays me on her chest. She presses down gently.

“Your heart is pounding,” she says. “Are you scared of me?”

“A little,” I answer.

She begins stroking me with her fingertips. I can feel her heartbeat and the warmth of her skin through her t-shirt.

“I guess we can be friends,” she says.

The warmth of her hand and the steady beating of her heart are soothing. I feel her chest rise and fall beneath me.

I feel knots untying in my shoulders as Nicole continues to gently pet me. It’s a load off of my mind just to know that we’ve buried the hatchet. Now if I can just keep things under control with Naomi, life with the Dalton family might just become tolerable.

I find myself telling Nicole about SPECTRUM, about Louise and Gary, who were like parents to me. About Sally, who devoted so much of her time figuring out how to make things convenient for someone my size. And I tell her about Alan Macky.



Alan was our Security Liaison at SPECTRUM. He was beefy and freckled, with red hair and this nasty scar that ran from his right ear to the middle of his cheek. I guess he would have been pretty imposing if not for this easy grin that was a permanent fixture on his broad face.

The grin seems especially poignant to me now, but not because I remember it vividly. Rather, I remember the one time I ever saw him without it.

Alan was a regular fixture around the lab. He also popped into my classes from time to time, where he would flirt bashfully with Dana until she or Leslie ordered him out of the room. He was big, goofy, and infinitely likable. Even Dana had to admit there was something absolutely endearing about him, even though she consistently rebuffed his advances.

I never had the nerve to ask him about his scar, but curiosity drove me to ask everybody else. Dana and Leslie both told me that he’d received it during the Gulf War. Sally told me that he’d been injured while helping some bioengineer defect from GenetiTech (SPECTRUM’s chief rival). Gary told me a lurid story about how Alan had prevented the assassination of one of SPECTRUM’s corporate officers in a fancy restaurant by killing the would-be assassin with a fork. Louise, of course, told me to mind my own business.

So I tried to reconcile these exciting stories with the man I knew, but could never manage it. It was hard to imagine anyone as amiable as Alan ever being in a knife fight, let alone picture him ruthlessly stabbing someone in the neck with a piece of cutlery. I finally just chalked it up to an injury he had incurred while doing something banal, like skiing or playing football or even shaving.

Anyway, Alan was offsite during my birthday party last January, which is why Tony was able to snap my picture and get out of there with it so easily. Although the incident was clearly not his fault, Alan was called to the carpet along with the rest of the security branch when my story appeared in The National Mirror in February. I’m a bit hazy on the details, but Alan simply received a reprimand. His superior officer, who had ordered him offsite in the first place, was terminated.

So my last memory of Alan is of him sobbing like this enormous cherub a day before Paul and Naomi came to collect me, begging me to forgive him and swearing, quite melodramatically, that he’d fix things somehow.



Cheryl is staying for dinner, which seems to peeve Paul slightly. I think he was looking forward to unveiling me at the barbecue tomorrow, and he feels like Naomi stole a little bit of this thunder by introducing me to Cheryl early.

For the first time, at Paul’s insistence, I eat at the table with the rest of the family. Naomi carries my plastic dining table and chair from the dollhouse and sets it down on the corner between her and Cheryl. As Naomi dishes up the spaghetti, Cheryl drums her fingers behind me. I cringe every time she moves her hand, thinking she might be reaching for me. After listening to the torturous blow-by-blow of her fantasies, I have decided that I never EVER want to be alone with her.

Naomi sets a plate of chopped spaghetti bits on my table, then finally takes her seat. Paul suggests that the family say grace, and Cheryl snorts, asking when in the hell they started that tradition. Ignoring her, Paul asks everybody to join hands. Cheryl’s hand moves towards me with lightning speed and, startled, I leap from my chair and stumble onto the tablecloth.

“I just need your hand, silly,” Cheryl says, giggling. “Why are you so jumpy?”

I stand up, blushing, and hold out my hands. Cheryl takes one gently between her finger and thumb. Naomi does the same for my other one. For one horrible moment, I imagine them pulling me apart like a wishbone. Damn Cheryl and her stories, anyway. I was fine until she started going on about nail clippers.

Paul delivers a stilted, awkward prayer all full of thees and thous. At one point, he actually gives thanks to God for “returning my prodigal son Ray to his loving family.” When he finally says “Amen,” the two women release me and everybody sets to.

Dinner passes without further event. I do manage to choke down all of the abysmal spaghetti pieces on my plate, which pleases Naomi to no end. She beams down at me as she takes my plate and carries it with the rest of the dishes to the kitchen.

Cheryl takes off about eight o’ clock so she can be home when “The Prick” drops off Kim. I heave a sigh of relief once she’s out the door. Paul goes into the living room to make a phone call. Nicole drops me off at my dollhouse then goes into the kitchen to help Naomi with the dishes. It’s all just too Normal Rockwell to be believed. But it’s bearable, bordering on pleasant. I think I might just sleep soundly tonight.



Suzy is looking for me, calling my name. I can see her, but I can’t go to her because Cheryl has cut off my arms and legs with a pair of fingernail clippers…



I suddenly wake up and find myself standing at the window, staring out into the darkness of the living room. My heart is pounding and I’m horribly short of breath. My mind races, trying to remember just how I got here. A noise, I think. A sudden noise outside my house.

There it is again. I hear the soft thud of bare feet on the carpet as a monstrous shadow passes by my window. The kitchen light snaps on, and I catch a quick glimpse of Naomi’s pale blue nightgown as she goes around the corner. She rattles around in there for about a minute.

I’m shivering, I realize, my muscles still wound tight from the nightmare. My skin is covered with cold sweat and my heart is pounding at light speed. The feeling of helplessness brought on by the dream still lingers, and my longing for Louise is more acute than ever. I want her here to hold me, comfort me, and make me feel safe.

Naomi walks out of the kitchen carrying a glass of ice water. She’s trying to walk softly, but I can feel her every step in the plastic floor of my bedroom. She walks over to the thermostat and adjusts it until the air conditioner comes on.

“Ray?” she says softly, seeing me standing at my window. She walks over and crouches outside the house to peer in at me. “Is everything okay, sweetie?” Her breath is warm on my damp flesh, and it smells of mint and cigarettes.

“I’m fine,” I tell her, oddly comforted by her presence. She’s disheveled, her face scrubbed clean of makeup. Her eyes are still puffy from sleep. “I just had a nightmare.”

“Poor baby,” she whispers. “You want Momma to hold you?”

Much to my surprise, I find myself nodding. “Yes, please,” I say in a trembling voice.

“Okay, sweetie,” she says. “Why don’t you come on out here?”

I make my way down the stairs and out the front door. Her knee is on the carpet just inches from me, enveloped in the sheer blue satin of her gown. Her hand hovers above me for a second before descending. Slowly and gently, her fingers wrap around me.

“Oh Ray, you’re all sweaty,” she says, giving me a sleepy smile. “Poor thing,” she whispers as she stands back up. She cradles me in her palm, holding me just beneath her breasts. I can feel her warm flesh beneath the soft satin of her nightgown. Her fingers stroke me in gentle little circles as she carries me into the living room.

She plops down in her usual spot on the couch and leans back. “Poor little Ray,” she coos, pressing me to her chest. Her heart is pounding beneath me as she rubs me gently her breast, sliding me over the warm satin that still smells of her perfume. “So tiny and helpless,” she whispers as she continues to rub me against her. Her soft nipple is suddenly rock-hard and protruding through the silky fabric. She lets out a gasp, and the rubbing becomes a little less gentle.

“Uh, Naomi?” I say, my voice muffled as my face is pressed into her yielding flesh. She suddenly stops and holds me up, letting me dangle between her fingers.

I’m really getting nervous now. Her lips are pursed in a familiar predatory smile. With her finger and thumb, she begins tugging at my pajamas.

I kick and scream, but she tears the pajamas from my body, leaving me naked and helpless in her grasp. When she’s done, she crosses her leg and reaches down with her free hand to remove her slipper. It falls to the floor with a thud. She rubs her foot and sighs as she wiggles and flexes her toes.

“You like Momma’s pretty feet, don’t you?” she whispers, grinning at me as she moves me towards her massive bare foot with agonizing slowness. I stare, hypnotized, not even resisting when she places me between her toes. I feel dizzy, like I could faint. It’s like all the blood has rushed from my head to flow down between my legs. I can’t even see my erection, but I can feel it throbbing with my pounding heart.

Then, she begins to slowly wriggle her toes, grinding me between them. The friction of her skin against mine is intoxicating, as is the scent of lotion and lavender soap. The pressure building within me is unbearable; I feel as if I’m about to explode. Everything in my body seems synchronized to the beating of my heart. It pounds louder and louder in my ears as she continues to squeeze her toes together.

She has such power over me; she knows it and she enjoys it. It must make her feel like a goddess to have me so helpless and completely at her mercy. To know that she could induce such reluctant pleasure in me with so little effort on her part; to know that she could just as easily kill me. I was stupid to think that I could befriend her, to think that she would ever consider me as anything other than a curiosity. I’m just something for her to play with.

I climax bitterly, shedding angry tears as I spasm in the grip of her toes. I hang limply, panting as I lay my burning face on the cool flesh of her foot. I’m angry with her for doing this to me, but even more so, I’m angry at myself for allowing her to and for, God help me, even enjoying it.

“Mercy,” Naomi whispers, still grinning down at me. She lights up a cigarette and spends the next couple of minutes smoking in silence before finally plucking me from between her toes and lifting me up. She picks up my discarded pajamas and dabs at my sweating body with them. Trembling and weary, I huddle in her hand. Without a word, she carries me back to the dollhouse. She deposits me on the bed and drops my pajamas in a ball on the floor. Then she pushes my house back against the wall and goes to bed.

I put on my pajamas and crawl back into bed. Exhausted, I sob for about an hour before I finally fall back asleep…

I suddenly wake up and find myself staring at the window, looking out into the darkness of the living room. My heart is pounding and I’m horribly short of breath. My mind races, trying to remember just how I got here. A noise, I think. A sudden noise outside my house.

There it is again. Heavy footsteps and a shuffle. Paul’s pants leg passes by my window as he walks into the kitchen. It’s still dark outside, but he’s obviously dressed. He must be on his way to work.

Work. Paul is going to work. Nicole is going to school. And I’m left with nothing but the prospect of Naomi’s undivided attention.

The kitchen light snaps on, and I hear Paul rummaging around in there. I wonder, desperately, if I can talk him into taking me to work with him. I’d rather spend the day being ignored by him than being… played with by Naomi.

Paul comes out with a cup of coffee, and I wave to get his attention. He glances down and, for a few seconds, we stare at each other. Then he kneels and I find myself staring into his massive eye. His aftershave is overpowering. My eyes burn and I have to breathe through my mouth to keep from gagging.

“What is it, son?” he asks.

“Can I come to work with you today?”

He chuckles. “That’s not such a good idea, Ray. We’re supposed to kind of keep you under wraps until next week. Except for the people you’re meeting tonight, that is.”

“Why do you have to keep me a secret?” I ask him. “Who says you have to?”

He frowns, as if giving the matter some serious thought, then says, “There’s a woman named Rachel Foster—you’ll meet her tonight. She’ll answer all your questions.”

“But who is she?” I ask. “What does she have to do with any of this?”

“We’ll talk tonight, Ray,” Paul says, standing up. “Have a good day.”

Not likely.



“Morning, Ray,” Naomi chirps as she walks by my house. I just lay there, pretending to still be asleep. I hear her bumping around out there, peeking in my window. Miraculously, she decides to let me be. She goes into the kitchen and starts breakfast and I sigh with relief at my temporary reprieve.

Nicole comes running in, her usual bundle of morning energy. She kneels and looks in on me, and whispers, “Good morning.” I wave back with more cheer than I feel, relieved to still have one friend in this household. For a second, I consider asking her to take me to school with her. It’s a horrible idea, but I’ll do anything to avoid alone time with Naomi. I come very close to asking, knowing that she would happily sneak me out without Naomi knowing. The only thing that stops me is the knowledge that Nicole would get in trouble and it would once again be my fault.

“Oh, let Ray sleep, sweetie,” Naomi says. “The poor thing is exhausted.”

“Bye Ray,” she whispers, standing up to leave. She and Naomi eat their breakfast in silence. I’ve been spared that burden only because Naomi thinks I’m still asleep. When Nicole finishes and leaves for school, I feel an overwhelming sense of dread.



After about a thirty-minute respite, I hear Naomi approach the house. I roll over and feign sleep, as usual. It’s not going to work. I know it’s not going to work. My heart is pounding and my breath is shallow and it’s the hardest thing in the world to just lay there when I want to leap out of bed and scream into that massive eye that’s peeking through the window…

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” she coos, sliding my house away from the wall. She reaches in and grabs me between her finger and thumb. “It’s bath time.”



Bath time goes pretty much like it did yesterday, except Naomi’s had enough of my false modesty. She insists that I strip out of my pajamas and she refuses to go get my bathing suit for me. Once again, I bathe in the sink while she takes her shower. And once again, she sets me on the floor and asks me to dry her feet for her…

As for the rest of the day, well… it’s pretty much a blur of humiliation and boredom. After my bath, Naomi carries me into the kitchen and sets me on the counter so I can watch her wash the morning dishes. After that, I get to watch her make potato salad. And after that, I get to watch The Young and the Restless while she smokes her cigarette and pets me.

At one point, she goes out to her garden to pick some onions and tomatoes. She’s out there for over an hour, and when she comes back in, she’s accompanied by Cheryl from next door. The two of them are giggling and looking at me, so I can only assume Naomi has told her about what happened last night.

Once again, we play the game where I admire their feet, only this time it’s lost a great deal of its charm. At one point, Cheryl slides her foot out of her thong sandal and pins me to the floor, all the while asking me in that croaking voice of hers if I think her feet are prettier than Naomi’s. Naomi accuses Cheryl of cheating and the two of them giggle as they grasp at me playfully with their toes.

Finally, mercifully, Cheryl goes home, promising on her way out that she’ll see me at the barbecue tonight. Naomi makes a sandwich and tears off a corner for me, and then carries me back into the kitchen so I can watch her make the baked beans.

After that, we’re on the couch watching Montel. Naomi is smoking a cigarette and caressing me with hands that stink of onion, when she gets the brilliant idea of putting me on her foot so I can massage it. She crosses her leg and with deliberate, playful slowness, she sets me down so that I’m straddling her instep. Her toes flex with anticipation as she commands me to start rubbing. It’s ridiculous… I could rub as hard as humanly possible, and all she would ever feel is a tickle, but I know that’s not what it’s about. It’s about power, and Naomi revels in it.

Fortunately, the phone rings before I’m forced to endure too much humiliation. Naomi answers it, then tells whoever it is to hang on. She sets me on the coffee table, then gets up and carries the phone into her bedroom. The door closes, and I know immediately who it is. Her mysterious boyfriend, the one that called the other night.

There’s got to be some way I can use this against her.



When Paul first suggested having a welcome party for me, I didn’t really care for the idea. But now that the barbecue is going full swing, I’ve got to admit that I really, really hate it.

These people, Paul and Naomi’s friends, gather around me and gawk like they just paid an admission fee or something. Step right up, I can almost hear Paul saying. Have a gander at Mother Miller’s Miraculous Toy Boy! Only two bits!

So speaking of freak shows, how about these guests, ladies and gentlemen? First off, we have Naomi’s sister Debbie and her boyfriend, Walt. Walt has a mullet and sports an enormous Steve Miller tattoo underneath his ripped NASCAR t-shirt. Debbie is going for that hippie chic look, with long straight hair and a tie-dyed halter. Like Naomi, she wears too much makeup. Unlike Naomi, I suspect it’s to cover up the bruises on her face.

When Paul brings them over to meet me, the first thing Walt does is reach down and snatch me up off the picnic table. The guy reeks of something I’ve never smelled before. Probably marijuana. “Dude,” he shouts. “He’s so fucking little!”

“Be gentle, Walt,” Debbie says, placing her hand on his wrist and pulling it down so she can have a look at me. She sees me looking up at her, and flashes me a reassuring smile. “Hi, little guy,” she coos, leaning in closer to look at me.

“Walt and I have known each other since high school,” Paul says, which surprises me somewhat because Jim doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who ever went near a school. “In fact,” Paul continues, beaming with pride for reasons that escape me completely, “I was the one that introduced him to Debbie.”

After about ten minutes of this scintillating conversation, Walt finally sets me down roughly on the table and heads off with Paul to rummage through the ice chest for a beer. Debbie lingers a little bit longer, her hand hovering near me, hesitant. She touches me with a tentative finger, more of a poke than a pet, just wanting to reassure herself that I’m real. With what she and Walt smoke, she probably sees tiny people tap-dancing and singing La Vida Loca on a regular basis.

“Deb, get your ass over here,” Walt bellows, and poor Debbie rushes away.

Next up in the Parade of White Trash, we have Linda MacDonald, who is Naomi’s boss at the Beau Monde Beauty Shop. Naomi brings Linda over, and loses no time grabbing me up and handing me to her. Linda is a middle-aged woman with big, puffy blonde hair and a lot of rhinestone jewelry.

“What a little cutie,” Linda says as she envelopes me with her fingers. My arms are pinned to my side by her tight grip. I should take this opportunity to add that this is totally my least-favorite way of being held. I’m totally helpless, with nothing to hold onto. If she opens her hand just a little, I’ll fall to my death. I glance at the ground below and tremble.

“Whatcha looking at, cutie?” Linda says.

Naomi giggles. “Probably our feet. He’s got a thing for feet, don’tcha Ray?” She says it in a cutsie baby-talk voice that makes my blood run cold.

“Oh, really?” Linda replies in the same tone of voice, then tilts me down to afford me a better view of their sandaled feet. “Maybe your mom will bring you to work with her next week. We can put you to work giving pedicures.”

“Sounds good to me,” says a familiar croaking voice. Let the Bells of Joy ring out. Cheryl has joined the party. My life is now complete.

Linda passes me to Cheryl, who holds me between her thumb and finger. Which, if I may add, is my second-least favorite way to be held. “Are you having fun, Ray sweetie?” Cheryl asks, grinning, “or would you rather be down there, where the action is?”

“We’ll have time for that later,” Naomi says, laughing. “Let’s go get a drink.”

Cheryl sets me back down on the picnic table, and the three of them walk over to the cooler. By now, Paul has fired up the grill. He and Walt are well into their first case of beer when another couple arrives. Jim and Barbara Rose. Jim is a business associate of Paul’s and he owns a deer lease somewhere near Houston. Once a year, Jim and Paul go hunting, leaving Barbara and Naomi to their own devices.

Unlike the rest of the Hee Haw cavalcade, Jim looks like a normal guy. He’s clean cut, with dark hair and small wire glasses. His wife Barbara is a pretty brunette, a little heavy but nowhere near trailer park fat. They are both very pleasant and very cordial, if a little aloof. I get the distinct impression that they’re both a little embarrassed to be there.

Next up on Hell’s Agenda is Kim, Cheryl’s daughter. She’s a year older than Nicole, but nearly a head smaller. Her hair is coal black and tied back in a pony tail. When she sees me, she flashes a smile eerily similar to her mother’s and lets out a squeal.

“Oh, Nicole, he’s so cute!” she exclaims, leaning in way too close and bathing me with warm, spearmint breath. “Can I hold him?”

Nicole is on the other side of the table, behind me, leaning in as well. “Yeah, sure,” she says. “Just be careful.”

Heedless, Kim’s hand shoots out and snatches at me. I dive backwards to avoid her monstrous fingers and hit the table surface with a thud. Kim grabs my ankle between her finger and thumb and hoists me into the air. I kick frantically and scream as she holds me up to her face.

“Ooh, I could just eat him up,” she giggles. Then her mouth opens and she begins lowering me into it. I scream and thrash, desperate to escape. Her huge, red tongue extends and the very air reeks of her gum.

“Kimmy, stop it!” Nicole whispers anxiously. Kim lowers me headfirst to her tongue. The slimy, wet surface touches my face, leaving it drenched with sticky saliva.

“You taste so good,” Kim says with an evil smile. Something flashes through my mind, something Suzy said yesterday… Her daughter’s a basket case, too. Cheryl’s got her on lithium. Maybe someone should convince Cheryl to up the dosage.

I cough and spit, trying to get the minty-fresh stench out of my nostrils. “Put me down!” I finally manage to shout.

Her fingers open suddenly, and I find myself plummeting toward the table. I scream all the way down…

…and land in Kim’s outstretched palm. “I was just kidding,” Kim says. “What a baby!” She rolls her eyes and looks at me. “Can’t even take a joke.”

“Come on, Kim,” Nicole says. “Stop it before we get in trouble.”

“’Come on, Kim,’” Kim repeats in a mocking voice. “’Stop it before we get in trouble.’ I swear, you are such a baby, Nicole.”

“I am not,” Nicole insists. “It’s just… I am not a baby!”

“Whatever,” Kim says, poking me roughly with her index finger. She grins again, the spitting image of Cheryl. “Hey, let’s take your brother to your room and play with him there. I wanna put him in my sock like you did.”

“NO!” I scream, eliciting a giggle from Kim. I leap from her palm and land running on the tabletop. I’m scrambling desperately for the relative safety of Nicole when Kim’s hand slaps down on top of me, knocking the wind out of me. She presses down, the soft flesh of her palm mashing me against the hard wood of the table.

“Stay,” Kim says, then laughs uproariously.

“Stop it, Kimmy,” Nicole pleads in a helpless voice, earning her yet more scathing sarcasm from this adolescent she-demon. Her diatribe is cut mercifully short and she lets out a quick shriek. Her hand lifts away, and I behold possibly the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. Suzy is standing behind Kim, grabbing her ear and twisting.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow,” Kim moans, slapping at Suzy’s hand.

“Why don’t you girls go play somewhere else so I can talk to Ray,” she says.

Kim stands up and glares down at me. “Fine,” she snarls. “I didn’t want to play with the stupid little baby, anyway.” The two girls go off, leaving me alone with Suzy. For the first time today, things are looking up.



Suzy, it turns out, is eighteen years old and she just finished her first year at East Texas State University, where she’s majoring in Psychology. She earns money during the summer by cleaning houses and babysitting. She dates occasionally, but hasn’t had a steady boyfriend since high school. She has a tattoo of an ankh on her shoulder that her parents don’t know about. Her favorite color is green. Oh, and I might mention that she says she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about me since she met me.

So while my head is still swimming from this amazing news, she also mentions that she’ll be babysitting Nicole this summer when the local schools let out. I can’t believe my luck!

She’s holding me in her cupped palm, gently massaging me with those sexy green fingernails as she looks down at me. I stare up into her beautiful face, my heart racing as one thought tears through my mind. She likes me! She honest-to-god likes me!

“Suzy, could I have a word with Ray for a minute?” Paul is standing over us, ruining the perfect moment with his shit-eating grin.

“Sure, Mr. Dalton,” Suzy says. “We’ll talk later, Ray,” she says, winking as she sets me down. She kisses the tip of her finger and touches it to my face. I kiss her finger and touch it with my fingertips, already sorry to see her go. I watch her as she walks over to where Nicole and Cheryl are sitting.

“Got yourself a girlfriend there, son?” Paul says, once again spoiling the moment. I just shrug. “Well, there’s a couple more people you need to meet tonight, Ray. Now, they’ve come a long way to meet you, so try and be nice, okay?”

I nod and brace myself for my father’s grasp. He scoops me up and carries me into the house, where the blasting air-conditioner makes me shiver. Sitting at the dining room table are two women. One is a brunette, dressed in a business suit, quite pretty in that unapproachable, corporate way. The other wears her blonde hair pulled back in a severe bun and wears a small pair of glasses. She might be pretty if not for the scowl that seems permanently etched in her face.

Paul sets me down on the table and says, “Ladies, may I present my son, Raymond Dalton.”

“Miller,” I correct him. “I’m still Raymond Miller.”

Paul laughs nervously. “Of course you are.” He turns to the women and says, “Of course, that’s just a formality. Once Naomi and I have legally adopted him, his name will be Dalton.”

The first woman, the brunette, gives me a cold smile. “Hello, Ray. I’m Rachel Foster and this is my associate, Dr. Taylor.” The severe looking woman nods and mutters an incomprehensible greeting.

“Hello,” I say to them, wondering who they are. They look well outside of any of Paul’s social circles.

“Ray,” Rachel says, giving me that same frigid smile that does little to reassure me, “I’m here on behalf of a company called GenetiTech. Have you ever heard of them?”

The blood rushes from my face. GenetiTech is SPECTRUM’s chief competitor, and the bad blood between the two research firms is legendary. What the hell are they doing here?

Then, suddenly, the pieces start falling into place. I remember the lawyer at SPECTRUM talking about Paul showing up in court with unexpected legal aid, and suggesting that perhaps Paul had gotten a better offer. I remember Paul, reluctant to answer my questions about why I had to remain a secret, assuring me that this woman would answer them all tonight.

I finally understand. Paul Dalton is going to sell me to GenetiTech.

I’m not going,” I insist, staring defiantly into Rachel Foster’s ice queen face with my arms crossed. She is unimpressed with my resolve.

“You’ve got to understand, Ray,” she says reasonably, as if speaking to an idiot child. “This isn’t like the deal your mother made with SPECTRUM. We’re not looking to take custody of you. We simply want to study you and find out just how you came to be. You would remain in the care of your parents, and would continue to live with them. But, we would provide your education and for any special needs that might arise.”

“Yeah, right. And what’s Paul getting out of the deal?”

Paul sighs. “You know you’re supposed to call me Dad.”

I whirl and glare at him. “Not until the court tells me I have to. And probably not even then.”

My father glares at me, but says nothing. He actually has the audacity to look hurt, the hypocrite!

“Your family will be relocated to Midland, where they will be generously compensated for the inconvenience. You will be shuttled to and from GenetiTech on a daily basis, much like you were going to school. You’ll be returned home each evening, and you’ll have weekends off to spend with your family.”

“No!” I shout. “I refuse!”

Rachel sighs and turns to the stern woman that sits beside her. “Go ahead and start your test, Dr. Taylor. I have things to discuss with Mr. Dalton.”

Rachel stands and walks into the living room with Paul. Meanwhile, Dr. Taylor has set her black bag on the table. She sets a small scale down in front of me.

“Remove your clothes and step on the scale,” she says.

“Fuck you,” I snap back at her. She glares down at me, then reaches for me. Her hand is cool and leathery, her eyes cold and emotionless. The only sign of emotion is the faint smile that plays across her lips as she effortlessly stops my struggling. With enormous fingers, she pulls off my shoes, then yanks my pants off a little too roughly. I’m still shouting and kicking when she tears off my shirt and dumps me, naked, onto the scale.
“One hundred and two grams,” she mutters, jotting it down in her notebook. She then stands a ruler next to me and tells me to stand up straight. I give her the same answer I did a second ago.

“You’re only making this hard on yourself,” she tells me as she lays the ruler down on the table. She lays me down on the table and uses her finger to hold me flat. “Seven point five centimeters,” she mutters, adding it to her notebook.

And so it goes. She shines a bright light into my eyes, uses an obscenely large needle to draw blood from my thigh, and spends the next half hour poking and prodding me with a pair of tweezers and a pointed steel implement.

Then, without warning, she presses her finger between my legs and begins kneading my genitals. I cry out and try to get away, but she’s relentless. With one hand, she holds me down and with the other, she mercilessly prods my erection.

“What the hell kind of test is that?” I ask her. She just shrugs and says, “I’m looking forward to working with you on a daily basis, Ray.” And with that, she snaps her notebook shut and puts her equipment back in her bag.



GenetiTech has maintained a pretty shady image over the past few years. First, there were the allegations of chemical tests on unsuspecting volunteers. The pending case was big news for several weeks, and then it vanished. Rumor around SPECTRUM was that GenetiTech had paid off the plaintifss. Other, more sinister rumors surfaced as well.

Back in 1997, there was a sexual harassment lawsuit. A corporate recruiter named Carol Ruiz claimed that she was indecently propositioned by one of the VPs. The poor girl died in a car wreck and that lawsuit went away as well.

Last year, an e-mail started circulating around GenetiTech. It was supposedly composed by a disgruntled former employee who wanted to share some startling information despite the fact that his life was in “grave danger.” He told a sordid story of machiavellian conspiracies and suspicious deaths. Of course, he included Carol Ruiz on the list, but he dismissed the sexual harassment as a cover up. He claimed that Carol had been on her way to the State’s Attorney’s office to turn over evidence of GenetiTech’s “genocidial agenda,” and postulated that GenetiTech’s black ops team had “silkwooded” her brake line.

Louise dismissed the e-mail as “urban legend nonsense.” But Gary chuckled over it.

“Do you think it’s true?” I asked him.

“Probably not,” he said, still laughing. “In fact, I’d bet money that this e-mail originated here at SPECTRUM.”



It’s after midnight, and the party is over. I’m so exhausted, I can barely think straight. All I want to do is get to my dollhouse and collapse in my bed. Unfortunately, Naomi and Cheryl just aren’t ready to let me go yet.

I know this because Naomi currently has me pinned beneath her big toe, pressing me down against the carpet. The edge of her pink toenail touches my neck, forcing me to hold my chin up high. It’s been nearly an hour, and I’m still not used to the smell of sweat and leather down here.

“I’m waiting,” Naomi says, staring down into my upturned face.

“Your feet are the prettiest,” I shout, my voice hoarse. We’ve been up to this for some time.

“Prettier than Suzy’s?” she asks.

I choke down my resentment. “Yes.”

“Prettier than Cheryl’s?”

“Yes.”

“Good boy,” she says, raising her foot and releasing me. I crawl backwards until her sole is no longer hovering above me, and then I climb unsteadily to my feet. My dollhouse is across the room, across a vast wasteland of carpet. I start walking toward it knowing all along I’ve got no hope of ever making it.

Cheryl’s foot kicks forward, knocking me onto my back. I don’t even bother to struggle as she lowers it, pinning me between her toes. “So, you think her feet are prettier than mine?” she asks.

“No,” I tell her for the tenth time that night. “Yours are the prettiest.”

“Prettier than Suzy’s?”

“Yes.”

“Prettier than Naomi’s?”

And so it goes. It’s my own fault, I guess. I spent most of the evening with Suzy after the GenetiTech bitches left, sobbing while she held me and stroked me and told me everything was going to be okay. She told me not to worry, that she would think of something to help. And as I gazed up into her amazing green eyes and at that sexy tight-lipped smile that bordered on a smirk, I felt myself calming down. After all, how could things be all that grim if this goddess was in love with me? Well, in like with me. But give her time…

The entire time Suzy was holding me, I kept catching glimpses of Naomi glaring our way. I think she and Cheryl and that Linda woman wanted to play with me, but didn’t want to make a scene. So they just stood over by the ice chest, drinking wine and smoking cigarettes.

Finally, around ten o’clock, the party started to break up. Jim and Barbara Rose were the first to bow out, followed by Linda, then by Debbie and Walt (who was so drunk that Paul and Debbie had to drag him to the car).

Nicole and Kim had long since retired to Nicole’s room for the evening. Paul, who had quite a bit to drink himself, announced that he was going to bed. Which left Suzy and me alone with Naomi and Cheryl. At this point, I knew we were on borrowed time, but I clung desperately to the hope that Naomi would go on to bed and let Suzy and me alone.

No such luck, of course. Naomi came over, thanked Suzy for coming, and held out her hand. Suzy was reluctant to hand me over, but had no choice in the matter. She held me close and whispered, “Don’t worry about anything, Ray. I promise, I’ll think of something.” Then she kissed me! She touched her warm, soft lips to me and gently kissed me goodnight. And as I lay there in Naomi’s hand, watching Suzy go, I felt a pang of loss like I’d felt for Louise and Gary at SPECTRUM.

At first, Naomi was teasing me about Suzy, asking if I was in love with her. Then Cheryl piped in, asking me if I liked Suzy better than her. I was in no mood, but I decided to play along in the hopes that they would tire of this game and let me go to bed.

That was an hour ago, and they’re still going strong.



I’m still underneath Cheryl’s foot when the two women stop giggling and look up, startled. Kim and Nicole are standing in the hallway next to my dollhouse, still half asleep, watching their mothers.

“Mom, how come you’re stepping on Ray?” Kim asks, grinning as she approaches.

Cheryl lifts her foot off of me and nudges me with her toes. “I’m just playing with him, sweetheart. He likes it, don’t you, Ray?”

I hang my head. “I just want to go to bed,” I say in a weary voice.

“Good idea,” Naomi says, embarrassed by the whole thing. “That’s where you girls need to be, too.”

“We’re thirsty,” Nicole whines, walking over to join the rest of the group.

Naomi sighs. “Then get a drink of water, and get back to bed.”

Cheryl stands up and slides her feet back into her black thong sandals. “I think I’ll be heading on home now, Naomi. Just send Kim home in the morning when you guys get up.”

And like that, it’s all over. Cheryl leaves, and the girls go back to bed with little argument. Naomi stays up just a little bit longer, holding me in the palm of her hand and stroking me with her thumb as she has one last cigarette. Then finally, without a word, she carries me to my dollhouse and sets me down in front of it. She stands there for a few seconds, looking down at me between her feet. Then, mercifully, she walks out of the room, snapping the light off behind her.

I’m so dead to the world that I don’t even feel my house moving. In fact, I don’t even wake up until I feel the sudden warmth of Nicole’s hand. I bolt upright and scream as her massive fingers close around me.

“It’s okay, Ray,” she says soothingly. “You wanna watch cartoons with me and Kim?”

“Please, Nicole. I just want to sleep right now.”

It’s Saturday morning, and I guess Paul and Naomi are still asleep. God knows I’d like to get another few hours, but I doubt I’m going to have any choice in the matter. Nicole is already carrying me into the living room, where Kim is sprawled on the couch. She perks up when she sees me and reaches out a greedy hand. “Ooh, let me hold him!” she squeals.

Nicole drops me into Kim’s sweaty palm, and she closes her fist, pinning my arms helplessly to my side.

“Move,” Nicole commands Kim, slapping at her bare feet. “I wanna sit down too.” Kim sits up and slides over so Nicole can join her on the couch. Nicole grabs the remote and starts flipping through the channels.

“You need to get a satellite or something,” Kim says. “These channels suck.” She holds me up to her face and pouts.

“I think Mary Kate and Ashley come on in a little bit,” Nicole says, a little hurt.

“Baby stuff,” Kim says, rolling her eyes. She gives me a squeeze and smiles cruelly when I yelp with pain.

Nicole reaches for me. “You said you weren’t going to hurt him.”

Kim yanks me away from her with such ferocity that my head snaps backward. “I swear, Nicole. You’re such a little kid.”

“I’m bigger than you,” she says, flashing an evil grin at Kim. Her grip on me tightens, squeezing the air out of my lungs. I squirm desperately in her grasp, trying to free my arms so I’ll have a modicum of security. I hate being so damned helpless.

Kim glares at Nicole and whispers, “Bitch.” Nicole’s face flushes with shock. Her mouth hangs open, and her eyes widen. “Momma says we’re not allowed to say that in this house.”

“’Momma says we’re not allowed to say that in this house,’” Kim repeats in mocking baby talk. She leans toward Nicole and whispers, “Bitch… bitch… bitch… bitch… bitch…”

“Stop it!” Nicole shrieks, slapping Kim’s arm. “I’m gonna tell my momma if you don’t quit.”

“Fine,” Kim says, smirking. “And I’ll tell her that you felt my boobs last night while I was asleep.”

“I did not!” Nicole leaps to her feet. “You are such a liar!”

Kim shrugs, then gives Nicole a friendly smile. “Okay, I’m sorry. Now sit down and quit yelling so much. Your parents won’t let us play with Ray when they get up.”

Nicole sits back down, her arms crossed, staring angrily at the TV. Kim shakes her head and turns her attention to me. “Hey, widdle boy,” she coos, relaxing her grip and holding me close to her chest. Despite her claims to the contrary, she has no “boobs.” Poor Kim is a late bloomer and will probably still be built like a young boy when the rest of her friends are out buying their first bras. I think this, more than anything, is what makes her such a bully. Well that, and the fact that her mom is such an evil bitch.

Kim suddenly drops me down the neckline of her nightshirt. I plummet, grabbing desperately at the fabric of her shirt as I bounce down her chest and tummy. Her hand slaps against me through the shirt, pinning me against the warm flesh of her stomach. I feel her entire body quake as she laughs.

“What are you doing?” I hear Nicole ask.

“It was an accident,” Kim answers, still giggling.

“Come on, Kim. Let him out.”

I try to wriggle free, and she laughs again. “Ooh, he tickles.”

“Kim!”

Kim’s belly rises and falls as she lets out a melodramatic sigh. “Okay, fine.” She lets go, and I tumble the rest of the way down, landing on the couch between her legs. I scramble out from under her nightshirt, and she immediately snatches me up again.

“Naughty boy,” she scolds me, poking me roughly with her index finger. “Say you’re sorry.”

God, you can’t imagine how infuriating this is. How come everybody I’ve met this week takes such delight in my helplessness? Well, everybody except Suzy…

Her finger prods me hard in the stomach, knocking the breath out of me. “I said, say you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” I gasp. “Please let me go.”

She twists her mouth, as if considering it. “Um, no.” Her fingertip touches my face, tousles my hair. Then, suddenly, it’s gone. Kim’s other hand drops away as she lets out a delighted squeal. “Ooh, I love this cartoon,” she says, leaning forward. “I haven’t seen this in forever!”

It’s one of those Schoolhouse Rock songs. I used to have the entire collection on DVD when I was at SPECTRUM. Dana, my English tutor, gave to me for my birthday a couple of years ago. She told me you could tell a lot about a person by what their favorite Schoolhouse Rock song is. She was partial to Conjunction Junction, and claimed that song had single-handedly influenced her to major in English. Me, I really liked Interplanet Janet and that song where the rabbit sang about multiplying things by seven. Which, I suppose, makes me a right-brain kind of person.

The one playing on the TV at the moment is entitled “Unpack Your Adjectives,” and I get an uneasy lump in my stomach as soon as I hear the vaguely familiar tune. Kim sings along with it, mumbling across the parts that she doesn’t know.

I remember this one now. I watched it once, then never again, because of that one disturbing part…

A cartoon girl stands next to a cartoon boy, who snickers meanly at her. The song exuberantly states, “Girls that are tall get taller, boys that are small get smaller.” And while this is going on, the boy begins to shrink while the girl begins to grow. “Until one is the tallest and one is the smallest of all.” And with this, the girl raises her sandaled foot and stomps the boy into dust.

I first saw this a couple of months before my “sexual awakening,” when I started having all those embarrassing fantasies about Louise’s bare feet. At the time, I had no idea why it bothered me like it did, but it seemed to activate some kind of primal fear in me. I know it was just a cartoon, and supposed to be funny, but the image of that poor boy so effortlessly and casually crushed really struck a nerve with me.

So of course it figures that it would be Kim’s favorite. Good one, God.

“Girls that are tall get taller,” Kim sings as she leans forward and sets me on the floor. “Boys that are small get smaller.” As soon as my feet hit the carpet, I bolt. I make a mad dash for my dollhouse knowing full well how futile my attempt will be.

Kim’s foot lands on the carpet in front of me, too close for me to stop. I slam into it and fall backwards.

“Where you going?” Kim asks, smiling down at me. She raises her foot over me, letting it hover inches above me. I stare up at her white, wrinkled sole, helpless as it slowly descends. She covers my entire body with her foot. I turn my head to the side as the warm, soft flesh presses down on me with surprising gentleness.

“’Til one is the tallest and one is the smallest of all,” she sings, rolling me beneath her foot. The carpet presses painfully into my back and against the side of my face. The pressure decreases somewhat as she lifts her foot slightly. I raise my head in time to see her monstrous toes spread. She grasps me between her big and second toe and holds me there, smiling her mother’s infuriating smile.

“Now I’ve got you,” she says softly, playfully.

“Come on, Kim,” Nicole pleads, looking down at me as well. “Just let him go.”

“Why?” Kim asks. “My mom said he liked it.” She pinches her toes together, squeezing me. “Don’t you?” she asks me with a grin. “You like that, don’t you?” She finally releases me, dropping me onto the floor.

I run towards Nicole, looking up to her for help. My blood runs cold when I see a smile creep across her face. “Boys that are small get smaller,” she sings as she covers me with her socked foot.


After a rocky start, the day begins to look promising. Paul spends all day at home, sitting in his Barcalounger, drinking beer and watching golf. Which means Naomi is on her best behavior. She “accidentally” brushes against my dollhouse a couple of times when she walks by, but I just ignore her and she eventually goes away.

Around one o’clock or so, she brings my lunch to me. She slides my dollhouse completely away from the wall and kneels outside. I’m downstairs in my living room, sitting on the hard plastic divan. Holding the tiny plate between her finger and thumb, she slowly reaches in and sets my lunch on the floor.

I wait for her to leave, but she doesn’t. She hovers there, her face out of view. All I can see is her hand, her knee, and her sandaled foot. She knows I’m looking; she flexes her toes slowly.

“Go ahead and eat, sweetie,” she tells me. Sighing, I slide off the divan and crouch before the plate. A torn piece of bread and a slimy chunk of ham. Thank you, Julia Child.

I tear off a piece of the bread and gnaw on it, eying her warily all the while. She taps her thumb on the floor impatiently a few times, then finally withdraws her hand. She scratches her foot with a pink fingernail, just under the thong that runs between her wiggling toes.

“Mmmm,” she sighs. “Maybe later, you can help Momma rub some lotion on her feet.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Naomi!” Paul shouts from the living room. “Leave the boy alone and make my damn sandwich!”

“You can’t hide in there forever, you know,” she whispers as she stands and walks off, shoving my house back into place with her foot.

I’m not even thinking about forever. Right now, I’ll be happy to just make it through the day.



It’s late evening. Dinner is done, and everybody is in a really pissy mood.

Naomi is mad because… well, I’m still not sure what set her off. She’s been looking for a reason to be angry with me since lunch, and I’ve been very lucky so far. But I’ve got to admit I’m on eggshells around her, scared to death I’m going to give her the excuse she needs to punish me.

Nicole is pouting because I wouldn’t come out to play with her, and she didn’t dare grab me while Paul was watching. I told her I was still angry about this morning, and she actually got her feelings hurt because she and Kim were “only playing” and I was being a “big baby” about the whole thing.

And Paul is feeling rather sour because he just got a phone call from Rachel Foster. It seems that SPECTRUM received an anonymous phone call alerting them to Paul’s arrangement with GenetiTech. They lost no time filing an injunction, which means Paul won’t be able to make his deal with GenetiTech until after he legally adopts me. It’s not a permanent solution, but it certainly slows things down a little.

And I think I know who made that anonymous call. God bless Suzy, anyway. Have I mentioned in the last ten minutes just how much I love her?

“But can they do that?” Naomi is asking. “I mean, he’s your son. How can SPECTRUM tell you what you can and can’t do with your own son?”

Paul sighs. “He won’t be my son in the legally-binding sense until after the hearing,” he says. “This is gonna suck. Those SPECTRUM bastards are gonna try to make out like I was selling Ray.”

“Does Rachel think this is gonna hurt our case?”

“I don’t think so,” Paul says. “She didn’t seem that worried about it. But it looks like we won’t be moving to Midland until sometime in the fall.”

Nicole looks up from Mad TV and whines, “I don’t wanna move to Midland.”

“God damn it, we’re not going to have this conversation again,” Paul snaps. “You’ll make new friends, okay? Now drop it.”

“Cheryl and Kim can come visit us, sweetie,” Naomi says. “Midland is only three hours away.”

“Oh, yeah,” Paul groans. “That reminds me. Those SPECTRUM bastards want to visit with Ray. Rachel said we’re allowed to supervise, but we gotta let them.”

I perk up, my heart racing. This just gets better and better!

“Dammit,” Naomi says, glaring at me. “When?”

“A week from tomorrow,” Paul says. “It’ll be that Louise woman and that big, goofy sonuvabitch.”

Louise and Alan, coming to visit me! I’m so excited, I think I might just cry…



I guess it was inevitable. Paul and Nicole went to bed, and Naomi has managed to wait all of three minutes before walking over to the dollhouse.

“Ray,” she says sternly. “Come out here.”

With a sigh, I climb out of my bed. I’m halfway down the stairs when I feel the house thump.

“I mean now,” she says.

“I’m coming!” I shout, hurrying the rest of the way. I run out the front door and find myself face to face with her pink slippers. Her toes twitch angrily within, and for one horrible second, I imagine her lifting a foot to stomp me flat. Boys that are small get smaller…

Instead, she reaches down and grabs me between her finger and thumb. She lifts me, kicking and dangling, until I’m staring right into her face. She’s glaring at me, still waiting for me to do something to justify her anger with me. She’s really in the mood to punish me right now.

“Next time I call you, you’d better come,” she says. I’m not about to start anything with her, so I just nod and say, “Yes ma’am.”

“I bet you’re feeling pretty smart right now, aren’t you?” she says, carrying me back into the living room.

“Not smart, just tired,” I say.

“Are you getting smart with me?”

“No ma’am.”

She plops down on the couch. Her robe falls open, revealing the white satin of her nightgown.

“You think I don’t know who made that phone call? You and that little bitch Suzy think you’re so smart, don’t you?”

“How do you know it was Suzy?” I ask. “There were a lot of people here last night, and I bet they all knew about the deal with GenetiTech.”

She gives me a shake. “If you mouth off to me one more time, you’re getting punished. Understand?”

I nod. “Yes ma’am.”

Naomi sighs. “I know it was Suzy because you two spent a lot of time talking last night, probably planning your little scheme.”

“But we weren’t! We were just talking.”

“What did I tell you?” Naomi snaps. She crosses her leg and slides her slipper off of her foot.

“I wasn’t talking back!” I shout at her. “I was just trying to tell you…”

With a triumphant smile, she drops me into her slipper, tilting it so that I roll down into the toe. The inside is lined with fleece—it’s dark and warm, and smells of sweat and that lavender soap that she uses. The slipper turns sideways, and I grab a fistful of fleece to steady myself. She slides the house shoe back onto her foot. The light grows dimmer and is finally eclipsed when her massive toes reach me.



After a half-hour in “time out,” Naomi finally puts me back in my dollhouse and goes to bed. Frustrated and filled with self-loathing, I masturbate to the memories of her pretty pink toenails, then finally drop off to sleep.

The week passes with little incident. Naomi’s back at work, and Nicole is still in school, so my days are spent in blissful isolation.

Well, okay… it’s not all beer and skittles. Each morning, I have to go through the horrible bathing routine with Naomi. She won’t let me wear my bathing trunks, and she occasionally asks me if I’d rather just shower with her instead of bathing in the sink. So far, she hasn’t force me to, but I get the distinct feeling I’m living on borrowed time.

Oh, and Cheryl came over twice this week. The first evening, Paul was working late as usual, so I spent a few hours on the floor playing a rousing game of Whose Feet Are Prettiest. I declared Naomi the unequivocal winner. Cheryl pouted and swore at me, but I definitely earned some brownie points with Naomi, which meant I actually got to sleep through the night.

The second time, she and Naomi were going out drinking and dancing. Kim and Nicole were staying with Naomi’s sister Debbie, and Paul was watching some baseball game at a sports bar. Cheryl showed up about half an hour early, dressed in a tight black dress, black nylons, and a pair of stiletto heels taller than me. Naomi wasn’t ready yet, so she told Cheryl to just make herself at home. And of course, the first thing Cheryl did was grab me and set me on the floor at her feet. We couldn’t play our usual game since Naomi was busy, but that was okay. Cheryl had thought of an entirely new game. She slid her foot out of her shoe and set it flat on the floor, then ordered me to climb her nylon. I scrambled across the top of her foot and slowly, laboriously, made my way up her leg while Cheryl smoked her cigarette and watched. When I made it to her knee, she applauded and congratulated me, then rewarded me by crossing her leg and rubbing me against the bottom of her nyloned foot until I orgasmed. She’s a real fun girl, that Cheryl.

Aside from these little episodes, the rest of the week was mercifully humiliation free. I did make up with Nicole and spent a very pleasant evening watching TV while she held me and petted me. She was still a little down about the impending move, and she told me how much she was going to miss her friends, especially Kim.

So now it’s Saturday night, and I can’t sleep because Louise and Alan are coming to see me tomorrow. It’s only been two weeks since I left SPECTRUM, but it feels like an eternity. It’s hard to believe there was ever a time when I wasn’t being treated like a pet or a plaything.

I’m just lying there when I hear Naomi brush by my dollhouse on her way to the living room. I climb out of bed and walk over to my window. Naomi sits down in Paul’s recliner and picks up the phone. She sits there for a second, holding the phone to her breast, then puts it back down. She lights a cigarette and leans back while she smokes it. Then she picks up the phone and dials a number.

“Hey, sweetie,” she says quietly into the phone. “They’re all asleep.” She listens for a few seconds, then giggles. “Stop it, you naughty thing.” Another pause. “Yeah, I know. I was just lying in bed, thinking about it.”

She’s talking to her mysterious boyfriend again. I don’t know anything about this guy—I don’t know if she’s actually screwing him or just flirting or what. But little by little, bit by bit, I’m gleaning what information I can, in the hopes that this will be useful information in the near future.

Tonight, I learn that she hasn’t known him long, because she giggles and says, “Oh come now, we’ve only known each other a month.” I also learn that she apparently hooked up with him the night that she and Cheryl went out. Good stuff, but not nearly enough for blackmail material.

After about thirty minutes, she laughs softly and says, “Soon, Benny. Okay?” It’s the first time I’ve heard her call him by name, and I make a mental note. Naomi’s mystery date is named Benny.

She disconnects and sets the portable down on the table, then looks in my direction. For one horrible instant, I’m certain she’s seen me watching her. Even though I’m sitting in the shadows, watching her from another room, I’m dreadfully sure she just caught me spying. She stands up and starts walking toward the dollhouse, and I bolt from the window and leap into bed.

I’m feigning sleep when she kneels outside my house and peers in. “Ray?” she whispers. I continue to breathe deeply. “Ray? Wake up, sweetie.” I fake grogginess as I climb to my feet and walk over to the window.

“What is it, Naomi? Is everything okay?”

She smiles. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I just wanted to talk to you about something.”

“What’s that?”

“I don’t want to talk to you through this window, sweetie. Why don’t you come out here?”

What choice do I have? I make my way downstairs and out the front door. Her hand is on the floor, palm up, waiting for me. Usually I prefer that to being snatched up, but coming from Naomi it’s just another one of her games. She must really enjoy the fact that I’m so domesticated that I’ll just crawl into her hand when called.

Still kneeling, she lifts me up to her face and smiles. “You’ve got a big day tomorrow, sweetie. Your friends are coming to see you.”

I nod. “Yeah, I’m really excited. I’ve missed them.”

“That’s so sweet,” she says. “And of course, they’re gonna ask how you’ve been treated since you got here.”

I nod again, suddenly aware of where this is going. I hadn’t even thought about what I was going to tell Louise. “Probably,” I reply. “And what do you expect me to tell them?”

She frowns slightly. “What do you mean? Momma’s been really good to you, hasn’t she?”

God, it makes my blood chill when she talks about herself in the third person. And when she calls herself “Momma.” Our relationship is already sick enough without adding Oedipal riffs to it.

She shakes her head at my silence. “You’re not mad about those games Momma and Cheryl play with you, are you? Coz you know we’re just playing, right?”

I honestly have no idea how to respond to her. I just stare incredulously.

“Besides, you like Momma’s pretty feet, don’t you?”

“No,” I snap. “I don’t. I don’t like the games, I don’t like being held, hugged, cuddled, or petted.” I’m shouting by now, and Naomi is the one looking incredulous. “You think it’s fun? You think I enjoy being at your mercy every minute of the day? I hate you! I hate Paul and Cheryl and everybody else here! I hate this place, and I’d sell my goddamn soul if I could just wake up from this nightmare and be in my bed at SPECTRUM.”

She’s glaring at me, hurt and surprised by my venom. But Jesus, what did she expect? How obtuse can one person be?

She sighs and stands up, still holding me. “I have tried since you got here, you little shit,” she says as she carries me into the living room. “I have bent over backwards trying to make you happy, and all you’ve done is mouth off to me every chance you get.”

Clutching me tightly in her fist, she takes her usual spot on the couch. “You’re not a guest here, Ray. You’re a member of this family, and that means you have to obey the rules. And the first rule is, you do not talk to me that way!” She says the last through gritted teeth. She’s really angry with me this time.

“Let me tell you what’s going to happen,” she says, holding me way too close to her face. Her breath, warm and wet and stinking of cigarettes, washes over me. Her vast cavern of a mouth is just inches from me, frowning angrily. I stare at her teeth with morbid fascination, imagining them tearing me to pieces. The thought makes me shudder with revulsion.

“You are going to tell your friends that you’re happy here, and that everything is fine,” she tells me. “And if you tell them any of those lies about Momma mistreating you, well…” She reaches down and slides her slipper off her foot. For one horrifying moment, I’m afraid she’s going to put me in it again. But she lets it drop to the floor.

“Let’s just say I’ll show you what real mistreatment is,” she says. “Do you understand me?”

Trembling in her grasp, I nod dumbly.

“Good boy,” she says, then smiles at me. That wicked, predatory smile. “Now, I don’t want you to feel like I’m forcing you, so I’ll give you a choice. Would you rather play on my foot, or just go back to bed?”

It’s no choice. I know it’s not. Every fiber of my being wants to shout, “Go to bed!” but I don’t dare. I lost my cool and spouted off, and now she’s not going to be satisfied until I’ve paid. Better to get it over with now, than to spend the next couple of days waiting…

Hating myself for letting her win, I sigh and say, “Play on your foot.”

“What? I didn’t hear that.”

“Play on your foot,” I say louder, feeling the bile in my throat.

“Ask me nicely,” she says, leaning forward and setting me on the coffee table.

My fists are clenched, and every muscle in my body is quaking with rage and impotence. “Please, Naomi, may I play on your foot?”

“Call me Momma,” she says.

“Please, Momma!” I scream as loud as I can. “Can I play on your goddamned foot?”

“Why sure, sweetie,” she says. “All you have to do is ask. Why don’t you go ahead and get out of those pajamas.”

The tears are streaming down my face as I strip in front of her. Tears of frustration, anger, bitterness… I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone in my life as much as I hate Naomi right now.

Finally, I’m standing naked on the coffee table. Naomi leans back and sets her bare foot on the edge, so that her toes are level with my chest. She wiggles her toes, then fans them out. I step forward and slide in between her toes, letting them grasp me.

Despite my anger and my lack of enthusiasm, I feel myself growing erect as soon as she starts grinding her toes together. God, it’s not fair that she should have this kind of power over me. She watches me with that self-satisfied grin, deriving so much enjoyment from my submission. When I finally do come, she lowers her foot to the floor and lets me go. I’m lying in a naked heap on the carpet, right next to her discarded house shoe.

“Oops, forgot your little bitty pajamas,” she says, plucking them from the table with her fingernails and letting them drop. They flutter down, landing on the floor next to me. I climb to my feet and gather them up.

“Would you like a ride back to your house?” she asks me, looking down.

“That’s okay,” I tell her, my voice quavering. “I’ll walk.”

“Suit yourself, sweetie.” She covers me with her foot and gives me a playful squeeze with her toes, then slides her foot back into her slipper. Without a word, she steps over me and walks off, leaving me sobbing and naked on the living room carpet.


* * *

It’s starts off as a pretty good dream, because Naomi is my size. I’m ready to beat the crap out of her for everything she’s ever done. But I hear Kim’s sing-song voice in the background chanting “Girls that are tall get taller, boys that are small get smaller,” and I suddenly feel myself falling away as Naomi gazes down at me with that hard, horrible smile of her.

“Until one is the tallest and one is the smallest of all.” The sole of Naomi’s sandal hovers over me, then slams down with a sickening crunch.

* * *

Sunday morning finally comes, after a night of fitful dozing and horrible dreams. Naomi is the first up, and wishes me a cheerful good morning as she walks past my dollhouse on her way to the kitchen. Nicole is next, and she invites me to come watch TV with her until breakfast is ready. I accept, and she carries me gently into the living room.

Paul comes staggering in a few minutes later in his bathrobe and boxers, scratching at his unruly hair. His pompadour is disheveled and jutting out in all directions. Nicole sees him and giggles.

“Nice hair, Daddy,” she says. Paul grunts something unintelligible as he stumbles out the front door in search of the paper. A few minutes later, he’s back with it and sitting at the dining room table. Naomi brings him a cup of coffee and kisses him on the cheek. I swear, this fucking family is bipolar.

“Do you want to play on my feet?” Nicole asks me suddenly, startling me.

I stare at her. “What?”

“I just thought you might want to because… you know… you like it and all,” she says, looking away. “I mean, if you want to.”

God, how did it go from being a private fantasy to common knowledge? Is there anybody that doesn’t know about my stupid fetish? I think of Suzy, and I suddenly find myself in panic mode. What if she were to find out? What would happen if Nicole told her my dirty little secret? I swear, I think I would die of shame…

Nicole has brought her bare foot up to rest on the edge of the couch, and is slowly moving me toward it. “No!” I shout, twisting in her grasp. Flinching as if I’d slapped her, Nicole puts her foot back on the floor and holds me up to her face. She looks sad and hurt, sort of like Naomi did last night before she started torturing me. I pray I haven’t lost my only ally in this house.

“I’m sorry,” she says sadly. “I just wanted to play with you, and I thought…”

I touch her finger with my hands and smile as sweetly as I can. “No, I’m sorry, Nicole. I didn’t mean to yell at you. I just… I don’t like that game, okay?”

“You don’t like feet?” She looks puzzled. “Momma and Cheryl said you did. And so did Kim.”

“They like playing with me,” I tell her. “And I have to, because I’m too small to stop them.”

“I bet they’d quit if you asked them to,” Nicole says.

I shake my head. “They don’t care. It’s just a game to them, and they don’t care if I like it or not. They’re not like you.” I look up hopefully, feeling like a manipulative heel. I’ve got to keep her in my corner.

“You want me to tell Momma to stop?” she asks me, and my stomach lurches. If I thought Naomi was pissed last night, I can only imagine how much her head would spin around if Nicole confronted her.

“No, that’s okay. I’ll explain it to her myself,” I tell her. “I want to do it without hurting her feelings, like I hurt yours a minute ago.”

“Oh, you didn’t,” she says, smiling at me. “Can I still hold you?”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” I tell her. She lowers me down and holds me in her lap, stroking me lovingly with her fingers. I sigh with a combination of pleasure and relief.



Over breakfast, Paul and Naomi have a disagreement. Paul doesn’t want to be around when Louise and Alan get here because “that big, goofy sonuvabitch gives me the creeps.” Besides, he’s supposed to meet Walt at Harrigan’s Sports Bar to watch the Astros play, and its not fair he should have to cancel his plans just because these SPECTRUM people got a bug up their ass and decided to come.

Naomi, of course, doesn’t like the idea of being left alone with them, so Paul suggests that she come with him. For one blind, crazy moment, I pray that she will. Of course, it’s futile. There’s no way in hell Naomi would leave me alone with Louise and Alan. I’m sure she’ll be there every minute of their visit, looming in the background, making sure I remember what’s in store for me if I blab too much.

Naomi pretty much tells Paul this verbatim, and tells him he needs to stop shirking his responsibility because I’m his son and she’s tired of having to do all the work to take care of me, yadda, yadda, yadda.

Nicole watches all of this like it’s a tennis match, her head swinging back and forth between Naomi and Paul. Poor, sweet Nicole. She’s the only thing that makes this place remotely tolerable. And it seems like all her parents ever do anymore is fight, usually over me.

Paul finally acquiesces and grumpily heads into the bathroom to shower and change. Nicole heads into her room to get ready, and Naomi clears the table and goes into the kitchen to wash dishes.

I’m sort of relieved Paul is sticking around, because it keeps Naomi on her best behavior. And after last night, I’m dreading any more alone time with her.

As if reading my mind, Naomi walks over to my dollhouse. I hear her coming, and I watch out my window, hoping she’ll just walk on by. Her blue terrycloth robe fills my view completely, and my house trembles as she runs her toes along the plastic exterior.

“Are you done with your breakfast, Ray?” she asks. I hear her slipper hit the floor, and her toes suddenly poke through the window. She wiggles them playfully, gripping the plastic window frame between them. The entire house shakes from the movement of her foot.

“Yeah, I’m done,” I shout to her.

“Good. Bring your plate out here.”

You see, it’s all part of her new torture. No more moving my house away from the wall. No more grabbing me. No more chasing me down, or pinning me to the floor with her foot. Now, I’m supposed to supplicate myself to her willingly and ask nicely for her to humiliate me. And the worst part is that smug smile on her face when I submit.

So why do I do it, you may ask. Why don’t you fight her? Well, besides the obvious bodily health reasons, I suppose willing submission is the only way I can salvage a shred of my dignity. If I “let” her win, then I can at least pretend like it was my choice, like I had some control in the matter. If I struggle, then she just makes me do whatever she wants anyway and any sense of control is shattered.

Never underestimate the power of denial.

So I carry my plate out the front door just in time to see her slide her foot back into her pink slipper. She stands there for a second, relishing as always the sight of me helpless at her feet.

“Do you remember what we talked about last night?” she asks me.

I nod. “Yes ma’am.”

“Good.” She bends down and places her hand on the ground. I step into her palm and let her lift me. She carries me into the kitchen and sets me down on the counter. I hold out the plate, and she gently takes from me with her finger and thumb, rinses it off, then sets it with the others.

“As soon as your daddy’s done in the bathroom, you and I can go get cleaned up.”



Once again, she’s managed to get me out of the house without my swimsuit. I undress nervously as she watches, wondering if today will be the day when she insists on showering together. Fortunately, she draws my bath in the sink and sets me in it, leaving me to bathe in relative privacy while she showers.

I lather up, rinse, repeat, then sit there in nervous silence, waiting for her to finish. No doubt it’ll be another rousing game of Dry Momma’s Feet once she gets done. There’s a lot to be said for a routine; no matter how appalling you find it, at least you know what to expect.

Naomi cuts off her shower and comes out, drying herself off. I can’t see anything of course, but I can hear the towel rubbing her skin as she approaches. Her face appears suddenly, looming over me and grinning.

“Are we nice and clean?” she asks, shaking her head. Her damp blonde hair slings over me like a pendulum, sprinkling me with large drops of water.

I nod and stand up, shivering in the cold air. She reaches down and grabs me around the waist between her finger and thumb, but she doesn’t lift me up.

“I don’t know,” she says, shaking her head. “This is a special occasion, and I’d hate for your friends to think I wasn’t taking care of you. Maybe we should put you through one more cycle.”

She dips the fingers of her free hand into the water, then runs them along the bar of soap. Still holding me, she rubs her soapy index finger along my body, lingering over my privates a little too long. She presses her finger between my legs, grinning when I let out an involuntary moan.

“You naughty little thing,” she scolds me playfully, flicking at my erection with her fingernail. “I swear, you’ve got a one track mind.” She continues to rub me, covering me with lather.

“Hold your breath,” she says. I puzzle that for a second, then barely have time to take in a lungful of air before she dunks me under the water. She holds me under, her fingers rubbing and stroking relentlessly as I flail and kick for a breath.

Just before I black out, I feel myself being lifted up and out of the sink. I’m lying in her palm, coughing and sputtering.

“Poor baby,” she says, holding up a dry washrag. “Let’s get you dried off.” She lays me in the center of it, then wraps it around me entirely. For nearly a minute, her fingers buffet me painfully through the rag. The rough fabric scrapes against my skin, down my chest and along my back. My shouts are muffled by the rag, not that they would do any good.

Finally, it stops. Naomi sets me down so she can slip into her bathrobe. Then she scoops up me along with my pajamas and carries me back to my dollhouse. She sets me down at my front door, dropping my pajamas at my feet.

“Make sure you put on something nice,” she says, watching me smugly. “I want you to look good for your friends.” I eye her feet nervously as I back away, clutching my pajamas to my chest. They’re to either side of me, bare and still damp from the shower.

She sees me looking, and giggles. “My God, you’re insatiable, aren’t you?” She raises her right foot and lets it hover over me. “Better get inside before I squish you.”

I turn and scramble for the front door, fumbling to get it open with my arms full. I drop my pajamas to the floor and finally tug the door open. I bolt inside and spin around just in time to see her foot come down just outside the doorway. She grasps my pajamas between her toes and holds them up to me.

“You dropped something,” she says. Cautiously, I step to the threshold and take hold of my pajamas. I tug a couple of times before she finally lets go, sending me stumbling backwards. I kick the front door closed and lay there, listening to Naomi chortle as she walks away.

I finally sit up and throw my pajamas against the plastic wall where the fake fireplace burns with an illustrated flame. I’m mad at Naomi of course, for putting me through all that. But I’m also mad at myself because once again, in spite of my best efforts, I’m sporting a pretty serious erection.

Sunday after lunch, and I’m pacing around on the coffee table. I’d really rather be in my dollhouse, but Naomi wants to make sure that I’m out among the family when Louise and Alan get here.

She’s really nervous about them coming, and is desperate to make a good impression for some reason. It’s like she wants to prove to them that she and Paul did the right thing by taking me away from SPECTRUM, and she expects them to be dazzled by this happy family that I’ve joined.

At Naomi’s insistence, Paul and Nicole are dressed in their Sunday clothes. Personally, this strikes me as a tad ironic; other than Paul’s half-assed attempts at saying grace, the Daltons haven’t struck me as a particularly religious family. In fact, I’d be hard pressed to describe them to anyone without using the words “hellish” and “evil.”

Paul is sitting in his recliner, shifting uncomfortably in his suit. He keeps yanking at his collar, obviously unaccustomed to the tightness of his necktie. He is surrounded by a cloud of Aqua Velva that stings my eyes whenever it wafts my way.

Nicole sits on the couch behind me, fidgeting almost as much as Paul. I know she’d much rather be lying in the floor, but she’s wearing a flowery cotton dress and Naomi’s afraid she’ll get it wrinkled. Besides, Naomi says, nice girls don’t wallow in the floor.

Naomi, I should add, has gone all out with a pink motif. She’s wearing a short pink dress and a pair of strappy pink high heels that compliment her nails. She’s also wearing matching pink lipstick and has a pink ribbon in her hair. She would have probably dyed her hair pink if she hadn’t run out of time.

Like me, she’s also pacing back and forth. It’s gratifying to see her so nervous, so out-of-control of the situation for once. It’s hard to believe this is the same woman that was tormenting me so casually this morning.

As for me, I’m dressed in what passes for formal wear at my height. Basically, it’s a pair of black trousers and a blue long-sleeve turtleneck. It’s unbearably hot, but Naomi insisted that I wear it. My hair is plastered down with a microscopic dollop of Paul’s pomade.

“How come I have to sit here?” Nicole whines. “They’re Ray’s friends, not mine.”

Naomi glares at her. “If you ask me that one more time, you’re grounded,” she snaps. “Now just sit there and be quiet.”

Nicole gives me a dirty look, yet another in a long line of them. She blames me for this tedious afternoon and wants to make sure I know it. I ignore her and continue pacing.

“I think it’s stupid,” Paul mutters. “Why are we trying to impress these Nazi bastards, anyway? They should be trying to impress us.”

Naomi lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Is it too much to ask that we just sit here together like a normal goddamn family? Is it?”

Paul looks away from her and regards his dress shoes, fuming but reluctant to speak. Nicole waits for Naomi to look away as well, then sticks her tongue out at me. I continue to ignore her.

My pacing is brought to an abrupt halt when Nicole sets her sandaled foot on the table, blocking my path. Her heel is resting on the edge, and her toes wiggle playfully above my head. She sets her other foot on the table behind me. “You’re trapped now,” she says with a mischievous giggle. I grin back to let her know there’s no hard feelings, then slide my hand between the smooth skin of her sole and her shoe. I brush my fingers along the bottom of her foot, and she lets out a single snort of laughter. She slides her foot sideways, nudging me and knocking me away.

“Nicole!” Naomi shouts. “Get your feet off the table and leave your brother alone!”

Nicole puts her feet on the floor and smirks at me. I roll my eyes and shake my head in an exaggerated pantomime to let her know that I’m annoyed with Naomi too. Nicole grins and nods. We’re conspirators, she and I, and as long as we’re united against Naomi, Nicole won’t have any reason to turn on me.

Diplomacy is a must when you’re the size of an action figure.



The doorbell finally rings, and Nicole leaps up off the couch. “I’ll get it,” she calls as she runs across the living room.

“Nicole, sit down!” Naomi shouts. Nicole plops back down on the couch behind me, but I’ve already run to the edge of the table. Naomi walks over to the front door and opens it.

“Hello, Ms. Dalton,” says a familiar voice. My heart is suddenly pounding and I feel like I’m going to faint. It’s Louise! “We’re here to see Ray.”

“Of course,” Naomi says, a tad icily. “Please come in.” Naomi walks back into the living room, followed by Louise and Alan.

It’s only been a couple of weeks, but I feel tears welling up at the sight of them. Louise is even more beautiful than I remembered. Her dark hair hangs loose, bouncing around her shoulders. Her beautiful brown eyes dart around the room, before finally settling on me. She rushes over to me and scoops me up gently, pressing me to her cheek.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’ve missed you so much,” she whispers. I notice her cheeks are wet with her own tears as well as mine. I touch my hand to her warm, smooth skin and kiss her. I sell my soul if I could freeze time right at this moment.

“Hey there, pal,” Alan says, walking in behind her. He’s carrying a large duffel bag emblazoned with the SPECTRUM logo, a beam of light passing through a prism and being diffused into a rainbow. It bears a remarkable similarity to the album cover of Dark Side of the Moon, although Gary used to assure me that SPECTRUM had been around a lot longer than Pink Floyd.

He sets the bag down, then holds out his hand, extending his finger towards me as I sit in Louise’s cupped palm. I hold out my hand palm up, and he gently slaps it with the tip of his finger. He then turns his finger over, and I slap the tip of it.

“You poor thing,” Louise says, studying me. “You’re skin and bones. Aren’t they feeding you?”

“Of course we are,” Naomi snaps. “I’m a good cook, right Ray?”

What am I going to say? I nod and say, “Yeah, she’s great,” without much enthusiasm.

Paul is up out of his chair. He shakes hands with Louise and Alan, then turns to Nicole, who is sitting somewhat sullenly on the couch.

“Nicole, this is Dr. Herndon and Mr. Mackey. They’re friends of Ray’s from SPECTRUM.”

Nicole stands and offers them a pretty curtsy. “It’s very nice to meet you,” she says formally. A look of relief washes over Naomi’s face.

“You don’t look like Nazis,” Nicole adds. Naomi blushes furiously in the sudden awkward silence. Paul lets out a nervous cough.

“Uh, why don’t you go play in your room now, Nicole,” Naomi suggests, struggling to maintain a pleasant voice.

“Good idea,” Paul says, laughing an uncomfortable laugh. Nicole eagerly obeys, calling out, “Okay, bye!” over her shoulder as she runs off down the hall.

Louise and Alan look amused by the whole thing. Paul seems a little on edge, but Naomi just looks mortified. Her smile is plastered on her face, unflinching.

“Kids,” she finally says, punctuating it with a fake laugh.

“I know,” Louise says, touching me gently with her index finger. “I remember how this one used to be.”

For another awkward moment, the four of them stand in silence. Then Paul makes a big production of checking his watch. “Oh yeah, Naomi. I almost forgot. I’ve got that appointment with Walt.”

Naomi glares at him angrily, her smile still intact. “Appointment?” she asks through gritted teeth. “What appointment is that, honey?”

“You know,” Paul says. “Walt and I have that thing this afternoon.”

“What about our guests, honey?”

“I’m sure they won’t mind,” he says. “They came to visit with Ray, not me. Right, guys?”

Louise and Alan exchange amused glances. Louise says, “Oh, if you’ve got somewhere to be, Mr. Dalton, please don’t let us keep you.”

“Right,” Alan adds. “If you prefer, we can take Ray somewhere else for our visit…”

“I wouldn’t hear of it,” Naomi says with another forced laugh.

“Okay, then,” Paul says, waving cheerfully as he walks to the front door. “You folks take it easy and have a safe drive back.” He stops to kiss Naomi on the cheek; her fists clench and her eyes grow narrow, but she says nothing. Paul strips off his tie and leaves the house. “Bye now,” he calls to us.

“Auf Wiedersehen,” Alan calls after him in an atrocious German accent.



“How are they treating you?” Louise asks me, still cradling me in her palm. She’s sitting at the dining room table, sipping coffee from Naomi’s finest china. Alan sits across the table from her, holding a glass of ice water. And Naomi, well… she’s never far from us.

“It’s terrible,” I whisper to her. “These people are…” I trail off as Naomi enters the room and asks Louise if she needs a refill.

“No, thank you,” Louise says. We sit there silently, waiting for her to leave. She finally does, and I finish whispering. “They treat me like I’m some kind of pet. And Naomi…”

She’s suddenly there again, standing behind Alan, smiling benevolently at me. It’s a smile that makes me shiver, in spite of the heat.

“I understand,” Louise says, touching my face with her finger. It’s a reassuring touch, one I’ve missed so much it makes me ache inside. “I’m sure there are some things you’d rather not discuss right now,” she says to me as she glares at Naomi. “But I promise you, we’re doing everything we can to get you back, sweetheart.”

“Amen to that,” Alan says, grinning his goofy grin. “You’ll be home again in no time, pal.”

Naomi clears her throat. “He is home. Remember, Paul is his father.”

“Biologically,” Louise adds, rather pointedly. She and Naomi stare, both refusing to look away.

“Hey, come on, ladies,” Alan says cheerfully. “You’re making me and Ray uncomfortable.”

Naomi glares at me, and I tremble. Louise wraps her fingers around me protectively.

“Besides, we brought gifts,” Alan says, unzipping the duffel bag. He reaches in and pulls out an insulated box, also marked with the SPECTRUM logo. He pops the lid off of it, and a blast of cold air escapes. Inside are dozens of small, white containers, roughly the size of a pat of butter.

“Alice figured you might be missing her cooking, so she made you these little dinners,” he says. “Lasagna, pot roast, and a bunch of those little pizzas you like so much.”

My mouth waters and my stomach growls at the mention of Alice’s cooking. She’s always been an incredible cook, but she used to take great pains to make sure that my meals looked appetizing to me. I guess I always took her for granted… I never really appreciated all the effort she went through until I sampled Naomi’s fare.

Alan hands the container to Naomi and says, “You can just keep them in the freezer until you’re ready to cook one. Then 30 seconds in the microwave should do it.”

“Okay, I’ll remember that,” Naomi says, smiling sweetly as she takes the box from Alan and carries it into the kitchen.

“Okay, let’s see what else,” Alan says, rummaging through the bag. “Let’s get the boring stuff out of the way first.” He sets down several stacks of clothes, all specially tailored for me. Shirts, pants, underwear, socks, and a couple pairs of shoes… No sooner has he set them down than Naomi snatches them up. “I’ll just put these in your house for you, Ray,” she says, emphasizing the word “house” to let Alan and Louise know that they’re taking good care of me.

Alan reaches into the bag, and pulls out a device roughly the size of his hand. It’s a flat, rectangular box with a screen along the top and a numeric keypad underneath.

“Movie viewer,” Alan says excitedly, setting it down on the table. Louise lowers her hand to the table surface and allows me to step out of her palm. I walk over to the device and press the eject button. A tray pops out of the side, about waist high.

“This is great!” I exclaim. “Any movies to go with it?”

“Of course.” Alan reaches into the bag and sets down a stack of minidisks. Each one is the size of a quarter, but quite light and easy for me to lift. I count fourteen.

“We got you all the Star Wars movies,” Alan says. “Plus a few chick flicks that Louise insisted you like.”

Louise kicks him under the table. “’Gone with the Wind’ is not a chick flick,” she says indignantly. “Besides, Ray does like it. Don’t you, sweetheart?”

I nod. “It’s one of my favorites,” I say. Of course, that might be because I used to watch it with her, lying safe and secure in her cupped palm, peering over the edge of her hand at the movie. I remember she used to cry at the part where Scarlett’s daughter died, and I would gaze up at her lovely face and marvel at her tears in the flickering light of the movie. I would stroke her finger, trying desperately to comfort her, and she would look down at me and beam with such affection. I was desperately in love with her then, and I suppose I always will be to some degree.

“And I put ‘Pulp Fiction’ in there too,” Alan says with a wink.

Louise shakes her head. “Alan, I told you no ‘R’ movies.”

He shrugs. “It’s a classic, right pal?”

I nod enthusiastically.

“And one last present…” Alan reaches into the bag, then stops. “I think you need to be on the floor for this one,” he says. Louise places her hand on the table, and I climb into it. She lifts me gently up and over, then sets me down on the carpet, between her feet. She’s wearing black pumps, plain and perfunctory. Even so, being this close to her foot makes me tingle with nervous excitement.

I look over towards Alan’s black dress shoes, shined to military perfection. “Sally made this just for you,” Alan is saying. “She told me to let you know that she really wanted to have it for your 16th birthday, but ran into a little trouble getting it ready on time. Anyway…” He bends down and sets the last gift on the floor before me.

A car! It’s a car, my size, made of metal and molded plastic! It’s built like a dune buggy, with oversized tires and a roll bar protecting the cockpit. The chassis is bright yellow, with red flames along the side. I run over to it and peer inside. A steering wheel, a gearshift, and a leather seat! I touch the seat, marveling at how soft it feels. There’s even a seatbelt inside! Mounted behind the seat is a battery half again my size.

“What is it?” Naomi calls, clomping over on her pink high heels. She stops just inches from the car and nudges it with her foot. “Aww, what an adorable little thing,” she coos. I stare angrily, resenting her for the intrusion.

“Hey, be careful,” Alan tells her. “That’s a delicate piece of machinery.”

“Well, aren’t you going to try it out?” Naomi asks, grinning down at me.

“Why don’t we give him some room?” Louise suggests. Naomi takes the hint and takes a couple of steps back. I climb into the car and slide down into the seat. It fits me like a glove! The steering wheel is sized just right for my hands, and my feet just reach the two pedals on the floorboard.

“Right one’s the gas, left one’s the brake,” Alan says. “It’s got two speeds… forwards and backwards,” he adds with a laugh.

I push the gearshift forward and press down on the right pedal. The car lurches forward over the carpet, straight towards Naomi’s foot. I turn the wheel sharply to avoid running into her.

“How adorable!” Naomi squeals, clapping her hands as I shoot past her. The engine whines as I pick up speed. The tires bump mercilessly across the carpet, but I barely feel the bumps thanks to Sally’s incredible suspension.

I speed into the living room and turn sharply, weaving between the legs of the coffee table. The response of this thing is incredible! I touch the brakes to slow down slightly, then turn around and make my way back to the dining room. I come to a perfect stop right where I started and climb out.

“I love it!” I call up to Alan and Louise. “Tell Sally it’s the best present I’ve ever gotten!”

Louise reaches down and gently scoops me up, lifting me to the table again. “Thank you,” I say, kissing her finger. “Thank you both,” I add, waving to Alan.

It’s the happiest I’ve been in a long time, and my joy is marred only by the knowledge that it’s going to end soon. In a little bit, Louise and Alan are going to have to leave and I’ll be left with Naomi.



Six o’clock comes, and Naomi comes in and apologizes for breaking up the party, but she needs to start dinner.

“Can’t they stay a little longer, please?” I ask her. “Maybe they can stay for dinner.”

Naomi shakes her head. “Sorry, sweetie. But I’m sure they’ll come and see you next month.”

“How about next week?” I ask, clinging to Louise’s finger. I can’t bear the thought that I’ll have to let go of it anytime soon.

Alan sighs. “Pal, if I could, I’d come every day. But until this court case gets settled, I’m afraid we only get one Sunday each month.”

A whole month! Take however long I’ve been here, double it, and that’s how long I’ll have to wait before seeing them again. I look over at Naomi and see her watching me with some small amusement. She really enjoys making me miserable, doesn’t she?

Louise lifts me to her cheek for a hug, and I whisper fiercely, “Take me with you! Please, get me out of this place!”

“I wish I could, sweetheart,” she whispers back, tears streaming down her face. “God, I wish I never had to let you go.” She hands me to Alan and wipes at her eyes, sniffing a couple of times. Alan looks down at me and, for the first time that afternoon, he isn’t grinning.

“We’re going to get you back, Ray,” he says to me in a low voice. Naomi perks her head, trying to hear just what he’s saying. “I swear to God, I’ll do whatever it takes to get you back.”

“I think you’d better go now,” Naomi says, walking over to Alan and holding out her hand for me. Alan glares at her outstretched hand, then sets me on the floor.

“Hang in there, pal,” he whispers. “I promise, we’re going to get you out of here.”

He takes the empty duffel bag and walks over to Louise. The two of them look at me one more time, then turn to follow Naomi to the front door. She’s being strong for my sake, but I just know Louise is going to start sobbing as soon as they’re out the front door. Just like I am now.

I hear the front door slam, and Naomi comes walking back into the dining room. “Thank God,” she mutters as she sits down in the chair. She reaches down and unbuckles her shoes, kicking them off.

“Ahh, much better,” she sighs, rubbing her soles along the carpet and wiggling her toes. Her feet are criss-crossed with several red indentions from her tight sandals. I remain under the table, watching her flex her toes and wondering how long before she decides to play with me.

“Come here, Ray,” she calls pleasantly. I walk over to her, past my car, and look up at her. “Well?” she asks me, expecting an answer to a question she hasn’t asked.

“Well what?” I ask, still blinking away tears.

“Well, aren’t you going to drive around in your little car?” she asks. She reaches over with her bare foot and nudges the car, lifting it slightly with her toes. It makes me furious to see her treat it with such disregard, but I choke back my frustration and say nothing other than, “Yes, ma’am.”

I walk over to the car and wait for her to withdraw her foot before I climb in. I sit there behind the wheel, feeling her stare at me, wondering what the game is going to be.

“Why don’t you go show Nicole your new car, sweetie?” she suggests, standing up. “I’m gonna make a phone call, and then go start dinner.” I feel a glimmer of hope, like a stay of execution. She steps over my car. I stare up, watching the bottom of her foot as it passes over me and hits the carpet on the other side. She really is going to leave me alone! I can’t believe my luck!



I spend the next thirty minutes in Nicole’s room, showing off my new wheels. She squeals and applauds when I bring it to a sliding halt right at her feet. Then, gently, she reaches down and picks up the car, lifting me up so she can have a closer look.

“I love it,” she announces, then sets me down so I can drive around some more. She takes great delight in creating an obstacle course for me from her teddy bear, her discarded sandals, and a small pile of dirty clothes from her hamper. I perform willingly, actually enjoying the attention she’s giving me. I weave between the sandals, drive over the rugged terrain of her laundry, then do a tight, hairpin turn around the teddy bear. Then back over the dirty clothes, a quick slalom through her overturned shoes, and I complete the course by racing across the finish line between her bare feet.

She cheers enthusiastically, then asks me to do it again. “This time, I’ll time you,” she suggests, fishing a watch out of the messy pile on her dresser. She takes her position, and I take mine, lining up my car between her feet. “Ready…” she says. “Set…”

Her door opens, and Naomi pokes her head in. “Dinner’s ready, you guys,” she says, grinning down at me. She steps over and picks up my car, wrapping her hand around the cockpit. Her palm completely envelops my view, but the roll bar keeps it from actually touching me. My car bounces with each step as Naomi carries me into the dining room. She sets me down in front of my house, then steps back. I climb out of the car and make my way over to my front door.

“Here you go, sweetie,” Naomi says, leaning down with a plate. It’s a torn piece of bread and a couple pieces of shaved ham.

“What about the food Louise and Alan brought?” I ask her, unable to hide my disappointment.

She looks down at me rather crossly. “So, you don’t like Momma’s cooking?” she asks. What cooking? More like Momma’s half-assed table scraps.

“It’s just…” I trail off as she takes a step closer, stepping down right in front of me. Her toes begin to wiggle slowly, filling my nostrils with the faint scent of sweat and leather. I stare transfixed at the indentions that run across the top and sides of her foot. Her toes make a soft thump as they rub together.

“It’s just what?” she asks, smiling down cruelly at me. She raises her foot slightly, showing me the wrinkled sole.

“I just hate for them to go through all that trouble for nothing.”

“Oh, it wasn’t for nothing,” she says with an evil grin. “I tried some of the lasagnas. They were really good.”

All my fear, all my trepidation goes out the window to be replaced with a crazy rage. I want so badly to hurt her, to choke her, to beat that horrible smile off of her face. “You bitch!” I hurl the plate at her. It bounces harmlessly off of her ankle, scattering bread and ham on the floor. “You had no right!”

Her foot kicks forward, her toes pinning me against my front door. I pound on her toes as they grip me and pinch together with sudden ferocity. I scream and pound harder, and she pinches me again. “Goddamn you!” I scream. “I hate you!”

She pinches me again and holds it this time. I can’t get any air into my lungs, and my face feels like it’s going to burst from the pressure. My arms flail weakly, then finally fall limp. I collapse in her grasp, sobbing helplessly. “I hate you,” I moan softly. “I hate you so much.”

“I know,” Naomi says. “But there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Momma?” Nicole comes running in, and Naomi hurriedly drops me and moves her foot away. I collapse in a heap on the carpet. “What are you doing to Ray?”

“Nothing, sweetie,” Naomi says. “Me and Ray were just playing.”

She looks down and sees me crying, then turns to her mother. “You made him cry, Momma. Ray doesn’t like playing with people’s feet. He told me.”

“Oh, he did?” Naomi looks down at me. “Well sweetie, I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Ray really does like it, but he’s embarrassed to admit it.”

Nicole looks skeptical. “Then why is he crying?”

“He’s just sad because his friends had to go home. I was just trying to cheer him up. Right, Ray?”

Exhausted beyond measure, I just nod weakly.

“He really likes it?” Nicole asks, regarding me with a big grin.

“Sure he does,” Naomi answers, poking playfully at me with her big toe. “Just last night, he asked me if he could play on my feet. Right, Ray?”

Again, I just nod. To fight would require so much energy, and I just don’t have it right now.

“Can I try it?” Nicole asks.

Naomi chuckles. “Maybe later, sweetie. Right now, it’s time for dinner.”



Paul comes home while Naomi and Nicole are eating, carrying half-a-dozen roses. I stand at my window and watch the whole thing, numb and drained.

“Hi, honey,” he says, grinning sheepishly. “You aren’t mad at me, are you?”

“Of course not, sweetie,” Naomi says. She stands up, walks over to Paul, and kisses him. He stares, dumbfounded, scarcely able to believe his luck. Don’t fall for it, I want to shout to him. It’s a trap. She’s just setting you up for some colossal disappointment.

“They’re beautiful,” Naomi says, taking the flowers and carrying them into the kitchen. “Are you hungry?” she calls to him. “I saved you a plate.”

“Um, no,” he says, obviously embarrassed. “I mean, I didn’t think you would wait dinner for me, so Walt and I ate at the bar.” He braces himself for the tantrum…

…that never comes. Naomi walks back into the dining room, carrying the roses in a vase. She sets the vase down on the table and smiles. “Flowers just make a table look so beautiful, don’t they?”

“Yeah,” Paul agrees. “Um, how did it go with those SPECTRUM people?”

“Oh,” Naomi makes a pouting face. “It was horrible. They were so horrible to me, and I had to face them all by myself.” I imagine a sports announcer saying, She’s casting her line in the water…

Paul runs over to her and puts his hands on her shoulders. “Aww, I’m sorry I left you alone with them, Naomi. You must be really mad at me.”

She shakes her head. “I was a little, at first. But then…” She flashes him a sweet smile, “I thought of a way you could make it up to me.” The sportscaster voice in my head says, She’s dangling the bait…

“Of course, honey,” he says. “Anything.” She’s setting the hook…

“I figured Cheryl and I could use a little alone time tonight,” Naomi says. “Would you mind terribly taking the girls to a movie?”

“All right!” Nicole says, then adds cautiously, “Um, you’re not going to sit with us, are you Daddy?”

Paul shrugs. “I guess that’ll be okay.” Hook, line and sinker… “What about Ray?” he asks. “Would you like me to take him, too?”

“No, Ray’s fine,” Naomi says, looking in my direction and winking. “I’m sure Cheryl and I won’t even know he’s here.”



I offer no resistance to the ladies at first. They put me on the floor and Cheryl starts things off by showing me her new toe ring. It’s a silver band with a gold braid in the middle that encircles the second toe of her right foot. She assures me that she bought it just for me, and she holds it up so I can admire it.

“It’s very nice,” I assure her. She raises her foot a little higher and suggests I have a look at it from underneath. I don’t have to be Nostradamus to know what’s going to happen next. I climb under her foot, and she brings it down, pinning me to the carpet.

While she’s toying with me, she makes a tsking sound and complains that her pedicure is already getting chipped. “I want to keep my toes pretty for my little boyfriend here,” she says, rubbing me with the bottom of her foot and rolling me around on the carpet.

“Oh, I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” Naomi says. “I’m sure he thinks he’s died and gone to heaven. Isn’t that right, Ray?”

Yeah, all except for the heaven part. But I don’t say anything. I just lay there and let Cheryl have her way with me.

“Poor baby,” she says, picking me up between her toes and crossing her leg. “All the fight’s gone out of him.” She gives Naomi a for-shame look. “Did you get started without me?”

Naomi giggles. “He was acting out, so I had to punish him. It was my duty as his mother.”

The conversation turns to Louise and Alan’s visit that afternoon, but I’m barely listening. In fact, I’m barely able to respond to anything. Cheryl is slowly grinding me between her toes, usually a guaranteed attention getter, but I’m too morose to even manage a decent hard-on for her. I just stare at red paint on her toenails, dull and chipped, and wonder how long before she gets bored with me.

“Oh, Ray,” Naomi suddenly says, startling me from my reverie. “Why don’t you go get your new car and show Cheryl?”

“A new car, eh?” Cheryl smiles wickedly. “You really are the perfect man, aren’t you?” She lowers me to the floor and releases me. I just lay there, unwilling to move.

“Raaay,” Naomi says softly, nudging me with her toes. “Come on. Go get your car and bring it over here.”

I climb wearily to my feet and make the long walk over to my house, leaving them to smoke their cigarettes and drink their wine and giggle about how subdued I am tonight. How can they possibly understand how tired and broken I am? Not physically, but spiritually. The idea of struggling, of arguing, of even lying to myself about how much control I have, seems a monumental waste of energy. I have no recourse, no hope, nothing on the horizon but month after unbearable month of being Naomi’s plaything. And what if they win the case? What if the courts decide I have to spend the next two years here? What then?

“Hurry up, Ray,” Naomi calls to me, “Or I’ll come over there and stomp the shit out of you!” They both giggle, but I’m too empty to care. I get into the car and tap the “gas” pedal. The car lurches forward a few inches, then stops.

Less than two hours ago, my best friends in the entire world were here, and I had the overwhelming feeling that everything would somehow be all right. To fall from such a lofty height is worse than to never climb at all, right?

That’s stupid, I tell myself. What’s changed since Louise and Alan were here? So Naomi ate your dinners, so what? Ask yourself why? Hell, why does she do anything? Just to make you feel helpless and at her mercy.

It’s your fault for letting her win, I berate myself. It’s your fault for letting her fill you with such hopelessness that you forget the few good things that have happened to you.

Like Nicole. I remember the sheer exhilaration of racing along her bedroom floor while she cheered me on. I remember the warmth I felt when she held me and stroked me as we watched TV. Or the contentment and inner peace it gave me to just lie on her chest and feel her heart beat beneath me.

I punch the pedal, and the car shoots forward. I speed back over towards the ladies.

Or Suzy. My heart nearly leaps out of my chest when I think of her beautiful face, those amazing green eyes, and that smirk of a smile that lets me know she thinks of me as a person, not a pet. God damn Naomi for making me forget about Suzy, even for a second.

Things aren’t so bad, I realize. Sure, I’ll have to deal with Naomi now and again, but only at night. During the day, she’ll be at work. And I’ll be here with Suzy and Nicole.

I zoom across the dining room and slam on the brakes. The car slides a couple of feet, then comes to a stop at Cheryl’s feet. She looks down at me and smiles. “What an adorable little car,” she says, reaching down to pick it up. With a sudden, reckless glee, I yank the gearshift back towards me and mash the accelerator to the floorboard. The car shoots backwards, away from Cheryl’s reaching hand. I hit the brakes and stop.

“Why, you naughty little thing,” Cheryl says with a giggle. She reaches for me again, and I speed backwards again. I glance up in time to see Naomi’s hand coming towards me. I throw it into forward and zip away. Cheryl stands up and tries to block me with her foot. I spin the steering wheel and edge around her.

“Ray!” Naomi snaps, standing up. I get about ten feet from them, then spin the wheel and slam on the brake. My car spins around as it skids along the carpet.

Naomi stands next to Cheryl, her hands on her hips. “Get over here right now, mister,” she warns. “If I have to catch you, you’re going to regret it.”

I doubt it. I think the only thing I would regret at this point would be giving up. Naomi takes a step towards me, and I put the car into reverse and back away from her. The look of hot white anger on her face is priceless. I try to commit that look to memory, hoping it’ll give me some comfort when she’s meting out my inevitable punishment…

No time to think about that now. She lumbers towards me angrily, stomping her bare feet. I shift into forward and wait until she’s almost on top of me…

I speed between her legs and back into the dining room. Cheryl, obviously amused by the whole thing, makes an attempt to head me off. I steer clear of her grasping hand and zip under the dining room table. I see Naomi’s feet running alongside the table, trying to beat me to the other side. I turn left and shoot back out into the open, missing the back of Naomi’s heel by inches.

The engine whines as I blow past Cheryl again and into the living room. Something flies overhead and strikes the floor in front of me. I swerve hard and barely miss crashing into Naomi’s pink high heel. I turn just in time to see her throw the other one. It sails too high and smacks the lamp, breaking it.

“Son of a bitch!” Naomi screams, running towards me with reckless abandon. She actually drops to her knees and tries to block me while grabbing at me with both hands. I veer left, then break right and her hands clap together in the empty space behind me.

Grinning like a maniac, I watch over my shoulder as she lumbers to her feet. A shadow falls overhead. I look forward too late to avoid Cheryl’s foot in my path. I brace myself as I hit it at full speed…

…and drive right over it. My oversized tires carry me up and over Cheryl’s foot. She kicks out while I’m on top of her foot, and my car sails through the air. I hold my breath and scrunch down in the seat as far as I can as my car flips upside down and hits the carpet.

The shock almost jars me from my seat, but the seatbelt holds me in place. The car bounces once as the roll bar strikes the floor. It bounces a second time, and suddenly I’m right side up again.

“Holy shit,” Cheryl says, looking at me with something akin to awe. That’s right, I think. I’m invincible. I’ll drive you both into the ground and then…

A shadow falls on me from behind. I floor the accelerator again, but the engine just whines in neutral. I glance down and see that the gearshift has moved out of gear. Panicked, I thrust it forward and mash the gas again.

The front tires spin against the carpet, but my car is going nowhere. Glancing up, I see Naomi is holding the roll bar between her toes, lifting the car slightly. My back tires are spinning helplessly in the air and my front tires just don’t have the traction to escape her grasp.

“Get out,” she orders me. I mash the accelerator again and again, trying to break free. Cheryl walks over and bends down to grab my car, and I know it’s all over. Oh well, it was a hell of a run.

Cheryl reaches in and fumbles with my seatbelt until she finally gets it unlatched. Then she grabs me by the collar of my shirt and lifts me out of my car. Dangling me in front of her face, she shakes her head and grins. “You are in so much trouble, little boy,” she says, laughing. She lowers me slightly, and lets me go. I plummet straight into Naomi’s waiting hand.

Naomi is gasping for air, and for a minute she doesn’t even say a word. She just holds me and stares down at me, while wiping the sweat from her forehead and cheeks. Finally, she says, “What the hell did you think you were doing?”

I shrug. “Thought you guys wanted to play. Sorry about that.”

She’s still huffing and puffing from all the running around. “I’m still trying to decide what I’m going to do to you,” she says. “The hard part is coming up with a punishment that you won’t enjoy.” She carries me back over to the dining room table and sits down. Cheryl collapses into the other chair. For a while, nobody says a word.

Finally, Naomi grins and says, “Aw, fuck it. No car or movies for a week, okay?”

I nod. “If you say so.”

“Good. Now that your punishment is out of the way, I guess you’re allowed to enjoy this.” She rubs me along the bottom of her foot, then slides me between her toes. And for once, I don’t resent her. In fact, I actually do enjoy it.

She wiggles her toes until I climax, and actually giggles when I kiss her pink toenail and tell her how pretty her feet are. But what surprises me the most is that afterwards, she tells Cheryl she thinks I’ve had enough. She carries me to my dollhouse, moves it away from the wall, and lays me gently on my bed. And in a surprising display of gentleness, she kisses her finger and touches it to the side of my face.

“Goodnight, sweetie,” she say.

“Goodnight, Naomi.”

I can tell she wants to correct me, make me call her 'Momma,' but she doesn't. Instead, she moves away and pushes my house back against the wall.

I won. I beat her. And for the first time in weeks, I sleep like a baby.

“I had a dream about you last night,” Suzy tells me with a demure smile. That pronouncement alone is enough to make my heart race with excitement. I grin up at her from her cupped palm and ask, “Was I naked?”

She giggles. “No, it was strictly PG. I dreamed I was your size and you were showing me around your dollhouse. Mrs. Dalton was mad because I didn’t do the dishes, and she was looking for me, so we had to be real quiet so she wouldn’t catch us. So you took me into a crystal ballroom…”

“Wait a minute,” I interrupt. “Crystal ballroom?”

“Yeah. Your dollhouse was really, really nice. Had a media room with lots of TVs, and an indoor pool. Anyway, we were in the crystal ballroom and there was a Count Basie song playing in the background – a slow one – so we started dancing. And I knew I could only stay your size until midnight, but I didn’t want to tell you because I thought you’d be afraid of me if you saw me all… you know… big.”

“That’s silly,” I tell her, touching her fingertip lightly with the palm of my hand. She responds by rubbing me gently with her finger.

“I know,” she says, trying not to look embarrassed. “You think some weird things in dreams sometimes. Anyway, you kissed me and touched my cheek, and then…” She giggles. “Let’s just say we were pushing that PG envelope pretty hard.”

I’m blushing furiously now, and so is she. I wonder if she can feel my heart pounding. “Then what happened?” I ask, my voice breaking slightly.

Suzy sighs. “Then Naomi knocked on the roof and told me it was midnight and time for me to go. And I knew I was about to start growing and I didn’t want you to see, so I ran out the front door. Only when I went through the door, I was back at East Texas State, running up and down the hall, looking for the Poli Sci final.”

“Poli Sci? You lost me.”

She shrugs. “I usually wind up dreaming about school for some reason.” She’s silent for a second, then asks me, “What about you? Have you ever dreamed about me?”

I nod. “A couple of times. The first time was right after I met you, and I dreamed that you were looking for me, but you couldn’t find me because Cheryl had cut off my arms and legs with a pair of fingernail clippers.”

“God!” she says, shaking her head. “Thank you, Morbid Morbidson.”

“Hey,” I tell her, laughing. “You’ve got school issues? I’ve got Cheryl issues.”

“I bet,” she says, grinning sympathetically. “I’m her size and she scares me. So, what about your other dreams? Anything hot and steamy?”

“Well, I once dreamed that we were eating donuts and smoking cigars while we were sitting on a heart-shaped bed in a train that was going into a tunnel while the 1812 Overture was playing.”

She snorts. “You’re kidding.”

“Yeah,” I tell her. “I am.”

She gives me that smile, the tight-lipped smirk that always leaves me felling giddy, and slaps at me playfully with her fingertips. “Smart ass,” she says. “I was about to go all first-year Freud on you.”

I gasp in mock surprise. “That’s not fair,” I tell her. “Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.”

God, I love the sound of her laugh. “Okay. Any other dreams about me that don’t involve dismemberment or overt sexual symbolism?”

“Okay. There’s this one where I’m big, you know… your size? And I see you at the far end of the hall and I start running towards you. Then you see me and you smile and you start running towards me. Only as we get closer, I get smaller and smaller. And by the time I reach you, I’m down there at your feet and you’re looking around, wondering where I went. And I’m screaming and yelling and waving, trying to get your attention…” I sigh. “Sorry. It was kind of a downer, now that I think about it.”

“Ray, that’s something you’ll never have to worry about,” she says, hugging me to her. “You’ll always have my attention, okay?”




It’s the first day of Nicole’s summer vacation, which is why Suzy is here. Right now, Nicole and Kim are in the back yard, making up dance routines or cheers or some damn thing. This is the first chance that Suzy and I have had to talk, and it’s been nice.

“So, I was thinking…” she says, holding me up to her beautiful face. “Maybe your dad and Mrs. Dalton would let you come visit me sometime? Like come over for dinner or something…”

“Like a date?” I ask, praying that the next sound I hear won’t be Suzy’s hysterical, mocking laughter…

“Yeah, like a date,” she says with a shy grin. “I mean, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

I nod enthusiastically. “Yeah, I would!” Then I sigh. “But I don’t think Paul or Naomi are going to let that happen any time soon.”

She shrugs. “I kinda get that vibe too, but I’ll ask anyway. All they can do is say no, right?”



To my surprise, Naomi seems to take Suzy’s request quite reasonably. Suzy pitches it with manipulative expertise. She has some old Kubrick films on video and, since I’m such a movie buff, she’d love to have me over one night this week to watch them.

“I’m afraid this week is out of the question,” Noami says. “Ray’s grounded until next Saturday.”

Suzy glances at me and smiles. I’ve told her about making Naomi and Cheryl chase me around last night. “Maybe next week then?”

Naomi chuckles. “Maybe so, if Ray can stay out of trouble that long.” She holds me up to her face and says in ghastly baby talk, “Think you can do that, sweetie?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I tell her.

“All right, then,” Naomi says. “We’ll see.”

“Great!” Suzy says, grabbing her purse. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” She gives me a little wave and mouths, “Bye, Ray.” I watch her walk out the front door, feeling empty as always once she’s gone.



“So, you and Suzy want a night together, huh?” she asks, still smiling sweetly. “That is so adorable.”

“You’re going to let me go?” Two weeks in the Dalton household have taught me to be suspicious anytime Naomi is being nice.

“Like I said, we’ll see,” she says as she lights up a cigarette. “Your daddy isn’t going to like the idea, but I’m sure I can talk him into it. Assuming you make it all week without getting grounded again.”

“I’ll be good,” I tell her. “I promise.”

She takes a long drag on her cigarette, then exhales slowly, letting the smoke trickle from her nose. “I hope so, sweetie.”



Dinner comes and goes with little incident. Naomi serves me one of my frozen dinners – pot roast and mashed potatoes. The rest of the family gets Hamburger Helper, so I count myself quite lucky. Those pasta shells are extra repugnant when they’re the size of your head…



After dinner, Paul makes himself a drink and collapses in his Barcalounger. Naomi clears the table and starts on the dishes.

Nicole is supposed to be cleaning her room. Instead, she’s laying back on her bed, holding me up to her face between her thumb and finger so she can admire my new clothes.

“These are so adorable,” she says, brushing my shirt and jeans with her fingertips. She gently hooks her index finger beneath my legs and lifts them up so she can have a closer look at my shoes.

Her warm breath flows over me with each exhale, smelling of the cinnamon gum she’s always chewing. Once again, I’m completely helpless in her grasp. I have no choice but to surrender myself completely, and trust that she won’t tear off my arms or crush me in her fist.

Ever since I was a child, I trusted Louise completely and totally, without question. But my most sordid and intense fantasies used to involve Louise taunting me as she pinned me beneath her bare foot. For me, I guess the excitement came from the sheer dichotomy of the situation. I had taken this woman who loved me like a son, and I had converted her into a disinterested goddess who could bring me exquisite pleasure or excruciating pain with just an inconsequential twitch of her toes.

But in the last two weeks, I’ve seen my fantasies become a reality. I’ve suffered ignominies at the feet of Cheryl and Naomi that I would have never imagined in my wildest dreams. And along with the helplessness and the vulnerability, I’ve had to endure a host of other feelings as well – shame, guilt, anger, fear, and hopelessness. Looking back now, I can’t believe I ever wished this for myself.

That’s the problem with fantasy. It sets standards too high for reality to ever live up to.

But back to Nicole. Her face breaks into a cute grin as she regards my sneakers. “They’re so itty bitty,” she coos, closing one eye to see them better. “They kinda look like little Sketchers, only without the laces.”

“Yeah, the laces are kind of difficult to manage, although I bet Sally could do it if I asked.”

Nicole lets my legs back down. “Who’s Sally? Was she like your girlfriend or something?”

I laugh. “No. Sally’s older than your mom. But she’s really nice and she can make just about anything. She’s the one that built my car for me.”

“Cool,” Nicole says, then adds casually, “Have you ever had a girlfriend?”

“Yeah, right,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Because girls just love a boy who can look them straight in the ankle.”

Nicole smiles, but doesn’t laugh. “Is that why you like feet so much? Because you’re always down there close to them?”

I blush slightly. “I don’t know,” I lie. “I really haven’t thought about it that much.”

“What about Suzy? Do you want her to be your girlfriend?”

I feel myself blushing a little bit more, and I wonder if Nicole has noticed. “What’s with all the questions?” I ask her.

“I don’t know,” she says with a shrug. “When me and Kim were practicing our cheers today, she kept talking about you and Suzy. She said Suzy was your girlfriend and she made us go outside so she could let you play between your toes and give you organisms.”

The laughter escapes from me in a sudden snort. “I promise you,” I say, struggling to contain my giggles, “nobody was giving anybody any… organisms this afternoon. Suzy and I were just talking.”

“But do you like her?”

“Sure. Don’t you?”

Nicole grins sheepishly. “No, I mean do you really like her? Like do you wanna kiss her and stuff?”

“Let’s just say I’d really like to get to know her better.”

“Do you think she’s pretty?”

I nod. “Very.”

“Prettier than Kim?”

I laugh again. “Much.”

Nicole gives me a coy smile. “Prettier than me?”

I rub her finger gently with the palm of my hand. “Nicole, sweetheart, I don’t think there’s a person in this world prettier than you.”

Nicole’s cheeks turn bright red and she giggles. I feel her body shift beneath me as she crosses her leg behind me.

“Uh, Nicole?”

Still grinning, she moves me towards her bare foot. She spreads her toes and wedges me between them, wiggling them until I fit comfortably. Her sole is dirty from running around barefoot all day, and the faint smell of sweat lingers in the air.

“What are you doing?” I ask cautiously.

“I’m gonna give you a ride,” Nicole announces. “Hang on!” I grab onto her toes as best I can and brace myself. She raises her leg into the air and extends it straight up. I peer down the length of her bare leg at the bed far below me.

Still lying on her back, Nicole grins up at me. She rotates her ankle, moving me in small circles through the air. Then, suddenly, she lets her leg fall. I let out a yelp when her foot smacks back down on the mattress, jarring me to my bones. She lets her foot bounce up and down a few times, then raises her leg again.

“Wheeee,” she giggles, still watching me from below. Once again, her leg falls and strikes her bed. When the bouncing is over, she crosses her leg and smiles at the sight of me dangling from the end of her foot.

“Was that fun?” she asks. “Wanna go again?”

I shake my head no, still trying to catch my breath as her toes slowly grind together around me. Within seconds, despite my struggles, I feel an involuntary and totally inappropriate tightness in my groin. Oh, God… how many commandments are we about to break?

“Nicole,” I say weakly. “Please put me down.”

She just smiles, oblivious to my struggles. Her toes move up and down, rubbing against my tiny body through my clothes. I writhe in her grasp, desperate to contain my inevitable explosion. Every millimeter of my skin is tingling, my heart is pounding in my ears. Her toes wiggle slowly, mercilessly, and my idiot body betrays me. With a gasp and a shudder, I orgasm. The front of my jeans grows warm and wet, and I collapse in a limp heap.

Nicole is both confused and concerned when she plucks me from between her toes. She hold me in her cupped palm and pokes me gently with her finger. “Are you okay?” she asks me, alarmed by my sudden weakness, wondering if she somehow broke me.

I nod and lay my hand on her finger to reassure her. “I’m okay,” I say in a trembling voice. “I just don’t think we should play that game any more.”

She makes a pouty face. “How come? What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” I tell her, smiling weakly. “Just an organism.”




That night, I’m dozing fitfully when I hear Naomi talking on the phone in hushed whispers. I drag myself out of bed and stumble over to the window.

“You really think so?” she’s saying, giggling. I can see her by the light of the TV, which flickers in silence. She’s wearing her bathrobe, and her blonde hair is messy and tousled. She has a lit cigarette in her other hand.

“Oh, sometimes. Just little stuff.” She kicks off her slipper and raises her foot so she can regard her toes. “He likes to play on my feet,” she says. “He thinks they’re pretty.”

Oh, God. She’s talking about me! To her mysterious boyfriend Benny!

“I know you do,” she says in a teasing voice. “Sometimes, when I’ve got him between my toes, I pretend like he’s you.” Another giggle. “Benny, you naughty boy!”

This conversation is on the verge of making me physically ill, but I can’t make myself turn away. I’ve got to know who this guy is and what Naomi is to him. It’s not even about blackmail anymore. I’ve turned it over and over in my mind, and have come to realize that it’s a no-win situation.

Let’s say I tell Paul about Naomi’s affair. Either one of two things will happen. He’ll confront her and she’ll deny it, and he’ll believe her because I’ve seen how easily she manipulates him. Or he’ll confront her and she’ll tearfully confess and beg his forgiveness, and he’ll forgive her. Either way, Naomi will take a lit cigarette to me.

Even if Paul could show enough backbone to threaten a divorce, that wouldn’t fly. There’s no way the GenetiTech people are going to let him and Naomi get a divorce with my custody hearing coming up next month. So they convince Paul to buck it up and act like nothing happened. Paul, reluctant to piss away GenetiTech’s sweet deal, agrees. And Naomi takes a lit cigarette to me.

So let’s say I confront Naomi with her affair and threaten to go to Paul with it? Assuming she doesn’t just stomp the shit out of me right then and there, how long would it take her to reason it through like I did? How long until she realizes that telling Paul will accomplish nothing? Once she calls my bluff, it’s pretty much lit cigarette time…

So like I said, it’s not about blackmail anymore. Now it’s just morbid curiosity, a desperate need to learn more about this stranger who now knows all the intimate details of my most embarrassing secrets.

“Sure, tomorrow would work,” Naomi says. “It’ll have to be in the afternoon, though. Cheryl’s coming into the shop for a pedicure, and then we’re going to lunch.” She takes a drag on her cigarette. “Yeah, I think she wants to seduce poor Ray,” she laughs.

Oh, God. That probably means Cheryl is going to come over tomorrow night. Just when I think things can’t possibly get any worse…

“Okay, sweetie,” Naomi says, sitting up. She slides her foot back into her slipper as she finishes her cigarette. “I love you, too.” She makes kissing noises into the phone. “Okay. Good night.” She turns off the portable and sets it down on the coffee table. Then, suddenly, she looks directly at me.

In a blind panic, I drop to the floor and scamper back to my green sponge bed. Did she see me? It was too dark, wasn’t it? She couldn’t have seen me standing there. She must have just been looking at the dollhouse. I run through this litany in my head, desperately trying to convince myself that I haven’t drawn Naomi’s attention to myself.

I hear her footsteps approaching. I lay there with my back to the window, praying silently that she’ll just walk on by. I honestly don’t think I can deal with her games right now.

The footsteps stop right outside my house, and I hear her grunt softly as she kneels. Without even looking, I know she’s looking in my window, watching me lie here. My heart is pounding and my stomach feels like there’s a jagged rock in it. Please just go away, I scream in my head. Please please please…

I hear some rustling, then the unmistakable sound of a lighter. A minute later, the stink of her cigarette fills the air. I lay there, desperately ignoring the smoke, the smell, the sound of her breathing, trying to forget that, at any moment, my house is going to slide away from the wall and her monstrous hand is going to reach in…

Every muscle in my body is stretched so taut I’m afraid I’m going to snap into a million pieces. I just can’t bear the thought of rolling over and seeing her massive eye staring at me through the plastic frame of my window.

Please please please please please please…

Desperate to think of something else, anything else, I find myself remembering my conversation with Suzy today. I concentrate on the memory of her soft, warm skin and her gentle fingers. Her beautiful face, those incredible green eyes, that sexy smile… God, I want to be with her so badly… right now and forever. To feel her flesh pressed against mine, and to know that I am safe and loved… is it possible to feel that way about someone I’ve only known two weeks?

I’ll see her tomorrow. I’ll tell her all about Naomi’s affair, and about Cheryl’s impending visit, and she’ll help me think of something. Everything will be all right…

After an eternity, Naomi finally stands up and walks away. I hear her footsteps grow fainter as she walks down the hall, disappearing altogether when she finally reaches her bedroom. For the next hour or so, I lie trembling in bed, exhausted beyond measure but too nervous to sleep.

“Ray? Wake up, sweetie.”

Groggy and exhausted I sit up and steel myself for the view outside my bedroom window. No matter how prepared I am, it’s always very disconcerting to see Naomi’s vast eye peering in at me.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” she says. “It’s bath time.”

God, what a horrible way to start the day. I climb out of bed and head over to my closet to change into my swimming trunks. I try to stay out of sight while I slip out of my pajamas, but this house really wasn’t built for privacy.

“You don’t need those trunks,” Naomi says. “Let’s go.” Just another of Naomi’s ways to humiliate me and make me feel vulnerable.

“It’ll just take a second,” I tell her, stepping into my swimsuit and yanking it up as quickly as I can.

Naomi lets out an angry sigh. “I said no. Now take them off and come outside. You’re not going to be too happy if I have to reach in there for you.”

“Fine,” I snap back.

She makes a tsk tsk tsk sound with her tongue. “You don’t sound like a little boy who’s trying to stay out of trouble,” she tells me. “You sound like a little boy who wants to get grounded for another week.”

Of course. It was inevitable that she would use that against me. She’s going to hold my date with Suzy over my head for this entire week.

“I’m sorry, Naomi,” I say, straining to make my voice sound reasonable. “I guess I’m just a little on edge. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“You got plenty from what I could see,” she says. “Now get those trunks off and get out here.”

Frustrated, I slip off my trunks and head down the stairs. I walk out my front door naked and step into her waiting palm.



We get into the bathroom, and Naomi sets me down on the counter. I wait for her to draw my bath in the sink, but she turns and walks over to start the shower running. She slips off her robe and tosses it onto the chair. She then slides the straps of her nightgown down over her shoulders. She notices me watching her, and grins wickedly. “Whatcha looking at, sweetie?”

“Nothing,” I stammer, looking away. “I mean… I need you to run my bath for me…”

She shakes her head. “I’m running a little late this morning, so why don’t you just shower with me today?”

For a second, her words don’t register. I just stand there in stunned silence, unable to get my head around what she just said. Then, suddenly, fear and loathing overwhelm me. My mind races desperately, trying to think of anything at all I can say that will get me out of this.

Laughing, Naomi lets her satin gown fall to the floor. She steps out of it, hooks it with her foot, and tosses it onto the chair on top of her robe.

The mirrors are already steaming up from the shower. Naomi walks towards me, reaches over me, and runs her finger through the condensation. Her breasts loom over me, massive mountains of pale flesh. Her pink nipples are rigid – she’s obviously enjoying this.

“You don’t mind, do you sweetie?” she asks, looking down at me with a predatory smile. “I mean, there’s no point in wasting time and water on a bath for you, is there?”

“Naomi, please…”

She shakes her head. “I’m afraid my mind is made up, sweetie.” She reaches for me. I turn and bolt from her gigantic hand. I make it to the bar of Dove soap by the sink and I crouch behind it, knowing full well it will afford me absolutely no protection.

Naomi sighs as she lifts away the bar of soap, leaving me once again exposed and vulnerable. “Aww, Ray, don’t be like this,” she says. “There’s no reason why we both can’t enjoy this.”

“No!” I shout at her. “I don’t care if you do ground me! I am not taking a shower with you!”

Naomi sighs and snatches me up roughly. My head snaps backwards as I’m yanked through the air. She holds me right in front of her face and glares at me. “Just for that, you are grounded for another week. I guess poor Suzy will have to watch those movies by herself.”

“I hate you,” I tell her, and she gives me a tight squeeze with her fingers.

“So you’ve said,” she replies. She opens the shower door, and we’re both hit with a blast of hot steam. She steps in, sighing and trembling as the hot water strikes her shoulders and runs down the length of her naked body.

“Mmmm, that feels so good,” she moans. Suddenly, she thrusts me into the column of water. I let out a scream as the hot spray pummels me. I squirm and wriggle helplessly in her grasp, struggling to escape the barrage of water as it pounds down on me. Finally, she pulls me out.

“Are you having fun, sweetie?” she asks me. I glare back at her, refusing to play. Her blonde hair is soaked and plastered down around her face and neck.

She shakes her head and sticks out her bottom lip in a pout. “Momma’s sorry you aren’t enjoying this,” she baby talks. “Maybe this will cheer you up.”

She kneels down and sets me on the shower floor, between her feet. The water strikes her back and splatters off. “You just play down here while Momma washes her hair, okay?”

She stands back up, and the water thunders down all around me, running down her body in rivulets. In between her feet is the drain, a metal circle with numerous holes as big as my arm. About a third of the holes are plugged with nasty clumps of wet hair.

She raises one foot slightly and grasps at me with her toes. I stumble backwards on the slick tile and land flat on my back. For a second, the bottom of her foot fills my entire field of vision. I stare up at it wondering, as always, if this is the last thing I’m ever going to see. Then, she tilts her foot down, letting a stream of water pour from the tip of her toes down on me.

Naomi giggles as I struggle to escape her. I run to the corner of the shower, as far from her and the rumbling deluge of hot water. The base of the shower extends about another inch over my head. “Now, that’s not fair,” she chides me. I look up at her and catch a horrible, fleeting glimpse of the dark blonde patch between her legs. Blushing feverishly, I look down at the floor.

I can hear her rubbing the shampoo into her hair, scratching and massaging her scalp with her pink manicured fingernails. After a couple of seconds, she nudges at me with her foot, trying to coax me out of the corner. I press back into it as tightly as I can, so she satisfies herself with prodding me between the legs with her big toe. “There we go,” she giggles when my idiot penis responds to her teasing.

She places her foot directly on the drain, blocking it. The water continues to blast down – in a matter of minutes, the sound of water striking tile is replaced by the sound of water hitting water. Naomi lets out another sigh as she sticks her head under the nozzle. A massive stream of white, soapy lather runs down her body and comes to float in the water at the bottom of the shower.

The water level is already up to my knees and climbing fast. I remain in my corner, hoping she will tire of this game soon.

“You sure you don’t wanna come play on Momma’s feet?” she asks, wiggling her toes seductively. “Come on, Ray. You know you live for shit like this, don’t you?”

The water is up past my waist, and I can no longer crouch in the corner. I stand up, still pressing myself back as far as I can.

“I bet you’d like to play on Suzy’s feet,” she says. “I bet you’d like to just stick that little dick of your between her toes and go nuts, wouldn’t you?”

I don’t even dignify that with an answer. The water is up to my neck now, which puts it right at Naomi’s ankles. I hold my chin up, keeping my eyes closed to avoid catching another glimpse of Naomi’s naked glory.

“Poor baby, you look like you’re going to drown down there,” she says, grinning. She wiggles her toes again, letting them splash loudly in the pool of water.

The water rises up past my mouth, my nose, my eyes, and finally over my head. I hold my breath for as long as I can, then let go of the side of the shower base. I bob to the surface and gasp for air. As soon as she sees me, Naomi lifts her foot from the drain. I thrash desperately in the water, trying to escape the pull of the draining water.

Naomi raises her foot over me again and, with an ease born of two weeks of practice, snatches me between her toes and lifts me out of the water. She raises her leg and brings her heel to rest on the shower bench.

“Much better.” She rubs the soap in her hands, working up a good lather, then rubs the lather all up and down her shin. She touches a razor just above her ankle, and scrapes along her leg with short, even strokes. With each stroke, she grinds her toes together, brutally rubbing my naked body again and again.

I come before she’s even halfway finished, and Naomi giggles. “Good boy,” she says in a voice reserved for puppies and babies. “How was that?”

I’m too exhausted to answer. Please God, let this be it, I pray as she plucks me from between her toes and lifts me to her face.

“Poor baby,” she says, frowning sympathetically. “Why don’t you rest here for a minute?” For a horrifying moment, my mind races at the possibilities of where I’ll end up. But she puts me in the empty soap dish, out of the way.

She finishes shaving her first leg, then does the other in record time. “Almost done,” she tells me. “One more game…”

I groan. “Another one?”

“Selfish. The first one was for you.” She takes the bar of soap and rubs it again in her hands until it builds up a thick lather. “This one is for me.”

She smears the soap all over her neck, working her way down over her breasts and tummy, all the way down to her hips. She then sets the soap in the dish and reaches for me, her hand dripping with wet foam. Abruptly, she presses me against her breast, rubbing me hard against her soapy skin. I close my eyes and mouth, and blow out through my nose to keep the soap from getting in. Over both breasts, and down in-between… she gasps when she runs my body across her painfully erect nipple.

I spew and spit and shake my head, trying to get the soap out of my face. I risk a quick glance, but screw my eyes shut again when I see her other hand slowly snaking down between her legs. She rubs me harder and harder against her wet, slick skin. Her breathing grows quicker and noisier and full of moans. Across her navel, along her hips, then back across her belly.

“Oh God,” she moans, gasping as her entire body trembles. For a second, she tenses and her grips me tightly it squeezes the breath out of me. Then, release. She lets out a long, lingering sigh and stands under the water, holding me in her cupped hand.

“I like this game,” she says, out of breath. “I think we should play it every morning.”

Mercifully, she doesn’t make me dry off her feet this morning. She towels me off briskly, then dries herself off. When she’s done, she slips back into her robe and carries me to my dollhouse. She sets me in a crumpled heap in front of the front door.

Exhausted, numb, and utterly defeated, I just lay there as her hand withdraws and she stands up. I can’t even move my head, so I just stare at her bare foot, wishing she would just raise it up and step on me to put me out of my misery.

“Better hurry,” she tells me, nudging me with her toe. “Don’t want Suzy to see your little tallywacker, do you?”

I manage to crawl through the front door and kick it shut behind me. Then, with tortured slowness, I make my way up the stairs to my room. I slip into a pair of sweats, and then I collapse on my bed and sob.



Last year, my English tutor Dana made me start reading The Canterbury Tales. For the literarily-impaired, this is a massive novel-length poem written in Middle English about people on a pilgrimage to Canterbury. And while they’re on the road or resting in the inn, they all tell stories.

At first, I was really put off by the whole thing. I mean, Middle English is almost like a foreign language, but Dana insisted that I had muddle through it. She even made me memorize the Prologue and recite it back to her… “Whan that aprill with his shoures soote, The droghte of march hath perced to the roote…”

Anyway, the first actual tale in the piece was The Knight’s Tale. The basic gist of it was this: Two men were imprisoned by their king in a dank dungeon. Life in the dungeon was unbearable, but for one thing. There was a small window in the dungeon and through this window, the men would occasionally catch a glimpse of the king’s daughter. She was a real hottie, and both of these men eventually fell in love with her. But then, the king decided to pardon one of the men, on the condition that he leave the kingdom and never return. So you’re left asking yourself, which man was happier? The one that spent the rest of his life in a dungeon, glimpsing the woman he loved? Or the one that spent the rest of his life in exile, never again seeing the woman he loved?

I hadn’t really thought about this poem until last night, but suddenly it all makes sense. And I know I can endure any humiliation or any torture Naomi cooks up as long as I can be near Suzy…



Suzy shows up, and Naomi heads her off, telling her to leave me alone because “the poor little thing is so exhausted.” She yammers on, rattling off a massive list of instructions including what to fix me and Nicole for breakfast, what chores need to be done, and so on. She also reiterates to Suzy that I’m still grounded and that I managed to add another week to my sentence.

I just lay there on my back, all sobbed out but too weary to draw attention to myself while Naomi is still here. So I wait and wait until Linda finally comes to pick her up. When I finally hear the front door close behind her, I slowly make my way downstairs and out the front door.

Suzy is on her way over, and she smiles when she sees me. “You look wiped out,” she says, kneeling down and setting her hand on the floor. “Are you okay?”

I nod. “Yeah. Naomi’s just been screwing with me all morning.” With a sigh, I add, “I don’t think she’s going to let me come over to your place. Right now, she’s just looking for excuses to ground me.”

“What a bitch,” Suzy mutters. “You poor thing.” She stands up, holding me in the palm of her hand and cradling me against her t-shirt, just below her breasts. Her fingers rub me gently, kneading the tension out of my back and shoulders. After a few minutes, I can barely keep my eyes open.

“God, that feels good,” I tell Suzy, then yawn loudly. I stretch my arms out and feel my spinal cord pop all the way up to my neck.

Suzy yawns too, then slaps at me playfully with her index finger. “Knock that off,” she tells me. “It’s contagious.”

“Sorry. I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

“How come?”

I yawn again. “It’s a long story, but one I definitely want to tell you.”

“You can tell me later, when you wake up,” she tells me.

“No, I don’t feel like spending the morning napping in that stupid dollhouse,” I tell her.

“You don’t have to,” she says. She smiles down at me, and all is well with the world.



Nicole is over at Kim’s house this morning, playing. But when Cheryl leaves to go get her pedicure (shudder), she’s going to bring the girls over here so Suzy can watch them. Which means I get Suzy all to myself until around 11:00 or so.

I hate to waste that time sleeping, but I honestly can’t keep my head up any longer. Suzy gently massages me, and there in her hand I am safe and warm and content. It’s a perfect moment, one marred only by the fact that it has to eventually end.



I awaken with a start when the doorbell rings. I glance around confused, before I finally realize that I’m still in Suzy’s hand. I’ve slept for four hours, and she held me the entire time.

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” she says as she stands up. “You feeling any better?”

I nod, amazed at how much better I actually do feel. I roll my shoulders, relishing the dull ache. “So much better,” I tell her. “You’re an angel of mercy.”

Suzy grins down at me as she walks to the door. “I’ll put that on my resume,” she says. The doorbell rings again just as she gets there. Suzy looks through the peephole and sighs. “Brace yourself,” she tells me. “It’s Nora Desmond and her psychotic spawn.”

She opens the door, and Cheryl immediately barges in past her. Kim and Nicole run in immediately behind her and head straight for my dollhouse. Before she even says a word, Kim nudges my house away from the wall with her foot and plops down on her knees, peering in through the open side. I watch all this from Suzy’s hand, relieved to be out of harm’s way.

“Bring him to me, Kim,” Cheryl says, not even looking at Suzy.

“Excuse me?” Suzy says.

“He’s not here,” Kim calls. Nicole kneels on the other side of my house and starts peeking through the windows.

“Well, where the hell…” Cheryl glances down and sees me. Suzy’s fingers wrap protectively around me as Cheryl reaches out her hand.

“There’s been a change of plan,” Cheryl says in that rough voice of hers. “Naomi wants me to bring Ray to the beauty shop with me.”

“What?” God, this has got to be some kind of horrible joke.

Suzy’s fingers close completely around me and she steps away from Cheryl’s outstretched palm. “She didn’t say anything about it to me,” she tells Cheryl.

“She just called this morning,” Nicole says helpfully. “I was there.”

“That’s right,” Cheryl says, taking a step towards Suzy. “Now give him to me.”

Suzy shakes her head. “This is ridiculous.” She storms into the living room, holding me tightly. With her other hand, she picks up the portable phone. “I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

She dials the number with her thumb, then holds the phone up to her ear. “Yeah, could I speak to Naomi please?”

Cheryl just stands there, a hand on her hip, glaring angrily at Suzy. I really do appreciate all of her effort, but she might as well hang up the phone right now. I already know how this is going to end.

“Yeah, Naomi? It’s Suzy. Your neighbor just showed up and said…” She’s silent for a painful moment, then says, “There’s really no point in it, though. Why would…” Finally, she says, “Well, you should have told me this morning.” Naomi’s angry retort buzzes in the receiver, but Suzy cuts her off and sets the phone down.

“Told you,” Cheryl says, holding out her hand once again.

Suzy looks pained, almost as bad as I feel. Her eyes are tearing up as she looks down at me.

“It’s okay,” I tell her, stroking her finger. “I’ll be all right.”

“I’m sorry, Ray,” she whispers. She gives me one more affectionate squeeze, then hands me over to Cheryl.

“I’ll try to bring him back in one piece,” Cheryl laughs as she carries me out the front door.



Cheryl’s car is a black BMW, with tinted windows. It’s almost a relief when she sets me down in the cup holder, because the sun is painfully bright. I haven’t logged a lot of outdoor time, so I’m not used to it.

The cup holder is sticky, and is littered with loose change and a wadded up tissue. The entire car reeks of cigarettes and obnoxious industrial-grade piña colada air freshener. I have to struggle to keep my breakfast down.

Cheryl removes her shoes before getting into the car, and tosses them over my head onto the passenger seat. “Ooh, this is going to be fun,” she croaks, climbing in and shutting the door.

She fumbles through her purse for the keys. She starts up the car, and the stereo blasts out some horrible doo-wop number from the 50s. Probably the 1850s. Cheryl turns it down, then looks down at me, cringing with my hands over my ears.

“I think I know a better place for you,” she says, reaching for me. She pinches the back of my shirt between her long, red nails and lifts me up to her grinning face. Then she reaches over and drops me onto one of her sandals. It’s white leather, simple and open, with a short heel.

I can feel the warmth radiating from her shoe, along with the familiar smell of sweat and leather. The sandal slopes upward like a small hill (a foothill, I think weakly). The insole is white and worn with imprints of her toes and heel. The straps, also worn from use, slump like an empty cage.

“You’d better hang on,” she warns me as she shifts into reverse. The Beamer lurches backwards, and I grab one of the leather straps to steady myself.

“What do you think?” she asks as we speed down the road. “Do you like them?”

“They’re really nice,” I say, my voice trembling.

Cheryl takes a corner a bit too fast, and I hear her tires squeal angrily. She looks over at me, watching gleefully as I struggle to keep myself upright. The sandals slide along the seat, thumping against each other as the car speeds along.

“My ex-husband, The Prick, used to love them,” she says, lighting a cigarette. “He called them my slut sandals, but he always liked it when I wore them.”

Cheryl takes a puff on her cigarette and tips her ashes off into the ashtray. The butt is red and sticky from her lipstick. “The Prick liked feet too,” Cheryl tells me. “He wasn’t too good in bed, but if I let him paint my toenails, he’d be a goddamned Romeo. He gave really good massages and sometimes, if he’d had enough to drink, he’d even suck on my toes.” She giggles, then sighs. “It was almost enough to take my mind off of the lousy sex.”

She giggles. “Have you ever had sex, Ray?”

I glare up at her, blushing. “What? No!”

“Too bad. You really are too adorable for words, you know?” She gives me a sly look. “Maybe some day, I’ll ask your momma if I can borrow you for a while. Make a man out of you.”

Oh God. The heat, the smell, the bumpy ride, and now even the mere thought of what she’s suggesting are enough to turn my stomach. I take deep breaths through my mouth, struggling to keep my breakfast down.

“Oh, it wouldn’t be that bad,” she says, noticing the pained look on my face. “I mean, assuming you survived.” She giggles cruelly. “I wonder if we can find a scuba suit in your size.”

If I didn’t have to hold on for dear life, I’d be slamming my hands over my ears by now. All I can do is close my eyes and desperately try to imagine that I’m somewhere else.

We come to a red light, and Cheryl stops the car with a jolt. “I’m just teasing you, sweetheart,” she tells me. “You know that, don’t you?” I open my eyes and see her smiling down at me. Somehow, I’m not reassured.

“So, you like my shoes?” she asks me again.

I sigh and say in an insincere voice, “Yes. I love them. They’re wonderful. I wish I had a pair just like them. Sweet Jesus, take me now, for my life is complete…”

She places her cigarette back in her mouth and reaches for me. I let out a yelp when she grabs me suddenly around the waist and lifts me into the air.

“Maybe you just need a closer look,” she snaps, and thrusts me back down into her sandal, pressing my face against the dark, worn imprints of her toes. The leather is damp and slightly tacky, and the smell is overwhelming. Unable to contain it any longer, I vomit.

“God damn it,” she shouts, snatching me away from the shoe and dropping me roughly back into the cup holder. She snatches up the used tissue and uses it to dab the puke out of her shoe.

I cower in the cup holder, burning and trembling. My stomach continues to heave even though there’s nothing left in it.

“I swear,” she says, dropping the tissue back into the cup holder on top of me. “You are being a little pain in the ass today.

Cheryl says nothing else to me for the rest of the trip. She turns the radio back up to blaring and sings along, pretending to be oblivious to my suffering.



At last, the car comes to a stop and Cheryl kills the engine. “Here we are,” she says needlessly as she slips her shoes back on. “You ready to behave now?”

I nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good,” she smiles, picking me up and holding me up to her face. “Is this your first time at your momma’s work?”

I nod again.

Her smile widens into a chilling grin. “I really think you’re going to enjoy yourself.”



The last two weeks have been a cacophony of horrible smells: cigarette smoke, cheap perfume, Naomi’s cooking, Cheryl’s car, Nicole’s socks. But even with that in mind, the Beau Monde Beauty Shop stinks worse than anything I’ve ever smelled in my life. Turns out Linda is giving one of the customers a permanent, which is why it smells like someone farted in a slaughterhouse in here.

Naomi comes running to the door when she spots Cheryl. She grins down at me and says, “I thought it would be fun if you joined me and Cheryl today. I knew you wouldn’t mind.”

In Naomi-speak, “I knew you wouldn’t mind” equates to “There’s nothing you can do about it.”

Naomi takes me from Cheryl and holds me up to her face. Her smile falters, a sign that I’m usually about to get in trouble for something. “Are you okay, sweetie?” she asks. “You look all flush, and your little eyes are just watering.”

“He got a little carsick,” Cheryl says. “Poor thing threw up his breakfast.”

“Aww, did oo get tick?” Naomi asks me in baby talk. “Oh, well. We can get him something to eat when we go to lunch.”



Naomi takes me around the beauty shop to introduce me to everybody. Linda, of course, I’ve already met. She’s an older woman, slightly heavy, with obnoxiously large blonde hair. The first thing out of her mouth is, “I’ve been on my feet all day, Ray. You think you can rub them for me later?” Then she cackles and gives me a wink to let me know that she’s probably only kidding.

Linda is currently giving a permanent to Greta Jackson, an older black woman who runs a quilt store downtown. Naomi holds me out to Greta, who smiles at me with dentures too large for her mouth. She says something rather unsettling, “Yeah, I saw you in the paper.”

“The paper?” I ask.

“The National Mirror,” Naomi explains. “They did another story on you a couple weeks ago, when your daddy and I came to get you.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh. Did they bother to get any facts this time, or did they just make it up like they always do?”

“He’s got a mouth, that one,” Greta says, winking at me. “You’re a little cutie, too. I’m glad they saved you from that lab.”

“He’d better watch his mouth,” Naomi says, looking down at me. “Or that two weeks is gonna turn to three real quick.”

I sigh. “Sorry.”

“Besides, the National Mirror has been calling your daddy at work, trying to get an exclusive. He wanted to do it, but that Rachel woman told him it was too soon.”

That’s kind of ironic, when I think about it. The National Mirror has made SPECTRUM look like a bunch of child-torturing Nazis, and no doubt made Paul and Naomi look like saints charging in to rescue me. That kind of story can only help GenetiTech in upcoming custody hearing.

But the Mirror doesn’t do sunshine pieces. Pain sells, and controversy sells even more. Rachel is probably afraid they’d turn the story around and make up a bunch of horrible things about the Daltons. Which means that, for once, the Mirror might accidentally print the truth.



“Come on back, Cheryl,” Naomi calls as she carries me past the driers. A thin woman sits under one, reading her People while two dirty kids play on the floor in front of her. She looks up as we pass by, but Naomi ignores her.

Naomi leads Cheryl to the pedicure station, a white chair with purple cushions that looks like it came straight from the Enterprise. Cheryl kicks off her sandals and climbs into the chair, placing her bare feet up on the purple footrest.

“I’ve been looking forward to this,” she says, winking at me. Naomi hands me to her and flips a switch. The chair begins vibrating with a low rumble. I can feel the tremor through Cheryl’s hands.

“Ooooh, God,” Cheryl moans, her voice pulsating. Naomi places Cheryl’s feet in the small pool built into the base of the chair. She flips another switch, and the water in the pool begins churning. Cheryl looks down at me and smiles dreamily.

“We’ll let you soak for a few minutes,” Naomi says. She pulls a matching stool up and has a seat at Cheryl’s feet. “Did you pick a color yet?”

“I don’t know,” Cheryl says, smiling at me. “Your boy here seems to like pink best, right?”

“That’s my boy, all right,” Naomi giggles, looking at me. “You like Momma’s pretty pink toenails, don’t you?”

All I can think about is the shower this morning, and it makes me shudder. Fortunately, Cheryl’s in vibration mode and doesn’t notice.

“So, pink like mine?” Naomi asks. “Or something a little different?” She grabs a chart off the table and holds it up for Cheryl. It shows an array of several dozen colors.

Cheryl grins. “What do you think, Ray? Pick a color you like, because you’re going to be spending a lot of time with it.”

“I don’t care,” I sigh. “Why don’t you just paint them black?”

“I don’t think Ray’s heart is in this,” Naomi says, shaking her head. “Maybe we should try and get him more involved.”

Cheryl giggles and pokes me with a fingernail. “I like the sound of that.”

She finally selects the color “Fiesta,” which is an obnoxious hot pink apparently designed for a woman half her age. Naomi convinces her to get her fingernails done too, so she’ll match. Then, God help me, she puts me to work massaging Cheryl’s feet while she gives her a manicure.

Me giving Cheryl a foot massage is basically an exercise in theory. There’s no way I’m ever going to be able to do anything more than tickle her, no matter how hard I rub. I’m lying across the top of her foot, throwing my back into it in an effort to appease her. Her toes flex slowly, probably for my benefit, and she lets out a theatric moan. “Ooh, Ray. Your little hands feel so good there.”

After a few minutes, Naomi calls to me, “Time to switch to the other foot.” Of course, she doesn’t tell me just how she expects me to pull off this little miracle. I sit up and slide off of her foot onto the footrest. I’m about halfway to her other foot when Cheryl suddenly shifts her leg. The unsteady surface shudders beneath me, and I feel myself falling. I plummet off the edge of the purple vinyl surface, flailing and screaming. I hear Naomi swear and Cheryl giggle right before I splash into the spa.

The water is hot and turbulent, thrashing me around like a cork. I splash and scream, trying desperately to stay afloat.

“Hang on, Ray,” Naomi says, annoyed. “I’m coming.”

I glance up and see Cheryl’s foot descending towards me as I splash helplessly. I grab hold of her toes and she lifts me out of the pool. Coughing and gasping for air, I slip from her foot and land in Naomi’s hand.

“Dammit, Ray,” she sighs. “Why do you have to make everything so hard?”

“Oh, don’t yell at him,” Cheryl says cheerfully. “It was partly my fault, I think.”

Naomi shakes her head. “Let me get you out of those wet things.” Her fingers tug roughly at my soaked clothing, despite my protests. I thrash and scream, desperate to avoid being naked in front of the two of them. “Ray, I swear to God, if you don’t stop squirming, I’m going to stomp the shit out of you.”

In a matter of seconds, I’m stripped and sitting on Naomi’s table, desperately trying to cover myself. I grab a cotton ball and try to fashion a makeshift loincloth out of it.

“I’m going to go set his clothes on one of the dryers,” Naomi says. “Then we can get started on your feet.”

Cheryl looks at me and giggles. “I can’t wait.”




God, it’s barely noon, and this is already the longest day of my life. Naomi has pumiced Cheryl’s feet, pushed back her cuticles, and cut and filed her toenails. And all through it, Cheryl kept moaning with pleasure and begging Naomi not to stop. It was like listening to the worst porno movie ever.

As much thought as I’ve devoted to women’s feet, I guess I never realized just how much trouble they went through to make them pretty. I mean, it’s a regular cottage industry. Pedicures. Sandals. Toe rings. So why? I mean, why do women go through such an ordeal just so they can show their toes off in public? Maybe it’s a touch of exhibitionism, a safe way to catch the eyes of strange men and get them to stare. Maybe it gives them a taste of the power or control they desire, that the world too often fails to provide.

I used to think there was something seriously wrong with me because of the feelings I had. But Louise identified it and named it – a “fetish” – and despite the embarrassment, it relieved me somewhat to know that what I was experiencing was common enough to have a name. But ever since Naomi and Cheryl found out about it, they’ve taken perverse joy in torturing me with that knowledge. Because with me, they get an even bigger taste of power and control. Hell, with me, they can glut themselves on it.

I guess what I’m saying is, I don’t think I’m the only one here with a fetish.



Naomi reaches towards me and snatches the cotton ball away from me. “Thanks, sweetie,” she says as she tucks it down between Cheryl’s toes to spread them apart. She reaches into the bag and grabs a handful, then repeats the process. While she’s occupied, I grab another cotton ball and try to cover myself.

When I get done, I notice both she and Cheryl are looking at me with wicked grins on their faces. Too late, I realize what they intend to do. Naomi grabs me and dangles me above Cheryl’s bare foot.

“What do you think?” Naomi asks. “Face up, or face down?”

“Face up,” Cheryl rasps. “That way, he can watch. And we can see if he’s enjoying himself or not.”

“Oh, I think he’s enjoying himself already,” Naomi says, rubbing me between the legs with her thumb. I gasp at the sudden ferocity of my erection, angry once again at my body for betraying me. Naomi licks her top lip as she presses me down between Cheryl’s big and second toe. I’m bent backwards, and my head lolls back helplessly. I can see Cheryl’s face upside down, grinning as she slowly wiggles her toes around me.

It’s painful after the first minute. It’s agony after the first ten. But for thirty minutes, I hang there, watching helplessly as Naomi’s massive brush slowly dabs hot pink polish onto the toenails around me. My neck and shoulders are stiff beyond measure. Every time I try to move my head, I feel a sharp, shooting pain down my spine.

Just to keep things interesting, Cheryl occasionally decides to give me a little squeeze with her toes. I don’t cry out anymore because it hurts too much. All I can do is lie there and whimper. The smell of the polish is burning my nose and making my eyes water. I cough weakly, and it feels like white-hot needles in my back.

And finally, just because my own little hell just isn’t special enough, Naomi occasionally flicks my penis with her fingernail just to make sure I’m having fun.

When at last the ordeal is done, Naomi plucks me from my prison and holds me aloft to admire her handiwork. Cheryl holds up her ten toes for me to admire, and wiggles them prettily.

“Nice work, Naomi,” Cheryl says. “Don’t you think so, Ray?”

I nod, wincing from the pain in my stiff neck.

“I’ll get Ray dressed while you dry for a little bit,” Naomi says. “Then we can all go eat.”



Lunch is at a place called Dobb’s, a dingy bar just down the street from the Beau Monde. Even from within Naomi’s purse, I can smell the smoke and the grease the moment we walk in the door. A Hank Williams song blares from the jukebox.

Cheryl and Naomi get a booth back in the corner, so we can have a little privacy. They both order salads, and Cheryl orders a glass of white wine. When the waitress leaves, Naomi fishes me out of her purse and dumps me on the table between them.

“Poor baby,” she says, stroking me with her fingernail. “You must be starving.”

I really should be, but my stomach is too clenched in knots to eat right now. Once again, these ghastly women have taken the simple task of making me feel helpless and vulnerable, and elevated it to a high art form.

When the waitress comes back with their order, Naomi lays her hand over me to keep me hidden. After the waitress sets down the plates and glasses, Naomi lets me up.

“That was close,” she says, grinning down at me.

“What’s the big secret?” I ask her. “You showed me to everybody at the beauty shop.”

“Those girls are like family,” Naomi says. “This place is different.” She glares at me with a sudden frown. “Besides, since when do I have to explain myself to you?”

Naomi takes a bite of her salad, watching me as she chews it. She stabs a piece of lettuce, dabs it in dressing, then holds her fork out towards me.

“Here you go, sweetie,” she says. “Eat something.”

I don’t know what bothers me more, the humiliation of being fed, or the fact that the fork has been in her mouth. I walk over to the proffered salad and pluck it from her fork. I choke it down, then wipe my hands on Naomi’s cocktail napkin.

“I don’t know why I ordered this salad,” Cheryl croaks. “I’m really in the mood for something tastier.” Naomi smiles at her, which tips me off that something is up. I whirl around just as Cheryl’s fork strikes me and knocks me down. She hooks the tines under my shirt and lifts me, kicking and screaming, to her mouth.

Her monstrous tongue licks me, pressing against my body like a slimy mattress. Her breath reeks of cigarettes, wine, and vinaigrette, and now that smell is adhering to me in a disgusting film of saliva.

“Aww, you got him all sticky,” Naomi says, giggling.

Cheryl dangles me over her wine, then tilts her fork. I plummet into the glass with a splash and struggle to the surface. The wine burns my eyes and makes me gag.

“I hear white wine is good for stains,” Cheryl says, and they both snort with laughter. Cheryl picks up the wineglass and peers at me through the crystal. She then turns the glass up to her mouth and takes a gulp. My hands fumble desperately against the slick glass, searching for something to cling to. I slide backwards and into her mouth, screaming as her lips close around my chest.

Still giggling, Naomi glances around nervously. “Cheryl, somebody’s going to see you.”

My legs kick frantically inside her mouth as her tongue presses them to the top of her mouth. I feel her teeth touch my back and stomach. My arms and head are sticking out of her mouth. I’m pounding angrily on her chin, screaming and cursing.

Cheryl finally spits me into her palm and shakes her head. “You kiss your momma with that dirty little mouth?”

Naomi reaches over and takes me from her. “I can’t believe you,” she says to Cheryl, dabbing at me with her napkin. “You got his clothes all messed up.” She sets me down on the table and says, “Better take them off, Ray.”

“Again? Naomi, please…”

She shrugs. “Sorry, sweetie. Can’t have you running around in those nasty things.”

I feel tears of frustration welling up in my eyes. “Please don’t make me do this…”

Naomi sighs. “Ray, either you take them off or I will.”

Defeated, I strip in front of them. Cheryl watches me with bright eyes and an all-too-familiar predatory smile. But Naomi just looks annoyed. She takes my ruined clothes and drops them into her purse.

“Well, we can’t just let him stand around in the open like that,” Cheryl says, reaching for me. “I think I know a good hiding place…”

Naomi slaps playfully at Cheryl’s hand. “You’ve already had your turn, greedy girl.” She sighs. “But you’re right. We better get him out of sight.”

I spend the rest of the meal dangling naked from Naomi’s foot, wedged between her sole and her sandal.




And the longest afternoon of my life drags on mercilessly. Once we get back to the beauty shop, Naomi gives me some tissue to cover myself. I keep thinking things are about to wrap up, that any minute now, Cheryl will take me home to Suzy. But for some reason, she insists on hanging around a little bit longer.

It all becomes somewhat clear around 2:00, when a man arrives. Naomi sees him and gets all excited and flustered. He’s handsome like a model, tan, with short hair and glasses with thick, plastic frames. He’s dressed in a madras shirt and a pair of faded jeans.

Naomi snatches me up and carries me to the front. Cheryl puts down her magazine and stands up next to the man.

“Hey there, Naomi,” the man says, looking a little sheepish with all the attention. Every head in the Beau Monde has turned to regard him. Linda gives Naomi a smile and goes back to cutting hair.

“Hi, Benny,” Naomi says sweetly. “You know my friend Cheryl, don’t you?”

“Yeah, we’ve met,” Benny says, nodding to her. He looks down at me in Naomi’s hand and his face breaks into an astonished grin. “Oh my God. This must be Ray.” He reaches down and touches me with a thick, nicotine-stained finger. I recoil from his touch, and he laughs.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” he says. “But words just don’t do you justice.”

“Benny and I are old friends,” Naomi says lamely.

Benny nods. “Yeah, that’s right. Old friends.”

He keeps looking at me, scrutinizing me in a way that gives me the creeps. For some reason, he reminds me of that freaky doctor from GenetiTech who examined me last week.

For a very uncomfortable twenty minutes, he and Naomi talk all about me and the deal with GenetiTech. It’s going to be great, she reassures him. The only downside is that the family has to move to Midland, and she’s going to miss all her friends. But she’s sure they can come and visit her, and GenetiTech will even pick up the tab. And so on, and so on.

And as I lie there in her palm, listening to her and Benny yammer on, I feel a germ of an idea somewhere in the back of my brain. It suddenly occurs to me that when I was weighing my blackmail options last night, I left out one very important scenario. It’s risky, and if it backfires, Naomi may very well follow through on her threat to “stomp the shit” out of me. But if it works…

“Very nice to meet you,” Benny says to me, reaching towards me again. He pokes me hard in the chest with his finger, as if trying to ascertain whether or not I’m real. He leans in for one last close look, and I hear a muted click.

“What was that?” I ask, looking up at Naomi.

She shrugs. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“Neither did I,” Benny says. “Good seeing you again, Naomi,” he says formally, taking her hand. Her fingers stroke his hand in what she probably thinks is a subtle display of affection. Benny waves to the rest of the ladies, and leaves.

A couple of minutes later, Cheryl says the most beautiful words I’ve ever heard her say. “Well, Naomi, I’ll run Ray home now and let you get back to work.”




I knew it wasn’t going to be that simple. Nothing with Cheryl ever is. Once again, she drops her shoes into the passenger seat as she climbs into the car. Only this time, she’s thought of a new game. She leans down and sets me on her right foot, and tells me to hang onto her toe. I wrap my arms around her second toe and cling to her foot as it moves from the gas to the brake, then back again.

But I don’t care. Tonight Naomi and I are going to have a little talk, and all of this shit is going to end.

Eight o’ clock on Tuesday night, and I’m about to make my move. And I don’t mind telling, I’m scared shitless. All that bravado I was showing Suzy this afternoon has vanished, leaving nothing in its place but fear and uncertainty.

After dinner, Nicole went over to Kim’s house. They’re going skating, so she won’t be in until late. And Paul has spent the last hour or so sitting in his recliner, sipping whiskey from his big ass plastic cup and dozing on and off. He finally came to long enough to shamble off to bed.

Which leaves Naomi sitting on the couch, smoking a cigarette and watching Frasier. She’s been eyeing me in my dollhouse for the past half-hour or so, and I know it’s only a matter of time before she gets bored and decides to play with me.

I can’t wait that long. If I let her come to me, it puts me on the defensive and I can’t afford to be there tonight. God knows this plan of mine won’t work if Naomi thinks I’m bluffing.

So with a knot in my stomach and my heart pounding in my chest, I march out my front door and across the dining room, towards my inevitable confrontation with Naomi.

She’s sitting on the couch, with one leg propped on the ottoman. Her other foot rests on the floor, just inches from her discarded sandals. The very air reeks of sweat and leather, a smell that’s become all too familiar in the last couple of weeks.

For nearly I minute, I stand there just under the couch, watching her bare toes toy idly with the strap of her shoe. It’s not too late, I tell myself. I could just turn around and walk away right now. She’d never know I was over here…

I take a deep breath and, on trembling legs, I step out from under the couch and touch her foot.

Naomi lets out a surprised gasp and grins down at me. “Well, hey there sweetie,” she says playfully. “Did you come over here to massage Momma’s poor, aching feet?”

I shake my head. “We need to talk, Naomi.”

She seems amused. “Ooh, you sound so serious. What do we need to talk about?”

“About the situation here,” I tell her, wondering if she can hear the quaver in my voice. I must sound like a ridiculous little cartoon animal to her.

“Oh, what situation is that?” She raises her foot and lets it hover above me. I stare up at the bottom of her toes, watching helplessly as they wiggle over my head. I try to back away, but her foot follows, relentlessly looming over me.

“Dammit, Naomi! Stop it and listen to me!”

She giggles as she brings her foot down, pinning me beneath it. “You might as well make yourself useful while you’re down there,” she tells me, pinching me playfully with her toes. “Why don’t you go ahead and start rubbing?”

“I know about you and Benny!” I shout at her. Immediately, her foot lifts from me. Before I have time to relish my newfound freedom, she bends down and snatches me up between her finger and thumb. She whips me through the air at alarming speed until I’m dangling only a few inches from her face. Her smile is gone, replaced by a threatening scowl.

“What did you say?” she asks. There’s anger in her voice, enough to make my blood chill.

God, this is it. If this doesn’t work, Naomi might just make good on her constant threat to “stomp the shit” out of me. I take a deep breath and raise my head to look into her monstrous face. It hurts like hell – my neck is still sore from my ordeal this afternoon – but I’ve got to look her in the eye if I’m going to make this work.

“I said, I know about you and Benny.”

“Tell me,” she says, shaking me with a flick of her wrist. “What do you think you know about me and Benny?”

“I know you met him at a club about three weeks ago, and I know that he’s new in town and not ‘an old friend of yours.’” I take a deep breath and give Naomi a cruel smile. “And I know that you’re fucking him.”

“What?” Worry washes over her face. “You’re crazy!”

“Oh, come on, Naomi. I mean, hell, it’s not like the two of you are speaking in code or anything. You sit right here and talk to him two or three times a week.”

Worry is replaced by blind panic. “You little shit. What are you trying to pull?”

“I heard you tell him that sometimes, when you’ve got me between your toes, you like to pretend like I’m him.”

She blushes. “Shut your mouth,” she snaps. “You think you’re going to blackmail me with this?”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking,” I tell her.

She shakes her head. “You just try telling your daddy,” she says. “It’ll be my word against yours, and I’ll tell him you’re just trying to get back at me for grounding you.” Her voice becomes more confident, more sure of itself, and that infuriating smile creeps back onto her face. “You know he’ll believe me, because he always does.”

She pushes against my chest with a pink fingernail, letting me swing back and forth in her grasp. “So you still wanna tell your daddy about me and Benny? Because I can think of a hundred worse places for you than between my toes.”

“I’m not going to tell Paul,” I say, and she looks positively triumphant.

“That’s what I thought,” she says, baring her teeth in an evil grin. “Now, let’s talk punishment…”

I take a deep breath and say as calmly as I can, “I’m going to tell SPECTRUM.”

The smile holds for five seconds, then falls from her face so suddenly I expect to hear something break.

“You’re going to what?”

“Actually, Suzy’s going to tell SPECTRUM,” I tell her, meeting her angry gaze with a cool stare. “And SPECTRUM has the resources to find out if I’m telling the truth or not.. Because with the upcoming custody suit, catching you in a compromising position is really going to help them.”

“What difference could it possibly…”

“By the time their lawyers get through with you and Benny, this house is going to look like Peyton Place to that judge. And by the time I get through testifying, they’re going to think it’s Sodom and Gomorra around here.”

“You little shit,” she whispers.

“You know I’m right,” I tell her, trembling with exultation. She’s bought it! She’s really bought it! “If SPECTRUM finds out about your affair, you lose your shot at custody and your deal with GenetiTech goes out the window. You and Paul will lose that big, new house in Midland and that big ass stipend they promised you.”

The look on her face is so frustrated, so helpless… I swear, I haven’t been this happy in weeks! “Why risk it, Naomi? I’m not asking for much. Just grant me a few simple requests, and you can get back to snogging your boyfriend. Everybody’s a winner.”

She sets me in the cupped palm of her other hand and lowers me away from her face. “What do you want?” she asks in a voice heavy with defeat.

“Okay, first of all, my grounding is repealed. I want my car and my movies player back.”

“Fine,” she grumbles. “What else?”

“No more going to work with you. No more bath time in the morning. No more of those games that you and Cheryl like so much. I don’t want to be played with anymore.”

There are tears in her eyes, which surprises me. I expected frustration and anger, but not this. “I never did anything to you that you didn’t want,” she whispers, moving me closer to her face. Her breath is warm and sour, tainted with cigarette smoke. “You can pretend all you want. We both know how much you liked it.”

I sigh. “It stops, Naomi. In fact, let’s just make it easy. Nobody touches me unless they have my permission.”

“You seriously think…”

“It’s non-negotiable,” I tell her. “No more holding, no more petting, no more touching.”

“You little bastard,” she mutters, wiping angrily at her eyes with her other hand. “Okay, no more touching. Is that it?”

“Almost,” I tell her. “I want to spend the night with Suzy tomorrow. She’ll take me with her when you get home from work, and she’ll bring me back with her Thursday morning.”

“No!” Naomi snaps, closing her fingers around me. “Absolutely not!”

“Uh, I think this counts as one of those ‘bad touches’ we talked about,” I tell her. “Maybe you should just set me down for the rest of this negotiation.”

“This negotiation is over,” Naomi says. “And after I stomp the shit out of you, you’ll know all about ‘bad touches.”

Uh oh. I’m desperate, but I can’t let her know that. If she senses any weakness in me, I’ll lose her completely. “Suzy knows everything I know, Naomi. And she’s going to call SPECTRUM unless she hears from me.”

“Well, how about this as a counter-offer,” she says, holding me back up to her face. “We’ll call Suzy right now, and you can tell her your little plan is off. And in return, I won’t make you spend all day tomorrow in my shoe with your little face shoved up between my toes.”

God, just the thought is enough to make me shudder. “The deal stands, Naomi,” I say, forcing myself to sound confident, praying my voice doesn’t break. Because I’m so scared right now, my arms and legs are shaking. “Take it or leave it.”

“She chews her lip, pondering her choice. Then asks, “How do I know you won’t tell SPECTRUM anyway? I can’t believe you’d pass up a chance to screw up the GenetiTech deal just to spite me.”

I manage to look wounded, which is quite a performance because I really do intend to tell SPECTRUM, no matter what agreement Naomi and I come to.

I shake my head and say in an indignant tone, “This isn’t about spiting you, Naomi. I’m just trying to make the best of a bad situation. No matter what happens, I’m stuck with you guys until the hearing. I just want to make the next couple of months as pleasant as possible for the both of us.”

She studies me, her face unreadable.

“When you think about it, have I really asked for anything that unreasonable?”

Naomi sighs. “No, I guess you haven’t.”

“So we’re agreed?”

She closes her fingers around me again and glares at me. “I don’t like blackmail, you little shit. And if I find out that you and that little whore double-crossed me, I’ll… well, the last thing you’ll see will be the bottom of my foot. Understand?”

I nod. “I understand.”

She sighs. “It’s not fair,” she says, her eyes tearing again. “You know, Cheryl and I go out dancing like once a month, and she’s always got the boys flocking to her. They adore her, they buy her drinks and proposition her and beg her to come home with them, and she just eats it up. And me, I’m usually just sitting there, watching her be the center of attention.

“But then, one night Benny came over and introduced himself to us. And I assumed that he was just there to fawn all over Cheryl like the rest of them. And she tried, Ray. She flirted and giggled and did everything she could to reel him in, but he ignored her and started talking to me!

“Cheryl was so pissed. And I swear, the only reason I was even talking to Benny was just to rub it in with her a little bit, just to remind her that he picked me. But one thing led to another and…”

Naomi smiles and shakes her head at the memory. “He’s sweet and he’s smart and he’s funny and he’s gorgeous, and he treats me like a goddamn princess. And your daddy… well, I love him Ray and I would never hurt him for anything. But what I have with Benny is special.”

I suppose. He seemed like a bit of a goof to me, but there’s no accounting for taste.

Naomi looks down at me, chewing her lip as she ponders the decision. Finally, she says, “Okay, I guess we have a deal.”

She stands up and carries me to my house. She sets me down in front of it, then stands up, looming over me. “I guess you’ll have to get used to walking from now on,” she says, looking down at me.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

She watches me for a few seconds, no doubt entertaining visions of me writhing beneath her toes. Then she sighs and heads back into the living room. I watch her bare feet walk away from me, then I walk into my dollhouse, shut the front door, and collapse in a huddle, giggling with mad glee.



My God! It worked! I can’t believe it!

I spend most of the night watching movies, too excited and too wired too sleep. I lie there on my green sponge bed, watching Pulp Fiction and trying not to think about the precarious position in which I have placed myself.

Let’s face it. I’m on the razor’s edge. Naomi won’t forget what I’ve done, and she won’t stop looking for a way to worm out the trap I laid for her. And if she ever does manage to get the upper hand…

I remember her face, massive and threatening and grinning evilly. “Because I can think of a hundred worse places for you than between my toes.”

It’s not forever, I tell myself. It’s only for a couple of months, until the custody hearing. After that, I’ll be back at SPECTRUM and safely out of the Dalton’s reach forever.

I hope.



Morning comes at last. I’m already awake when Naomi kneels outside my house and asks if I want to take a bath. She seems surprised when I agree, but this is going to be my first date with Suzy… hell, my first date EVER, and I want to at least be clean for it.

Naomi waits for me to slip into my bathing trunks, then scoops me up in her palm. She carries me into the bathroom, draws my bath in the sink, and leaves me to my own devices while she showers. There’s nothing playful or menacing about it. She’s cold and unreadable, and I’m not certain if she’s simply accepted the situation or if she’s fighting the urge to crush me in her fist.

When we’re done, she carries me back to my house and sets me down by my front door. Then, without a word, she turns and leaves me to get dressed.



When Suzy arrives, Naomi is all smiles. She tells Naomi, quite magnanimously, that she has decided to lift my grounding. “I decided to let you and Ray have go on your little date,” she says, winking at me as she walks out the front door.

Nicole is curled up on the couch, watching Saved by the Bell. I happen to know for a fact that she has a crush on Mark-Paul Gosselaar, and she resents the fact that Naomi won’t let her watch NYPD Blue because “all they do on that show is take off their clothes and talk dirty.”

She looks over at us as Suzy carries me into the living room. “We’re not supposed to hold him anymore,” Nicole says in an earnest voice. “Momma said.”

Suzy whistles. “Wow, that must have been some talk you had with Ms. Dalton last night.”

“It’s okay, Nicole,” I say, smiling. “I don’t mind being picked up as long as you ask me first.”

“Then can I hold you?” Nicole asks, sitting up and holding out her hand. Suzy looks down at me with a raised eyebrow. I give her a nod.

“Be careful,” Suzy says, gently setting me in Nicole’s upturned palm. Nicole’s fingers close around me, and she pulls me close, pressing me against her pink Hello Kitty sleep shirt.

“Okay, you guys watch TV,” Suzy says, smiling at me. “I’ll go get breakfast ready.”

When Suzy’s out of earshot, Nicole holds me up between her finger and thumb, dangling me in front of her face.

“I don’t like being held like this,” I tell her. “Hold me right, or put me down.”

Nicole gives me a conspiratorial grin. “Do you want to play on my feet?”

I shake my head. “No thanks. That’s really not a good idea.”

She makes a pouty face and heaves a theatrical sigh. “Are you really going over to Suzy’s house tonight?”

I nod. “Yeah, we’re going to hang out and watch some movies.”

“Is she going to give you organisms?”

“Nicole,” I whisper harshly, my face burning, “you promised you wouldn’t bring that up when Suzy was around.”

“I didn’t promise,” she says with an evil grin. “But I won’t say anything to Suzy if you’ll rub my feet.” She crosses her leg behind me and begins peeling off her sock.

“How about this?” I say, glaring at her with as much confidence as I can. “You behave yourself around Suzy, and I won’t tell your mom that you watched NYPD Blue over at Kim’s house last night when you got back from skating.”

That frustrating grin falls from her face, much like it fell from her mother’s last night. “How did you know?” she asks me.

“I didn’t. I was just guessing,” I tell her. “But now I do know. And if you say or do anything to embarrass me in front of Suzy, I’ll tell your mom. That’ll mean no more Tuesday nights with Kim, and no more watching Screech on NYPD Blue.”

“It isn’t Screech,” she snaps at me. “It’s Zack.”

“Whatever. I can keep a secret if you can.”

She sighs that same melodramatic sigh as always. “Fine.” We lie there and watch TV in silence until breakfast is ready.

Damn, I’m getting good at this blackmail thing. Now all I need is some dirt on Paul and I’ll have the whole family eating out of my hand. Figuratively speaking, of course…



The rest of the day passes with little event. I spend a couple of hours racing around in my little car, dazzling the girls with my driving ability. Or rather, dazzling Suzy. Nicole’s seen it and is no longer impressed. Plus, she’s still a little miffed at me about this morning, which is probably why her socked foot “accidentally” comes down right in my path. She giggles when I bounce harmlessly over her toes and warns me in a playful voice to look where I’m going.

Kim comes over late in the afternoon, and when five o’clock finally rolls around, the four of us are sitting in the living room floor, playing Go Fish. Or rather, the three of them are playing. They each take turns letting me sit on their shoulder and whisper suggestions in their ear. Suzy is on the verge of taking her fourth straight game when the front door opens and Naomi comes walking in, followed closely by Cheryl.

I watch Cheryl nervously from my vantage point on Nicole’s shoulder. She gives me such a knowing, condescending look that I know Naomi has discussed matters with her.

“Girls’ Night tonight?” Suzy asks Naomi as she climbs to her feet.

“Yeah, Paul’s working late, so we figured the four of us would go have dinner and maybe rent a movie.”

“Too bad you’re depriving us of Ray’s company,” Cheryl says in that raspy voice of hers, then looks directly at me. “I was hoping we’d get to spend some time together tonight.” She slides her foot from her sandal when she says this and wiggles her toes, just in case I’m too stupid to understand her meaning.

Suzy grabs her purse, then looks down at me, where I still sit on Nicole’s shoulder. “You ready, darling?” she asks, more for Cheryl’s benefit than mine, I’m sure. Cheryl’s smile doesn’t falter, but her eyes narrow just a little bit.

“Sweet lord, yes,” I tell her, giddy with excitement as she reaches down to collect me. My heart is pounding as her soft, warm fingers wrap around me and she holds me close to her, just under her breasts.

“Good night, ladies,” Suzy says as we head for the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ms. Dalton.”

We’re on the front walk, heading for Suzy’s car, when Cheryl croaks after us, “Take care of our little man, Suzy!”



“Okay, I’ll need to sneak you in,” Suzy says to me as we pull into the parking lot of the apartment complex.

“How come?” I ask. “I thought your parents wanted to meet me.”

“They do,” Suzy says. “But they wouldn’t want you staying the night with me. They’re kind of… traditional.”

“Okay, fair enough. Should I hide in your purse?”

“I’ve got a better idea,” she says, grinning as she reaches for me. She tucks me in the breast pocket of her t-shirt. Her skin is astoundingly warm and I can feel the soft bump of her nipple through the fabric.

“Just hold still,” she whispers as we cross the parking lot and walk up a flight of stairs. Her heart beats harder and quicker with each step, and the fabric of the shirt grows ever-so-slightly damp from her sweat and the Texas humidity.

I shift slightly, trying to bend my legs into a more comfortable position. I hear Suzy give a sudden gasp as her nipple grows rock hard against my back. Her hand presses against me through her pocket. “I said, be still,” she whispers, stifling a giggle.

I hear her key in the door, and suddenly we’re in a place that’s cool and dark. The air is thick with a sweet, artificial freshener smell. Above the hum of the air conditioner, I can hear a TV.

“Mom?” Suzy says as we move through the dark apartment. “I’m home, Mom.”

I hear a muffled yawn, then a woman’s voice says in a quick, high pitch, “You wake me, Suzy!”

“Rough day at work?” Suzy asks. Her mom answers sleepily, “You can eat cold KFC in refrigerator. You let me sleep now.”

“Okay, mom,” I feel her lean forward and hear her plant an affectionate kiss. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Love you,” her mom calls after her as Suzy walks down the hall and carries me into her bedroom. She shuts the door, then plucks me from her pocket and sets me down on her bed.

“Well now,” she says, looking down at me with that sexy smirk on her lips. “Alone at last.”



I’ve said it before. The problem with fantasy is that it sets expectations far too high for reality to live up to. Which probably explains the awkward silence that falls over me and Suzy. She’s sitting up on her bed, propped against a couple of folded pillows. She holds me gently in her hands as we watch Dr. Strangelove. You see, I thought that line she fed Naomi about watching Kubrick films was just a line. I had no idea she really meant to watch them. Even now, they’re stacked up next to her black and white television. Full Metal Jacket, Barry Lyndon, and Eyes Wide Shut.

“Can you see?” she asks me for the fifth time, and I nod. I can see the screen quite clearly, but I’m having trouble paying attention. Because her legs are stretched out in front of us, and her beautiful bare feet are right there, bathed in the flickering gray light of her TV.

“Are you hungry?” she asks me. I tell her not really, but I’ll eat something whenever she decides to. I then turn my attention back to her sexy toes. I so desperately want to feel them wrapped around me, gently grinding against me. I find myself wondering just what she would do if I stood up, walked over to her feet, and started stroking them. Would she be appalled? Would she find the whole thing funny? God, if only I had the nerve…

“I called SPECTRUM last night,” she says. “Like you asked.”

“Really? Did you have any trouble getting through?”

She shrugs. “I had to call Information for the number, and all they had was this one-eight-hundred public relations number. So I called them and asked for Louise Herndon, and they kept shuffling me around and told me that she was unavailable. So I gave them my name and number, and told them to tell her that the call was in reference to Ray Miller. She called me back fifteen minutes later.”

“And you told her?”

“Yeah, I told her everything you had told me about Ms. Dalton and that Benny guy. She was surprised. She said they suspected Mr. Dalton was sleeping around, either with that Rachel woman from GenetiTech or with Ms. Morgan next door.” Suzy giggles. “God, can you imagine?”

“I’m desperately trying not to,” I tell her. “In fact, I may need to take a couple dozen baths to get that image off of me.”

She snorts laughter, and her fingers close playfully around me. “Anyway, she said she’d pass the information to the appropriate people, and she asked me how you were.”

“What did you tell her?”

“The truth,” Suzy says, looking down at me. “I told her that you were unhappy with the Daltons, that I didn’t think they treated you particularly well, and that you couldn’t wait to get back to SPECTRUM.”

I nod, suddenly sad with the thought of Louise. I can’t believe it’s only been three days since I’ve seen her and Alan. How can I wait a month until their next visit?

As if reading my mind, Suzy strokes my back gently with her green fingernails. “Poor Ray,” she says. “This isn’t much fun for you, is it?”

“What? I mean, I’m having fun…”

She laughs quietly and shakes her head. “I’m going to tell you something, and I hope it doesn’t freak you out. Because if it does, I…” She pauses and says, “I was wondering what I am to you.”

I’m startled by the question, and it must show on my face. She smiles nervously, awaiting an answer.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” I tell her, “because I’ve been wondering the same thing about you. I must seem like some ridiculous little thing, something to pet or play with…”

Her mouth drops when I say this. I think her feelings are a little hurt. “You’re… a miracle, Ray. I don’t know how else to describe it. You’re this beautiful, smart, funny, sweet… perfect little man. And when I ask myself how you could possibly be interested in me, I remember it’s pretty much by default. You tolerate my company because you haven’t met anybody else.” I can see a tear on her cheek, glistening in the light of the TV. “And I must seem like some kind of monstrous thing to you.”

I shake my head as emphatically as I can, until it hurts my neck (I’m still a little sore from yesterday’s adventure at the beauty shop). “Suzy, I adore you! I don’t think a minute’s gone by since I met you that I don’t think about you, and wonder if you’re thinking of me.” I stroke her index finger as I speak. “Part of it is because you’re the only one who’s treated me like a person since I got here, and part of it is because you’re so beautiful that it makes my heart race just to be near you.”

She grins down at me, wiping at her cheek with her other hand. My heart is pounding so hard I feel like I’m going to faint. I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared than I am right now. I know there’s no reason to be this frightened, but this is uncharted territory and I’m terrified that, somehow, I’m going to screw it up.

Suzy lifts me up in her cupped palm. “I got really scared last night, thinking about you and Ms. Dalton. I kept thinking about what might happen if you pushed her too far. I wanted so badly to call you and tell you to forget the whole thing, that it wasn’t worth it.”

She sighs. “And when everything worked out, and I finally got you home tonight, I lost my nerve. Ever since I’ve met you, I’ve imagined what we might do if I could have you all to myself. And tonight, I suddenly thought, what if I repulse you? What if I terrify you? What if I’m no different to you than Ms. Dalton or Ms. Morgan?”

God, I feel like I’m floating outside my body. I’m trembling so hard that I’m certain she can feel it. I can’t believe she’s as neurotic about us as I am.

I nuzzle my cheek against her fingertip, then kiss it. I look up into her stunning face, into her overwhelming green eyes. “You’re no monster, Suzy.” I tell her, basking in her smile. “You’re a goddess. My goddess.”

“Wow,” she says. I can’t tell if her hand is trembling or if it’s just me. She takes a wavering breath and looks down at me with such adoration I feel like my heart is going to swell and explode. “Okay, the first thing we do is get rid of Mr. Kubrick,” she says, setting me down on her nightstand and crawling to the foot of her bed. She reaches over and cuts off the VCR, then the TV. She stretches to reach the CD player on top of her dresser, hits fast forward a couple of times while counting quietly to herself, then hits play. By the time she crawls back and picks me up, the soft synth and bass of Love and Rockets’ “Haunted”

“I love this song,” I tell her.

She smiles that sexy smile of hers. “I know. I remember. You told me the first day we met.” She holds me up to her face and says playfully, “And now, to put my mind at ease and to make sure that you enjoy yourself later, you tell me what you would like me to do.”

“What?” I cling to her finger, my brain threatening to overload and shut down. “I mean, what?”

“It’s simple,” she says. “You tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it,” she says. The room is dark, lit by nothing but the dim bulb of a Donald Duck nightlight. I can’t tell, but I’m pretty sure she’s blushing. If so, she’s not the only one.

“You’ll do it?” I repeat dumbly.

“Within reason,” she laughs. “Now, what do you like?”

I sit there in her hand, hyperventilating and clinging to her finger to keep myself from collapsing. This is it, the chance I’ve been waiting for, and now I’m too timid to act.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she says soothingly, rubbing me with her finger. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t…”

“Your feet,” I blurt out, short of breath. “I really like your feet.”

She giggles. “Really? The way you were acting, I thought it was something really nasty.” She pulls up her t-shirt, then lays me on the bare flesh of her tummy. “Okay, we’re going to play a game. There’s something I’d really, really like you to do for me. And if you can figure it out, I’ll spend the rest of the night making you the happiest man in the world.”

My voice catches in my throat. I cough and says, “And if I lose?”

“That’s the great part about this game,” she says, holding up her t-shirt for me. “Everybody’s a winner.”

I crawl beneath the cotton of her shirt, and she lets it fall down around me. Her flesh is downright feverish against the palms of my hands, and I can feel her quivering as I make my way towards her chest.

She giggles, and shakes beneath me as I crawl in the darkness towards her breast. The smell of her is strong, almost intoxicating. Perfume, soap, faint sweat, and another tantalizing smell that defies description.

I continue climbing when I reach her breast, and her quivers become outright trembles by the time I reach her stiff, protruding nipple. I run my hand over the small bumps of her areola, feeling them tighten beneath my fingers. Her nipple, almost the size of my head, is rigid and wrinkled to my touch. As I stroke her with my fingers and the palm of my hand, her moaning becomes panting and soon becomes a serious of sharp, helpless gasps.

“Oh, God,” I hear her moan breathlessly as I touch my lips to her nipple and kiss the unyielding flesh. Her entire body writhes beneath me. Her breathing grows more and more urgent, punctuated with moans and cries of “Oh, God,” and “Please!” I feel her hand pressing down on me through the shirt, mashing me against her breast, rubbing me against her firm nipple.

Her thrashing is rhythmic, and it grows faster and faster as I continue to stroke and kiss her nipple. Her muffled screams become unintelligible, simple grunts of animal pleasure. And then, with a tremendous shudder and a long, wavering breath, she falls still beneath me.

I’m drenched in sweat, both mine and hers, when she plucks me from her breast and holds me up to her face. Even in the dim light, I can tell she’s flushed and grinning wearily at me.

“That was incredible,” she gasps, touching me between the legs with her index finger. For the first time, I notice the ferocity of my erection.

“You poor thing,” she says. “You’re about to burst and you haven’t even had your turn yet.”

Her words sound distant and otherworldly in my buzzing ears. “Would you like to get out of those clothes?” she asks me. I nod weakly, and she helps me strip down. She drops my clothes on her nightstand, then leans back once again. I’m naked, dangling between her finger and thumb, helpless and so excited in her grasp.

Leisurely, teasingly, she bends her leg and brings the other up to rest on it. Her beautiful toes wriggle as she moves me towards her foot with tantalizing slowness. She presses me against the pale, soft flesh of her sole and rubs me along the bottom of her foot. Slowly at first, then faster and with more force, all the while whispering, “Like that? Is that how you like it?”

I don’t just climax, I explode. Screaming and pounding on the bottom of her foot, I spasm and black out as the orgasm rips through my body, replacing that frantic pressure with a sad, gnawing emptiness. In that one post-coital moment, I gaze wearily into the face of my goddess and smile as I press my cheek against her sole.

“Good?” she asks me. I nod and manage to say between gasps, “Sorry it… was… so quick.”

“Oh, don’t be,” she says, sliding me up and pressing me between her toes. “We’ll just give it fifteen minutes and try again.” Her hand withdraws and her sexy, beautiful toes begin wriggling, grinding against me and bringing me pleasure I’ve never imagined.

“After all,” she says with that incredible smile, “we’ve got all night, don’t we?”




After the third time, I’m so exhausted I can’t even hold my head up. By this point, I’m lying on her bed, pinned beneath Suzy’s foot as her big toe mercilessly kneads what remains of my erection. She feels my body go limp and reaches down to scoop me up.

“Are you okay, darling?” she asks me.

I nod so weakly that I doubt she can even see it. “Yeah. I’m just… spent.”

“I’ll bet!” she giggles. “Are you tired of my feet yet?”

“Never,” I say, dramatically. “I’d live there if I could.”

“Ooh, I like the sound of that,” Suzy says. “I could buy some big, floppy clown shoes so you’d have enough room to move around.”

“Sandals,” I say, barely conscious. “I like sandals.”

“Good to know,” she says. “How about my toenails? Would you like another color?”

“No,” I tell her. “Green is my favorite color.”

“Hey, mine too!” Suzy says, laying back and holding me to her face. I look into her eyes once again, shocked by the intensity of my feeling for her. I think I’m honest-to-god in love.

“I know,” I tell her. “I remember. You told me the first day we met.”



After resting for an hour or so, we both realize that we’re starving. It’s after eleven – Suzy’s mother has gone to work and her father isn’t due back for another three hours – so we sit at the kitchen table and share a piece of cold fried chicken. Afterwards, we go back to Suzy’s room and watch Conan O’Brien until we both fall asleep.



I don’t want to belabor this, or overthink it. But I remember when I first started fantasizing about women (or fantasizing about feet – at the time, I was unable to make the distinction). My daydreams involved a lot of humiliation and a lot of helplessness. To me, these elements were inseparable from the physical aspects of the fantasy. When I imagined myself pinned beneath Louise’s foot, I would construct an elaborate narrative leading up to it. In my fantasy, she was always angry about something, and she was looking to punish me. And the thought of being completely at her mercy excited me to no end.

But that’s the problem with fantasy, blah, blah, blah. My dreams became real when I was subjected to all manner of humiliation and helplessness at the feet of Naomi and Cheryl. And I remember thinking how much this sucked, and wondering how I could have been so stupid as to ever long for these feelings.

So what happened with me and Suzy tonight? No humiliation. No helplessness. For the first time, it wasn’t about somebody exerting power over me. It was consensual, done in affection rather than malice. It may seem obvious to most people, but it’s something of an epiphany for me. I never thought I would be able to have a romantic relationship with someone on my own terms.

And it never occurred to me that I would come to love somebody that treated me as a person.

Wednesday night with Suzy is probably the greatest night of my life, but it isn’t long before I’m back to worrying again. Things are going too well, and it’s inevitable that somehow, something is going to go wrong.

“You worry too much,” Suzy tells me on Thursday afternoon, grinning as she sets me astride her bare foot. It’s the first time alone we’ve had since she brought me home this morning. But Nicole and Kim are outside, practicing cheers or making up dance routines or whatever the hell it is they do.

Suzy is wearing rubber thong sandals, strictly for my benefit. I know that personally, she finds them tacky and never wears them in public except at the pool or the beach. But this morning, she dug them out from under her bed and put them on. She then set me in the floor and paraded around, basking in my admiration of her feet.

Now her sandals lie discarded in the floor, and I find myself straddling her instep. I can hear and feel her toes wiggling slowly behind me. I look back over my shoulder and marvel at her lovely toes, remembering how it felt to be grasped between them or pinned under them.

“You’re also kind of easily distracted,” Suzy says, giggling. I look up into her beautiful almond eyes, green and playful. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

She shakes her head. “You’re incorrigible. I said, you worry too much.”

“Yeah, I know. I can’t help it. It just seems like every time I’m really happy, something comes along to screw it up. It’s like I’m waiting for…”

“The other shoe to drop?” Suzy asks, bucking her foot playfully beneath me.

I sigh. “I love you, Suzy.”

“I know,” she grins. I’m a little taken aback.

“You feel the same way, don’t you?”

“Of course,” she says. “May I remind you, I wore my white trash shoes for you today.”

“Then why won’t you say it?”

She shakes her head. “I will. But not just because you said it first.”



Friday afternoon, and life is good. Suzy and I are sitting out on the patio, watching Kim and Nicole perform the dance routine they’ve been working on for the past week or so. They stand out on the grass, facing each other and counting with utter seriousness as they go through their moves to some dreadful ‘N Sync song.

Once again, Suzy has worn her sandals and seems to be taking great delight in tantalizing me with glimpses of her pretty feet. We’re already planning our second date. She wants to take me to a real movie in a real theater, with popcorn and everything.

And as I lie there in her hand, staring idly at her beautiful toes as she gently strokes me, I finally realize that Suzy’s right. I do worry too much. I’ve been living with this sense of dread, but I’m free of any immediate threat. Naomi’s still stinging a little from the blackmail, but she’s been on her best behavior. Nicole and I are on good terms, and Paul has mercifully kept his distance. And Suzy… well, I still can’t believe my luck.

I’m reminded of something Gary used to say at SPECTRUM whenever he was having a particularly bad day. “God may piss down the back of your neck every day of your life, but he can only drown you once.” Okay, so it’s a disgusting quote, but it’s still pretty insightful. So I finally make the conscious decision to stop dreading inevitable disaster, to stop “waiting for the other shoe to drop,” and to just accept my good fortune.

Which, of course, is the universe’s cue to step in and put its usual end to my happiness.



Paul arrives home several hours early and quite agitated, in the company of Rachel Foster from GenetiTech. Suzy stands up to greet him when he comes out on the porch. He barely acknowledges her, except to tell her she can go home now.

“Are you sure, Mr. Dalton?” she asks. “I promised your wife that I would vacuum for her today.”

He nods grimly. “We’ll call you if we need you on Monday,” he says, his voice a little strained. Rachel stands at the glass door, watching from inside the living room.

“Daddy!” Nicole calls, waving to him. “Wanna see the dance we made up?”

Paul shakes his head. “Kim, can you and Nicole go play at your house this afternoon?”

Kim shrugs. “Sure.” She glances at me and grins. “Can we take Ray with us?”

“No, Ray needs to stay here,” Paul says.

Suzy carries me into the house, past Rachel, who holds out her hand.

“I’ll take him, if you like,” Rachel says. Suzy ignore her and carries me to my dollhouse. She kneels down and sets me down at my front door.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but it sounds like it might be serious,” she whispers. “I hope everything’s okay.”

“I’m sure it is,” I tell her with more bravado than I feel. “I figure bad news for GenetiTech is good news for me, right?”

“I hope so,” she says. She kisses the tip of her finger, then gently touches it to the side of my face.

I look up into her beautiful eyes, wishing I could say something to keep her from worrying. “You know,” I tell her, brandishing a cocky grin, “this would be the perfect time to tell me that you loved me.”

She rolls her eyes in mock exasperation. “Well, I was about to, but now you’ve spoiled it. And if I say it now, you’ll just think it was because you told me to.”

Her finger is still there, hovering close to my face. I kiss it tenderly and run my hand along her pale green nail. “Well, I still love you,” I tell her.

She smiles and touches my cheek again. “As well you should, darling.”



About an hour later, Naomi comes through the front door. I watch from my dollhouse as she stops in her tracks, surprised to see Paul and Rachel sitting at the dining table.

“Well, hi there, Rachel,” she says cheerfully, dropping her keys and her purse on the table. “Paul should have told me you were coming…”

Rachel interrupts her. “Naomi, how do you know Benny Doyle?”

Naomi’s mouth falls open, and she glares over in my direction. I shrug and shake my head, protesting my innocence.

“Uh, I’m not sure I know who you’re talking about,” Naomi says, obviously lying. Her face is bright red and she’s blinking way too much.

Rachel rummages through her attaché, then slams a newspaper down on the table. “Benny Doyle. He’s a reporter for the National Mirror, and he seems to have an exclusive story on Ray.”

Poor Naomi is stunned, blindsided by so many revelations that her brain is having trouble sorting them. She stares down at the newspaper, her fists clenched, shaking her head. “No,” she whispers. “This isn’t happening…”

“This is a recent picture,” Rachel says, tapping the paper with her finger. “Unless I’m mistaken, it was taken at that beauty shop where you work.”

I suddenly remember standing on the counter, being introduced to Benny by Naomi. I remember feeling awkward as he leaned in close, paying way too much attention to me. I also remember the muted click that nobody else seemed to hear. A hidden camera, I realize.

“No,” she says, tears streaming down her face. She grabs the paper and begins ripping it up. “No! No! No!”

“It hits the newsstands tomorrow, and there’s not a goddamned thing we can do about it,” Rachel says sternly. “And it’s just chock full of great details about how Paul rescued his son from one laboratory so he could sell him to another. It also contains a vivid and disturbing quote from you about how good Ray feels between your toes.”

“Oh, God!” Naomi wails. “This can’t be happening!”

“Naomi, pull yourself together,” Rachel snaps at her. “I swear, the last thing we need right now is you getting hysterical. What I need to know is, how did Benny come by this information? I’m assuming you didn’t knowingly allow him to interview you, but he seems to know an awful lot of explicit personal details about you guys…”

“Were you fucking him, Naomi?” Paul asks angrily. “Were you?”

Naomi is sobbing wildly now, her face buried in her hands. “Oh, God!”

“I can’t believe it,” Paul shouts, slamming his fist on the table. “How the hell could you do this to me?”

Naomi sobs become a long, lingering cry of pain. “I’m sorry!” she screams, again and again until her voice grows hoarse.

Paul leans back and glares at her, his arms crossed. “Whore,” he mutters.

Rachel silences him with a glance, then reaches over to take Naomi’s hand. “Naomi, listen to me,” she says. “You and Paul can work through all this later. What we need to do now is some damage control.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Naomi cries. “I didn’t…” Her protests disintegrate into unintelligible blubbering.

“You didn’t mean to?” Paul demands. “So, you what? Tripped and fell on his dick?”

Rachel shakes her head. “Paul, that’s enough. We’re not going to accomplish anything if you keep talking like that.”

Paul seethes quietly, staring at Naomi with utter hatred on his face.

“Okay, the first thing is, you guys have to present a united front. You’ve got to be a happy, married couple if you’re going to get custody of Ray, okay?”

Paul and Naomi look at her as if she’s lost her mind.

“I’m serious. GenetiTech will do whatever it takes to help you guys over this bad spot. We’ll pay for counseling, send you on another honeymoon, or even spring for an extra bedroom if it comes down to it. But you’ve got to be married and you’ve got to be happy about it.”

Paul nods, but says nothing. Naomi just stares straight ahead.

“Okay, we’re going to take steps to discredit the story. Fortunately, the National Mirror doesn’t have a reputation for accuracy, so we’re going to get some newspapers friendly to us to run stories exposing the Mirror piece as a fraud. We’re also going to file lawsuits against them for libel, just to keep the doubt alive in the public’s mind.”

Paul nods. Naomi stares.

“Now, this is going to hurt us in one regard. By discrediting this story, we make it much easier for SPECTRUM to discredit the original story that set this whole chain of events into motion. But at this point, we don’t have a choice.”

Paul nods. Naomi stares.

“Now, what I need to know is, are there any other skeletons I need to know about? Anything else that’s going to rear its ugly head between now and the hearing?”

Paul shakes his head and gives Naomi a dirty look. “I’ve got nothing to hide, Rachel,” he says, a tad piously for someone who falls asleep every night drinking whiskey from a giant plastic cup. Naomi just shakes her head and looks down.

“Next order of business,” Rachel says, consulting her file. “We have reason to believe that Cathy Miller is back in the picture. I don’t need to remind you that if she manages to maintain custody, our deal falls through. Fortunately, her history with drugs and the fact that she abandoned Ray the first time should play into our favor.”

My mother! I haven’t seen her since I was five, when she – for all intents and purposes – abandoned me to SPECTRUM. Over the past eleven years, I’ve wonder idly about her. My interests in her were purely academic, since Louise was more of a mom to me than Cathy Miller ever was. Still, it infuriates me to hear Rachel discussing her so callously.

“Okay,” Rachel says, closing her file and placing it back in her briefcase. She reaches over and touches Naomi’s hand again. “I know this is an awkward time Naomi, but we still need Paul in Midland for a few days. He’s going to fly back with me tonight. Maybe the time apart will give you both a chance to… I don’t know… collect yourselves and figure out how to deal with this.”

“I’ll be back on Wednesday,” Paul says, standing up. He walks past Naomi, who’s still crying softly, and stands behind her. He leans in and says, “Try not to fuck anybody else while I’m gone.” With that, he goes to pack, leaving Naomi bawling her eyes out.



It’s an uneasy feeling, one that I was stupid to think would go away. Something bad is going to happen. It’s only a matter of time.

I’ve been lying on my bed, watching The Godfather and trying to ignore Naomi’s sobbing. She’s been crying almost non-stop since Paul and Rachel left, occasionally stopping long enough to light another cigarette or drain another glass of wine. For some reason, I keep finding myself at my window, watching her.

Her sister Debbie is sitting on the couch next to her, holding her and comforting her as best she can. The thing is, Debbie lives with an abusive asshole named Walt, so she’s not exactly brimming with pithy observations about the nature of love. I suspect she’d be really happy if her boyfriend left, which is why she’s having so much trouble finding the right thing to say to Naomi.

Debbie and Naomi look a lot alike, although Debbie’s obviously younger. They’re both thin and blonde, although Debbie’s hair is long and bleached. She dresses like an extra from Hair… a tie-dyed t-shirt, cut-off shorts, and Birkenstocks. Like Naomi, she’d be a lot prettier if she didn’t wear so much makeup. However, I believe the makeup is probably necessary to cover up the bruises that come from living with Walt.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Naomi is saying in a slurred, exhausted voice. “God, how could I’ve been so stupid?”

“Shh,” Debbie says, stroking Naomi’s hair. “Men are pigs, Naomi. They suck.”

Naomi pulls away. “Paul is not a pig! God, how could I hurt him like that?”

“I know,” Debbie says. “I was talking about that reporter guy.” An uncomfortable moment, then, “Do you wanna smoke some weed?”

Naomi shakes her head and puts her face in her hands again. The two of them are just sitting there in awkward silence when the front door suddenly opens, and Cheryl’s voice croaks, “Knock knock!” I let out a weary sigh. Now my life is complete.

“Hi, Cheryl,” Debbie says solemnly.

“Hey, Debbie.” Cheryl walks over and kneels next to Naomi. “How are you holding up, sweetie?”

Naomi says in a pitiable voice, “I’ll be okay. I just wish Paul were here so I could explain to him…”

“I know, sweetie. I know.” Cheryl pats Naomi on the leg. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

For some reason, this sets Naomi off crying again. Debbie and Cheryl glance at each other and shrug.

“Where are the girls?” Naomi manages to ask in a choked voice.

“They’re fine,” Cheryl says. “They’re next door, watching a movie. Would you like Nicole to stay with me tonight?”

“Please,” Naomi says.

“What about Ray?” Cheryl asks, glancing in my direction. “I could take him home with me tonight, if you want.”

Oh, God! Just the thought is enough to make my blood turn to ice water. I hug my arms together and shiver, praying Naomi won’t agree to it.

“That’s okay,” Naomi says, to my overwhelming relief. “Ray’s just fine right here.”

“Oh, where is Ray?” Debbie asks. “I haven’t seen him since I got here?”

“He’s in his dollhouse,” Naomi says. “Watching a movie or something.”

“You want me to go get him?” Cheryl asks, standing up. “You still need to teach the little bastard a lesson for blackmailing you.” And suddenly, the ice water is back in my veins. My control over Naomi is gone, and I’m now at her mercy. Dear God, I am so screwed.

“Not right now,” Naomi says. “I’ll deal with Ray tomorrow. Right now, I just want to go to bed.”

“Okay, Naomi,” Debbie says, taking her arm. “I’ll help you.”

“I don’t need any help,” Naomi says, climbing to her feet and staggering across the living room. “You girls can let yourselves out.” She walks by the dollhouse, grinning down at me as she passes. “Goodnight, Ray,” she slurs. “I’ll see you tomorrow, you little shit.” And with that, she totters down the hall to her bedroom.

Well, at least I’m reprieved until tomorrow. Hopefully, she’ll be a little more rational and a little less drunk. But no matter how you slice it, I’m probably going to spend some quality time under Naomi’s foot tomorrow.

I glance back towards Cheryl and Debbie, who are still sitting on the couch. Cheryl is looking in my direction, and I find myself wondering if she can actually see me in the shadows. She leans over and whispers something to Debbie, who glances towards me and smiles.

Dammit! They’re both up and heading for my dollhouse. I look desperately for a place to hide, knowing full well there is none. This isn’t a house, it’s a fucking cage.

I bolt down the stairs as their footsteps approach. I’m still looking for something to hide behind when I hear someone’s hand slap the roof. The entire house shakes and slides away from the wall.

“Come out and play, Ray,” Cheryl coos as she rotates my house around, away from the wall. Through the open side, I can see her toes twitching menacingly in her sandals. She steps back and drops to her knees to look for me.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline, but I can’t stand the thought of just sitting here, waiting for her to grab me. I can hear her hand knocking around my furniture on the upper floor. “You’re just making it worse by hiding,” she chides me. She leans lower, and her face fills the open space of the fourth wall.

“Peek-a-boo,” she says with a predatory smile. “I see you!”

Her hand moves towards me with sadistic slowness, her finger and thumb spreading as she reaches for me. Panicking blindly, I stumble for the front door and throw it open. I scurry through it and plow headlong into Debbie’s foot.

“Here he is,” she says, sliding her foot out of her sandal and bringing it down on top of me. I squirm against the warm, damp sole of her foot. The smell of sweat and dirt and leather fills my nose and makes me gag.

“Ooh, I bet he did that on purpose,” Cheryl laughs. “You like that Ray?” she asks me in a mocking voice. “Are you getting yourself some foot?”

Debbie giggles and presses down slightly. “God, he tickles,” she says.

“Try and get him between your toes,” Cheryl says. “That’s what he really likes.”

Jesus, I rue the day that little embarrassing fact became common knowledge. Debbie moves her foot slightly, uncovering my face so I can peer up at her. Then, with a playful grin, she grasps me between her toes and gives me a little squeeze.

“How’s that?” she asks me, doing it again before I can answer. Her toenails are ragged and unpainted, and it’s obvious she’s been wearing those sandals all day. “Am I doing it right?”

“You’re doing fine,” Cheryl says, kneeling down to watch me writhe between Debbie’s toes. “I wish all men were as easy to please as Ray is.”

“Yeah,” Debbie says with a sigh. “You wanna smoke some weed?”



The first half hour is almost unbearable. The girls sit on the couch and giggle incessantly as they pass me and the blunt back and forth. While Cheryl takes her hit, Debbie rubs me along the bottom of her foot, still giddy with the new sensation of feeling me struggle. When it’s Cheryl’s turn, she gets a little more creative and actually tries to undress me using nothing but her toes.

The smell of the marijuana is sharp and pungent, overpowering me even as I struggle against Debbie’s sole. But after a while, the smell becomes a little more agreeable. Hell, the entire situation becomes oddly agreeable. I even find myself snickering as Cheryl fumbles with me with her toes, trying desperately to remove my shirt. It’s an exercise in futility, sort of like picking up a dime in a catcher’s mitt, so she finally gives up and decides to strip me by hand.

I’m only vaguely aware of lying naked in Cheryl’s palm as her monstrous face looms over me. Debbie’s up there too, smiling down at me like some kind of ditzy goddess. She snorts laughter, blowing smoke and spit all over me.

“I think he’s stoned,” someone, Debbie I think, says in a wheezy voice. It’s hard to tell because everything seems to be spinning out of control. I try to ask Cheryl to hold her hand still, but I’m not sure if I get the words out.



A confusing jumble of images, sounds, and sensations. I’m a baby, lying in my mother’s palm, but her face is a blur. I smell perfume and cigarettes and I hear her humming a lullaby, only it sounds like it’s coming from so far away. I realize I’m naked when she reaches down with a finger and flicks my erection. I scream at her to stop, that it’s not right, and she says in Debbie’s voice, “Wow, he’s pretty far gone.”

Girls that are tall get taller, boys that are small get smaller… Nicole drops me in her sock, still damp with her sweat. I feel fingers poking and prodding me through the smelly cotton. Kim’s voice, distant and mocking, says, “Let me hold him. I’m gonna give him an organism.”

But I’m dumped out of the sock and left lying on a table, surrounded by people. Louise is there. So is Alan. And Gary, and Sally, and the rest of the gang from SPECTRUM. But they’re all so sad. Alan is sobbing, just like he did when they took me away. It’s disconcerting to see that face, so broad and strong, crying so helplessly. But he blames himself, I vaguely remember. He thinks it’s his fault that I’m being taken away. He was in charge of security, and he was away the day Tony took the picture for the National Mirror. “I’ll make this right, Ray,” he whispers melodramatically, as tears run down his scarred cheek. “No matter what it takes. I swear.”

I tell them not to cry, not to worry about me, because I’ll be fine. Suzy will take care of me, I tell them as I cling to her foot, covering the soft olive flesh with kisses and marveling at her beautiful pale green toenails.

“Sometimes, people associate sexual feelings with non-sexual objects or body parts,” Louise explains sadly. “It’s called a fetish.”

Somewhere, I hear loud, raucous giggling, but before I can identify its source, Louise reaches over and pushes me in between Suzy’s toes. They wiggle slowly, seductively, grinding my naked body mercilessly.

Paul and Naomi and Rachel watch, their faces unreadable. “I’m just glad I saved you from those Nazis, son,” Paul says, then bursts out laughing.

Rachel holds up a copy of the National Mirror to show to Naomi. “It also contains a vivid and disturbing quote from you about how good Ray feels between your toes.”

“I can think of a hundred worse places for you than between my toes,” Naomi says to me as a predatory smile creeps across her face. “You’re lucky I don’t just stomp the shit out of you.” I want to apologize to her, but I can’t remember why. I just know she’s mad at me and going to make me pay.

Suzy continues to grind me between her toes, and I’m dimly aware of an orgasm. I gasp and shudder, then press my face to the warm, soft skin of her foot. I feel safe and loved…

“Mercy,” Suzy giggles, only her voice is all wrong. It’s raspy, just like… I glance at the toes that grasp me and see the polish is now an obnoxious shade of pink. I raise my head and see Cheryl watching me, smiling like a predator.

“Sorry, Debbie,” she says, giggling as she plucks me from her foot and drops me into Debbie’s palm. “I think I used him all up.”

I’m driving in my car, not in the living room, but on a wide open road, just zipping towards the horizon. The sun is up and I’m happy because… I guess I’m going home. Suzy’s there with me, because my car can seat two people and she’s my size which doesn’t seem odd to me for some reason.

I gasp as Debbie pinches me between her toes, but then…

Suzy has her feet on the dashboard, showing off her “white trash shoes” for me. It’s funny, I tell her. I was playing on your feet just a minute ago, and you turned into Cheryl.

“You sure he likes this?” Suzy says, only it’s Debbie and she’s squeezing me so hard that I can’t catch my breath. I think I’d throw up if I wasn’t so goddamned hungry. I want so badly to get back to Suzy, but I don’t know where she went and I can’t seem to think straight.

It feels like I’m falling…




Reefer madness. Jesus! I wake up lying face down on my sponge bed, naked and really hungry. I try to sit up and wince at the pain in my muscles. Glancing down, I see some really monster bruises on my arms and chest. God, they really worked me over last night. I don’t remember much, other than the weird snippets of dreams and hallucinations, and the occasional intrusion of horrible reality.

I look out my window at the living room beyond. It’s still dark, but there are hints of light creeping through the blinds. I’m guessing it’s probably sometime before seven, which means I can probably look forward to another hour or so of peace before I have to deal with Naomi.

I slip into some sweats and lie back down, trying to ignore my growling stomach. Maybe if I’m really nice, I tell myself, Naomi will make me something to eat before she punishes me.



I awaken from a fitful doze to the sound of the front door closing. I stagger from my bed and run to my bedroom window. Nicole and Kim walk into the living room, disheveled and yawning. Kim plops down on the couch, kicks off her shoes, and grabs the remote. Nicole walks past me on her way to the kitchen.

God, I was hungry before. Now I feel like something is gnawing me away from the inside. The munchies, I think Dana used to call it. I remember her telling me that when she smoked pot, she would start craving pizza, chicken-fried steak, or Cheetohs. Right now, I’d even eat one of Naomi’s delicious bologna sandwiches.

So imagine my sheer delight when Nicole walks by me again carrying a box of Lucky Charms. She glances down and smiles when she sees me in the window.

“Hi, Ray,” she says, kneeling down to talk to me. “Is Momma okay?”

I shrug. “What have you heard?”

“Aunt Debbie said that Daddy had to go out of town for work, and Momma wasn’t feeling good. I think she’s gonna come over later to check.”

Yippee.

“She’ll be fine,” I tell Nicole. “She’s still asleep.”

“Oh.” She glances over her shoulder at Kim, sprawled on the couch. “Do you wanna come watch TV with me and Kim?”

My stomach growls angrily when I look at the box under her arm. “Sure,” I say, smiling up at her. “Sounds great.”



Nicole and Kim eat the cereal a handful at a time, passing the box back and forth between them. I’m curled up on Nicole’s chest, munching pink hearts, yellow moons, orange stars, etc. as quickly as she can hand them to me.

Kim, to my relief, is actually almost pleasant company this morning. She isn’t terribly upset when I decline her offer to let me play on her feet, and instead contents herself with occasionally teasing me by stretching out her leg towards me and wiggling her toes.

We’re all lying there half asleep, watching Scooby Doo, when the phone rings. Nicole grabs me as she sits up and reaches for the phone. It cuts off in mid-ring, before she can hit the Talk button.

“I guess your mom got it,” I tell her, feeling a little queasy. I was really hoping Naomi would sleep late today.



About eight-thirty or so, Naomi comes lumbering into the living room in her bathrobe and slippers. Her eyes are barely open and her blonde hair is jutting from her head at strange angles. Her makeup from yesterday is smeared and splotchy.

“What are you girls doing here?” she asks hoarsely. “You’re supposed to be over at Cheryl’s.”

“There wasn’t anything to eat over there,” Nicole says, holding up the box of cereal.

Naomi nods and rubs her eyes. “Listen, sweetheart. If you answer the phone and somebody starts asking you a lot of questions about me or Daddy or Ray, I want you to just hang up, okay?”

“What’s wrong, Momma?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing, sweetie. Just a bunch of nosy people who need to mind their own business.” She glares at me when she says this, and the Lucky Charms churn angrily in my stomach.

“Are you feeling better, Momma? Aunt Debbie told me you were sick.”

Naomi nods. “I’m okay. I’ll feel a lot better when your Daddy gets back into town.” She sighs. “I’m gonna go take a shower.”

I watch her turn and shuffle down the hallway, relieved that she didn’t insist I come with her. I wonder if maybe, just maybe, I might get through this day with my dignity intact.



The phone rings all morning long, and Naomi continues to field calls from people who just read the article in the National Mirror. She seems to be getting quite annoyed, but I figure I’m okay as long as her frustration is aimed away from me.

She’s sitting on the couch, chain smoking and watching some cooking show on PBS. Every time the phone rings, she lets out an exasperated moan and picks it up. The conversations have gotten shorter and shorter, to the point that she now hangs up as soon as the people on the other end introduce themselves.

Meanwhile, I’m in the dining room with Nicole and Kim, driving my car for them. Nicole is a little less than enthused, but Kim is thrilled with the way I weave around the chair legs under the table. When I complete the circuit, I speed back and zip between her legs. She squeals with delight when I come to a stop.

“Seen it,” Nicole says, yawning theatrically.

“It’s so adorable,” Kim says, walking over to me and looking down. “Can I hold it?”

I shake my head. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

The phone rings, interrupting Kim in mid-pout. Once again, Naomi answers it angrily and hangs up immediately. She throws the phone down on the couch and says, “God damn, I wish we had Caller ID.”

Kim and Nicole snicker at Naomi’s outburst, then turn their attention back to me. “Don’t you get bored driving around in here all the time?” Kim asks, kneeling down over me. “We could take you outside if you want.”

Actually, the thought is tempting. Kim and Nicole both seem to be in a good mood, which is something of a phenomenon. And time spent outside would be time spent away from Naomi…

Unfortunately, Naomi has other ideas. “Hey girls,” she calls as she walks over to us. “Why don’t you go next door and play for a while? Ray and I need to have a little talk.”

“Uh oh,” Nicole says, stifling a giggle. “Ray’s in trouble.”

“Sometime today,” Naomi says, crossing her arms. The girls slip their shoes on and hurry out the front door. When it closes, I blink nervously and try to swallow the lump in my throat. Looks like my number’s come up…

Naomi sighs. “Get out of the car, Ray.”

“Listen, Naomi,” I say. “I know you’re upset, but I swear I never wanted any of this…”

“Get out,” she orders me. “Now!”

I climb out of my car and stand there, feeling very vulnerable at her sandaled feet. God, I can’t believe we’re back to this again. It’s not fair that she has so much power over me!

“I’ve been thinking about how to punish you,” she says, her toes twitching almost imperceptibly. “And I’ve decided the best thing to do is just let things go back to how they were. So no movies and no car.”

I stand there, trembling, unable to believe my luck. “Really?”

She smiles thinly. “Yeah, really. Why? Do you think you deserve worse?”

“No!” I say. “I mean, I just thought…”

She steps over me, to my house. She pulls it away from the wall and reaches inside, pulling out my movie player. She nudges the house back into place with her foot, then turns to face me again.

“You understand,” she says, “this time I’m gonna make sure the punishment sticks.”

“What do you…” I watch in horror as she hurls my movie player to the floor. It cracks open when it hits the floor with a loud pop. Her foot comes down on the broken device, crushing it to a million shattered pieces.

“Stop!” I scream, running towards her. She kicks at me, striking me with the edge of her sandal and knocking me hard to the floor. She steps over me and walks over to my car. I bury my face in my hands and sob, unable to watch as she stomps on my car, breaking the plastic and snapping the thin metal with her sandaled foot.

“You bitch!” I scream at her, still huddled on the floor. “You fucking evil…”

“Really,” Naomi says, amused. She reaches down and snatches me up between her thumb and finger, letting me dangle in front of her face. “You kiss your momma with that mouth?”

“Why?” I sob, unable to meet her gaze. I can’t bear that smug, evil grin. “You had no right!”

“Oh, we’re just getting started,” she says, pinching me to make me look at her. “Starting Monday, Suzy’s services will no longer be required. I’ve decided to let my sister Debbie take care of you and Nicole. Unless, of course, I decide to take you to work with me.”

Oh, God. I’m going to be so sick…

“No more special meals,” she continues. “You can eat what I give you to eat, or you can starve. Or hunt fucking crickets, for all I care. But your little dinners are going in the trash.”

I start to protest, but she silences me with a pinch.

“No more back talk. From now on, the only words I want to hear out of your mouth are ‘Yes, Momma,’ ‘No, Momma,’ and ‘Please, may I play on your pretty feet, Momma?’ Understand?”

I choke down the bile in my throat and nod. “Yes, Momma.”

“From now on, if me or one of my friends calls you, I want you to come running. No more of this hiding shit.”

I want to fucking kill myself. I swear to God, I can’t bear the thought of living like this.

“If you disobey me on any of these things, you’ll go into time out,” she says. “And if you complain to your daddy or Nicole or anybody about how I’m treating you, you’ll go into time out.”

“Yes, Momma.”

“Just remember,” she says, tilting me back so I can’t help but stare into her monstrous face, “I can always think of a way to make you more miserable. So think about that before you do anything you know is gonna upset me.”

I’m trembling from despair and anger at my own impotence. And of course, Naomi is loving every minute of it. She knows she’s not allowed to crush me physically, but she relishes in her ability to crush me spiritually. And she’s done it. Honest to God, I have no fight left in me.

“Do we understand each other?”

I nod weakly. “Yes, Momma.”

She lowers me down, dropping me into her cupped palm. As she looks down at me, her face softens and her smile becomes much kinder.

“Good boy. Now, what would you like to do?”

She just has to twist the knife one more time, doesn’t she? “Play on your feet,” I mutter.

“Excuse me?”

“Play on your feet,” I answer through gritted teeth.

She shakes her head. “You know you’re supposed to ask nicely.”

With tears of frustration streaming down my face, I ask, “Please, may I play on your pretty feet, Momma?”

She smiles down benignly at me. “Of course, sweetie. I think I’d like that.”

I spend the next hour or so between Naomi’s toes, kissing them and telling her how pretty her feet are. Because, frankly, I don’t have much choice.

She’s sitting on the couch, her bare feet propped on the coffee table and crossed at the ankles. She sits there, smoking a cigarette and watching with disinterest as I squirm between her toes. I’m still battered and bruised from last night with Cheryl and Debbie, and my muscles scream in agony every time she wiggles her toes. She has no sympathy for my plight and, in fact, seems to take sadistic delight in making me cry out.

“I don’t know why you act like this is some great punishment,” she says wearily. “You’ve really got it good here, you know?”

She gets annoyed when I don’t answer and gives me a painful squeeze. “Are you listening to me?”

I gasp, “Yes, Momma,” and her toes relax a little.

“I mean, you’ve got no responsibilities, no worries… you just sit around all day and let everybody else take care of you. And any time I ask you for a little favor, you act like it’s some kind of major imposition. I mean, it’s not like you don’t enjoy it, right?”

I stroke her toe, desperate to appease her. “Yes, Momma.”

She shakes her head and takes a long drag on her cigarette. “Do you have any idea what kind of things Cheryl would do to you if I let her have you for a night?”

That’s one of those horrifying thoughts that I struggle daily to keep buried. Cheryl still frightens me, and the thought of being completely at her mercy is enough nightmare fuel to last me the rest of my life. As much as I despise Naomi, she’s definitely the lesser of two evils.

“Maybe I should do that,” she says, smiling cruelly as she slowly grinds her toes together. “Maybe I’ll let Cheryl have you for a weekend, just to teach you a lesson.”

“No, please don’t!” I cry to her, doubling my efforts to mollify her. I press my face to her toe and kiss it. “I’ll be good, I promise. Please don’t!”

She actually seems moved by my plea. Her cruel smile softens and she reaches forward slowly, lifting me from her foot. She shushes me as she strokes me with her gigantic fingers. “It’s okay, sweetie. Momma won’t let anything happen to you.”



Let’s call it an epiphany. Or a moment of clarity. Or a sudden, brilliant, flash of insight. Since I’ve been here, I’ve just assumed that Naomi and Cheryl were both sadistic, power-mad bitches who tormented me because it gave them a sense of power.

But I think I understand Naomi a little bit better now, and it was a mistake to assume that she and Cheryl shared a motive. At the risk of getting, as Suzy put it, “all first-year Freudian,” I think Naomi just needs to feel needed. God knows, she never gets any validation from Paul. He pretty much ignores her unless he’s pissed about something, and that little scene last night over her affair was probably the most attention he’s paid her since I’ve been here. Nicole’s reached an age where she wants as little to do with her mother as possible. Which leaves me.

I think when I first arrived here, Naomi was thrilled with the idea of something as tiny and helpless as me, completely and totally relying on her. And when I began to push back, to assert my independence, it threatened her. My friendship with Suzy, my car, my video player… all symbols of my self-reliance, which is why she set out to rid me of them. Because Naomi wants me like I am right now – vulnerable and dependent on her.

Like a mother who spanks her children, then hugs and kisses them when they cry, Naomi causes me pain so she’ll have an excuse to soothe and comfort me.

So if that's Naomi's rationale, then why does Cheryl do it? Because she’s an evil, man-eating bitch.



“I swear,” Cheryl croaks, shaking her head sadly, “I don’t know what I’m going to do with Kim. She keeps going off her lithium, and I swear she’s driving me crazy.” I’ve been straddling her instep for about half an hour, vigorously rubbing the indentions left by her sandals. She occasionally rewards me by brushing me with the toes of her other foot.

“She seemed fine this morning,” Naomi says, sitting on the couch. She just got over another crying jag, and her eyes are red and puffy.

“Yeah, well, that’s because I snuck into her room yesterday to check her meds,” Cheryl says, flexing her toes for me. “She was supposed to be done with them this weekend, but the bottle was still half full.”

“How come she doesn’t take them?” Debbie asks, sitting next to Naomi. She keeps glancing at me and smiling because she knows her turn is coming up.

“Shit, I don’t know,” Cheryl says. “She says those pills make her feel depressed and tired, but I swear I prefer that to all that bouncing around.” She bucks her foot when she says this, nearly throwing me off. I throw my arms around her middle toe to steady myself.

“So, have you heard from Paul yet?” Debbie asks Naomi.

“No,” Naomi says. “I turned off the phone because I was tired of answering the goddamn thing. People have been calling all morning about that damn article in the Mirror.”

“Oh, yeah,” Cheryl says. “Have you read it yet?”

“I can’t,” Naomi says sadly. “Not right now.” She shakes her head and lets out a long, lingering sigh. “God, that bastard Benny! I can’t believe he used me like that!”

Everyone sits in awkward silence for about a minute, until Cheryl suddenly lets out a snort and pinches me between her toes. “God damn it, Ray!” she shouts. “If you tickle me again, I swear I’m going to pop your little head off.”

“I’m sorry!” I tell her. “I didn’t mean to!”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Naomi says, standing up and approaching us. She grabs me between her thumb and finger, plucking me from between Cheryl’s toes. “The poor thing is exhausted and beat all to hell.” Naomi carries me to my dollhouse and sets me inside.

“I didn’t get a turn,” Debbie whines.

Naomi pushes my house back against the wall. “You’ll have all day Monday to play with Ray.”

“Sounds like fun,” Cheryl says in a voice that makes my blood chill. “Maybe I’ll pop by for a visit.”

“You know,” Naomi says, a tad irritated, “I thought you guys came over to cheer me up. If all you’re gonna do is talking about Ray, we might as well call it a night…”

“Oh, Naomi sweetie,” Cheryl says, standing up. “Of course we’re here for you.” She walks past my house on the way to the kitchen, glancing down at me through the window and smiling. “Besides, we haven’t even opened the wine yet.”

“God, not too much,” Naomi says. “I’m still wrung out from last night.”

Debbie giggles. “Me too. You guys wanna get high?”



The mood of the room darkens and sours as the wine bottle is emptied. By late afternoon, Naomi is crying again as Cheryl tears into her ex-husband and Debbie relates detail after gory detail of her train wreck of a relationship.

“I’m telling you, sugar, men suck,” Cheryl says. “If they’re not cheating on you, they’re beating you or lying to you.” She glares in my direction and adds, “Or blackmailing you.”

“Do you think Paul’s cheating on you?” Debbie asks, setting Naomi off on another tearful jag.

The shades are drawn, and the lights are out. The room is dark, despite the fact that it’s still bright and sunny outside. A single beam of light shines past the edge of the blinds, revealing the dust and smoke in the air. It’s stuffy, and the air reeks of cheap wine and cigarette smoke.

And Cheryl’s feet. I’ve changed clothes twice, but the smell of her – sweat, lotion and leather – still clings to me. There’s a shot glass in my kitchen half full of water – Naomi tries to keep it full, but she sometimes forgets. Anyway, I splash myself with water, desperate to rid myself of that smell.

God, right now, I’d even endure a shower with Naomi if it meant I could be clean again.

The front door opens, filling the dining room and living room with sunlight. Naomi and Debbie throw their arms over their eyes to shut out the blinding light, and – I swear to God – Cheryl hisses like some kind of lizard.

Nicole and Kim come running in, slamming the door behind them.

“Ew, it stinks in here,” Kim says, rubbing her eyes to adjust to the dark.

“We’re hungry,” Nicole says. “Can we go to McDonald’s?”

“No,” Naomi says tearfully. “Not right now, Nicole.”

Nicole walks over to my house and nudges the wreckage of my car with her foot. “What happened to Ray’s things?” she asks.

Naomi snaps, “Just go to your room!”

“But, I didn’t do anything!” Nicole protests, looking to Kim for support.

“That’s not fair,” Kim replies loyally.

Cheryl stands up, staggering from all the wine. “Kim, you get your ass home right now,” she says in a slurring voice. “I’ll deal with you later.”

Kim and Nicole both let out exasperated sighs and storm away. Kim goes out the front door, while Nicole heads for her room. Both doors slam almost in unison.

“I swear I’m gonna whip that girl’s ass,” Cheryl says, plopping back down. “She only gets like this when she’s off her meds.”

Naomi sighs. “I shouldn’t have yelled at Nicole like that.” She starts weeping uncontrollably. “She’s the only one in this family that still loves me,” she chokes out between sobs. Cheryl and Debbie rush over to her and do their best to comfort her. Of course, they’re batting a thousand so far…



I can’t stand drowning in all this misery any more, so I sneak out of my house and make my way down the hall to Nicole’s closed door. It’s a tight squeeze, but I manage to wriggle underneath it and into her room.

Nicole is lying sideways on her bed, her head hanging back towards me. Her long hair hangs down, brushing against the floor. She slams her sneakered foot against the wall, leaving a mark in the paint. She does it again and again, all the while muttering about the injustice of living in this family…

Tell me about it.

I approach her, and her upside down face actually breaks into a grin when she sees me. She rolls over and reaches down to pick me up.

“What’s wrong with Momma?” she asks me, sitting up and holding me to her face. “She’s in a really bad mood.”

I nod. “She and Paul had a fight,” I tell her. “Your aunt and Cheryl are trying to cheer her up, but they’re not doing a very good job.”

Nicole nods and scoots back on the bed. She lays down and sets me on her chest. I pace along the fabric of her t-shirt, growing acclimated to the way her chest rises and falls with each breath. I can feel her heartbeat faintly through the soles of my bare feet.

“What happened to your stuff? Did Momma smash it?”

“Yeah,” I sigh.

“How come?”

God, where to start? “You’ll have to ask her,” I finally say, unable to think of an answer that doesn’t involve blame of contorted Machiavellian proportions. I mean, what am I going to say? Your mom is mad because I found out she was having an affair and I blackmailed her? And that’s why your stepdad left?

She sighs and toys idly with me with her fingers. “Momma told me that Suzy wouldn’t be coming over any more.”

“Yeah, I heard that too.”

“Kim says its probably because Suzy gave you organisms.”

I can’t help it. I let out a short, harsh bark of a laugh. “Kim’s a dumbass, and you’d probably sound a lot smarter if you didn’t go around repeating her.”

Nicole bends one leg and brings the other up to rest on it. She reaches up past me and slides off her sneaker. I glance at her damp, sweaty sock, then back at her with noticeable alarm on my face.

“What?” Nicole giggles. “I’m just taking off my shoes. I’m not going to do anything.”

I look into her face, wanting so desperately to count her as my one friend in this household. I need somebody on my side right now.

And besides, I’ve got an idea brewing. God knows, I’m still paying for my last one, but I can’t bear the thought of walking on eggshells, just waiting for Naomi to snap and punish me again.

Nicole crosses her other leg and pull off her other shoe. She wiggles her toes through her socks, and the odor of her sweaty feet lingers in the air. It’s dank and unpleasant, but I try not to let my distaste show.

“It’s really sad, isn’t it?” I ask her in a voice laden with tragedy.

“Why?” she says, sitting up and catching me in the palm of her hand. She holds me up to her face. “What’s sad?”

“I bet you’ve got a lot of friends here, don’t you?”

She shrugs. “Some. Kim and Heather and Amy… and some of the kids at school.”

“I had a lot of friends at SPECTRUM,” I say. “When I had to leave them to move here, I was so sad I couldn’t stop crying. I still miss them.”

“I thought that place was bad,” Nicole says. “Momma and Daddy said they did experiments on you and stuff.”

“It was my home,” I tell her. “I lived there my entire life, kind of like you have here. Right?”

Nicole shrugs. “We moved here when I was five, after Momma and Daddy got married.”

“Do you like it here?” I ask her.

She nods. “Yeah, why?”

I sigh, feeling like a world class manipulative bastard. “Because, in another month and a half, we’re all going to be moving to Midland.”

She grins. “Oh, yeah! We’re getting a great big house and…”

“And you’ll have to leave all your friends behind,” I tell her. “You’ll have to go to a new school where you don’t know anybody. And you won’t get to see Kim or Heather or Amy…”

Her face hangs slack, as realization dawns. She sets me down on the bed and places her hands to her head in a melodramatic gesture. “I didn’t think of that,” she says in a quiet, dismal voice.

“And the only reason they’re making you move is because of me,” I tell her. “I just feel really guilty about it.”

She regards me, gnawing on her bottom lip. I look up into her face, holding her gaze until her eyes begin to tear.

“I just wish there was something I could do,” I say, walking up and touching her foot through her damp sock. Her massive toes flex at my touch, clenching and relaxing. “But as long as I’m here, you guys will have to move.”

Nicole shakes her head. “I don’t wanna move to Midland.”

“I know, sweetheart,” I tell her, still stroking her foot. The fabric of her sock clings to her toes, highlighting their shape as they slowly wiggle. “Plus, once we move to Midland, I won’t be able to play with you anymore.”

She flinches at this news. “What? How come?”

“Because I’ll have to live at GenetiTech,” I tell her. “They want to do experiments on me.”

“But… but… that’s why we took you from that other place,” she says. “That’s not fair!”

“I know,” I say, laying my cheek on the edge of her foot. “I don’t want to move, and you don’t want to move. But as long as I stay here…”

I pause dramatically, letting the impact of the words sink in. Nicole is miserable now, which means my plan is working. I feel like such a heel.

“That’s why your mom is so mad at me,” I tell her in a flash of brilliant inspiration. I mean, hell. No point in being subtle. She’s eleven, for Christ’s sake. “I told her I didn’t want to move to Midland, and she got really angry and stomped on my car.”

Nicole is actually crying now. “It’s not fair,” she sobs. “I don’t wanna go.”

I let her cry for a few minutes, before I hold my hand in a Eureka gesture. “I’ve got it!” I call up to her, grinning as elatedly as I can manage. “I’ve got an idea!”

She wipes at her eyes. “What? What is it?”

“I know how we can fix it so that we don’t have to move,” I tell her. “It’s perfect!” I lean in towards her, as if taking her into my confidence.

“What?” She’s a little annoyed at my exuberance, but definitely curious. Perfect.

“Okay, here’s what we do,” I tell her. “You call Suzy and work out a time and place to meet,” I tell her. “It’ll have to be at night, after everybody else has gone to bed.”

She looks at me, puzzled.

“When we get that worked out, I’ll write a note,” I tell her, “and leave it for Paul and Naomi to find. I’ll say that I’m running away and heading back to SPECTRUM. And then, you take me to Suzy.”

Nicole frowns, which isn’t a good sign. “I don’t know…”

“Yeah, it’s perfect!” I tell her. “Just think. I’ll be gone, which means the GenetiTech deal falls through, which means nobody has to move.”

“But I don’t want you to go live with Suzy,” she says, shaking her head. “I want you to live with me.”

I sigh and massage her toes. “I know, sweetheart. But this is almost as good. I’m sure Suzy won’t mind if you come visit me.”

She gnaws her lip again, mulling it over. Suddenly, her face breaks into a grin as she looks down at me. “Okay,” she says. “I’ll do it.”

“Good,” I say to her, nodding up to her. “Now remember, this has to be a secret. You can’t tell your mom or dad, okay?”

“Okay, I know, I know!” she says, giggling as she peels off her sock and gleefully pins me beneath her bare foot. Her sweat clings to my skin, and the smell is unpleasant. But I endure her playful toes grasping at me with as much good humor as I can muster. I’ve just lied to her and blatantly manipulated her.

This is just penance, that’s all.



I’ve spent about an hour climbing on Nicole’s foot and playing between her toes when Naomi comes staggering in. The door flies open and bangs against the far wall, startling us both.

“Is Ray in here?” she asks angrily, her face flushed with wine. Her mouth is twisted into a horrible, mean scowl and her eyes, puffy and red from crying, glare narrowly around the room. She spots me and stomps over, snatching me up roughly from Nicole’s foot.

“I thought you were tired, you little pervert,” she snarls, pinching me tightly between her finger and thumb as she dangles me in front of her face. “If I’d known you were in the mood for feet, I woulda let Cheryl and Debbie keep playing with you.”

“We were just playing,” Nicole says, her voice trembling.

Naomi sighs furiously, letting her warm, sour breath wash over me. “Nicole, I swear to God, if I hear one more word out of you, I’m gonna tear your ass up.”

“She didn’t do anything!” I shout, pounding on Naomi’s thumb.

“That’s it, you little shit,” she says through gritted teeth as she carries me out of Nicole’s room and slams the door. “You’re in time out.” Her sticky red lips spread into a cruel smile as she carries me down the hallway.

“Listen, Naomi,” I begin, but she silences me with a quick squeeze.

“I told you,” she says as we enter the bedroom. “No backtalk.” She sits down on the foot of the bed and glances down, past me.

“You really like feet, don’t you?”

“Please!”

“Don’t you?” she shouts, spit flying from her mouth. She clenches her fist tight for a second, causing me to cry out in pain.

“Yes, Momma,” I gasp.

“Then you’ll love this,” she says, reaching down to the floor. She comes back up clutching a pair of panty hose in a wad. She brings her foot up and rests it on the bed.

“What are you… oh, God! Please!”

She lays me down on the bed, beneath her foot. Her toes pin me to the mattress, holding me in place as she untangles the hose. She finally gets them straightened out and shakes them a couple of times.

“Please…”

She ignores my plea as she picks me up and holds me over the open waist of her panty hose. She releases me and I plummet for what seems like an eternity. My flailing hands grab nylon, and I catch myself. My arms nearly wrench themselves from their sockets as I cling for dear life. Naomi shakes the hose a couple of times, then finally thumps me through the nylon to knock me loose. I fall again, finally landing in the toe section.

I feel her fingers through the nylon as she ties the hose in a knot. Then I’m dangling, swinging through the air as she carries them into her closet. She hangs them on a hook on the door. I can see her hazily through the tan fabric. I feel her hand beneath me as she cradles me through the nylon and lifts me to her face. “You stay here until I let you out,” she says. “You try to escape, and I’ll stomp the shit out of you. Understand?”

“Please let me out, Naomi,” I plead once more. She lets me drop and turns to leave. I swing back and forth, brushing against the closet door, sobbing and struggling. I shout myself hoarse, begging her to come back. It finally becomes obvious that I’m here to stay, so I slump back against the fabric, dejected and defeated.



I think it’s been almost twenty-four hours. I spent the night here, hanging in the darkness and sobbing quietly, listening to Naomi’s snores. I’ve had no food, and the only water has been administered from a sponge that Naomi pressed against the nylon. The water tasted dank and dirty filtered through the hose, but I drank it greedily.

It’s unbearably hot in here, and the smell of her clings to the nylon, a hanging miasma of sweat and flesh. The time drags by with excruciating slowness, and I constantly waver back and forth between boredom and despair.

I think of Suzy, although it just about kills me to do so. Jesus, was it only three days ago that I was so happy? God, I absolutely ache for her right now. I want to feel her soft flesh stroking me and gaze into her incredible green eyes… I thought I was out of tears, but I begin weeping bitterly once again.



In about a month and a half, my mom and dad will go to court to determine who gets custody of me. Well, in actuality, it’s SPECTRUM and GenetiTech that are fighting over me, but they’re using my parents to lend credibility to their cases.

I view the upcoming hearing as a milestone, as the light at the end of my increasingly dark tunnel. At that time, all injustices will be corrected, all wrongs will be righted. I’ll be sent back home to SPECTRUM, where I’ll once again be safe and happy. And human.

I don’t know what the hearing holds for me, but I know with absolute certainty, that I will prevail. Because the alternative is so horrifying that I can’t even get my mind around it.

Unless, of course, Nicole comes through for me and gets me to Suzy. As I dangle here in this sheer nylon hell, it’s hard to imagine I’ll ever be happy again.



Alan Mackey swore he would make things right, and I believe him. I hate the fact that he blames himself for my situation, but I’m truly thankful to have a friend like him. Alan is the head of SPECTRUM security, and he was absent on the day of my birthday party, when Tony snapped that picture and sold it to the Mirror.

He has this scar that runs down his right cheek, and I was always too embarrassed to ask him about it. However, I did ask around and got a variety of stories from a lot of different people. He got it serving in the Gulf War, or helping a bioengineer defect from GenetiTech, or when his car was forced off a bridge by a helicopter… real James Bond stuff.

By far, my favorite story was the one Gary told me. He claimed that Alan was assigned to guard one of SPECTRUM’s corporate officers who had been receiving death threats. And one night, while dining with a large group at the Nana Grill in Dallas, Alan spotted an assassin in the corner, dressed as a busboy, with his gun hidden under a towel. With no time to draw his own weapon, Alan grabbed a fork and leapt over the table, tackling the would-be killer and stabbing him in the neck.

The whole story always struck me as a bit implausible, but I still liked it. And I’ve got to admit that, right now, the image of Alan stabbing Naomi to death with a fork fills me with reckless glee.



God, could I be any lower than I am now? Still squatting in my nylon prison – sore, starved, exhausted, and nearly delirious. I’m soiled with my own waste, and the smell would be enough to make me vomit if I had anything in my stomach. As it is, I can’t quit gagging.

Naomi checks on me occasionally to make sure I’m still alive, but continues to ignore my weak, desperate pleas for release. The second night drags by even slower than the first. Naomi stirs in her sleep and lets out a pleasurable moan. I wonder who she’s dreaming about? Benny? Paul? Or maybe she’s inflicting some kind of cruel torture on me in her dreams.

Her alarm goes off at 6:30. She slaps the clock radio with a groan and sits up, running her fingers through her hair. I watch all this with my face pressed to the foul-smelling nylon, praying that today is the day that she’ll let me out.

Naked, she walks over to me and reaches for me. She lifts me up to her face and grins down at me. “Have you learned your lesson?” she asks, her voice rough from sleep.

I nod weakly and whisper, “Yes, Momma.”

“Good,” she says, unhooking the hose from the door. She pulls at the knot for nearly a minute before she gets it untied. She then lays the pantyhose on the bed, pinches the toe section between her fingers, and slowly lifts it. I slide along the nylon, wincing as the feeling returns to my numb legs. I finally find myself lying on her bed, gasping the fresh air and reveling at the feel of the cool sheet on my face.

She scoops me into her palm and holds me to her face. She wrinkles her nose and says, “You stink! Did you shit yourself?”

I nod, unable to meet her gaze.

“You nasty little thing,” she says, carrying me into the bathroom. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”



We shower together, but this time I’m too broken to offer any resistance. After she lathers me up and rinses me off, she bends down and sets me on her wet foot. I lie there tamely, clinging to her middle toe as the warm water washes down her leg and over me.

After the shower, Naomi dries me off, then sets me on the counter to watch her get ready. When she’s completely dressed, she carries me naked into the dining room. Debbie’s already here, sitting at the dining room table and smoking. She grins when she sees me huddled in Naomi’s palm.

“Hey there, little guy,” she says sweetly. “Are we gonna have fun today?”

“Poor thing’s exhausted,” Naomi says, setting me down at my front door. My legs are so weak I can barely stand. Groggily, I turn and start to go into my house.

“Wait,” Naomi says. I turn and regard her foot, staring wearily at her wiggling toes. The pale pink lacquer is dull and chipped away in places. The white leather strap of her sandal runs across the top of her foot, then down into the dark recesses between her toes. If I weren’t so tired, I’d shudder.

“Did I say you could leave?” she asks me, tapping her foot impatiently.

I shake my head. “No, Momma.”

She sighs. “Come kiss my pretty foot, and then you can go.”

“Yes, Momma.” I trudge over to her foot and press my lips to her big toe. I step back and look up at her.

“That’s a good boy,” she says. “You may go, now.”

I turn and walk into my house. I close the door behind me, and fall back against it, sighing with relief.

“He shouldn’t be any trouble today,” Naomi tells Debbie. “But if he gives you any grief about anything, just be creative.”

Debbie giggles. “I will.”

“If you get a chance to vacuum, I’d appreciate it.” I hear her keys jangling as she starts for the front door. “And don’t be smoking pot in my house.” The front door closes, and Debbie says in a mocking voice, “Don’t be smoking pot in my house.”

I stand there, my heart pounding, praying she’ll let me be. I hear footsteps, the sickening sound of her feet in those Birkenstocks. She stops just outside my house.

I just lie there, exhausted and naked, dreading what is to come. I can feel her nearness, hear her breathing heavily as she drops to her knees to peer through the windows. At last, I hear her giggle. I look up and see her monstrous eye staring at me through the plastic frame of my living room window.

“Do you really want to play on my feet?” she asks, in a voice that indicates she doesn’t really think so.

I shake my head. “No, not really.”

“Okay, then I’ll make a deal with you,” she says. “I’m going to go out on the patio for a smoke. You don’t rat me out to Naomi, and I won’t make you hump my toes. Deal?”

I smile weakly, feeling relief wash over me. “Deal.”

“Good boy,” she says. I hear her grunt with the exertion of standing up. I listen to her fading footsteps, the slap of her sandals as she crosses the living room. The sliding glass door opens, then shuts. I limp upstairs, basking in the good fortune of my respite.



I finally get a chance to talk to Nicole, who is concerned since she didn’t see me all day yesterday. I milk her sympathy for all it’s worth, telling her I really need to get out of this house before something bad happens to me.

“Yeah, I got grounded too,” Nicole says. “I can’t watch TV until Daddy comes home, and that’s not until Wednesday.”

“You got grounded?” I ask. “Just for playing with me?”

She shrugs. “At first, Momma just said she didn’t want me playing with you anymore. But I told her it wasn’t fair because I knew that she and Kim’s mom and Aunt Debbie were playing with you, so me and Kim should get to too. Then she got all mad and grounded me.”

“Well, it won’t matter when I’m gone,” I tell her. “You can come visit me and play with me all you like, and your mom’ll never know.”

She nods, grinning slyly. “I can’t wait.”

“So, you called Suzy?”

She nods. “Yeah, I called her yesterday. We’re on for tonight.”

“What?” I shake my head, wondering if I misunderstood. “Tonight? Really?”

“Yeah, tonight,” Naomi says. “After Momma goes to bed, I’m supposed to take you out front and wait. Suzy’s gonna come by and pick you up.”

God, I can’t believe it. In less than twelve hours, I’ll be back with Suzy. I’ll be safe and happy… There’s only one potential problem, one that continues to nag at me.

“Remember,” I tell Nicole. “It’s a secret. You can’t tell anybody.”

Nicole sighs, exasperated with my one-track mind. “I know, okay? I won’t tell anybody.”



The evening passes at a surreal tempo once Naomi gets home. Debbie’s out the door and Nicole’s in her room, so Naomi kicks off her shoes and walks over to my dollhouse.

“Come on out, Ray,” she says, and I sprint down the stairs and out the front door like a puppy. She towers above me, her bare feet to either side.

“Good boy,” she says. “Climb on Momma’s foot.”

I look to my left and my right. “Which one?”

“You choose,” she says. I go left for no particular reason and scramble over her toes to the top of her foot.

“Okay, sweetie. Hang on,” she says, walking with me into the living room. I cling to her second toe, wrapping my arms around it and embracing it like a lover. We get to the couch, and Naomi plops down with a sigh. I hold tightly as she raises her foot into the air and brings it down to rest on the edge of the coffee table.

“Much better,” she says, wiggling her toes for my benefit. “Now get to rubbing.” As I do so, she launches into a tirade about her horrible day, including all the stares and questions from strangers who had read the Mirror article.

And so it goes until dinner time. Condescending playfulness, casual menace – I endure it all with good humor because I know that it’ll all be over by ten o’ clock tonight.

After a nauseating dinner of mashed up Hamburger Helper and a piece of green bean, Naomi keeps me underfoot while she does the dishes. She toys with me relentlessly, pinning me beneath her sole and grasping at me with her toes.

“You like that?” she asks, smirking down at me. I respond by kissing her toe and looking up with the biggest shit-eating grin I can muster. It’s all quite stomach turning, made palatable only by the light at the end of the tunnel.

“Momma’s gonna take you work with her tomorrow,” she says, touching her big toe to my face. “Linda’s gonna do my nails during lunch tomorrow, and I figured you’d wanna be there for that.”

“Sounds great,” I exclaim enthusiastically.



At half-past-nine, Naomi finally plucks me from her toes and announces that it’s bed time. I can hardly contain my excitement as she carries me back to my dollhouse and starts to set me down. Then she hesitates as a smile creeps across her face.

“You wanna sleep with Momma tonight?” she asks, and I suddenly see my best-laid plans going out the window.

Struggling to keep my composure, I look up into her face. “I would really love to, but can we please make it tomorrow night?”

Her smile fades slightly. “How come?”

I shrug. “It’s just, I didn’t sleep real well the last two nights, and every time I tried to take a nap today, your sister wanted to play with me.”

“Poor baby,” she says, stroking me with a pink fingernail. “You’re exhausted, aren’t you?”

I nod. “I just need a good night’s sleep. But tomorrow night, I promise I’ll rub your pretty feet until you fall asleep.”

Naomi actually smiles shyly at this. “Okay, sweetie. Momma’ll let you get some sleep then.” She sets me on the floor, at my front door.

“Good night, Ray,” she says in a syrupy voice. I walk over to her foot and plant one, final affectionate kiss on her big toe.

“Good night, Momma.” I watch her walk away, my grin slowly transforming into a grimace as she heads down the hall. Thank God I’m on my way out of here, because I can’t even bear the thought of enduring the day she has planned for me tomorrow.



At a little after ten, Nicole comes sneaking into the dining room with a small scrap of paper and a broken piece of pencil lead. I carry the two implements into my dollhouse and write my note:


“I can’t live like this any longer. I’m tired of living like an animal, something for Naomi to pet and play with until Paul finally gets around to bartering me off to GenetiTech. You uprooted me from the only home I’ve ever known, and I’ll never forgive you for that.

“For that reason, I’m leaving to make my way back to SPECTRUM. The way will be hard, but I’d rather take my chances on the road than spend another minute in this house.

“I hope you rot in hell, you bastards.”


I read it over and, satisfied that it conveys just the right touch of melodrama, I sign my name to it. The print will be excruciatingly small for them to read, but screw ‘em.

I grab a couple of changes of clothes, roll them up into a tight bundle, and carry them downstairs and out the front door. Nicole is kneeling outside my house, waiting for me. She reaches down and scoops me up into her palm. I grin up at her, and she grins back.

She carries me out the front door, closing it quietly behind her. My heart is pounding as I look out at the dark, empty street. Any minute now, I’ll see the headlights of Suzy’s car as she comes to…

“Uh, where are we going?” I ask Nicole as she carries me across the lawn. She offers me a smile but says nothing, and I suddenly realize that I’ve been betrayed.

“God damn it!” I scream. Nicole closes her fist around me, muffling my screams. My arms are pinned helplessly to my sides, but my legs flay angrily as they protrude from the bottom of her fist.

“Be still,” she warns me as she carries me next door. To Cheryl and Kim’s house.



“You fucking lying evil goddamned vicious stupid…” I rant from the floor of Kim’s room. Kim and Nicole stand to either side of me, looking down and grinning at my tirade.

“He’s so mad,” Kim giggles, prodding at me with her socked foot.

Nicole sighs and shakes her head. “Come on, Ray,” she says yet again, explaining the situation to me as if I were an idiot child. “It really is better this way. We still don’t have to move to Midland, plus now I can come over and play with you whenever I want.”

“Fuck you!” I scream at her, growing angrier by the minute.

Kim gooses me with her foot again, knocking me to my knees. “Maybe he needs one of my pills,” she says. “That might calm him down.”

Nicole kneels down and grabs me. She holds me, kicking and screaming, to her face. “I have to go, Ray,” she tells me, still talking to me like I’m a child. “If Momma catches me out sneaking around, she’ll ground me for another week.”

I just glare at her, hoping I can ignite her hair with sheer will alone.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, pressing me to her monstrous lips and kissing me with an obnoxious, smacking sound. I angrily wipe her saliva from my face as she sets me back down in the floor. “You be good for Kim,” she tells me as she leaves, closing the bedroom door behind her.

I stare at the massive door, still unable to get my head around the sheer act of betrayal I’ve suffered at Nicole’s hands. How could she do this to me? How could she lie to me? And how could she leave me alone, at Kim’s mercy?

As if reading my mind, Kim mutters, “Well, well, well…” I turn around and see her sitting on the edge of her bed, pulling off her sock. She lets it fall to the ground, then brings her bare foot down next to it.

“Guess what we’re going to do now,” she says with a playful wiggle of her toes.

Oh, God. I am so screwed.

I’m running through a maze, impossibly convoluted, looking for Suzy. I don’t know how long I’ve been running, but I feel like I’m about to collapse. I round the corner, and find myself staring down an infinite corridor of identical iron doors. She’s behind one of them, I know…

I run from door to door, trying to open them, but they’re all locked. I’m getting frustrated because I know I’m so close. All I have to do is open the right door and I can be happy again…

“This one,” Nicole says, standing and pointing. I don’t know why she’s my size, and something tells me not to trust her, but I still run to the door that she has opened for me. I plunge into the dark doorway and find myself on the floor of Kim’s room, tiny once again. I try to go back through the doorway, but it’s gone. And I can hear the thud of approaching footsteps…



I wake up sobbing in utter darkness, trying to remember where I am and how I got here. I’m lying on something soft that sticks to my damp flesh. I sit up, feeling the silky material peel away. I blink several times, waiting to catch a glimpse of anything in this gloomy place.

Then, with painful certainty, it all comes back to me. I’m in Kim’s underwear drawer. I’m her prisoner, betrayed and handed over to her by Nicole.

I have no idea what time it is, or how long I’ve been here. Kim spent about an hour toying with me last night before finally tucking me in here, promising we’d play more tomorrow.

So how long do I have? A few minutes? An hour? Several hours? There’s no way of marking time in this place.

So I lay back down and try to go back to sleep, dreading what tomorrow will bring.



I’m awakened from an uneasy doze when Kim slides the drawer open. Bright light spills in, and I throw my arm over my eyes to shield them.

“Good morning,” Kim chirps, reaching into the drawer. I brace myself for contact, but she reaches past me and grabs her plastic pill case. It’s a large, circular thing with seven compartments labeled for days of the week. She snaps open the Tuesday box and dumps a couple of pills into her hand.

“I hate these things,” she tells me, regarding the pills with disdain. “One of them is supposed to help me not be depressed, and the other one’s supposed to keep me calmed down. But they just make me feel icky.”

I watch her nervously, and actually feel a wave of relief when she swallows the pills and washes them down with a gulp of water. The only thing worse than being the prisoner of a spoiled twelve-year-old girl is being the prisoner of a spoiled twelve-year-old girl with a chemical imbalance.

She sets the glass down on her dresser, then reaches in for me. She dangles me in front of her face and smiles. “So, little boy, what are we going to do today?”



An hour later, the game has gotten really tedious, but Kim shows no signs of stopping. It goes something like this: Kim’s bare foot hovers above me, following me relentlessly. All the while, she keeps giggling and saying things like, “Where do you think you’re going?” When I finally move outside of some imaginary boundary, she brings her foot down on me and grabs me with her toes. “I’ve got you now,” she proclaims triumphantly, squeezing me until I kiss her foot and beg her for release. Then she drops me on the floor and the game starts all over again.

We’re on about the nine-thousandth iteration when Nicole comes running into the room, all out of breath. She shuts Kim’s door behind her and looks at us with a great deal of concern. “Momma’s really freaking out,” she tells us, her voice quavering.

“Cool,” Kim says, pinning me down beneath her big toe. “So she really thinks he ran away?”

“She called GenetiTech, and they got hold of Daddy and that Rachel woman. They’re on their way home now.”

Kim giggles. “This is so wild. Did anyone call the police or anything?”

Nicole shakes her head. “Momma said GenetiTech told her not to. They said to just sit and wait.” She lets out a wavering sigh. “I swear, I didn’t know she was gonna get like this. I feel kinda bad about the whole thing.”

“Don’t be such a baby,” Kim says, pressing down against my stomach with her toe. I let out a gasp and she grins. “You wanna play with your brother?”

“I’m scared,” Nicole tells her. “If they find out what we did, I’m gonna be in so much trouble.”

“How will they find out?” Kim asks. “They’ll all think he ran away to that other lab place, right?”

Nicole nods. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“So just keep your mouth shut, and everything’ll be okay.” Kim looks down at me and bares her teeth in a predatory smile. “Watch this,” she says, working her toes around me and lifting me up. “I’m gonna give him an organism.”



For the next four or five days, life with Kim settles into a hellish but manageable routine. I spend most of my time trapped in her drawer, sitting in total darkness with no way to mark the passing time. After a few hours of this, I’m ready for any kind of break in the boredom.

The games with Kim vary from day to day, depending on her mood. Sometimes she just holds me and pets me, which is infinitely preferable to the other pastimes. Sometimes she puts me to work massaging her feet, a task that usually ends with me squirming between her wriggling toes until I pretend to have an “organism.”

I get fed twice a day, from whatever lunch and dinner scraps she can sneak away from the table. I eat my meals on a paper towel in the floor, ever present of her feet as she paces around me, watching.

Nicole comes over every day to update us on events in the Dalton household. Paul and Naomi had a big fight, with Paul actually on the defensive for once as Naomi accused him of scaring me off with all his talk about GenetiTech. Rachel has set up shop there, and has a bunch of GenetiTech men covering the area. They’re taking my threat of running away to SPECTRUM serious, Nicole tells me, but they’re also investigating Suzy to see if she had anything to do with my disappearance.

“You see,” Nicole tells me triumphantly as I writhe beneath her foot. “If we’d done what you said, they woulda caught you.”



It’s Saturday night, I think. Time flows strangely in the Morgan household. I just finished my dinner, a greasy chunk of Chicken McNugget. Kim is sitting cross-legged on her bed, watching me with a petulant look on her face.

“What’s wrong?” I ask her.

She shrugs and says, “Momma’s gonna bring some guy home again tonight.”

“What guy?”

“I don’t know. Come here.” Her feet come down to the floor as I approach, and I eye them nervously, wondering what it’s going to be tonight. Between her toes? Under her sole? Straddling her ankle?

As it is, she simply leans down and picks me up in her hand. She sits back and looks down at me in her palm. “It’s always some creepy guy she meets when she’s out dancing,” she tells me. “I always know when she’s gonna bring one home because she sends me over to Nicole’s to spend the night. Only now they’re all upset over you being gone, so I can’t go. So she told me to stay in my room until morning.”

“How come you’re so down?” I ask her, wondering just why the hell I’m feeling sympathetic. “Is it your meds?”

She shakes her head and offers me a sad smile. “No, I didn’t take them today. I flushed them.”

I don’t press the point. I just sit there in her hand and let her stroke me with her fingers as tears begin to stream down her face.



I’m startled awake by the slamming of a door. Cheryl’s voice, muffled and distant, shouts something indiscernible. Kim screams back, her voice frighteningly near, “I did take them! God!” I hear and feel her angry footsteps as she stomps across the room, stopping right outside the dresser.

Frightened, I stumble through the darkness of the drawer and burrow under some rolled-up socks. I feel the drawer open and I hold my breath, knowing my subterfuge will never in a million years work.

There’s a rattling of the doorknob, and an angry pounding on the door. “God damn it, Kim,” Cheryl’s voice shouts from the other side. “If you’ve gone off your meds again, I swear I’m gonna tear your ass up!”

“Go away!” Kim screams, so loudly and shrilly that it almost makes my head explode. Cheryl hits the door angrily, then storms off.

I lie there, trembling, as Kim’s hands dig through the clothing. The drawer shakes from her efforts. “Come out right now, or I’ll squish you!” she shouts. I scramble out from under the socks and wave to her, hoping to appease her somewhat.

Her face is flushed and angry. “You don’t hide from me,” she snarls, snatching me up with such force that my head snaps backwards. “Ever!” She yanks me out of the drawer and holds me tightly in her fist, her fingers pinning my arms to my side.

“I’m sorry!” I cry out to her, trembling in her grasp. “God, Kim, I’m so sorry…”

“I’m going to punish you,” she tells me with sadistic glee, grinning cruelly.

“No, wait!” I call to her, desperately trying to think of something to appease her. We’re interrupted by a rattle at her doorknob, and the metallic snick of a key turning. Panicking, Kim drops me into the drawer and slams it shut just as her door comes open.

“I didn’t say come in,” Kim screams. I hear thudding footsteps and a brutal slap.

“Les is gone now,” Cheryl says angrily. “Are you happy now? You scared him off!”

Kim sobs, “You’re not supposed to come in unless I tell you to. Dr. Monet says you’re supposed to respect my boundaries.”

“Boundaries, my ass,” Cheryl yells back. “What have I told you about keeping that door locked?”

“And you’re not supposed to hit me!” Kim’s voice is a melodramatic wail.

“I know you’re not taking your meds,” Cheryl says, and I hear footsteps approaching the dresser. Once again, I burrow underneath the socks and hold my breath as the drawer slides open.

“I am too!” Kim shouts.

“Kim, I’m not stupid! I know how you act when you’re on your meds and how you act when you’re off them. And right now, you’re definitely off them!” I watch nervously as her monstrous hand reaches into the drawer. She grabs Kim’s pill box and snatches it up. I hear her opening the compartments, looking into each one.

“See?” Kim says triumphantly.

The pill box lands on top of her underwear with a soft thud, and the drawer slams shut. “You’re not fooling me,” Cheryl says. “If you keep acting like this, I’ll get a plastic tube and blow those pills down your throat like a horse. Is that what you want?”

Kim says nothing. I hear Cheryl storm off, her sandals slapping angrily with each receding step. Kim’s door slams shut and the drawer slides open with a hard yank.

“Kim, please,” I beg her as she reaches down and snatches me out of the drawer. “I swear, I didn’t know it was you. I thought it was your mom, and I just didn’t want her to find me…”

All the while I’m pleading, I’m staring up into her face for any sign of sympathy or mercy. But there’s nothing. Her eyes are red and her cheeks are stained with tears, but her face is unreadable.

She carries me into her bathroom and shuts the door. It’s a mess, littered with dirty clothes and damp towels. It stinks of mildew and air freshener.

“Kim, what are you doing?” She touches the tip of her monstrous finger to my mouth and shushes me as she carries me past the vanity, past the tub…

To the toilet.

“God damn it, no!” I scream, pounding on her fist as she raises the lid. With her free hand, she grabs me by the back of my shirt with her thumb and finger and dangles me above the toilet bowl. I kick and thrash and scream, but she just offers me a cruel smile and drops me.

I plummet for an eternity before I splash into the cold water. I continue to thrash and kick as I sink in the icy water, desperate to make my way up to the surface. The water tastes filthy, despite the tainted chlorine taste. It floods my nostrils and burns my eyes as I struggle.

At last, my head breaks through the top of the water. I gag and sputter, then gasp a lungful of air before I sink again. I bob to the surface again and this time manage to stay long enough to glare up into her cruel, grinning face.

“Time to flush,” she giggles, reaching for the handle. I try to scream, but find myself coughing furiously as foul water rushes down my throat. Each cough causes me to take in more water. My arms and legs flail spastically and my lungs burn as the water stings my sinuses and windpipe. I feel myself going under again as I black out…



I come to lying in Kim’s palm on my stomach, still coughing up water as she presses on my back with her finger. I’m soaking wet and shivering.

“I was only playing, you little baby,” she says angrily as she carries me back into her bedroom. “I wasn’t really going to flush you.”

“I know,” I wheeze, still coughing violently every time I can get enough air in my lungs. “I just can’t swim.”

“You can’t?” She giggles. “I learned to swim when I was six.”

“Yeah, well I grew up in a fucking laboratory,” I tell her.

“Fine. I’m sorry, okay?” she says in a voice that indicates she really isn’t. For Kim, “I’m sorry” means “I’m tired of talking about this.”

“Can I please change into some dry clothes?” I ask her, still shivering in her palm. “I’m freezing.”

She considers it, then suggests, “Why don’t you take off your clothes and I’ll let you play on my feet?”

I shake my head. “Please, Kim. Not right now.”

“Aww, come on Ray,” she says teasingly. “Bare feeeeeeet. Sexy bare feeeeeet. You can get between my toes and I’ll give you an organism…”

“It’s orgasm, you stupid bitch!” I scream at her, my voice raspy. “Orgasm! Not organism! And I don’t want to play on anyone’s goddamn feet, okay? And even if I did, I wouldn’t want to play on yours!”

Her face falls from gleeful to hurt with the alarming speed of an experienced manic-depressive. “Why not?” she asks softly, her bottom lip sticking out in a pout.

“Because it isn’t right!” I shout at her. “You’re a goddamned kid! I mean, Jesus! You don’t even know what all this shit means, do you? You just repeat stuff you’ve heard your mom say!”

“Shut up,” she shouts at me, spraying me with spittle. Her breath is warm and sticky with spearmint. “Just shut up before I squish you!”

She storms across her room to her dresser and drops me into the still open drawer. I land on a stack of cotton panties. I can feel her staring, hear her breathing angrily through her nose, but I don’t look up. I just lie there in a puddle of toilet water, still soaked and shivering.

“It would be so easy,” she whispers, her face so close I can feel it’s heat. Her hot, sickening breath washes over me with each word. “I could just stomp on you like a little bug, and flush you down the toilet. And then, I’d just tell Nicole you ran away.”

I remain still, my face buried in thin, warm cotton. I can’t bear the thought of looking up and seeing her face contorted with anger. I honestly don’t think I could stand it.

“You’re my pet now,” she whispers, her massive finger prodding me in the back. “Until the day you die. Just remember that.” She withdraws and slams the drawer shut. I huddle there in the darkness, shivering and sobbing, wondering how I’m ever going to get out of this.



Time passes at an indeterminate pace. I don’t know if it’s been hours or days. The only clue is the fact that I’m starving. I’ve gone past hungry and moved into the territory of gut-gnawing ravenous.

I don’t know how many times she’s opened the drawer… I may have dreamed some of them. My wet clothes vanished some time ago, so now I have nothing to wear. Sometimes, she just takes a pair of panties out and closes the drawer. One time, I saw her set a small, plastic lid filled with water down on the bottom of the drawer. It took me a while to find it in the dark, but once I did I drank my fill.

But she never brings food, and she never says a word.

I’ve slept five or six times, but I don’t know for how long. My dreams are fragmented, disturbing things that seem to run together. There’s one where I’m in my dollhouse, watching Louise walk away through the window. Or one where I’m lying on a plate while Naomi and Cheryl take turns slicing off pieces of me and chewing them. Or one where Suzy is my size, beckoning me to her, unaware that Kim’s monstrous foot hovers above her.

Even when I’m awake, the nightmares plague me. It’s so dark in here, my eyes might as well be shut. Unbidden, I see images of Naomi’s foot crushing my poor car and of Cheryl, grinning like an evil bitch around her cigarette. I hear footsteps and giggles, and one time I swear I smelled my mother’s perfume.

I keep moving back and forth between burning up and freezing. My head is all stuffed up, and I think I might have caught a cold from swimming in that nasty toilet water. I often find myself wrapping myself in the thin cotton of her undergarments for warmth, only to cast them off when the temperature becomes too unbearably hot.

I’ve already decided I’m going to beg her for mercy the next time she opens this drawer. I’ll do anything she wants me to do, say anything she wants me to say.

God, I’m so hungry…



The drawer opens and I cry out weakly. I squint in the eye-searing light, gazing up at Kim’s massive face. She sees me looking and grins. “Don’t mind me,” she giggles. “I just need some clean undies.” She reaches down and grabs the underwear I’m lying on. She lifts up the edge of it, letting me roll down to the bottom of the drawer. I hit the wood with a thud and lie there, unmoving.

“Poor Ray,” she coos, prodding me in the back with a fingertip. “Are you dying or something?”

I raise my head slowly, still squinting in the brightness. “Please,” I say, my voice cracked and trembling. “Give me something to eat…”

“Oh, you poor baby,” she says. “How stupid of me.” She reaches down and gently scoops me into the palm of her hand. I’m naked and shivering, and the warmth of her hand feels so good. I look up into her massive, smiling face and I want so desperately to feel safe again. I wonder if I ever will…

“Just let me get dressed,” she says, “and I’ll go find you some food.” She sets me in the floor at her feet, then stands up. She grabs the hem of her oversized sleep shirt and starts to raise it over her head. I quickly avert my eyes and turn around.

“Oh, don’t be shy, silly,” she says, prodding me playfully in the back with her big toe. In my weakened condition, it’s still enough to knock me to my knees. “Your naked too, remember?”

I keep my back to her, ignoring her giggles. I hear the rustle of her clothes, the sound of her zipper. Then her bare foot passes over me as she steps to the door. She slips her feet into a pair of blue flip-flops, opens the door, and steps into the hallway.

“Better keep out of sight,” she tells me, poking her head back into her room. “Mom might come in here and see you.”

I slowly make my way to her bed, listening to the retreating slap-thump of Kim’s rubber sandals as she makes her way to the kitchen. I duck past the dust ruffle and hide in the shadow under her bed. I see dirty clothes, stuffed animals, and an awful lot of dust bunnies under here. I poke around weakly, looking for something to cover myself.

I hear her footsteps returning, so I abandon my search and stumble back over to where the dust ruffle hangs down. From my vantage point, I can’t see anything but her feet and ankles as she enters the room and shuts the door. I watch her sandaled feet approach, staring feverishly at each step she takes.

In a moment of crazy déjà vu, I remember watching Naomi’s feet through the window of my dollhouse, being fascinated by the way her sandals dangled from her toes, then slapped the bottom of her foot every time she took a step. I also remember fantasizing about what it would be like to be pinned beneath that foot, or to squirm between those toes…

Of course, real life certainly failed to live up to those high standards.

“Ray,” Kim calls softly from the center of the room. I come out from under the bed and approach her on trembling legs. My stomach makes a horrible, grumbling noise and I actually have to press my hands against it to ease the gnawing pain.

I look up and see that she’s holding a handful of Oreos. My mouth waters at the sight of the cookies and my stomach lets out another ravenous moan.

She slides her foot out of her sandal and kneels down next to it. She sets a cookie on the rubber insole, then looks at me with a playful grin. “Come and get it,” she calls.

Of course it’s not going to be easy. I was an idiot to think otherwise. But I don’t care. I climb up onto her shoe and stumble to the cookie. I fall on it, my shaky hands trying desperately to break off a chunk.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says, standing up. “Is that too big for you to eat?” She raises her bare foot over me. I roll off of her flip-flop and onto the carpet as she brings her foot down on top of the cookie, crushing it. I watch with revulsion as she grasps pieces of the Oreo between her toes and grinds them into crumbs.

She giggles. “There you go, Ray,” she says sweetly, her foot still resting on the sandal. “Eat up.”

A month ago – hell, a week ago – I wouldn’t have stooped to such a low level. But I’m actually trembling with hunger, and even the sight of the crushed cookie is making my mouth water. I climb up on her shoe and tentatively approach her foot. Her toes wiggle slowly, playfully as I get nearer.

I reach down and take a crumb from the rubber sole. Before I can get it to my mouth, Kim shakes the sandal with her foot and knocks me on my ass.

“No,” she says, wiggling her toes again. “Eat the crumbs off my foot.”

And God help me, I do. I choke back the bile in my throat as I pick a crumb from between her wriggling toes and gobble it down greedily. Then another, and another.

“Ew, I can’t believe you’re doing it,” she giggles. She raises her foot to offer me the crumbs and bits of cream filling stuck to the bottom. Afterwards, she spreads her toes and insists that I lick them clean. And eager to plow through this nightmare as quickly as possible, I comply.

And when, at last, I’m done, Kim leaves me to eat in peace. I’m sure it’s because she’s tired of standing, more than out of any benevolence in her heart, but she kicks off her other sandal and steps over me to go sit on her bed. There, she munches on the remaining cookies and watches with some amusement as I devour the chunks of Oreo left on the insole of her shoe.



Nicole, it turns out, is at Paul’s parents’ house for a week. Apparently, she was getting freaked out about the covert search for me, and Naomi incorrectly assumed her odd behavior was simply concern over her missing brother.

Kim tells me all of this one day, in a very conversational tone, as I cling to her toe and dangle helplessly against the sole of her foot. She’s sitting on her bed with her leg stretched out over the edge. The carpeted floor lies dangerously far below me, so I’ve got no choice but to hold on for dear life.

“It was pretty close,” Kim tells me, as if sharing a confidence. “She was about to tell your parents everything, until I stopped her.”

“How?” I ask in a strained voice. My arms are getting tired, as I’ve been in this position for about half an hour. “How did you stop her?”

Kim giggles and pinches her toes together, causing shooting pains in my aching arms. “I told her if she said a word, I’d kill you and flush you down the toilet and nobody would ever be able to prove a thing.”

The terrifying thing is, I don’t think she’s bluffing.

“I can’t wait until next month,” Kim says as she crosses her leg and plucks me from the bottom of her foot. Relieved, I lower my trembling arms, wincing as the circulation returns like a million tiny needles. She sets me on her stomach and grins as I struggle to keep my balance.

“Heather will be back from Europe, and we can all go over to her parents’ house and go swimming.” She giggles, and her belly trembles beneath me. My equilibrium goes out the window and I fall flat on my face.

“I know you can’t swim,” she says, “so I guess you’ll have to hold onto somebody.”

“Who’s Heather?” I ask, eager to change the direction of the conversation.

“She’s a friend of mine and Nicole’s,” Kim tells me. “Well, I guess she’s more my friend than Nicole’s, because she’s fourteen and I’m thirteen.”

“I thought you were twelve,” I say. I regret it immediately when Kim snatches me up. “If you’re going to argue, you’re going between the toes,” she scolds. She spreads her toes and tucks me between them. By now, I’m so used to it I don’t even struggle. If I can keep from upsetting her, I might get out of this without too much pinching. And if I can keep her talking, I won’t have to fake an “organism.”

“Anyway, I’m almost thirteen,” Kim says. “And Nicole’s only eleven, so Heather thinks she’s a baby. But her parents are really rich, and she’s like a freshman cheerleader at Stasheff High. I can’t wait to show you to her!”

The knob on Kim’s door rattles, startling Kim so much that she squeezes the air out of me. Panicking, she grabs me from between her toes and sets me on her nightstand. “Hide,” she whispers fiercely as she runs to the door and opens it. I barely have time to conceal myself behind her clock radio before Cheryl walks into the room.

“What have I told you about locking this door?” she asks angrily in that raspy voice.

Kim shrugs. “Sorry.”

“Did you take your pills today?”

“Yes,” Kim answers with enough venom to kill a reptile. Of course, Cheryl is unfazed.

“Okay, then. Your daddy is coming by at 5:00 to take you to dinner, so get some nice clothes on.”

Kim sighs. “Aw, Mom. He’s just gonna take me to Sizzler or something. How come I have to dress up?”

“Because I want your daddy to see how good I take care of you,” Cheryl says, walking over to the closet and pulling it open. She rummages through the hanging clothes before finally pulling out a gingham dress. “Here. Put this on.”

Kim takes the dress from her and tosses it onto the bed. Cheryl turns to leave, then stops. She walks back over to Kim and kneels down to look her in the eye.

“Listen, sweetie,” she says, gently grasping her daughter by the shoulders. “If your daddy asks if I’m seeing someone, and I know he will, you tell him I’m very happily involved with a doctor. No, wait… a lawyer.”

Kim sighs. “Why do I have to lie to daddy?”

“It’s not a lie, sweetie,” Cheryl says. “I mean, I think Lee might be a lawyer.”

“He’s just some icky guy you brought home so he could have sex on you and give you organisms.”

Cheryl lets out an exasperated sigh. “Don’t be a little shit, okay? I’m just asking you to do one thing for me.”

Kim glares at Cheryl. “Fine. I’ll tell Daddy you’re dating a doctor.”

“A lawyer,” Cheryl corrects her.

“Whatever.”

Cheryl climbs unsteadily to her feet. It’s late afternoon, and she’s already half-drunk. “That’s a good girl,” she says, bending down to kiss Kim on the cheek. Kim pulls away and wipes it off.

“Hurry up,” Cheryl tells Kim, walking out the door. “Your daddy will be here in less than an hour.” She leaves, closing the door behind her.

Kim walks over to me and picks me up between her thumb and finger. “Maybe I should take you with me tonight,” she says, grinning. “You can stay under the table and play on my feet while I eat.”

I’m actually excited about the prospect. Not playing on her feet – God knows I’ve had enough of that to tide me over for the rest of my life. But maybe I’ll be able to get away, to make contact with a sympathetic adult, who will contact Suzy for me…

“Nah, I’d better not,” Kim says, carrying me to the drawer. “If Daddy saw you, he’d probably make me give you back.”

My brief dreams of escape shattered, I resign myself to another tedious evening in the underwear drawer. Kim blows me a kiss as she slams the drawer shut, leaving me alone in the dark.



An hour? Two? I don’t know how much time has passed when I hear Kim’s door open. Has it been enough? I’m almost afraid to hide, because if it’s Kim opening the drawer, I’ll be punished. But if it’s not…

I scramble as the footsteps approach the dresser, and once again burrow under the pile of socks. The drawer slides open and Cheryl peeks in, a frown on her monstrous face.

“Let’s just see,” she mutters as her massive hands rummage through the clothes in the drawer. She finally spots Kim’s pill case and lifts it out of the drawer. I lie there, my heart pounding, praying harder than I’ve ever prayed that I won’t be spotted.

Cheryl snaps the compartments open to check them, and lets out a long sigh. “You think you’re fooling me, you little bitch?” she mutters. “I know you’re doing something with those pills because you’re sure as shit not taking them.”

God, I can feel her eyes on me. Every muscle in my body is trembling and my breath is coming in short, frantic gasps. My heart is beating so loudly in my ears that I’m sure she can hear it. Any minute now, she’s going to see me and…

The drawer slams shut, enveloping me in merciful darkness. Shaking violently, I climb out from under the socks and collapse on the pile of underwear, forcing myself to breathe normally. That was too close!

The drawer slides open again and I actually scream as I roll to the bottom of the drawer and scramble for my hiding place under the socks. I look up in terror and see Cheryl, still holding the pill case, staring right at me. She drops the case into the drawer and reaches towards me with agonizing slowness.

I actually whimper as she pulls rolls of socks from the pile one by one, her smile growing wider and wider as she exposes me. I huddle down into a tight little ball, burying my head in my hands, offering up all kinds of desperate, hopeless prayers. Cheryl grasps me around the waist with her finger and thumb, and slowly, torturously, lifts me from the drawer and holds me up to her face.

“Well, well, well,” she says, with a smile that turns my blood to ice water. “Kim, you naughty little thing.”

Out of the frying pan…

Oh, God.

I’m standing on Cheryl’s kitchen table in my soiled, grimy clothes. I’ve just spent a week and a half in the drawer of her daughter, Kim. That’s a week and a half of no bathing, of pissing and crapping in the corner, and of wearing clothes that still stink of the toilet. In that time, Kim barely fed me, and only occasionally remembered to give me water.

And when I wasn’t trapped in the drawer, I spent my time being either petted or tormented, depending on if Kim was feeling manic or depressive at the time. Ah, the joys of a bipolar captor.

But now, Cheryl has me. She sits at the table, watching me devour a piece of torn bread. When I’m finished, she tears another corner off of the slice she’s holding and hands it to me.

“Poor baby,” she says. “I can’t believe my daughter’s had you this whole time.”

I nod and swallow a mouthful of bread. “It’s been hell,” I tell Cheryl, looking up into her enormous face.

Cheryl shakes her head sadly. “Kim didn’t take very good care of you, did she?”

“Not really.” I finish the bread and her massive fingers are suddenly in my face, proffering another piece, pinched between the pink, shield-like nails of her finger and thumb. I take it, even though I’m really not very hungry anymore. The bread I’ve eaten sits in the pit of my belly like mud.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about anything, sweetie,” she says, extending her finger to gently stroke me. As much as I want to pull away, I force myself to remain still. No point in pissing her off unnecessarily. The tip of her finger, still smelling of bread, touches my chest and traces a line down my stomach. She pokes me once, playfully, between the legs and giggles as I stagger backwards.

I finally work up the nerve to ask the question that’s been on my mind since she found me. “Um, you are going to take me home, aren’t you Cheryl?”

“Of course, sweetie,” she says, dismissing the idiocy of my question with the tone of her voice. It’s the grating, sweet voice of a mother reassuring her infant child. “But I can’t tonight. Naomi said they were driving down to Tyler this weekend to see your daddy’s folks and pick up Nicole. They won’t be back until sometime Sunday.”

“Oh,” I answer with a sigh.

“So I guess you’ll be sleeping with me tonight.” She winks at me, as if sharing a joke. “You don’t mind, do you?”

My stomach knots and I have to swallow hard to keep the bread from coming back up. She moves her face in close, letting it loom inches from me. I let out an involuntary whimper from the sheer, frightening closeness of her.

“I said, you don’t mind, do you?” she repeats, her words sharp and menacing. I shake my head and mumble, “No ma’am.”

I stare at the vast cavern of her mouth, unable to take in the sheer enormity of her in so close a space. Her tongue, wet and pink, occasionally darts out past her nicotine-stained teeth to lick her red and sticky lips. Her breath is warm and damp, and stinks of the now-familiar smell of wine and cigarettes.

“Good boy,” she says, her raspy voice rumbling in my ears. She sniffs once, twice, then moves away from me, waving her hand in front of her nose theatrically.

“The first thing we should do is get you out of those nasty clothes and get you cleaned up,” she says, reaching for me with her thumb and finger. She hooks me under my arms and lifts me up to her face. “Why don’t we go take a bath?”



The water roars into the tub, filling the air with steam. The mirror behind me is already fogging up, and my hair is already damp from the humidity.

I’m standing on Cheryl’s vanity, watching with great trepidation as she prepares the bath. She sits on the edge of the large marble tub, still dressed, testing the water with her hand. She glances over at me and grins. “This is gonna feel nice,” she says, kicking off her sandals.

She studies the myriad bottles that are stacked against the wall on the tub’s corner, finally selecting a clear one half full of pink liquid. She takes off the cap and sniffs the bottle, then looks at me and nods with a contented sigh. She upturns the bottle and pours the pink bath oil into the churning water.

“Go ahead and get undressed, Ray,” she tells me. She stands up and unfastens her shorts, letting them fall to the floor. She glares at me as she unbuttons her shirt. “Now,” she snaps, glaring at me.

I peel off my shirt, pants, and underwear and hold them in front of me. Cheryl watches this and giggles at my last ditch attempt at modesty. Wearing nothing but her panties, she approaches. Her breasts are small and sag slightly. They’re as obnoxiously tan as the rest of her, with large dark nipples.

“Now, now,” she chides me, snatching my clothes from me and exposing me. “None of that, silly.” She looks at my dirty garments with obvious distaste, then carries them out of sight around the corner. I hear the toilet flush. Cheryl comes walking back over to me, brushing off her hands and giggling.

“What am I going to wear?” I ask her, shouting to be heard over the roaring water. The bubbles are already up to the rim of the tub.

“I think you’re fine like you are,” she says. “If you get cold, just let me know.”

Cheryl slides off her panties and stands before me, completely nude. Her flesh is tan and leathery all over, the result of frequent visits to tanning beds. Not firm but not fat, it’s a body that has valiantly struggled against drinking, smoking, and middle age. A small, silvery scar runs along her soft tummy, the result of an appendectomy. I don’t realize I’m staring until my eyes fall on the thatch of dark hair between her legs. I jerk my head away, my face flushing as Cheryl brays laughter.

“What do you think?” she asks me. “Not bad for an old woman, huh?” I keep my eyes averted, even when I hear her turn and walk away. The pounding crash of water ends with the turn of a squeaky knob, and my ears pound in the sudden silence. There’s nothing but the splashing of water and the soft whisper of bubbles. The smell of lavender hangs in the soggy air.

And the sound of her bare feet on the tile floor. Cheryl scoops me up into her hand and cradles me to the bare flesh of her tummy, just under her breasts. Beads of sweat run down her front, giving her skin a damp feel and salty smell.

Her fingers wrap around me, gripping me tightly as she steps into the tub. She sucks in a breath through gritted teeth as her foot sinks into the hot water, then lets out a contented sigh as the temperature becomes bearable.

She sets me down on the edge of the tub, next to the bottles of shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and bath oil. The bottles tower above me, multi-colored and oddly shaped. The marble is cool beneath my bare feet, and comfortingly solid. I back away from her hand and watch her place her other foot in the tub. The bubbles writhe and undulate with her movement, some breaking loose and drifting away.

“Oh, yeah,” Cheryl moans happily as she lowers herself into the hot, soapy water. She slides down into the tub until only her head and neck show above the bubbles. She lets out another sigh and leans back. After about a minute, she opens her eyes and regards me from the far end of the tub.

The faucet, fake gold and pearl, juts from the wall behind me and to my right. Like every other reflective surface in the bathroom, it’s fogged over and covered with tiny beads of water. The occasional drop falls from the spigot, striking the bubbles and making them hiss.

Cheryl closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, and I watch her head sink down below the bubbles. A few seconds later, she comes back up, wiping the foam from her face. She grins at me, her dark hair hanging wet and dripping.

“You ready to join me?” she asks. Her foot slides up the side of the tub, breaking through the mountain of suds. Her toes wiggle playfully as they rise above the edge, flinging bubbles and water on me.

“Come on, sweetie,” she croaks, spreading her toes for me. “Don’t be shy.” God, I hate her so much. But just the nearness of her massive foot mashes a button in me that I just can’t seem to bury. I step forward and press myself between her big and second toe. Her foot is so incredibly warm, and slippery with bath oil and soap. The feel of her skin slipping against mine is unfortunately erotic.

I peer down the length of her leg until it vanishes into the suds. Then, past the rippling surface of white, into her smirking face. She wiggles her toes, grinding her warm, slick flesh against my naked body. I writhe and let out an involuntary moan as my pelvis bumps against the bottom of her foot.

She smiles her predatory smile at me. “Whatcha doing, sweetie?” she teases me. “Are you getting you some foot?”

I’m drenched with sweat and bathwater, and every muscle in my body is clenched and tingling. I’m gasping rhythmically with the throbbing of my erection as her toes grind relentlessly away at me.

“You like that? You like my big ol’ sexy toes?”

I finally come in a fierce, explosive spasm. I actually scream out something unintelligible at the moment of climax, then collapse. I hang there between her toes, my heart pounding, my face pressed to the hot, wet flesh of her foot. I’m gasping, unable to even catch my breath.

Her foot moves quickly through the air, yanking me along. I cry out weakly as she raises her leg and crosses it, bringing her ankle to rest on her bent knee. Her hand approaches and gently pulls me from between her toes, lingering just long enough to rub me once along the sole of her foot.

Then, both legs submerge below the bubbles. Cheryl sighs and reclines as she holds me in front of her face.

“Did you like that?” she asks me, and I nod, exhausted. I’m still worn out from my ordeal with Kim, and right now all I want to do is sleep.

Her other hand snakes up out of the bubble bath. She extends a soapy index finger, rubbing my chest and back with her lathered fingertip. She flicks my limp penis with her pink fingernail, and laughs when I let out a gasp.

“Okay, you selfish little thing,” she says playfully, setting me down on her submerged breast. She raises up slightly, bringing her nipples just above the surface. “My turn.”

On my hands and knees, I turn around and crawl towards her nipple, which protrudes like a brown rock. The areola that surrounds it is dark as well, and covered with dozens of tiny bumps and a few fine hairs. I run my hand along the bumps, then eventually to the nipple itself. The flesh is thick and leathery to the touch. Cheryl lets out a soft moan, and shifts slightly beneath me. I lie flat on her breast, keeping my other arm outstretched to keep myself steady.

Images of Suzy flit through my mind, unbidden. I try to drive them away, feeling inexplicable shame at conjuring her face at a time like this. If she could see me, see what I’ve been reduced to…

It’s just that this encounter with Cheryl seems like a cruel parody of the date I had with Suzy. I remember admitting to her that I had a thing for feet, and she responded by bringing me to orgasm with her beautiful toes. I responded by making my way to her breast and stroking her nipple until she…

Well, let’s just say it was good for her, too.

But this, with Cheryl, just seems sick and wrong. There’s nothing sweet or romantic about it. My lust is purely involuntary and her passion is tainted by a desire to dominate me. And it scares me, because it seems to be progressing. Without Naomi around to keep her in check, there’s no limit to the degradation she can heap on me.

And in spite of what she says, I don’t think she has any intention of taking me back to the Daltons.

So what am I going to do? I honestly don’t know right now. I’m so exhausted I can hardly move, and just the thought of being Cheryl’s prisoner or plaything fills me with a soul-wearying despair. Every plan I’ve come up with so far has backfired, and left me in a worse situation than when I started.

But I’ve got to keep trying. If I’m going to die under Cheryl’s foot, it’s going to be while I’m escaping.

So my plan right now is to endure Cheryl’s games for the rest of the evening, until I can finally get some sleep. And then, when I’m rested and thinking clearly, I’ll concentrate on getting the hell out of here.

Cheryl shifts and sighs again. “That’s a good boy,” she whispers as her hands slide underwater with a faint splash. A few seconds later, she lets out a moan as she pleasures herself beneath the white, rippling surface of the bubbles.



The front door opens and slams shut while Cheryl is toweling me off, and she gives a low, mean chuckle. “Kim’s home,” she says, smiling down at me. “She’s gonna lose her mind when she finds you gone.”

She sets me on the vanity, then sets to drying herself off. She makes a big production of rubbing the towel along her leg, then dabbing between her toes. She glances at me and winks when she sees me watching. “What’s the matter, sweetie? You ready to get yourself some more foot?”

I’m spared the indignity of an answer by a sudden pounding on the bathroom door. “Mom,” Kim calls anxiously. “Have you been in my room?”

Cheryl gives me a wink, then says, “No, sweetheart. Why? Is something wrong?”

Kim doesn’t answer for a few seconds. Then finally, she says, “No, nothing,” and hurries off. And in spite of everything she’s done to me, I actually feel a little sorry for her.



It’s late, close to 11:00, and Cheryl still won’t let me sleep. She sits up in her bed, propped up by a huge stack of pillows. She is naked, lounging on top of the sheet. Her bathrobe is draped over a chair and the bedspread lies in a wad at the foot of the bed.

She sits with her knees bent and her feet flat on the bed. And right now, I’m kneeling in front of her left foot, kissing her toes. In a few minutes, she’ll order me to her other foot and I’ll do the same. I’ve been doing this for about half an hour now.

She’s barely paying any attention to me, except to pinch at me with her toes when she senses I’m slowing down in my efforts. She stares past me at the television, where Jay Leno is interviewing Sean Connery.

“He’s so sexy,” Cheryl says, flexing her toes and giggling when I stumble backwards. “I’d like to get him where you are.”

“Yeah, me too,” I mutter, my voice ragged with fatigue.

“Oh, stop it,” she scolds me, grasping me with her toes. “You know you’re loving every minute of this.”

I sigh. “What is today, anyway?”

“It’s Friday, sweetie,” she says, then squeezes her toes together playfully. “Why? You got somewhere to be?”

I wait for her to loosen her grip, then I shake my head. “No, I just lost track of time when Kim had me. So, Paul and Naomi both went to Tyler for the weekend?”

“That’s right,” she says, releasing me and dropping me onto the bed. “Now knock off all the questions and get back to kissing.”

“So, they just went off and left the GenetiTech people at their house?”

Cheryl crosses her legs under her so she can lean forward. “What?”

“It’s just, I heard that the people from GenetiTech had set up some kind of base of operations at Paul and Naomi’s house to look for me. And since I’m still missing, I assume they’re still there. So it seems kind of weird that Paul and Naomi would both go away for the weekend.”

Cheryl stares at me for about ten seconds, then laughs. “Okay, you smart little shit, you got me,” she says, snatching me up roughly. “Your momma and daddy are home. Paul’s folks are gonna drive Nicole home day after tomorrow.”

I sigh. “You’re not going to tell them you found me, are you?”

She lets out a wounded grunt. “Of course I am, sweetie. I’ll call Naomi tomorrow.” She grins sheepishly, and adds, “I just wanted you for a night.”

I must still look doubtful, because she adds, “Really!” Then, still smiling, she drops me back on the bed and extends her bare toes. “Now, get back to what you were doing.”



Cheryl made me a bed in a shoebox (“Just in case you get any ideas about running off while I’m asleep”). Actually, “bed” might be a bit of a stretch. Cheryl took the panties she wore today, wadded them up, and stuck them in the shoebox for me to sleep on.

Now I’m lying here in her dark bedroom, exhausted beyond reckoning, but unable to sleep. Part of it is from the musty, sweaty smell of my sleeping quarters; even with the lid off, it’s still pretty stale in here. Part of it is from Cheryl’s snoring, a grating death rattle that has to be experienced to be believed.

But most of it is my stupid brain, which refuses to turn itself off and sleep. I know she has no intention of giving me back to Naomi. So I’m trying to figure out why she would lie to me. I’m completely at her mercy, and we both know it. There’s no reason for her to mislead me unless she simply wants to give me hope.

And why would she want to give me hope, unless she just wants to take it away?



“Wake up, sweetie,” Cheryl croons in what passes for her sweet voice, peering into the shoebox. It’s daylight and, despite the horrible sleeping conditions, I actually do feel a little better. I sit up and stretch, wincing at the pain of my aching muscles.

Cheryl carries me into the restroom, grinning as I huddle naked in her palm. She’s dressed in a red halter and white shorts. Her sandals slap the tile floor with each step. It’s a sound that has become all too familiar.

She sets me on the rim of the toilet and stands over me, watching as I urinate over the edge into the chasm of blue Ty-D-Bol water. When I’m done, she scoops me up and carries me into the bedroom. She sits down on the edge of the bed and leans down to set me on the floor.

“You like my shoes?” she asks me, wiggling her toes prettily in her sandals. They’re white leather thongs with a narrow strap running across the top of her foot and down into the crevice between her big and second toes. I have to fight the urge to shudder.

“Yeah, they’re great,” I tell her, wondering how long until I’m between her toes again. I swear, sometimes the suspense is the worst part of this game. Well, no, the worst part is being pinched between her toes. But the suspense is pretty bad.

She sighs and shakes her head. “You don’t sound like you mean it,” she says in a pouty voice. “I was thinking about you when I bought them.”

This time, I do shudder. “No, really,” I say as sincerely as I can. “They’re really nice.”

“I bought them last week,” she says, “right before you ran away. I think they look real pretty with my pink toenails.”

She tilts her foot towards me to give me a better look.

“They’re real pretty,” I tell her, ready for this game to be over.

“You didn’t even look,” she says, poking at me with her foot. “Just tell me if you like them or not, and then we can go call Naomi.”

I roll my eyes and glare up at her. “You’re not fooling me, Cheryl. I know you’re not going to call her.”

Cheryl raises her eyebrows and regards me with some amusement. She slides her foot out of her sandal and holds it over me, menacingly. “Or you can just keep smarting off and spend the next hour kissing the bottom of my foot.”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” I tell her, walking over to her other foot. I touch her toes and run my hand along the leather strap of her shoe. I walk around her foot, kicking at the leather sole. And I make a big show of kneeling so I can admire how prettily her arch sits on the sandal.

“They’re gorgeous,” I tell her. “I’ve never seen a more beautiful pair of sandals on a more beautiful pair of feet.” I kiss her big toe and step back to look up into her face. I’m scared to death she’s going to think I’m being sarcastic and punish me.

But, to my surprise, she’s actually smiling. “Well, aren’t you just the sweetest, cutest little thing?” she coos. With her bare foot, she taps the empty sandal and says, “Come lay down here.”

I eye her warily. “Why?”

“So you can get your reward, silly,” she giggles. “Now come here.”

I take a deep breath and walk to her sandal on trembling legs. I climb on the leather insole and lie down. Her bare foot hovers above me, her white sole crosscut with a hundred tiny wrinkles. I watch nervously as her toes descend toward my tiny, naked body.

Her big toe presses down gently between my legs, and my idiot penis responds without my consent. For ten minutes, I lie there with my eyes closed, waiting for the molestation to end. She continues to knead my erection with her toe, humming some song to herself. I’m not sure, but I think it might be a Dolly Parton song.

At last, I sputter with a small, anticlimactic orgasm. I shudder a couple of times as Cheryl moves her foot away from me.

“You’ll have to do better than that next time,” she says. “Now get out of my shoe before you get squished.”



We’re in the living room, and she’s got the phone in her hand. I know she’s not going to call. I don’t think I’ve ever been more certain of anything in my life. She just wants to get me excited about the idea so she can yank the carpet out from under me.

But the thing is, I’m not really excited about it. Sure, I consider Naomi the lesser of two evils, but I left a pretty mean note behind when I ran off. And somehow, I don’t think she’s going to be in the most forgiving mood when I get home.

But it’s a moot point, because Cheryl’s not going to call.



I’m standing on her coffee table, watching her dial the phone. She’s sitting on the couch, her legs crossed, making sure I can see her sandal dangling from her foot.

She dials the number the number and puts the phone to her ear. I watch her skeptically, waiting for this charade to end. She clenches her toes together, bringing the sandal against the bottom of her foot with a slap. She does it two or three times.

“Hello, Naomi?” she says, giving me a triumphant I-told-you-so grin. “I’ve got some great news, sweetie. I found Ray.”

I sigh and shake my head. This is really, really sad.

“Yeah, he’s fine. He’s right here,” she says, tapping the table with her foot. “Yeah, I can do that. Would you like to talk to him?”

She’s smiling so smugly. “Okay, I understand. Sure, I’ll tell him. Bye bye, sweetie.”

She sets the phone down and says, “Your momma wants you to stay with me for a few more days.”

I nod. “I see. And why is that?”

“I’m not sure,” she says, shrugging. “Something to do with the GenetiTech folk being over there, I guess.”

I stare at her, speechless. “God, you can’t even bother to make up a decent lie? How fucking stupid do you think I am?”

She leans in close to me. “Don’t you ever call me a liar, you little shit.”

“You didn’t even turn the phone on,” I tell her angrily. “I know you’re planning on keeping me. Why do we even have to go through this stupid charade?”

“Okay, that’s it,” she says, snatching me up roughly. She tucks me into her sandal strap and orders me to hold on. “If you let go, I’ll break your little fucking legs,” she tells me. So I wrap my arm around and cling for dear life.

“Are you happy now?” she asks, then laughs meanly. “What am I saying? Of course you are.” She clenches her toes again, bringing the sole of her sandal up to slap the bottom of her foot. Then she lights up a cigarette and leans back, keeping her leg crossed so she can watch me dangle.



My punishment comes to an unexpected end when Kim comes wandering into the living room. Cheryl panics and snatches me from her sandal, tucking me between her breasts. “Be still,” she mutters angrily, as if I had a choice. Thanks to “revolutionary cross-your-heart support,” I’m being pressed from all sides.

For a few minutes, nobody says a word. Cheryl just sits there, smoking. I’m not sure what Kim’s doing, because I can’t hear anything over the beating of my own heart.

Except Cheryl’s voice. She asks, “You looking for something, sweetheart?”

A few seconds, then Cheryl chuckles. “Whatever you say, Kimmy.”

About a minute later, Cheryl plucks me from her cleavage. “That poor girl,” she says with a giggle. “She’s looking all over for you, but she’s scared to say anything about it.” It strikes me as a cruel joke to play on her own daughter, but then Cheryl never really struck me as the Donna Reed type.

“Are you going to be good?” she asks me, standing up. I nod, of course.

“Good,” she says, carrying me into the kitchen. “Let’s get some breakfast.”



I spend breakfast dangling from Cheryl’s foot, clenched between her toes, eating whatever morsels she hands me under the table. Afterwards, she informs me that she’s going next door to see how Paul and Naomi are doing. And just to make sure that I don’t try to get away, or that Kim doesn’t stumble across me, she drops me into the shoebox and puts the lid on it. I feel it shudder and move as she lifts it and carries it. I don’t know where I end up, but there’s a brief, horrifying sensation of free falling and the sound of her hand slapping the outside of the box. I’m not sure, but I think she almost dropped me.

It’s pitch black and uncomfortably warm, just like it was in Kim’s drawer. Cheryl’s underwear is still in the box with me, making the air dank and stale. All in all, it’s damned unpleasant.

I don’t expect anything to come of it, but I make an attempt to dislodge the box anyway. I walk the length of the shoebox, kicking Cheryl’s undergarments out of the way, until I have a strip of unobstructed cardboard. Then I count paces from one end to the other. Finally, even though it’s too dark to see, I get a running start and try to throw myself against the far end of the box.

The first two times, I veer off course and stumble into the wadded up panties. The third time, my arm brushes against the side of the box and it throws me off. The fourth time, I stay manage to stay on the path. I run headlong, expecting with each step to trip or stumble. It’s then that I realize I haven’t been counting. I continue to barrel forward, wondering just when…

I smack into the far end of the box and feel the cardboard give ever so slightly. Of course, my head is smarting and I think my nose might be bleeding. Finally, disgusted, I give up on this endeavor. Sweating, dizzy, and bored out of my mind, I crawl onto Cheryl’s panties and try to take a nap.



You know what’s funny? That feeling of hopelessness, the one that’s haunted me since the Daltons brought me home? That feeling is gone. I experienced it pretty regularly when Naomi and Cheryl used to play their games with me. I felt it rather acutely when Naomi got mad and left me hanging in her stockings for a weekend. I was totally immersed in it when Nicole betrayed me and handed me over to Kim. And when Cheryl found me in Kim’s drawer, I pierced the veil and achieved hopelessness nirvana.

But now, that feeling is gone. I feel frustration and anger, and a fervent desire to inflict great bodily pain on everybody in the Dalton and Morgan households. And I feel the strong, driving urge to escape and make my way to Suzy.

But most of all, I feel a strange, alien calm. It’s like, there’s absolutely no way things could be any worse. For the first time since I was taken from SPECTRUM, I’ve got nothing to lose. Even if my next plan fails miserably, I won’t be any worse off than I am now.

So I guess all I really need now is a plan…



Some hours later I hear movement outside. The familiar slap of Cheryl’s sandals approaching, the snap of a light being turned on. I hear fingers on the outside, grasping the shoebox, and I feel a vibration through the bottom of the box as it slides along some surface. A few seconds of frightening disorientation as I move down, then a slight bounce in synch with her footsteps. Another sense of downward movement, then the box comes to rest. I hear the creak of bedsprings and the box suddenly shakes violently.

Finally, the lid comes off and I squint up into Cheryl’s beaming face.

“Shoo, it stinks in there,” she says, reaching in and fishing me out. “Looks like you’re gonna need another bath.”

I wipe the sweat from my forehead. “How are Paul and Naomi?” I ask, my voice dry and croaking.

“As well as can be expected,” she says, shaking her head. “They’re really worried about you, especially Naomi. You really shouldn’t have run off like you did.”

I glare at her, wondering if I misunderstood. Is she really blaming me for this?

“Anyway, I tried to talk your momma into going dancing with me at Red River, but she was afraid your daddy wouldn’t understand, what with her having an affair and everything.”

“So, you’re going dancing tonight?”

“Sure am,” she says, grinning. “Lee’s gonna be there tonight.” She giggles and adds, “Which means Lee will probably be here tonight, so I better put you somewhere out of the way.”

She carries me into the bathroom and sets me on the vanity. I watch her, a little nervously, as she starts the water in the bathtub and adds the bubbles. I’m having trouble pegging her mood, and I don’t know how she’s going to respond to my requests. But like I said, I really don’t have much to lose at this point.

“Can you do me a favor?” I ask her. She looks at me, amused that I would even ask. “Of course,” she says, laughing. “Once I get you in the tub, I’ll do you several favors.”

I chuckle hoarsely, hoping it doesn’t sound as insincere as it feels. “Well, that too,” I say with a grin, and Cheryl laughs.

“Whatcha need, sweetie?”

“I was just wondering if you put some water in the box for me,” I ask her as she unbuttons her halter top and lets it fall to the floor. “It’s really hot and my throat is sore.”

“Sure, sweetie,” she says. “I’m sorry I didn’t think of it myself, you poor thing.”

“And, any chance we can… um… change the bedding?”

“How come?” she asks me archly, smiling at my discomfort. “You don’t like my panties?”

“It’s just… I kinda got sweaty and stinky, and now…”

She shakes her head and laughs. “It’s okay, sweetie. I’m sure we can find you something you’d like better.”



This bath goes pretty much like the one last night did. I spend the first half squirming between her toes while she slowly, torturously, brings me to orgasm. I then spend the next fifteen minutes or so stroking her nipple while she gives herself an underwater treat.

When we’re done, she mousses and teases her hair to make it look larger than usual, and she spackles on her whore paint while I watch. Then she carries me into the bedroom and sets me on the floor to subject me to the ordeal of watching her get dressed.

She slips into her bra, then sits down on the bed to put on her dark panty hose. She slides them over her leg with luxurious slowness, enjoying the fact that she has a captive audience. When she has them on, she stands up and walks over to me. I watch her nylon-clad feet as she approaches, wishing my guilty pleasure wasn’t so readily visible.

“Lay down,” she tells me, and I do so. She covers me with a foot, rubbing her silky nylon sole over my naked body. The carpet digs uncomfortably in my back, but I don’t care. For a second, I can almost forget how much I hate her as her soft, sheer foot strokes me. I spread my arms in a crazy attempt to embrace her massive foot as I bury my face in her stockings, breathing in the smells of lavender soap and lingering sweat.

Then, suddenly, her foot is gone and I’m left lying on my back, sporting a very obvious erection.
“Too bad I’ve got to go, sweetie,” she says, grinning down at me. “We could really have some fun tonight.”

I sit up and shift in an effort to hide my tumescent prick. She giggles at my efforts, then warns me to “Stay put” as she goes to the closet to get her dress. I glance around the room, wondering just how far I could get before she caught me. Unfortunately, I’m not wild about the odds. And if I piss her off, I might have to spend the evening in conditions worse than this afternoon’s.

She steps into her dress and pulls it up, sliding it up over her shoulders. It’s black and tight, very flattering on her. She parades around in it for me, twirling so I can see the skirt.

It’s starting to get dark outside. Cheryl glances over at the clock, then hurries over to her dresser. She puts on her turquoise earrings, and a matching necklace. Then, finally, she slips into a pair of black stiletto heel pumps.

“Well?” she asks me, striking a pose. I tell her she’s beautiful, and she looks quite pleased.

“Okay, then,” she says, kneeling down and picking me up. “Let’s get you fixed up so I can get out of here.”

She reaches into the shoebox and pulls out the panties, then sets me inside. “Just a second,” she tells me, tapping into the bathroom in her high heels. I hear the tap running, just briefly. She comes back in and sets a small Dixie cup half full of water into the box with me.

“Now, something nice for you to sleep on,” she says, looking around the room. Her eyes light up and she grins. “I know just the thing!” She heads off, then hurries back. “You’re gonna love this,” she says, setting one of her white sandals in the box with me.

Exasperated, I glare up at her. “Come on, Cheryl,” I plead. “I’ve been good.”

“What?” she asks with a smirk. “You know you love it.” I glare at the sandal, still damp with sweat from her foot. I see the dark marks on the insole, where her toes, heel and the ball of her foot have rubbed against it all day. I’m still staring with disdain when she puts the lid on the box and picks it up.

Once again, I feel a moment of vertigo as I’m lifted and carried. My water splashes a bit, but doesn’t spill. The box tilts slightly, and the shoe slides against the side. Then, the box comes to a rest. I hear her finger tap on the far end.

“Have fun, sweetie,” she rasps. Then I hear the snap of a light switch and the receding sound of her high heels.



It’s hot and I’m probably just a little delirious. Not that it’s an excuse, but there’s got to be some reason why I’m experiencing this feeling.

You’ve got to understand, it’s pitch black in there and all I can smell is sweat and leather. Her sweat and leather. It’s totally permeated the air and everything in this box. The water has even taken its taste from the oppressive smell.

And I lie there in the dark, still sporting my erection, unable to think of anything else but the sight of sheer black nylon stretched tight and clinging to the bottom of her foot. The way it felt, to be totally overwhelmed by the soft, tantalizing friction over my entire body. I think of her toes wiggling in there, flexing and stretching the nylon like web as they spread.

This is so stupid, I tell myself, desperately willing myself to snap out of it. It’s a game with her. She wants only to subjugate me, to completely dominate me. And if I allow myself to feel this way about her, then she wins.

I hate her. I really, really hate her. More than Naomi, more than Kim, more than anybody else I’ve ever met. I hate Cheryl Morgan with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns.

But I can’t stand it. I finally roll over onto my stomach and thinking of her nylon-clad foot, I masturbate angrily into the leather sole of her sandal.



I’m awaked from a fitful doze by muffled voices, murmuring softly. I can’t quite make out what they’re saying, but there are definitely two of them. And one of them is Cheryl’s.

I can hear footsteps, and a man’s voice that seems to be getting nearer. I press my ear to the side of the box in an effort to hear more.

“…such a bitch,” the man is saying. “Can’t you at least pretend like you enjoy my company?”

Cheryl giggles, and replies back in a mocking tone. “Of course I do, Lee. What, you think I’d fuck you if I didn’t like you?”

“Never mind,” the man says. “I knew it was a bad idea to come back here.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Cheryl asks angrily. I hear more footsteps, then a soft, seductive moan. Or rather, what passes as soft and seductive from Cheryl. I hear her talking softly, almost pleading.

“Forget it,” the man – Lee – says. “If that’s all you want, you can drive to State Street and get yourself a twenty-dollar whore.”

“Prick!” Cheryl suddenly screams, and I hear a loud, brutal slap.

More angry footsteps. “What the hell is with you tonight?” Lee asks. “You’re acting like a goddamn psycho!”

“Fuck you!” Cheryl screams, and something hits the wall. Probably a fist. “Just get out!”

“Fine.” Angry, receding footsteps, and the angry slamming of the door. Cheryl lets out an angry cry, and something glass strikes the wall and shatters. “Fucking prick!” she keeps screaming as she storms angrily around the room.

Then, I hear her footsteps come closer, and I hear a light being snapped on. I’m suddenly filled with cold terror. I run to the corner of my box and huddle, praying vainly as her hands slap roughly against the outside. The entire box shakes violently as it is whipped through the air with no regard. I bounce against her sandal as it slides along the bottom of the box. Grabbing frantically for something to steady myself, I find myself clinging to the leather strap. My water glass tumbles over, splashing water all over me and her shoe.

Finally, the hellish trip ends with a rough bounce. The lid is ripped from the box and Cheryl’s face, bathed in blinding light, glares down at me angrily. “Wake your ass up,” she snarls. She’s quite drunk, and her face is flushed beneath the smeared makeup. Mascara runs down her cheeks in dark teary trails, and her lipstick seems no longer confined to her lips.

“What the fuck did you do?” she barks at me. She reaches in and snatches me up roughly. “Did you spill your water?” she asks, holding me just inches from her angry, horrifying mouth. There’s lipstick on her teeth, and her breath is hot and sour.

“I said, did you spill your water?” she shouts, pinching me hard between her fingers. I scream out, “No! It spilled when you moved the box!”

“You little shit!” She slaps the box off the bed with her other hand, sending it flying across the room. She glares down at me with utter contempt, and I suddenly imagine myself flying across the room as well, smashing against the wall.

Instead, she drops me on the bed. I freefall, flailing and screaming, for several seconds before I strike the mattress and bounce. I lie there, face down, praying for some kind of delivery.

“Don’t you fucking move,” she says, stepping away from the bed. I can feel her eyes on me, even without looking. “I swear to God, I’ll rip your little arms and legs off.” I hear the zip of her dress, then the shuffle as it falls to the floor. I glance up just in time to see her removing her bra. She touches a couple of fingers to her right nipple, then lets out a moan. Even from here, I can see that they’re fully, painfully erect.

Wearing only her panty hose, she sits down on the bed and picks me up again. She licks her lips, then presses me to her breast. She runs me over her nipple, gasping as she rubs my naked body against the stiff, knobby flesh. She lets out a moan, and her grip on me relaxes somewhat. Then, suddenly, her hand is gone and I’m left clinging to her nipple, dangling helplessly.

“Cheryl,” I cry out as she stands up and starts to remove her panty hose. I try desperately to pull myself up, to get astride her nipple. I dig my fingers into the textured flesh, trying to improve my grip, and she lets out a pleasurable moan.

“Rub harder,” she orders me as she sits back down. “Suck it.” While I struggle powerlessly, hanging from her breast, she slowly removes her hose. There’s nothing seductive about her movements – she’s going slow just to torment me, to prolong my agony.

Finally, she wads up her hose and tosses them on the floor. Her hand moves towards me, and I feel a small tinge of relief that, at least, this small slice of torture is over. She grabs me, then mashes my face against her hard nipple.

“My God, you’re useless,” she says scornfully. “Just pretend like it’s my feet.” Her fingers press against the back of my head for about another minute, then she peels me off of her breast and dangles me in front of her cruel face.

“If you can’t do any better than that, I’ll just have to put you down the garbage disposal,” she says, with a harsh laugh. “Is that what you want?”

I shake my head, trembling in her grasp. “No, ma’am.”

She sighs. “Lee’s a prick. He had no right to get me worked up like this and then just leave.” She licks her lips and says, “Oh, well. If you can’t be with the one you love…”

“No!” I scream, flailing madly as she lowers me down between her legs…



Oh, God! Oh, God!

I’m curled up in the corner of my shoebox, which sits on the bed next to the sleeping, snoring giantess Cheryl. My skin, every pore of my body, is permeated with the smell of her. I’m still covered with her sticky juices, and a few coarse, black hairs that cling to my flesh. The smell, the sight, the feeling of being tangled up in that matted hair and pressed against her wet slit. The sound it made, a wet, sickening pop as her monstrous fingers pried it open and pushed me inside. The horrible, frantic sense of utter desperation as slimy, hot, sticky flesh enveloped me in darkness.

I still remember her voice, raspy and hateful, growling, “Fuck me, you little bastard,” as she slid me in and out. And I remember her moans, her screams, as her handling of me became more and more frantic. Then, suddenly, everything seemed to freeze. Cheryl dropped me and slapped her hands flat on the bed as the orgasm ripped through her body. And right at the moment of climax, she screamed out, “J. D.!”

I think J. D. was the name of her husband.

Oh, God!

I was wrong. I was stupid to think I couldn’t sink any lower, to think Cheryl couldn’t possibly do anything to make my life worse. Just the thought of spending another day, another hour in her possession, fills me such dread.

When she put me in my box, she kissed her fingers and touched them to me and told me goodnight in a sweet, playful voice. As if what had just transpired were just a game, just a bit of fun. God, to her it probably was. She’s probably still basking in the warm feeling of “making me a man.”

I know now that this is the bottom, the worst things can get. Nothing else she can do to me would ever make me feel worse than I do right now. I honestly have nothing left to lose at this point.

Because I’ll die before I’ll let her do that to me again.



I toss and turn all night, unable to really sleep. Every time she stirs, I cringe, afraid she’ll wake up feeling amorous. I doze fitfully, my mind filled with horrifying memories. Finally, as the room begins to grow lighter, I give up on trying to sleep and instead concentrate on a way to escape.

The spilled water has dried in the bottom of my box, leaving a dark stain. I sit on the edge of her sandal and stare at the discolored cardboard, my mind seizing on the germ of an idea.

Cheryl moans softly and shifts, causing the box to bounce on the mattress. I hear her yawn as she sits up and peers down at me.

“Morning, lover,” she says sleepily, her eyes still half closed. “Do you need to go potty?”

I nod, and she reaches in and takes me in her hand. Naked, she pads into the bathroom with me and sets me on the rim of the toilet. “Hurry up,” she tells me as I piss over the edge. “I gotta go, too.”

When I’m done, she sets me on the floor, lowers the seat on the toilet, and sits down on the bowl. I turn my back to her to let her finish.

“Hey,” she calls down to me, prodding me with her toe. “Why you being so shy, sweetie? Might as well make yourself useful while you’re down there.” She raises her bare foot over me and lowers it slowly, gently pressing me to the floor. I stumble to my knees, then finally roll onto my back as she pins me beneath her toes.

“Yeah, that’s more your speed, isn’t it?” Her toes slide around me, grasping me and pinching me. “You like it down there, under my foot? Like a little bug?”

I say nothing. I simply lie there and endure it. For once, there’s no reluctant lust, no guilty pleasure. After last night, there may never be again.

“What if I just stepped on you?” she giggles. “Every time I’ve got you down there, I think about that. What if I just kept pushing until you finally popped like a little insect?”

I glare up at her without speaking as she rolls me around beneath her foot, teasing me with her toes. Go ahead, I think bitterly. Do it.

After about ten minutes, she finally finishes. She wipes herself and stands off, moving her foot from me as she turns to flush.

“What’s the matter with you, sweetie?” she asks me, looking back down at me. “You mad, or just worn out?”

I swallow the bile in my throat as I climb to my feet. “Just tired, I guess,” I tell her as reasonably as I can.

“Poor baby,” she says, bending down to pick me up. “Just let me get dressed, and I’ll make us some breakfast.”



Once again, I spend breakfast between Cheryl’s toes, eating whatever pieces of egg and bacon she hands down to me. But I endure it, because I’ve finally got an idea of how to get away, and it won’t work if she arbitrarily decides to punish me. So I dangle from her foot, occasionally stroking her toes to show her what a good sport I can be.

I bide my time all morning, waiting for her to tire of playing with me. Finally, around lunch time, she gets a call from Naomi. I listen eagerly as I straddle her ankle, massaging her sandaled foot. “Yeah, that sounds great, sweetie,” she says. “I’ll be right over.”

She hangs up the phone and says, “Naomi and I are going to lunch.” She plucks me from her foot and carries me into her bedroom. “If you’re a good boy while I’m gone, I’ll bring you back a doggie bag.”

“Sounds great,” I say, grinning excitedly as she puts me in my box. “Um, can I have some water?”

“I don’t know,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “Are you going to spill it again?”

I shake my head. “No ma’am. I’ll be really careful.”

“Okay, sweetie.” She walks off, then returns with a paper cup of water. “Now, how about something soft to sleep on?”

“Your panty hose?” I ask with a shy smile, and Cheryl giggles. “You naughty little thing. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

I nod. “Yes ma’am.” She rummages around on the floor, then comes up with the wad of sheer, dark nylon. She sets them in the box and says, “You all set, sweetie?”

“Yes ma’am,” I tell her. “Have fun!”

“I will,” she says, sliding the lid in place. “And we’ll have a nice bath when I get back.”

I shudder in the darkness as the box trembles around me. I feel movement and hear footsteps. Then, once again, I feel the box being lifted until it comes to rest. It slides along the surface, then comes to a stop. I hear the click of the light switch and the sound of receding footsteps. When they’re gone, I get to work.



You see, I finally figured it out. The up and down movement? She’s putting me on a high shelf. The light switch? It’s her closet. So right now, my shoebox is probably setting six feet or so off the ground on a shelf in a dark closet.

I tap the sides of the box, making sure to pick one that isn’t pressed against the wall. Once again, the far end sounds like my best bet. I grab my water cup and rock it back and forth until it finally tips over. The cold water spills all over the cardboard, splashing against the side and the bottom of the box. I walk over to the far end, my bare feet spattering water with each step, and I kneel in front of the cardboard wall.

I set to digging with my bare hands in the soggy cardboard, tearing wet strips of mushy paper from the side and bottom. After about ten minutes, my arm finally pokes through the wall into the vast emptiness beyond. Dim light spills through, glaringly obvious in the darkness of the shoebox.

I press my eye against the hole and see that I was right. Her clothes hang just below the shelf I’m on, and her shoes lie in discarded piles far, far below me. The closet door is closed, but a little light spills through the crack at the bottom. Just enough to see.

I wander over to her panty hose and feel around until I find the toe. I take it in my hands and haul it, with much effort, to the hole in the box. Then, hanging on for dear life, I kick at the hole with my foot until I finally break through.

I fall through the hole still clinging to Cheryl’s hose. They come through with me, sliding through the opening with a loud zip, lowering me towards the floor of the closet.

The hose catch after about two feet, leaving me dangling way too high. I glance down at the piles of shoes below me, wondering if I could survive such a fall. Physically speaking, I probably could, but not without breaking a limb.

So I kick my legs and swing on my makeshift nylon rope towards her hanging clothes. I finally let go of the panty hose and fly through the air, screaming until I plop against a rabbit coat.

Clinging to the soft fur, I climb down slowly, methodically. I find myself thinking crazily of that show Land of the Giants, where they always have a convenient phone cable or electrical cord to shimmy down. But, once again, real life has failed to live up to those fantastic standards.

Still, I’m doing all right. I reach the bottom of her coat and let myself drop the remaining twelve inches. I land hard, but unharmed, on the rubber sole of her flip-flop. I lie there for a few minutes, collecting my thoughts and giving my weary arms a rest. Then, giddy with excitement, I scramble under the closet door and make good my escape.

“I see him!” Kim squeals, her face peering sideways under the couch. She reaches towards me, grunting with exertion. I press back against the baseboard as hard as I can to avoid her trembling, extended fingers. They come about six inches short of reaching me. “Try and knock him towards me!”

The yardstick prods me from the side, a massive slat of yellow wood. I look down the length of the ruler – the words STASHEFF PROPANE: EXCEPTIONAL ENERGY are emblazoned in black beneath the inch marks – and see Nicole’s fist wrapped tightly around the other end. She chews her upper lip as she goes about the delicate operation of extracting me from my hiding place.

If I run left, I’ll be out in the open. If I run right, I’ll be heading towards Nicole and her yardstick. The wall is behind me, and Kim’s groping fingers are in front of me.

In short, I’m screwed.

Nicole knocks me away from the wall and sweeps me along the dirty carpet with the yardstick, right towards Kim’s eager hand. Kim grins viciously as I’m shoved closer, and whispers, “I’ve got you now.”

Yeah. Definitely screwed.



Just half an hour ago, I escaped from my shoebox prison in Cheryl’s close with a scheme so daring it would have made Frank Lee Morris jealous. (He escaped from Alcatraz in 1962. Try to keep up.) Anyway, I made my way out of her closet and into her bedroom, still wondering what my next step should be.

Staying in this house was just asking for trouble, especially once Cheryl found me gone. But no way was I going to run next door and put myself back in Naomi’s hands.

Somehow, I had to get hold of Suzy. A plan hampered somewhat by the fact that I had no idea what her phone number was. Or her parents’ names, for that matter. But I figured I’d cross that bridge when I came to it. The first thing I needed to do was find a phone.

I searched around the vast expanse of Cheryl’s bedroom. Her bed stood like a distant vista, the bedspread wadded up on the floor. Her bra was lying where she’d dropped it last night, on the floor draped atop her overturned high heels.

I finally spotted Cheryl’s phone sitting up on the nightstand next to her bed. But it was one of those big, clunky, old-fashioned phones. Even if I could get up to it, I’d still need to somehow wrest the receiver from the cradle. And no matter how easy they make that look on Land of the Giants, I doubted I’d be able to manage.

But she did have a portable phone. She had been talking to Naomi on it before she left for lunch. So all I needed to do was make my way to the living room, somehow get up on the coffee table, and hope I could work the damn thing.

Piece of cake.



The journey down the hallway from Cheryl’s room to the living room was nerve-wracking, to say the least. I knew Cheryl and Kim were out of the house, but I had no idea for how long. Cheryl had gone to lunch with Naomi well over an hour ago, and I’d just heard Kim go out the front door.

Even so, it was a long trek to the living room with absolutely no cover in between. If one of them came home and happened on me while I was in the hall, I’d have no place to run and nowhere to hide. An hour ago, I’d had nothing to lose. But now that I actually had a shot at freedom, the thought of being captured again was horrifying.

I finally came to the living room, took a couple of deep breaths, and made the heart-stopping dash across the wide open carpet to the coffee table. It was one of those brass and glass monstrosities, dusty and littered with knick-knacks and magazines. From underneath, I could look up and see the clutter scattered across the glass surface. There was the TV Guide and the remote control, a drinking glass half full of melted ice and sitting in a puddle of condensation, unopened mail that had been thoughtlessly dropped there, an ashtray, a Precious Moments statue… but no phone.

Dammit, I thought, glancing around the living room. Kim must have moved it. She didn’t have a phone of her own, which meant she’d probably taken the portable into her room. I didn’t relish the idea of going back into that place, but knew I’d better do it now, while she was out.

I was making my way across the living room, feeling exposed and vulnerable, when the front door opened. I froze and searched around in a panic, desperate for a hiding place.

“I swear,” Kim was saying as she came in. “I didn’t do anything to him. He just ran away.”

Nicole followed behind her and closed the door. “Well, we’ve got to find him,” she said, her voice trembling, “or we’re gonna get in serious trouble.”

“We’re gonna get in serious trouble,” Kim repeated in a whiny, mocking voice. “I swear, you are such a…” Her gaze suddenly fell on me, and her face lit up with the cruelest grin I’ve ever seen. “There he is!” she squealed, lunging towards me.

I turned and ran, screaming to drown out the sounds of their slapping sandals. I was almost to the safety of the couch when Kim slammed her massive flip-flop into my path.

“Where do you think… shit!” She cursed as I scrambled over her foot and tumbled down the other side. I dove for the safety of the couch and slid underneath. Kim dropped to her knees and thrust her hand after me. Her grasping fingers barely missed me as I ran to the back wall, out of her reach.

“We’ve got him,” Kim said, triumphantly to Nicole. “Go find a broom or something.”



Which is pretty much where we came in. Now I’m being shoved towards Kim’s eager fingers, with no escape. I don’t even want to think about what they’re going to do when they get their hands on me.

The front door opens, and the girls panic. The yardstick drops to the floor and Kim withdraws her hand. They both climb to their feet.

“What are you girls doing?” Cheryl asks in her raspy voice.

“Um, nothing,” Kim said. “I mean, looking for change.”

“Well, why don’t you go outside and play for a while?” Cheryl suggests.

“But Mom…”

She sighs and says in a stern voice, “I said, go play outside. I need some alone time.”

Reluctant, defeated, the girls trudge out the front door and slam it. I breathe a sigh of relief at the close call.

I watch Cheryl’s feet approach the couch. They turn, and she sits down. The couch above me creaks and the metal springs stretch. I hear the flick and click of a cigarette lighter, and a long, contented sigh from Naomi.

“Looking for change,” she mutters as she slides her foot out of her sandal. She toys with it idly with her toes as she smokes and continues her monologue. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you? Well, you brought this on yourself, little girl. This is what you get for keeping secrets from me.”

Her foot presses down on the sandal, as if trying to crush it. She exhales again, and I hear the sound of her cigarette being snuffed out in the ashtray. “Just remember that, Kim,” she mutters, slipping her foot back into her shoe and standing up. “Whatever happens to him, it’s your fault.” She walks across the living room and to the hallway.

“Okay, Ray,” she says, rounding the corner. “It’s bathtime, you little shit.”

I listen to her fading footsteps, the creak of her bedroom door opening. A distant rustle, silence…

Then, a bloodcurdling scream. “God damn it!” Something thuds against the wall, and something breaks. “You little piece of shit!”

There’s a narrow wooden lip that runs along the bottom of the couch, just an inch below the black springs. The fabric of the couch folds around it in places, held by large metal staples. I run towards the front of the couch and leap up, clutching at the green cloth.

“Where are you, you little fuck?” Cheryl screams. I hear things being tossed around and overturned in her bedroom. She’s probably going through the closet, checking her shoes. As if.

On my third attempt, I manage to get hold of the cloth. And somehow, I manage to pull myself, hand over hand, up to the tiny wooden ledge. My arms are trembling and hurting from the effort, but I manage. It might be adrenaline, or it might be an upper-body strength born of dangling for my life for the past month, but I finally get a leg up on the ledge and pull myself up to safety.

And none too soon. Cheryl’s angry footsteps come down the hall and back into the living room. “Looking for loose change, huh? Did they see you down there?” I hear her stomp towards me, the couch shaking with each vicious step. She drops to her knees with a heavy thud, the shadow of her body blocking out the dim light that spills under the couch.

“Are you under there, you little shit? Are you?” Her voice is so close, directly underneath me. Her hand reaches under the couch, pawing angrily at the ground until it finds the yardstick. She clutches it and begins swiping madly beneath the couch, scraping the far wall and striking the legs of the couch.

I lie there on the wooden lip, clinging to the fabric of the underside of the couch, watching the giant wooden slat as it flails blindly from side to side.

“God damn it!” she shouts again, then sighs. She drops the yardstick and withdraws her hand.

“Listen to me Ray,” she says, her voice trembling as she strains to contain her rage. “I’m going to give you one chance to get out of this without getting in trouble, okay? Just come out and I promise I won’t punish you.”

I shake my head in amazement. She must think I’m retarded or something. Unlike her daughter, Cheryl is a horrible liar.

“Come on, Ray,” she pleads. “Don’t be like this, sweetie.”

She stands up, and I hear her walk to the center of the room. “Just come out, and we’ll act like none of this ever happened.”

A long moment of silence, then an exasperated groan. “Fine, you little bug,” she snarls. “If I find you, I’m going to kill you. You hear me? I mean it, I’m going to squash you like a fucking roach!”



For about two hours, I remain in my hiding place, shifting occasionally to relieve my cramping limbs.

Cheryl, in the meantime, goes on a tear through the living room. I can hear her crawling around on her hands and knees, alternating back and forth between calling my name sweetly and threatening to disembowel me. She has the yardstick with her, and I can hear the occasional scrape and thump as she jabs it under and behind furniture.

Finally, she stands up and walks towards the dining room. I breathe a sigh of relief, assuming the search is going to finally move to another room. I still want to try and get to the phone in Kim’s room before she comes back.

I hear Cheryl messing around with something, but I’m not sure what. Lots of stuff shifting and sliding in the closet as she pulls out something big.

Then, the vacuum cleaner roars to life. She drops to her knees and slides the hose under the couch. Without an attachment, the open nozzle sits there, sucking in whatever dust bunnies and lint happen to lie near it. Cheryl slides it around a little, trying to get back in the corners, around the legs of the couch. At last, she pulls the hose out and drags the vacuum cleaner towards the entertainment cabinet.

A few seconds later, something hard gets sucked into the vacuum and bounces around inside, clicking and banging until Cheryl turns the machine off.

“Is that you, Ray?,” she mutters, snapping the vacuum cleaner open. I hear her rummage around, then let out a sigh. “A fucking penny.”

The vacuum cleaner incident goes on for another half hour, then Cheryl shuts it off. Pacing around the living room, she calls out to me. “I know you can hear me Ray,” she says. “And you’re not going to get out of here. Between me and Kim, one of us is bound to find you. And for your sake, you’d better hope it’s her.”



Finally, Cheryl moves her search to the dining room, and I make a break for Kim’s bedroom. I run frantically across the living room, terrified of being seen again. This time, I make it to the far wall, next to the china cabinet. Gasping for air, I lean over and rest my hands on my knees, waiting for my heart to stop pounding.

Once I catch my breath, I make a mad dash around the corner, towards Kim’s room. It’s a long trek in the open, and I keep glancing over my shoulder, expecting to see the bottom of Cheryl’s foot hovering over me.

I finally reach Kim’s bedroom and run inside. I’m immediately struck with an awful feeling of déjà vu, remembering the indignities and torments I suffered at Kim’s manic-depressive whims. Her dirty clothes are scattered across the floor, and a towel lies draped over the edge of the bed. I approach it nervously, passing by her dresser where I was held prisoner for almost two weeks, past the small crumbs that remain of Oreos crushed underfoot.

The towel is still damp from this morning’s shower, and is far from smelling April fresh. But it looks to be the easiest way up on her bed, so I grab the rough terrycloth in my hands and start the long, arduous climb.

It’s slow going, but fortunately not as difficult as I’d imagined. The coarse material of the towel provides plenty of handholds and footholds. My only fear, one that has plagued me all afternoon, is that of being spotted and having no place to run.

I finally make it to the top of the bed, and spot the phone lying next to her pillow. I actually feel a sense of elation, since it’s just about the first thing to go right since I first escaped from Cheryl’s closet. I run across the unmade bed, scrambling over the sheet, until I reach the phone. It’s lying face up, where Kim tossed it after using it last.

Okay, a lot of buttons. Numbers, tic-tac-toe board, star… I know those. Int, Hold, Dial, Format, Pgm/Mute, Delete… not quite sure. Channel, Re/Pa, Memory, Flash… Christ, what’s with all these fucking buttons?

But there’s a big, blue one labeled “Talk,” so I climb on the phone and step on it. The display changes from READY to TALK, and I’m rewarded with a dial tone. I slide off the phone, onto the bed.

Somewhere in the distance, the vacuum cleaner starts up again. Cheryl’s making her way through the house, room to room. When I’m done in here, I’ll need to find a place to hide that she’s already checked.

Okay, Suzy’s number. I have no idea. Not a clue. To tell you the truth, I’m not even sure how many digits there are in a phone number. Is it seven or ten? Do I dial an area code? Do I dial 1 first? Maybe an operator?

I decide to try directory assistance. After all, even though I’m totally ignorant in the ways of the telephone, I’m familiar with 411 and 911. I learned those from watching TV.

So I walk around to the side of the phone and I press the 4 button. Well, actually I pound it with my fist. It sinks down under my blow and I hear a beep.

So I hit the 1 button twice. I hear a single ring, then a woman’s voice announces, “Southwestern Bell Directory assistance. What city and state, please?”

It’s a recorded voice, speaking slowly and evenly. I run down to the mouthpiece and shout, “Stasheff! Texas!”

Then, back up to the earpiece, just in time to hear the woman say, “Thank you. What listing please?”

I run back down and shout, “The Le family!”

Then, back up to the earpiece. “Please hold.” For about fifteen seconds, nothing happens. Then the recorded voice returns and says, “I’m sorry. I was unable to process your request. Please try again. What city and state, please?”

Dammit! I climb up the phone and stand on the Talk button again, ending the call. Okay, I’m getting the hang of this. I’ll try an operator. I step onto the Talk button one more time, then make my way past all the numbers, stepping gingerly in between the buttons. I get to the 0 and press it with my foot.

Back up to the earpiece, where a woman’s voice – most likely the same one I heard before – says, “Southwestern Bell.” She’s immediately replaced by a man with a low, heavy drawl. “Operator, help you?”

I make my way down to the mouthpiece and shout, “I need to reach the Le family in Stasheff!” As I head back to the earpiece, I hear the operator calling, “Hello? Is anybody there?”

Frustrated, I kneel over the mouthpiece and put my face right to it. “The Le family!” I scream as loud as I can. “I need to reach the Le family!”

“…sorry, ma’am,” the operator is saying when I get back to the earpiece. “We seem to have a bad connection. Please hang up and try again.”

Jesus H. Christ! I stomp angrily on the Talk button and am in the middle of pondering my next move when I hear approaching footsteps. I leap off of the phone and scramble under the pillow.

Kim comes walking in and slams the door. I watch in horror as she approaches me. Her hand comes right at me, and I have to bite my lip to keep from whimpering. But she simply grabs the phone and lifts it away. She plops down on the bed, and I scoot out from under the pillows just as her head falls back on them. Running along the side of her bed, I leap across the gap to her nightstand and take refuge behind her clock radio. Too close!

She dials a number on the phone, then sets it next to her ear. She raises one foot high above and lets her sandal dangle from between her toes as she speaks.

“Hey, Nicole,” she says. I can hear Nicole’s voice, muffled and indistinct. Then Kim says, “No, we can’t look for him right now. My mom’s vacuuming.” An angry, or excited, buzz from the other end, and Kim says, “Yeah, I know, but I can’t stop her from vacuuming, can I?” Another exchange, then, “Well, that’s what he gets for running away. It’ll serve him right if he gets sucked up.”

Kim drops her leg and sits up angrily as Nicole argues with her. “Oh, what? Are you going to cry now? I swear, you’re such a baby!” She takes a deep, exasperated breath, and interrupts Nicole. “Look, if you tell, we’ll get in trouble. We’ll probably have to go to jail, okay? So we either have to find him ourselves, or make sure nobody else does.”

Kim leaps out of bed and shouts, “Ooh, there he is now!” My heart skips a beat and I almost collapse from fear, but Kim’s not even looking at me. She walks over to a discarded sock and looks down at it.

“Yeah, really,” she says, giggling. She lifts her bare foot from her sandal and brings it down on the sock, grinding it mercilessly beneath her toes. “Ooh, he’s under my foot right now, begging me for mercy.” She moves the phone away from her mouth and glares down at the sock. “Yeah, that’s right Ray. Kiss my toes, you little jerk.”

I can only imagine Nicole’s anguished response. Kim says, “No, you can’t. If you try to come over and see him, or if you tell anybody about him, I’ll squish him and flush him down the toilet.” She glares down at the sock again and says, “You like that, Ray? You like my sexy bare feet?”

Finally, Kim says, “I don’t know. I guess you’re just gonna have to take my word for it. But if I see you or anybody else over here looking for him, I’ll kill him.”

God, it is so chilling to hear this twelve-year-old girl discuss killing me so casually. But Cheryl’s made it clear she intends to kill me as well, so I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the sociopathic tree.

Kim hangs up the phone and looks down at the sock, grasping it between her wiggling toes. “Oh, Ray,” she whispers. “The things I’m gonna do to you…”



When I was eight years old and still living at SPECTRUM, Louise read this book to me called The Borrowers, about a family of tiny people who lived under the floorboards of the house. I remember being enthralled with the thought of a race of tiny people living secretly in this world of giants, stealing (or “borrowing”) what they needed to survive.

Well, all I can say is that, once again, reality pales miserably next to fantasy.



It’s been days, and I’m hardly the formidable warrior I always fantasized about being. I am armed with a safety pin that I pulled from one of Kim’s dirty shirts on the floor (it was there in place of a missing button). It’s not the poisoned needle I used to dream about, but at least it offers me a little protection.

I’ve also fashioned a toga of sorts out of Kleenex, mainly because I was tired of running around with my tackle flapping and my bare ass showing. It really serves no purpose, and it probably looks pretty stupid, but at least I’m not running around naked anymore.

Food and water are the hardest parts. I was so thirsty this morning, I couldn’t stand it. So I made my way into Cheryl’s bathroom and waited for her to finish her bath. Then I stood there, crouching between the wall and the toilet, watching her towel off and primp in the mirror. Finally, she finished and left, snapping off the light. I ran over to where she had been standing and lapped greedily at the puddles of water that had formed at her feet.

Mary Norton never wrote about anything like that.

As for food… well, there was a little bit of chocolate in that candy wrapper, but I polished it off. I also finished the Oreo crumbs on the carpet, and none too soon. Cheryl moved her search to Kim’s bedroom right after. I managed to slip out the door while she was vacuuming under the bed…

Nicole hasn’t come by and, as far as I know, hasn’t even called. I still blame her for my predicament, but I can’t help feeling sorry for her. On some level she cares what happens to me, and Kim has been mashing that button mercilessly for the past couple of days.

I keep waiting for a visitor, just somebody who might be sympathetic to my plight. At this point, I’d even throw myself on Naomi’s mercy and accept whatever punishment she felt like dealing out. But Cheryl always goes over there instead.

I’ve watched the front door meticulously, just waiting for an opportunity to dash out. But Cheryl and Kim both seem aware of my plan, and they never give me a chance. They’ve moved the only thing, a potted plant, that might have given me cover there. And every time they enter or exit, they painstakingly watch the floor, ready to crush me if they see me making a move.

There’s a back door, locked and latched, leading to an unkempt back yard. It hasn’t been opened once since I got here, and I’m not holding my breath on that as an escape route. Nor the garage, which is only accessible from the outside.

I can’t stay in any one place too long, as Cheryl or Kim are constantly searching. Still, I’ve got a few spots that seem safe enough. Of course, there’s the tiny wooden ledge under the couch. That’s where I usually sleep, with my safety pin stuck into the wood to keep me from rolling off. There’s also the tight space under the china cabinet. It’s too small for the vacuum hose to fit, and it’s too heavy to be moved easily. But it’s dark and filthy down there, and littered with dead bugs.

Finally, there’s a hole in the back of the entertainment center through which all the cables and wires run. It’s a tight squeeze, but I can usually wriggle past the cords and into the warm, narrow space behind the VCR and cable box. I don’t like this spot as much because it’s difficult to get in and out of, which makes it a bad place to get caught. Plus, I have to take off my toga since the tight squeeze through the tiny wooden hole would tear it to shreds.



I think it’s Wednesday, but I’m no longer sure. I can’t remember how long I’ve been running for my life. I can’t remember the last time I felt safe, or happy, or anything other than despair and the driving need to survive.

Anyway, I’m crouched behind the VCR, peering over the edge and watching Cheryl as she tears the cushions off the couch. She no longer calls to me, no longer pretends she’ll have mercy on me. In some ways, this is something of a relief. When she was promising leniency, there was always a part of me that longed to surrender and end this horrible existence, even if it meant going back to being her goddamned toy.

But now, that’s no longer an option and, therefore, no longer a temptation. She’s the hunter, I’m the prey. It’s a much simpler relationship.

Kim comes in the front door, and Cheryl drops the couch cushion and turns to regard her daughter. She looks guilty, like she’s been caught in the act.

“Where have you been?” Cheryl asks.

Kim walks over and glances at the stripped couch. The cushions lie in a pile at Cheyrl’s feet.

“Just next door with Nicole,” Kim says sweetly. “She’s really worried about Ray, and I figured she’d want to talk.”

Cheryl sighs. “Kim? I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to level with me, okay?”

Kim tenses, her fists clenching. “What is it, Mom? I’ve been taking my meds.”

“No, it’s not about that. Listen…” Cheryl wearily rubs the bridge of her nose with her pink fingernails. “I know you and Nicole took Ray, okay?”

“What?” Kim manages to sound very outraged. “Did Nicole say something, coz she’s a liar!”

Cheryl shakes her head. “No, Nicole didn’t say anything. And don’t worry, sweetheart. You’re not in any trouble.”

“I don’t know anything about this,” Kim says, turning to leave. She glances in my direction and I hold my breath and press against the inside of the entertainment center.

“Look, I said you’re not in any trouble,” Cheryl says, coming after her and grabbing her arm. “I know you and Nicole took Ray, and I know he got away from you, and I know he’s in this house somewhere.”

Kim turns to look at her, but says nothing.

“I know you’ve been looking for him, and you didn’t want me to know what you were doing. And I’ve been looking for him, too.”

“Really?” Kim asks. “How come?”

Cheryl smiles. “Here’s what I’m thinking. The two of us looking together might have better luck. It would make it easier if we didn’t have to hide what we were doing. So we’ll keep looking and, when we find Ray, we’ll share him.”

“Share him?” Kim asks, dubiously.

“Yeah, share him,” Cheryl answers, laughing. “Take turns playing with him.”

“So, you want to keep him?” Kim asks, a grin slowly creeping on her face.

“Of course, sweetie. But we have to keep it a secret, okay? If we find him, you can’t tell anybody. Not even Nicole.”

“Nicole thinks I’ve still got him,” Kim says with a giggle. “I told her I’d squish him if she told anybody.”

Cheryl sighs. “I wish you hadn’t done that. It’s better if she thinks he’s gone for good.”

“But she was gonna tell,” Kim protests.

“Let her,” Cheryl says. “It’ll be her word against yours.” She grins and takes Kim’s chin affectionately in her hand, tilting her face up to her own. “And we both know what a good liar you are, sweetheart.”



More water, this time licked from a drinking glass left on the coffee table. I’m on edge the entire time, all too aware of my vulnerable position. My stomach grumbles angrily, but I don’t know what I’m going to do for food. I pray it doesn’t come down to eating the dead bugs under the china cabinet. Of course, after drinking Cheryl’s bath water the other day, eating bugs is pretty much a lateral move.

Kim’s next door, no doubt tormenting poor Nicole to keep her in line. Cheryl has dragged the vacuum cleaner into Kim’s bathroom and is searching for me there. I remember what a dump that place is, so hopefully she’ll be occupied a while longer.

Because I’ve got an idea. And it’s so obvious, I can’t believe I didn’t think of it earlier.

The phone sits on the coffee table, face down, on the pile of magazines. I take my safety pin from my shoulder and set it on the glass table. Then I climb up the magazines and lie down on my back. I slide underneath the phone like a mechanic and shove up on the Talk button with both hands. The dial tone comes on. I press 9, then crawl over to the 1 and press it twice. The line rings once, and a woman’s voice says, “Nine-one-one, what is your emergency please?”

I slide out from under the phone and run. I grab my safety pin and slide it up over my shoulder, then run and fling myself off the edge of the coffee table. I fly through the air and land on the edge of the couch, my hands and feet scrambling for a purchase. Then I run awkwardly to the other end of the couch, bouncing and stumbling across the soft cushions.

A throw pillow lies on the floor, still there from Cheryl’s search yesterday. I dive off of the couch and plummet into the pillow, bouncing twice, then coming to rest.

I don’t know how long it’ll be, but somebody’s bound to come knocking at the door. And I intend to be ready for them.



I crouch at the edge of the china cabinet, waiting anxiously. It’s been ten minutes, and the phone is making its angry off-the-hook sound. Cheryl is still knocking around in Kim’s bathroom, oblivious.

My plan is simple, which is why it’s also so damned dangerous. I’ve got my safety pin open and ready. Any minute now, the police will come by to investigate the 911 call. When they get here, Cheryl will answer the door and I will rush towards them. And if Cheryl tries to step on me or grab me, I’m going to stab her. Which will hopefully serve to draw attention to me and lead to my rescue.

Finally, the knock comes at the door and my heart pounds so hard I think it’s going to explode. This is it, the moment of truth. In another minute, I’ll either be free or dead. But at least, one way or the other, this fucking nightmare will be over.

I hear the familiar slap of Cheryl’s flip-flops as she comes to answer the door, and I suddenly realize I’ve made a grave miscalculation. She’s wearing shoes, for Christ’s sake!

She come running into the living room and stops when she hears the phone buzzing. She glances towards it, then around the room. “What the hell did you do, you little shit?” she whispers, running over and grabbing the phone. She hangs it up, then starts looking around angrily.

Another knock at the door, and she walks over to it and opens it a crack. She stands behind the door, peering around it at the policeman standing outside.

“Um, Cheryl Morgan?” he asks, checking his printout. God, so close. But Cheryl’s looking for me and would crush me before I even got the guy’s attention. It’s not a risky plan, it’s suicide. And I’m not that desperate yet.

“What is it, officer?” she asks, keeping the door barely opened, preventing him from seeing inside.

“We received a 911 call from this address,” he says. “And whoever called left the phone off the hook, so we couldn’t call back.”

“Really?” Cheryl says, shaking her head. “You know, I just found the phone lying on the floor.” She snaps her fingers. “Ah, you know what probably happened? I probably left it sitting on the couch, and it fell off and hit the speed dial.”

“Well,” the officer says, “I really should come in and have a look.”

“Of course, officer,” Cheryl says. “Can you give me a couple of minutes to make myself decent?”

The officer sighs. “Tell you what. We’ll just forget it this time. But I’d suggest you take the 911 off of your speed dial. We get a lot of calls from people with kids or pets that accidentally push the button.”

“I will, officer,” Cheryl says. “Thank you.”

“Have a good day, Ms. Morgan,” the officer says. Cheryl shuts the door, then turns to address the living room.

“Nice try, you little prick,” she says, walking over to the coffee table and poking under it with her foot. “But now I know where you are.” She drops to her knees and begins searching under the table, then moves on to the couch. I remain hidden under the cabinet, watching her futile search.



God, I’m so hungry! Kim sits on the couch, eating Oreos and watching TV. She’s supposed to be searching for me, but Cheryl went to have a bath and Kim decided to take a little break.

I’ve been sitting on the wooden ledge under the couch, trying to ignore the frantic moaning of my belly. But finally, I can no longer stand it. I swear, even the bugs under the china cabinet are starting to sound good.

I leap down to the floor and look out from under the couch. Kim’s bare foot dangles down, her toes playing with the brass leg of the coffee table. And on the carpet, just under her foot, are Oreo crumbs! And God help me, my mouth is watering maniacally.

Maybe just one or two, I tell myself, inching out into the open, watching her foot carefully. Maybe I can snag just enough to stop the gnawing hunger. God, they’re so close and what are the odds that she’s looking down at just this moment?

“Any luck,” Cheryl calls from the hallway. Kim leaps to her feet and drops to her knees. I almost scream at the sudden nearness of her. All she has to do is turn her head, and I’m spotted. And I’ve got nowhere to run.

Cheryl walks into the room in her bathrobe, barefoot. I’m scared to move, afraid that any motion on my part will draw Kim’s attention. She’s so close to spotting me…

“He’s not down here,” Kim says, standing up. She didn’t even look! She just didn’t want her mom to know she was loafing. Trembling with relief, I scramble back up to the safety of the little wooden lip.

Cheryl sighs. “Where the hell is that little prick hiding?” she asks wearily. “I swear, I’m going to make him pay for putting us through this.”

“Me too,” Kim giggles.

“Okay, keep looking,” Cheryl says. “I’ll be back to help in a few minutes.”



After another hour or so, I hear Kim let out a frustrated sigh. The couch shakes around me and I know she’s just collapsed on it.

“What’s the matter?” Cheryl asks, from over by the china cabinet. I think they might be onto that particular hiding place because she’s been prodding under it with the yardstick for the past fifteen minutes. I think she’s probably cleaned out most of the dead bugs and knocked down a few of the cobwebs.

“I’m sick of this,” Kim whines. “I’m sick of looking for Ray all the time.”

Cheryl sighs and climbs to her feet. I hear her approach, and the couch groans as she takes a seat next to Kim. “I know, sweetie. It’s frustrating. But he’s around here somewhere, and just think of all the fun we’ll have with him when we catch him.”

“If we catch him,” Kim says. “What if he’s dead?”

“He’s not,” Cheryl says. “He made a phone call this afternoon, so we know he’s still in the house. I’m pretty sure he’s somewhere here in the living room.”

“But we’ve looked everywhere,” Kim keeps whining.

Cheryl says nothing for a few seconds. Then finally, “I think we need a break. How about we just forget out Ray for tonight and watch a movie or something?”

“Okay,” Kim says, without much enthusiasm.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” Cheryl says, standing up. “You look for another thirty minutes, and I’ll go grab us some dinner and rent a movie from Blockbuster. Then we can just kick back and relax for the rest of the night.”

“Can we have Chinese?” Kim asks.

“Sure, sweetheart. Anything you want.”



It’s sometime in the middle of the night. Kim’s gone to bed, and Cheryl is lying on the couch above me, snoring.

All I wanted were some damn cookie crumbs. But now, Kim and Cheryl have trodden over them so many times they’re probably ground into Oreo dust. But, there is the Chinese food. Sesame chicken and fried rice, sitting in half-full cardboard containers up on the coffee table. The smell has been tormenting me all night long. Hell, the scent is so tantalizing it almost makes me drunk.

Speaking of drunk, I think Cheryl made it through a bottle by herself tonight. Kim tried to wake her when the movie (Ocean’s Eleven, in case it matters) was over, but Cheryl just mumbled and refused to budge. So for the past couple of hours, I’ve been sitting here under the couch, listening to Cheryl snore and smelling Chinese food and slowly going out of my mind. I’m trying to work up the nerve to run out there and get something to eat.

She’s drunk, I tell myself. She’s passed out drunk, and nothing’s going to wake her up.

I poke my head out and look around cautiously. Cheryl is sprawled on the couch. Her arm hangs limply off the edge above me, and an empty wine glass lies overturned on the floor where she dropped it. I walk along the edge of the couch, looking for a way up to the top of the coffee table. Last time, I scaled the couch and jumped over to the table, but I’m really reluctant to try that this time with Cheryl snoozing up there.

Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be any other way. The legs of the table are brass and smooth, and while I can probably slide down them, I’ll never be able to climb up that way.

So I leap up and catch hold of the fabric of the couch and slowly pull myself up the front. I listen intently for any change in Cheryl’s snoring, ready to abandon my plan at the first sign of her awakening. Fortunately, she’s like a freaking log at the moment.

God, it’s such slow going. I could probably move a lot faster, but I haven’t eaten a decent meal since Cheryl fed me breakfast days ago. I ate that entire meal wedged between her big and second toe, accepting table scraps from between her fingers as she slid them to me under the table. No reason for it – just one of Cheryl’s little games. She has a lot of them.

I reach the edge of the couch, and have to fight down the terror of being so close to her. She’s lying on her back, a massive, snoring form. Her t-shirt, damp with sweat stains, adheres to her chest, moving up and down with each rattling breath. I make my way down the length of her body, breathing along with her as I pass her waist and walk alongside her leg.

Her feet, resting on the end of the couch, are bare, of course, a sight that never fails to instill terror and awe in me. How many times have I been pinned beneath her feet, grasped between her toes, fondled and stroked and brought to reluctant orgasm?

I shake my head and force myself to concentrate on the task at hand, namely getting over to the coffee table. It takes a few seconds to steel my nerve. I take a couple of steps backwards, coming dangerously close to Cheryl. Three deep breaths, then I run and leap.

I land on the brass rim of the table and tumble, head over feet, onto the glass. I sit up and hold my breath, making sure Cheryl is still snoring before proceeding.

God, my mouth is watering so hard that my chin is wet. The glands in my cheeks are actually hurting as I approach the tall, white cardboard container. It stands almost twice my height, and is decorated with a generic red Chinese dragon. The flaps on top are opened, and the smell of broccoli chicken is downright maddening.

Kim and Cheryl’s paper plates are stacked on the table next to the food. The plates are empty, except for the odd grain of rice, which doesn’t seem quite so appetizing now that the broccoli chicken is within reach. I find a wooden chopstick on the top of the stack, smeared red on the end by Cheryl’s lipstick. I grab the stick and pull it over to the container. Then, I raise the end of the chopstick over my head and slowly work my way down the length of it, raising it higher and higher until it stands on its end. Then I let it drop and it lands against the carton.

Cheryl stirs and mumbles at this moment, and every hair on my body stands at attention. I hold my breath and push up against the container, praying it provides enough cover. I watch Cheryl intently as she scratches under her nose. Then her hand falls limp again and she resumes snoring.

Once my heart starts back up again, I climb the stick and peer down into the container. Broccoli, carrots, chestnuts, and big chunks of chicken swimming in a brown sauce. My stomach rumbles so loud it almost knocks me down. I remove my toga and let it fall down to the table surface. I then slide the safety pin from my shoulder and drop it carefully, letting it land softly on top of the toga. Then, unable to control myself any longer, I step onto the edge of the container and jump in.

I’m standing up to my chest in lukewarm sauce, surrounded by mounds of vegetables and chicken. Greedily, crazily, I tear into the food, falling into a frenzy as I frantically stuff handful after handful into my mouth. I swallow hard, barely chewing. My stomach struggles at first, but finally realizes I have its own best interests at heart. In ten minutes, I’m stuffed and suddenly very, very sleepy. The warm sauce, the full belly – I could easily sink down and go to sleep right now, but I know I don’t dare. Wearily, I climb on top of the remaining vegetables and make my way to the top of the carton. I sling my leg over the edge, grab the chopstick, and climb back down.

I’m covered up to my neck with the warm, sticky sauce. I dab at myself with a used napkin, also stained with red lipstick, and manage to clean myself off to some degree.

Cheryl is no longer snoring when I don my toga and grab my safety pin. She stirs slightly and smacks her lips. I don’t want to get caught on top of the table, so I run to the corner and peer over the edge. The table leg, brass and slick, extends down to the floor. It’s too thick to get my arms around, but I’m still a little sticky from the sauce. That gives me enough friction to climb over the edge and make my way down.

“Ray,” Cheryl mumbles sleepily as I reach the ground. I glance up and nearly throw up my hard-earned dinner when I see her looking right at me. Before I can even bolt for the couch, her bare foot comes down on top of me, knocking me to the floor.

“Now I got you, you little shit,” she slurs, giggling as I struggle crazily. She clumsily works her toes around me, grasping me around the waist. I squirm, frantic and blind with fear, as she lifts me with her toes. “You ready to get yourself some foot?” she says. Well, actually, it’s more like “R’you re’y gechursef suh foot?” She’s really, really drunk.

Not that it helps me much. Her toes grasp me tightly, viciously, and she begins to wiggle them slowly. “Been looking for you,” she says, giggling. “Gotta go tell Kim. She’ll wanna play with you too.”

I continue to struggle as she grinds me between her toes, squeezing the air from my lungs. With fumbling hands, I try to ready my safety pin. She pinches her toes together hard, making me scream, and the pin tumbles to the carpet below.

“You are going to be so sorry,” she mumbles. “God, I’m gonna do things to you…”

Then suddenly, somehow, miraculously, I slip from her grip! I fall to the floor with a heavy thud. Her toes still clutch my toga, wadding it up and tearing it to shreds. Naked, I scramble over to grab my safety pin, then bolt under the couch.

“Oops,” Cheryl says, with another drunk giggle. “I squashed him!” She brings her bare foot back down to the carpet and wipes it back and forth. The toga, sticky and wet with brown sauce, clings to the bottom of her foot for few seconds before it is finally, mercilessly, scraped free.

“Little… shit…” she says thickly. A few seconds later, she’s snoring again.

For almost ten minutes, I can’t move. “Fucking bitch,” I mutter over and over, clutching my safety pin and staring at her enormous foot. God, I just want to run out there and drive this pin into her goddamned arch.

Finally, the adrenaline fades and the horror and frustration subside somewhat. My belly’s full, and I survived another day. Exhausted, I climb up to the little wooden ledge and lie down. I’m asleep almost immediately.



I’m standing in Cheryl’s palm, but she’s also my size, kneeling in front of me. She’s holding out her hand. I go over to see what she’s got, and I see a tiny version of her and me in her palm. The tiny version of her is holding an even tinier version of her and me.

Terrified, I look up and see Cheryl’s enormous face peering down at me. There’s someone else standing next to her, and it’s me. And I’m looking up into an even more enormous face of Cheryl, and so on, ad infinitum.



I wake up to Cheryl’s cursing. I hear her drop to her knees and she calls to me under the couch. “I didn’t dream that, you little shit,” she says in a voice raspier than usual. “I almost got you, didn’t I?” Her hand gropes blindly, her fingernails digging into the carpet. Then, suddenly, her hand jerks away. I hear frantic, pounding footsteps moving away. And then, in the distance, the sound of Cheryl throwing up.



Kim’s heart just isn’t in the search anymore. But Cheryl is encouraged by my close call last night. “The little prick is starving,” she tells Kim. “Why else would he risk his life for some Chinese food?”

“I dunno,” Kim says, disinterested. I’m standing behind the VCR, wondering if this could be the beginning of a break for me. If Kim doesn’t care, chances are she’ll make some stupid mistake and I’ll be able to get out that front door.

“This is perfect,” Cheryl says. “All we have to do is set out some food for him, and we can grab him when he tries to steal it.”

“Whatever,” Kim says, standing up and walking to the front door. “I’m gonna go see Nicole.”

Cheryl sighs. “You shouldn’t keep tormenting her, Kim. She hasn’t told anybody, has she?”

Kim giggles. “I told her Ray was sick because I made him sleep in the freezer the other night, and she started crying.”

“There’s no call for that, Kim,” Cheryl says sternly. “Just leave Nicole alone.”

“Whatever,” Kim repeats, heading out the front door.

Cheryl stares after her, and mutters, “Little bitch.” She walks over to the coffee table and starts gathering the trash from last night’s dinner. “Hope you liked the chicken, Ray,” she calls, stacking the plates and the cartons. “It’s the last food you’re gonna see for a long time.”

Then she stops in front of the couch and reaches down with her toes to pick up my shredded toga. I watch, transfixed by the sight, unable to look away. She smiles cruelly as she ravages the tissue between her toes.

“You like that, you bad little boy?” she asks the Kleenex as it falls to bits. “Is that what you want, huh?” She begins stomping on the tissue, slamming her bare foot down on it again and again. “I said, is that what you want? Huh? Is it?”

Finally, she tires of the game and bends down to pick up the tattered remains of my toga. She sets it on top of the paper plates and carries the stack into the kitchen.

While she’s gone, I slip through the hole in the back of the entertainment center and drop to the floor. After last night, I suspect she’s going be searching all over the living room today. So I’m going to hole up in Kim’s room and wait for things to blow over somewhat.

I’m running across that dangerous open space in the living room, heading towards the hallway, when somebody comes knocking at the door. I run to the china cabinet and dive under just as I hear Cheryl’s approaching footsteps. Hidden in the shadows, I watch her bare feet as she passes by.

She gets to the door, and mutters, “Oh, shit.” She opens the door a crack and says, “What is it, Suzy?”

Then, the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard in my entire life answers, “Ms. Morgan? I’ve come about Ray.”

Suzy! She’s here!

“Ray?” Cheryl laughs, a horrible froggy sound. “What about him, Suzy?”

“Can I come in?” Suzy asks. I strain for a glimpse of her, but can’t see past Cheryl. She has the door barely open, keeping Suzy from seeing inside.

“Now’s not a good time,” Cheryl says. “Do you have some information about Ray, or what?”

Suzy sighs. “I think he might be over here.”

“Why would you think that,” Cheryl snorts.

“Nicole told me she and Kim were keeping Ray over here, but he got away,” Suzy says patiently. “Then she started crying and said she was afraid Kim had caught Ray again and was doing horrible things to him.”

Cheryl shakes her head. “That girl. Quite an imagination.”

“No, not really,” Suzy says. “I don’t think she would make up something like that.”

“So, you really think my daughter would torture some poor, helpless little boy like that?”

“I don’t know. Are you keeping her medicated like you’re supposed to?”

“Goodbye, Suzy,” Cheryl says and starts to shut the door. And without making a conscious decision, I bolt out towards the door, screaming, “Suzy! Suzy! Help me!”

“Son of a bitch,” Cheryl mutters, turning towards me. “You’re dead, you little shit.” She raises her bare foot and stomps down. I stare up as her wrinkled sole comes down towards me in what feels like slow motion, realizing that this is it. No more play, no more torment. She’s going to stomp me flat this time.

I fall flat on my back and brace myself for a messy end. Her foot rushes down at me, and everything slows to a crawl.

The front door flies open and Suzy rushes in, running across the living room. I watch stupidly, sadly, knowing she won’t make it in time.

Cheryl’s foot stops and jerks away from me. Cheryl lets out a bloodcurdling, raspy scream and stumbles backwards in slow motion. Her foot is in the air, shaking furiously. Because my safety pin is imbedded in it, all the way to the hilt.

Suzy rushes over to me, still in goofy slow motion, and drops to her knees. She scoops me up in her palm and lifts me ever so gently. I stare up at her, unable to believe it’s real. It’s going to wind up being a dream, I can tell. Hell, the whole thing already feels like a dream.

The long, surreal noises suddenly snap into real time, as does everyone’s motion. Cheryl is sitting on the floor, yowling with pain, groping at the safety pin in her foot. A small stream of blood pours down her sole, dispersing through the wrinkles as it drips downward.

“You bitch!” Suzy shouts, trembling with rage. “What the hell have you done?”

Still screaming, Cheryl pulls the pin from her foot and throws it to the side. She climbs to her knees and stands unsteadily. “Give him to me,” Cheryl shouts through gritted teeth, limping towards us.

Suzy’s fingers close around me protectively. I feel her body shift and jerk sharply, and I hear a brutal thump of fist hitting face. Cheryl lets out another scream and falls with heavy thud to the floor.

“You pucking bith!” she screams incoherently. “You boke my node!”

“Call the police, then,” Suzy says. “Hell, I’ll do it myself.”

“Wait,” Cheryl croaks. I peer out between Suzy’s fingers and see her mouth and chin are covered with blood. She’s holding a cupped hand to her nose, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

“If you breathe a word about any of this to anyone,” Suzy snarls, “I will call the police. And if you ever come near me, I’ll fucking kill you. Understand?”

“Get out!” Cheryl screams tearfully. “You pucking dlut!”

Suzy carries me outside and pulls the door shut behind her. She looks down at me with such love and tenderness, her beautiful eyes brimming with tears. I look up at her, and something inside me suddenly breaks. I collapse sobbing in her soft hand, relishing the comforting feel of her fingers as they stroke my filthy, naked flesh.



“It’s okay, Ray,” she says soothingly as she carries me into her family’s apartment. “I swear, everything is going to be fine now. I’m not going to let anybody else hurt you.” She carries me through the living room, down the hallway, and into the bathroom.

“Shhh.” She strokes me so lovingly, her fingertips soft and cool and so reassuring. “Let’s get you cleaned up now, okay?”

I nod gratefully, and she carries me over to the sink. Still holding me in one hand, she adjust the faucet with the other, testing the water with her index finger until the temperature is right. Then she closes the drain and runs about an inch of water in the sink.

I can’t possibly describe how good it feels. Her finger, dabbed with soap, rubbing against my chest and arms. The soft, gentle splash of water as she dips her hand in to rinse me off. The gradual, dawning acceptance that this is it. My long, horrible nightmare is at an end. I’m back with Suzy, and everything is going to be okay.

The dirt, grime, and stink of my ordeal are rinsed from my body. The water is so warm and her skin is so soft and I feel like I could start crying again, but I’m all cried out and I look up into her beautiful, kind face, the face of a goddess, a face that I love more than any other I’ve ever know, more than Louise even…

I’ve got to tell her, she’s got to know how I feel. I’m scared to death that she doesn’t know, that she doesn’t understand how much, how truly, how deeply I love her. Now that I’m with her, the thought of losing her is suddenly unbearable.

“Suzy?” I say, and she touches her fingertip to my mouth to shush me.

“I love you, Ray,” she says, smiling down at me. The tears in her eyes have begun their trek down her perfect cheeks. “I’m in love with you, and I just wanted to hurry up and tell you before you spoiled it again by saying it first.”

She moves her fingertip to the side of my head, stroking it gently, brushing my wet hair from my eyes.

“I love you too, Suzy,” I tell her, amazed at how lame it sounds. She was right.

She scoops me out of the sink and wraps me in a soft bath rag. “I know,” she says, with that sexy tight-lipped smile that borders on being a smirk. I swear to God, I never thought I’d be this happy again.

“Let’s go find you something to eat,” she says.



Already, the horror of the last few weeks has become distant and dreamlike. I’m lying in Suzy’s cupped palm, stroking her thumb as she pets me, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. And much to my surprise, I find myself thinking about her perfect feet, her slender toes with the beautiful pale green nails. And maybe tonight, she’ll let me kiss and caress those feet…

There’s a knock at her bedroom door, and Suzy sighs. She sets me on her nightstand, behind the lamp. “What is it, Dad?” she calls, sitting up.

Her dad enters, followed by two large men with crewcuts in ill-fitting suits. My sense of foreboding comes to a brutal, horrifying realization when these men are followed by Rachel Foster from GenetiTech.

“Suzy, these people need to speak to you,” her father says in a stern voice. “They say it is confidential, so I must leave them.”

“Ms. Le,” Rachel says, walking over and sitting on the bed next to Suzy. She’s an imposing brunette, pretty and intimidating. And she’s come to take me back to Naomi and Paul.

Suzy’s dad leaves, followed by one of the big guys. The other one closes the door behind them. I crouch behind the lamp, watching with mounting horror.

“May I call you Suzy?” Rachel asks, smiling in a very friendly way.

Suzy shrugs. “Whatever. What is this about?”

“I think you know,” Rachel says. “We’ve come for Ray.”

“I don’t know where he is,” Suzy says. “He ran away like a month ago, didn’t he?”

“Suzy,” Rachel says with a sigh, “I’m going to save us both a bunch of time, okay?” She nods to the big guy with the crewcut and says, “Oswald?”

The big guy, Oswald, clears his throat and recites thickly, “We suspected that Ray Miller would eventually come to you, so we’ve had you under constant surveillance for the past month. Our man reports that at 11:34 this morning, you drove to the residence of Cheryl Morgan and forced your way in. You then left the premises at 11:38, apparently agitated and possibly carrying something. We dispatched a team to the Morgan residence, and found Cheryl Morgan beaten up and half drunk.”

“With,” Rachel adds, obviously amused, “a puncture wound to the bottom of her foot.”

“We interrogated Cheryl Morgan,” Oswald continues, “and ascertained that she had, indeed, been in possession of Ray Miller until he had been taken, rather forcibly, by you.”

Suzy casts her eyes to the floor, obviously shaken.

“We also interrogated Kim Morgan and Nicole Dalton, and were able to piece together just what happened. When Ray Miller ran away a month ago, he recruited the help of Nicole Dalton to make contact with you. Instead, Nicole Dalton and Kim Morgan decided to keep Ray Miller for themselves. Then, apparently, Cheryl Morgan discovered Ray Miller and…”

“God, that’s enough!” Suzy snaps. “Stop calling everybody by their full name, okay? It’s annoying!”

Oswald clears his throat and continues, unabashed. “Cheryl Morgan discovered Ray Miller and held him prisoner, letting Kim Morgan and Nicole Dalton mistakenly believe that he had run away. Then, six days ago, Ray Miller escaped from the custody of Cheryl Morgan.”

“He’s pretty resourceful, that Ray,” Rachel says with a smile.

“Ray Miller spent the last six days inside the house, trying to escape. Meanwhile, Kim Morgan became concerned that Nicole Dalton was going to reveal to her parents the true nature of Ray Miller’s disappearance and, fearing exposure of her own complicity, fabricated an elaborate story to keep Nicole Dalton at bay. To wit, that Ray Miller was once again her prisoner, and she would torture and kill him should Nicole Dalton inform on her.”

Suzy says nothing. Her eyes are brimming with tears. Rachel puts a comforting hand on her arm and pats her.

“Nicole Dalton eventually had a change of conscience, but remained afraid of telling her parents for fear it would get back to Kim Morgan. So she chose to confide in you. At which point, you rushed to the Morgan household, rescued Ray Miller from Cheryl Morgan, and brought him back here.”

“It’s okay, Suzy,” Rachel says. “You aren’t in any trouble here, understand? As far as I’m concerned, you’re a hero. If we had people like you working for us, we would have found Ray weeks ago. Right, Oswald?”

Oswald nods. “I suppose so, Ms. Foster.”

“We’ve discussed the matter thoroughly with Cheryl, and she understands the need to keep a lid on things. She understands that we won’t offer her up for prosecution as long as she keeps her mouth shut.”

“She fucking tortured him,” Suzy says angrily. “She was going to kill him.”

“Oh, she’s a bitch, no doubt,” Rachel says. “But we’ve been very careful to keep Ray out of the press.” She makes a distasteful face. “Unless you count that National Mirror, and fortunately they’ve got something of a credibility problem. So I think the best solution for everyone would be to return Ray to the Daltons and pretend like none of this ever happened.”

“Bullshit,” Suzy says, furiously. “You take Ray from me, and I’ll…”

Rachel holds up a hand to cut her off. “Before you finish that sentence and force me to take drastic action, let me just ask you something. Have you ever heard of Carol Ruiz?”



Back in 1997, there was a sexual harassment lawsuit filed against GenetTech. A corporate recruiter named Carol Ruiz claimed that she was indecently propositioned by one of the VPs. The poor girl died in a car wreck and that lawsuit went away as well.

Last year, an e-mail started circulating. It was supposedly composed by a disgruntled former GenetiTech employee who wanted to share some startling information despite the fact that his life was in “grave danger.” He told a sordid story of Machiavellian conspiracies and suspicious deaths. Of course, he included Carol Ruiz on the list, but he dismissed the sexual harassment as a cover up. He claimed that Carol had been on her way to the State’s Attorney’s office to turn over evidence of GenetiTech’s “genocidal agenda,” and postulated that GenetiTech’s black ops team had “silkwooded” her brake line.

I remember this only because the e-mail was quite a hot topic around SPECTRUM. Louise dismissed the whole thing as an “urban legend,” and Gary even went so far as to imply that SPECTRUM might have started the rumor themselves.



Suzy’s eyes widen and she snaps her head to stare at Rachel. “What are you saying?”

“I’m just saying, GenetiTech will go to great lengths to protect its image and its investments. Understand?”

Suzy buries her face in her hands and starts sobbing.

“Now, Suzy. Just tell me, where’s Ray?”

She says nothing, and Rachel’s kind smile fades with chilling quickness. She stands up and turns to face Suzy. She raises her hand over her head, and brings it down at a blinding speed, slapping Suzy so hard that her head snaps towards me. She cries out and closes her eyes as the tears pour down her face. Already, her left cheek is turning red.

“Come on, Suzy,” Rachel says. “Just tell me where Ray is, and this whole ugly mess can end. Now where is he?”

“Go fuck yourself,” Suzy whispers, earning another blow.

Rachel sighs and steps back, rubbing her hands together. “Tell you what. I’ll have Oswald bring your dad back in here, and every time you tell us to go fuck ourselves, we’ll extract one of his teeth.”

“You… you can’t do this…”

Rachel nods towards Oswald, who starts to open the bedroom door. Suzy screams out, “No!” She sobs bitterly when Rachel takes her by the chin and forces Suzy to look her in the face. “Last chance, Suzy,” Rachel says. “Where is Ray?”

“I’m right here!” I shout, stepping out from behind the lamp. Suzy turns to look at me, her face wracked with raw, naked anguish. “No, Ray,” she whispers, then starts weeping again.

Rachel smiles at me as she steps over to the nightstand. She reaches down and grabs me between her finger and thumb, and lifts me to her face. “Well, aren’t you the little noble gentleman,” she says, showing her teeth in a fierce grin. I’m suddenly, painfully aware of my nakedness.

She carries me to the door, which Oswald opens for her. She stops and turns to address Suzy, who is sobbing bitterly. “You’re on thin ice, Suzy,” she says. “We’ll be watching you, so I’d advise you to keep your nose clean. For your parents’ sake, if not your own.”

She walks down the hall into the living room, followed by Oswald. Suzy’s father sits on the couch, his face buried in his hands, crying. The other big crewcut stands in the center of the room, his hands behind his back, watching with a definite lack of interest.

“Let’s go,” Rachel orders them.



The GenetiTech car is a black Cadillac Deville limousine. Oswald opens the door, and Rachel climbs into the back with me. The door shuts, and Rachel looks down at me with a friendly smile. “Well now, alone at last.”

I glance around nervously as her fingers wrap around me. Oswald and the other guy climb into the front seat, shielded from us by a sheet of tinted glass.

“It’s good to see you again, Ray,” Rachel says. “I’ve asked the guys to take the long way home, so we could have a chance to talk.”

“I’ve got nothing to say to you,” I yell at her, struggling to cover myself from her gaze. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

She shakes her head. “I’ve got a job to do, Ray. Just like your friend, Alan Mackey.” She laughs coldly. “In fact, if Alan was better at his job, I guess we wouldn’t be having this conversation. So I should probably be thankful.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m just saying. If Alan had been better at keeping you a secret, GenetiTech wouldn’t even be aware of you.” She grins. “The ironic thing is, they read the original Mirror article, the one with the picture of your mom holding you? And they dismissed the whole thing as unlikely, not even worth investigating. It wasn’t until the picture earlier this year that we decided to acquire you.”

“It’s not Alan’s fault,” I tell her. “He was on some assignment when Tony took that picture.”

“Well then, he should have had somebody competent watching things while he was gone. You think security is lax at GenetiTech just because I’m on assignment here?”

It’s chilling when she smiles at me, because there’s nothing inherently threatening about it. With Cheryl, at least you knew she was an evil bitch. Rachel keeps it hidden well. It writhes inside her, like snakes in a marble statue.

“So, you know Alan?” I ask her, curious. She’s hinted that she and Alan share similar jobs, but I’m having trouble imagining him behaving as amorally as Rachel. Alan’s one of the good guys, a hero like James Bond.

“I know Alan Mackey very well,” Rachel says with a chuckle. “I’m the one that gave him that scar.”

“Bullshit,” I tell her. “He got that scar when he stabbed some assassin with a fork!”

Rachel chuckles again. “Well, he did kill one of our guys with a fork, but that wasn’t where he got the scar.”

“You’re lying,” I shout at her, for no other reason than to see her defensive. I so desperately want to break that icy veneer.

But no luck. “Seriously, Ray,” she says, shaking her head. “Why would I like about something like that?”

“Then how did he get it?”

She sighs. “I’ll tell you some other time. Or maybe you can ask him on his next visit.” She adds, almost as an afterthought, “Which will hopefully be his last. After the hearing, when the Daltons are awarded custody, we’ll finally be able to bar SPECTRUM from coming anywhere near you.”

I just huddle miserably in her palm, desperately wishing for something to cover myself. I can’t stand to have those cold, piercing eyes looking at my nakedness.

“That reminds me,” she says, snapping her fingers. She reaches over to the armrest and flips it open to reveal a telephone. She presses a button, and a number dials itself with a series of rapid tones.

“Hello?” a man’s voice answers through the speaker, totally normal and non-descript.

“Three nine nine eight seven six four nine seven zed Bravo Zulu Tango,” she rattles off with practiced ease. A couple of clicks, another tone, and another number dialing itself.

“Operations,” a voice, this time a woman’s, answers.

“It’s me,” Rachel says. Obviously, that’s all she has to do to identify herself to the woman on the phone. “We have acquired Homunculus,” she says. “It’s no longer necessary to stall SPECTRUM with regards to the mother’s visitation. Have Coffey arrange a meeting at a neutral location on Wednesday. I’ll make certain the Daltons are on board.”

“Yes ma’am,” the woman on the phone answers. “Anything else?”

“Maintain surveillance on the Morgan family and the Le family, but take no aggressive action without consulting me first. Oh, and were you able to get that name I needed?”

“Um…” I hear the rustling of paper. “Looks like Winston Ellis,” the woman says.

Rachel sighs and shakes her head. “That’s no good. Ellis isn’t… sympathetic. Find out what it’ll take to get us moved over to Weining.”

“Yes ma’am. Anything else?”

“That’s it for now, Judith. Have a great weekend.”

“You too, Ms. Foster.”

Rachel disconnects and shuts the lid on the armrest. She looks down at me and offers a sympathetic smile.

“I know you’ve been through hell, Ray. I’ve just got a few things to cover, and then we can get you home to your parents.”

“They’re not my parents,” I tell her.

“That’s exactly what we need to talk about,” she says. “I like you, Ray. You’re smart and you’re resilient, and if someone is lucky enough to earn it, you’re fiercely loyal. But you’re also short-sighted and impulsive, and it gets you into trouble when you start mouthing off without considering the consequences.”

“Stop it,” I shout at her. “Stop talking like we’re friends. You don’t know a fucking thing about me!”

“On the contrary,” she says with a chuckle, “it’s my job to know everything about you. You’re sixteen years old, heterosexual, no strong religious convictions. Your favorite author is Richard Matheson, you enjoy movies by Coppola and Tarantino, and your favorite band is Love and Rockets. Your mother abandoned you at age five, and you were raised by the staff at SPECTRUM. You have since imprinted on your therapist Louise Herndon, seeking from her the maternal nurturing of which you were so sadly deprived.”

“Stop it,” I tell her, glaring up at her. But she just smiles and continues.

“You suffer from phobias of open spaces and spiders, both of which are understandable given your condition.”

“Okay, you’ve made your point,” I tell her. “Just stop it!”

“And,” she adds, crossing her leg, “you become sexually aroused by the sight of a woman’s bare foot. Now that one, I’ve got to admit, is pretty interesting.”

Oh, God. I stare down at her palm, unable to meet her gaze.

“Okay, Ray,” Rachel says. “Here’s the deal. This hearing should be open and shut. We’ll be appearing before a sympathetic judge, and I can assure you Paul and Naomi will come across as very loving and very competent parents. Your mother, on the other hand, will be seen as an opportunistic drug abuser who is seeking custody of you simply to cash in.

“Originally, we were hoping to use the National Mirror article to portray SPECTRUM as a vile place, but we forfeited that opportunity when we discredited the reporter Benny Doyle. So it looks like it’s going to be a he said/she said match in the courtroom. Still, the odds are definitely in our favor. And by in our favor, I mean pretty much a foregone conclusion.”

I sigh and shift uncomfortably in her hand. I’m so ready to be away from her that I’m actually looking forward to seeing the Daltons.

“Now, I know you’re thinking about talking – to the judge, to your friends at SPECTRUM, to anybody that will listen – about the horrible things that have happened to you over the last month. And I’m telling you right now, it doesn’t matter. You are going to GenetiTech, and nothing you say or do is going to change that.”

“You’re lying,” I tell her. “If it doesn’t matter, then why are you worried about what I’m going to say?”

Rachel arches her eyebrow. “You are a smart one. I swear, it’s easy to forget you’re just a kid sometimes.” She reaches down and removes her black pump. She flexes her toes through her dark nylons and sighs. I stare, fascinated by the sight of the tight, black mesh stretched across her bright red toenails.

“In answer to your question,” she says reasonably, “I’ll admit, you do have the power to make things somewhat difficult for us. But just remember, I’m not without power of my own. If you say or do anything to make my job any harder, I’ll have your friend Suzy charged with kidnapping. And while she’s awaiting trial, I can see to it that she hangs herself in her jail cell. Understand?”

I blink, feeling tears of frustration running down my flushed cheeks. She’s so arrogant, so certain of her power over me… and she’s right. I’ll die before I let anything like that happen to Suzy.

She takes me between her finger and thumb and hoists me to her face. Her smile is warm and friendly, which makes it even more chilling. “I said, do you understand?”

I nod weakly.

“Good boy,” she says. “And now, what do you say we seal the deal?” Before I can even ponder what the hell that means, she lowers me towards the bottom of her foot. “Sorry about the hose,” she says, spreading her toes and stretching the nylon like webbing. “I know you prefer bare feet, but it’ll still be fun.”

I just glare, without answering, as she takes me between her finger and thumb. “Sorry about the hose,” she says, lowering me towards the bottom of her foot. “I know you prefer bare feet but, oh well.”

She holds me about an inch from her sole, wrinkled and pale beneath the taut mesh of nylon. Her toes wiggle slowly, seductively. In a matter of seconds, my idiot penis is standing at rigid attention. The smell is familiar and reluctantly exciting – leather, sweat and nylon. The heat from her foot is intense.

“There we go,” Rachel says. She presses me against her warm, sweaty foot, stroking my naked body against the silky nylon until I climax indignantly in her grasp. She holds me aloft over her other hand, letting me ejaculate into a tissue. When I’m done, I hang limply between her fingers. She wads up the tissue and throws it onto the floor.

“Just play ball with us, Ray,” she says to me as she slides her shoe back on. “That’s all I’m asking.”



“Oh, my poor little Ray,” Naomi squeals when Rachel carries me into the house. “My poor little baby!” She runs over and snatches me from Rachel’s palm and covers me with a dozen sticky kisses. “I swear to God, I’ll never forgive Cheryl for this!”

“Praise God,” Paul says in a voice calculated to be choked with emotion. Yeah, right, I think, enduring his touch as he touches my face with a calloused index finger. Praise God that your fucking investment is still safe.

“Thank you so much, Rachel,” Naomi says. “I had my doubts, but you guys really came through for us.”

“No they didn’t!” I shout. “Suzy’s the one that rescued me. They just showed up at her apartment to beat her up and take me away.”

Rachel sighs and says to Naomi, “He’s still a little upset that we wouldn’t let him stay with Suzy.” She laughs. “I think those two had plans to live happily ever after together.”

“I can’t believe you were running away to live with that girl,” Naomi says, looking down at me and shaking her head. “What were you thinking?”

“He wasn’t,” Paul says, then chuckles. “Not with his head, anyway.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” Naomi says, closing her fingers around me. “You’re home to stay now, Ray.”



Three weeks ago, when I was a prisoner in Kim’s drawer, the National Mirror printed a retraction and an apology for the story about me and the Daltons. It was their first retraction since the Mr. T/Satanic Conspiracy fiasco of the late 80s. In a very elegant missive, the editor of the paper explained that reporter Benny Doyle had confessed to fabricating the entire story, including the fake photographs. Mr. Doyle had since been dismissed. The editor regretted any inconvenience brought about by the grievous misconduct of their former reporter.

Over the past three weeks, my mother and SPECTRUM have been butting heads with the Daltons and GenetiTech, seeking to enforce their visitation rights. GenetiTech didn’t want it to get out that I was missing, so they stalled by filing some kind of injunction requiring Cathy Miller to prove she was my mother. And they’ve spent the last week losing tests, sabotaging results, and basically prolonging the procedure to buy themselves time. Now that I’m back, they’ve arranged for me to meet with my mother on Wednesday.

In just two weeks, some judge handpicked by Rachel Foster is going to legally hand me over to the Daltons, who will in turn hand me over to GenetiTech. Rachel referred to the hearing as a “foregone conclusion.” I’m terrified she might be right.

And last but not least in our list of developments, it seems that I have lost dollhouse privileges. Rachel believes that I am a “flight risk,” and has thus encouraged the Daltons to tighten their security. My new home is a twelve-gallon aquarium which sits on the floor where my dollhouse was. No more furniture, other than my sponge bed and the matching orange plastic dining table and chair. A white paper ketchup cup, one of many stolen from Dairy Queen, sits in the corner to serve as my toilet. A small Dixie cup sits in the opposite corner, half filled with drinking water. The walls are glass on all sides, and there’s no top on the thing.

In other words, absolutely no chance of privacy at all.



“You could have gotten your brother killed!” Paul is yelling at a tearful Nicole. “What the hell were you thinking?”

I’m leaning against the glass wall of my prison, watching this melodramatic scene play out. I can’t really see Nicole because she’s sitting in Paul’s recliner. Paul and Naomi stand in front of her, with their backs to me.

“I don’t know,” Nicole chokes out between sobs. “I didn’t want to move to Midland!” The last is said in such a pathetic, wailing voice that it would almost be funny if I didn’t feel sorry for her.

Can you believe it? I feel sorry for her! The little bitch betrayed me, lied to me, and handed me over to her psychotic friend Kim. And God knows I spent a good portion of that first week lying helpless beneath her foot, or squirming between her toes, while she and Kim took turns tormenting and teasing me.

Paul’s been shouting at her for about fifteen minutes now, ever since Rachel and the crewcut twins left. And at first, I was really enjoying it. Nicole started crying and Naomi started to interject, and Paul told her to shut the fuck up. And I just stood there, grinning. You tell ‘em, Dad, I thought.

But now, the haranguing has gone on way too long and shows no signs of ending. Paul’s basically repeating himself. This is the third time he’s asked Nicole what the hell she was thinking, and the poor girl is crying so hard that she’s hyperventilating.

“It’s not all her fault,” Naomi says angrily. “Ray was going to run away anyway, remember?”

Paul whirls on her, his face red and contorted with rage. “Shut up!” he bellows, flinging spit in Naomi’s face. She wipes angrily at her cheek, but says nothing.

“What if he had gotten killed?” Paul yells. “What if that crazy whore next door had killed him? Or your psycho little friend, huh?”

“I’M SORRYYYYYYYYYY!!!” Nicole screams, bolting from the chair, right through the two of them. She runs past my dollhouse into her room, and slams the door.

“Get your ass back out here!” Paul shouts, storming after her. Naomi follows right behind him. “You get your ass back out here right now!” He pounds on her bedroom door so loud that it rattles my aquarium.

“Paul, stop it!” Naomi yells. “Calm down!”

One more fist against the door, this one sounding powerful enough to split the wood. Paul stomps back into the living room and snatches his car keys off of the coffee table.

Naomi, still following him, demands, “Where are you going?”

“Out,” he snarls. “You discipline that little bitch of yours, and make sure she stays the hell away from my son.” Paul trudges out the front door, slamming it behind him. I hear the slam of a car door, and the squeal of Paul’s tires in the driveway.

“Bastard,” Naomi shouts at the front door. “Go fuck your little girlfriend Rachel! You think I don’t know about it?”

She walks briskly past the fish tank, her bare feet angrily trampling the carpet. She gives me a brief, withering glare as she passes.

Oh, boy. I’m so goddamned glad to be home.



I can’t quit thinking about Suzy, and it tears me up to know that she’s probably worried to death about me right now. I picture her beautiful face smiling down at me, those intense green eyes so full of love… my recollection is marred by the memory of the brutal smack and the red mark on her tearstained cheek. The ferocity of that image startles me, and the events of the day – of the past month – come flooding through violently. I collapse on the floor of the aquarium, sobbing bitterly.

“What the hell are you crying about?” Naomi asks in a mocking voice. I’m so mired in my own misery that I didn’t even notice her approach. I look up into her face with its cruel and vindictive grin, towering so high above me.

“Your daddy can be a real asshole, you know that?” she says. “He has no right blaming all this on poor Nicole.”

I sigh. “I know, Naomi. I feel bad for Nicole…”

“You should,” she scolds me, her hands on her hips. “It’s just as much your fault as it is hers. More, even.”

I stare up at her, incredulous. “Wh… what?”

“’I’m tired of living like an animal,’” she recites from my runaway note, “’something for Naomi to pet and play with…’ The whole thing was your idea, Ray. You roped my poor little girl into your little scheme, and now you’re ready to let her take the blame for the whole goddamn thing.”

As she says this, she raises her bare foot and drags it along the glass wall of the aquarium. Her toes make a squeaking sound as they slide along the glass, leaving a smear in their wake. When her foot reaches the top of the aquarium, it rests on the edge. Her wiggling toes loom above my head.

“You think things were bad before you left?” she asks, slowly lowering her foot into the tank. “I’m gonna make sure you’re fucking miserable from now on.”

She sweeps her foot along the bottom of the aquarium, effortlessly knocking my table and chair against the wall. Her foot continues until it strikes the paper cup and spills my drinking water all over the floor. “Oops,” she giggles. Her toes come down on my sponge bed and slide it along the glass bottom, soaking up the water.

When she finally tires of that game, she plops her bare foot down right in front of me. It hits the bottom of the aquarium with a soft thud. She flexes her toes, pressing them down against the glass.

“Start kissing my pretty toes,” she orders me. “I’ll tell you when you can stop.”

I slowly raise my head from her wriggling toes, looking all the way up her bare leg, past her shorts and tank top, to her evil, leering face. For a few seconds, we simply stare at each other. Then I let out a snort of derisive laughter and say, “Um, no.”

That menacing grin on her face falters for a second, but only for a second. Her foot taps angrily, making an odd peeling sound each time she lifts it from the glass and brings it back down. “Excuse me?”

I shake my head. “I said, no. Now, I’m really tired and I’d like to take a nap, so if it’s not too much trouble, could you please remove your big-ass foot from my…”

My smart ass retort is cut short as her foot suddenly raises and comes down on top of me. Her toes mash me against the cool, smooth surface of the glass and slowly work their way around me. In seconds, she has me between her big and second toes. She squeezes them together painfully, making me cry out.

“You’re about to go into time out,” she tells me. “Only this time, I’m gonna be wearing the goddamn panty hose.”

I catch my breath and glare up at her. “Fuck you,” I tell her, earning another painful pinch.

“You little bastard,” she snarls. “I’m gonna stomp the shit outta you!”

“Yeah, so you’ve said,” I yell up at her. Her toes clench together for nearly ten seconds, squeezing the air from my lungs. She lifts me up out of the aquarium and rests her foot on the edge. After a minute or so of grinding me between her toes, she reaches down and snatches me up between her finger and thumb.

Still dazed from the ferocity of her attack, I dangle in front of her vicious face. I finally manage a defiant grin. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been through over the past month?” I ask her, laughing. “You can’t even begin to imagine!”

Her eyes narrow and she exhales angrily through her mouth. “It’s nothing compared to what you’re about to…”

“Yeah, right. Whatever,” I say, smirking at her. “I’m terrified.”

She stares at me, her mouth moving, but saying nothing. Then finally, she stammers, “What the fuck has got into you?”

“You are so pathetic!” I tell her. “I can’t believe I was ever afraid of you! You’re not intimidating, you’re just… unpleasant!”

“Shut up!” she shouts directly into my face, bathing me with spit and sour breath. My ears actually ring for several minutes afterwards as she stomps into her bedroom, clutching me in her fist.

“Boy, I bet you’d really like to squash me right now, wouldn’t you?” I call up to her. “Rip off my arms and legs, and just flush me down the…” Her fist squeezes together and shakes as she holds me up to her face. I swear, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this angry.

“I said, shut up!” she screams at me, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Shut your goddamn mouth before I…”

“Stomp the shit out of me?” I offer helpfully. I smile sweetly, and something in her face just snaps. Her anger just seems to collapse, and suddenly she’s crying.

“I hate you, you little bastard,” she whispers, her eyes brimming with tears. “I’ll be so glad when you’re out of our lives.”



I spend a couple of hours in Naomi’s panty hose, naked and pressed against the top of her foot by the nylon. I’m lying on my back, staring up at her through the tan mesh. In addition to the stockings, she wears only an oversized Coors Lite t-shirt that hangs down to the middle of her thighs.

She makes a couple of half-hearted attempts to torment me, pressing against me with her other foot, stroking me with her toes. When she notices my budding erection, she gets a little encouraged. But just as she manages to bring me to a sputtering orgasm, I yawn very loudly.

“Come on!” I shout at her as her toes press at my body through the nylon. “Harder! What’s the matter with you?”

Finally, Naomi lets out a frustrated sigh. She plops her feet on the coffee table and crosses her ankles, blocking me from her view. “Just shut up,” she says, her voice petulant.

“I really need to use the bathroom,” I tell her.

Her foot slides to the side to reveal her tired, bitter face. “Too bad,” she tells me. “No potty breaks.”

I shrug as best I can in the constrictive prison. “Suits me,” I tell her. “It’s your foot I’ll be shitting on.”

She lets out an exasperated, weary moan and stands up. She stomps as hard as she can to her bedroom, jarring me with each step. She sits on the edge of the bed and uses her fingers to work me along her foot until I’m between her toes. Then she peels off the panty hose.

The cool, fresh air is a welcome change to my naked, sweating body. She stares at me with disgust and anger as I dangle helplessly between her toes. I meet her stare for several seconds, then say, “Uh, Naomi? Potty?”

She plucks me from her toes and carries me into the dining room. She still stomps angrily with each step, and her arms swing back and forth. At last, we reach the aquarium. She starts to set me down, but reconsiders for a second. She lifts me to her face one more time and says, “I’ll be taking you to work with me every day until the hearing. And I’m going to make you as miserable as I possibly can every minute of the day.”

“Right. Okay.”

“I’m serious, Ray,” she says, a whining note creeping into her voice. “You’re going to spend the entire day under my foot, with your little face wedged up between my toes.”

I shrug. “Sounds ghastly.”

She falters. “I’m gonna…”

“You’re gonna be wiping poop off of your hands if you don’t put me down,” I tell her. The look on her face is so helpless, it’s priceless. She bends down and drops me on my still damp bed.

I walk over to the white paper ketchup cup and squat over it gracelessly. Naomi stands there, watching. It’s such a sad attempt to humiliate me, and I refuse to even acknowledge it. I finish my business and tear off a piece of tissue from the folded square on the floor to clean myself. Once I’m done, I slip into a pair of sweats.

“Your mother is a crack whore,” Naomi hisses suddenly. “She’s a nasty, diseased whore who didn’t even want you.”

I gasp loudly. “That’s low, Naomi… I don’t think my mom was actually diseased.”

“No way that judge is gonna let a nasty crack whore have you,” she says. “And when I finally get custody of you…”

“Hey Naomi,” I interrupt, grinning viciously. “You think my dad’s gonna make it home tonight?”

She’s silent for several seconds, her mouth moving wordlessly, her eyes narrowing until I can no longer see the whites. Then she kicks the aquarium with the side of her foot and storms off. I hear her bedroom door slam.

I’m sore, bruised, exhausted, and stink of sweaty feet. But I don’t care. I just kicked Naomi’s ass, and I’m just about mad with vindictive glee.

I collapse on the damp green sponge and fall asleep, thinking happy thoughts while I still can.

I’m back in my dollhouse, sitting at my orange plastic dining table.
Suzy is sitting across from me, holding my hands in hers and trying
to reassure me.  I’m dreadfully afraid of something, but I can’t
remember what. I hear the rhythmic boom of approaching footsteps.

“It’s okay, Ray,” Suzy tells me, smiling sweetly, oblivious to the
ominous thumps that shake the house.  “I’m not going to let anybody
hurt you.”

“But you’re small like me,” I tell her, suddenly remembering how
strange that is.  “You won’t be able to stop her!”

“Stop who?” Suzy asks.  “Cheryl or Naomi?”

“Not them,” I tell her.  “I can handle them.  I’m worried about…”

Suzy stands up.  “I swear, I’m not going to let anything bad happen
to you.”  She lets go of my hands and storms out the front door,
letting it slam behind her.  For several seconds, I’m paralyzed with
fear.  The footsteps have stopped, which means somebody is out there,
waiting for me.

Finally, I rise from the chair and slowly make my way to the front
door.  I push it open and peer out at the vast expanse of carpet
outside.  No sign of Suzy, or anybody else for that matter.

I take a tentative step outside and look around.  Nothing.  But
suddenly, I hear Suzy sobbing. I look up and scream as Cheryl’s bare
foot hovers over me.  “The worst thing we can do?” she croaks to an
invisible audience as she lowers her foot down on top of me, pinning
me to the floor.  “I say we kill him.”

“You’re wrong,” Naomi says, peering down at me and smiling.  Cheryl’s
foot moves from me as Naomi nudges her aside.  I lie there, helpless
and unable to move, as Naomi grasps me between her toes.  She wiggles
them slowly, grinding me between them. “Why would we want to just
kill him?  Think of all the things we could do to him.”

“You’re both wrong,” says another voice.  Naomi releases me, and I’m
lying face down on the carpet. I look up at Rachel Foster, who
towers above me with a cold smile on her face. “It’s not about doing
things to him,” she explains, holding out her closed fist.  “It’s
about making him do what we want.  Or making him WANT to do what we
want.”

She opens her fist, palm up, revealing the trembling and sobbing
figure of Suzy.



“Ray?” I bolt awake with a scream as something warm and massive
touches me.  I roll off of my sponge bed onto the glass floor of my
newest cage.  I scramble backwards from the massive, dark shadow of a
hand that looms over me.  My breaths come frantically as I press
myself against the far glass wall.

“Shh,” a voice in the darkness whispers.  “It’s okay, Ray.  I’m not
going to hurt you.”

Nicole!  As my mind races, trying to remember just where I stand with
her, she reaches down and envelops me in her warm fingers.  She lifts
me out of the aquarium and holds me to her face, gently cradling me
in her palm.

“Are you okay?” she whispers.  “You looked like you were having a bad
dream.”

I gaze up into her pretty face, barely illuminated by the nightlight
in the hallway.  For a minute, it’s easy to forget that I’m still
supposed to be angry at her.  Her finger gently presses against my
bare chest.  “Your little heart is pounding,” she says
sympathetically.

“Yeah, it was pretty bad,” I tell her.  “Thanks for waking me up.”

“Momma said it wasn’t my fault,” Nicole says to me.  “She said you
deserved what you got for tricking me into helping you.”

“She said that, huh?”  I look up into her eyes and am surprised to
see tears.  “Is that what you think?”

Nicole shakes her head.  “I’m sorry I gave you to Kim,” she says in a
trembling voice.  “And I’m sorry about all the stuff we did to you.
And I’m sorry about all the stuff she and her mom did to you when…”
Nicole takes a wavering voice and wipes at her eyes with her other
hand.  “I know you’re probably still mad, but I just wanted to say
I’m sorry.”

Not to put too fine a point on it, I hate her for what she did to me.
 Not just the acts of physical torture I suffered at the hands (and
feet) of her and Kim, but the act of betrayal that led to the whole
horrible incident.  I put my trust in her hands, and she sold me out.

But I also remember that night in her room when I manipulated her
into helping me.  In some ways, Naomi is right.  No matter how I try
to justify it, I did trick Nicole and would have gladly hung her out
to dry if it meant getting away from this place.

Besides, with Naomi gunning for me, it would be really nice to have
Nicole on my side.

So I stroke her finger and kiss it.  “It’s okay, honey,” I tell her.
“I’m not mad at you.”

She lets out a relieved sigh and smiles down at me.  Then she hugs me
gently to her chest.  Her skin is warm through the fabric of her
Hello Kitty sleep shirt.  I can feel her heart beating against my
entire body.

For about ten minutes, we remain like that.  It’s warm and a little
uncomfortable, but I’m safe and that’s such a rare feeling these
days.

Then the front door rattles, and we hear the sound of a key in the
lock.  Nicole’s heart is pounding as she whips me through the air and
dumps me back on my bed.  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” she whispers
as she scrambles up and runs down the hall to her bedroom.  I hear
her door shut just as the front door opens.

A hulking shape moves through the darkness, slamming the door shut
behind it.  It stumbles into the dining room and bangs against one of
the chairs.  I hear the gruff, slurring voice of Paul curse as he
staggers into the living room. He plops onto the couch with a
painful moan.  In a matter of minutes, he’s snoring.

I spend the rest of the night dozing uneasily, kept awake by Paul’s
snores and the lingering dread of my nightmare.



It’s late Sunday morning, and the Daltons are eating breakfast.

Paul is miserable, and looks probably about half as bad as he feels.
He spent the morning throwing up while Naomi was cooking, and now
he’s hunched over in his chair, his face unshaven and slack.  His
fork hangs limply in his hand as he stares palely at the pile of
pancakes on his plate.

Nicole is quite sullen, thanks to Paul’s foul temper.  He’s still in
the process of making up her punishment, adding conditions to her
grounding as he thinks of them.  So far, she’s banned from watching
TV, using the telephone, and visiting friends. Plus, Paul just added
the condition that he doesn’t want to see her outside of her room
except at mealtime.  So right now, I’m watching her a little
nervously, hoping our mutual goodwill won’t deteriorate under Paul’s
arbitrary punishments.

Naomi comes out of the kitchen carrying my tiny plate between her
thumb and finger.  Her sandals slap the floor noisily as she
approaches.  She stops and crouches outside the aquarium, smiling
sweetly as she reaches in and sets my plate of pancake shreds on the
table.

“Breakfast is served,” she announces, her hand hovering over the
table like a massive bird.  The pink polish on her nails is worn and
chipped.  I stand defiantly, refusing to sit until she withdraws her
hand.

Instead, she flicks at me with an index finger, knocking me
backwards.  I stumble over the plastic chair and fall to the glass
floor with a heavy thud.  Naomi chuckles quietly as I scramble to my
feet.

“Sorry, sweetie,” Naomi says, yanking her hand from the aquarium.
“You got in Momma’s way.”  She watches me for a few seconds with an
evil grin.  Then, finally, she stands up and walks away, joining her
family at the breakfast table.

They eat without speaking, the awkward silence broken only by the
clink of silverware against the plates.  After about five minutes,
Paul gives up. He stands up and dabs at his sweating forehead with
his wadded napkin.  “I’m going back to bed,” he announces blearily.

“Back to bed?” Naomi asks with a snort.  “I found you passed out like
a fucking wino on the couch this morning.”

“I got in late,” Paul says defensively, for the third time that
morning.  “I didn’t want to wake you.”

Naomi rolls her eyes.  “Yeah, you’re a saint.”

Paul sighs wearily.  “Make sure Nicole goes to her room when she’s
done with her breakfast.”  He shuffles past my aquarium and looks
down at me with swollen, bloodshot eyes.  “Oh, that reminds me,” he
says, turning back to Naomi.  “Rachel’s coming by later this
afternoon with Dr. Taylor.  They just want to give Ray a checkup and
make sure he didn’t suffer any damage when he was… you know.”

“Rachel’s coming by?” Naomi asks, standing and glaring at Paul.  “Did
you and she decide this last night?”

Paul shakes his head.  “Jesus, Naomi.  She told me before she left
yesterday.”

“Bullshit,” Naomi snaps.  “She didn’t say a word about coming back
when she left yesterday.  Did you see her last night?”

“I’m not going to get into this with you, Naomi,” Paul says in the
voice of a true martyr.  “Despite what you think, some of us still
believe in the sanctity of a marriage.”  Naomi glares angrily, unable
to respond.  And Paul, having scored the game-winning point, stumbles
off down the hallway.

Naomi stands there, chewing her lip, until she hears the bedroom door
close. Then she picks up her plate and hurls it against the wall.
It bounces off with a loud thump and falls on the carpet, spilling
pancake and syrup.  “Goddamn fucking smug son of a bitch,” she
mutters, stomping angrily on the stubborn plate until it finally
snaps beneath her sandal.

I can’t see Nicole’s face from where I sit, but I can only imagine
her expression as she stares at her mother’s tantrum.  The fork falls
from her fingers onto the plate and she begins weeping.  Naomi stops
suddenly and runs over to her daughter, hugging her tightly.

“Oh, baby, it’s okay.” Naomi clutches Nicole to her.  Nicole sobs,
her shoulders heaving in Naomi’s embrace.  “Momma’s sorry she got so
mad,” Naomi says.  “I promise, I’m not mad at you.”

“Daddy is,” Nicole says in a pitiable voice, muffled against Naomi’s
shoulder.  “He’s mad at me about Ray.”

“I know, sweetie,” Naomi says, glaring over at me with utter
contempt.  “But I know it wasn’t your fault.  And when your daddy
settles down, he’ll realize it too.”

“But it was my fault,” Nicole says.  “I almost got Ray killed.”

“No, sweetie,” Naomi insist, holding Nicole by the shoulders and
offering her a reassuring smile.  “We discussed this, remember?  Ray
was trying to trick you, remember?  It’s not your fault.”

I stare through the glass wall, wondering if my fragile alliance with
Nicole is about to crumble.  Nicole glances over at me, then back at
Naomi. “I know it was my fault,” she says.  “But Ray forgives me,
and I think Daddy should, too.”

“Ray forgives you?” Naomi asks, glowering at me through narrowed
eyes.  “When did you and Ray talk, sweetheart?”

“Last night,” Nicole says, looking over at me with a tearful smile.
“Before Daddy got home.”  I smile back and wave, feeling relief wash
over me.  God bless her.  Next chance I get, I’m going to give that
girl a big kiss.

“So, Ray forgives you?” Naomi repeats, releasing Nicole and stepping
back.  “That’s great, Nicole.  I’m glad you two worked things out.”

“So, do I still have to go to my room?” Nicole asks.

“No, sweetie,” Naomi says.  “Just help Momma with these dishes, and
then you and me can play with Ray until your daddy gets up.”



The leather sole of Naomi’s sandal bears down on me, covering me
entirely and pinning me against the carpet.  My head is turned, and
the gritty bottom of her shoe presses against my cheek.  I know it’s
futile, but I push up against her foot with my hands in an effort to
free myself.

I can feel the vibrations of her wriggling toes through my entire
body as she presses down just hard enough to make me squirm.  “On
your mark,” she says, her voice distant and muffled by the sound of
my heart pounding in my ears.  “Get set… Go!”

Her foot lifts from me, and I find myself staring up, up, up into her
smirking face. She stands with her hands on her hips, dressed in
white short shorts and a blousy pink tank top, looming over me like a
malevolent goddess of white trash.

“I said, go!” Naomi says with forced cheeriness.  Her foot stomps
down on the carpet barely an inch from my head.  Her toes wiggle
slowly and treacherously, making a dry rubbing sound against the
thong of her sandal.

I climb to my feet and run in no particular direction, just away from
Naomi. I expect her to give chase, but she doesn’t.  She just claps
her hands and giggles. I glance back over my shoulder and see her
watching me with a big grin on her face.  “Get him, Nicole!” she
says.

I look in front of me, too late to avoid stumbling into the side of
Nicole’s bare foot.  I fall backwards and look up hopefully into
Nicole’s face. Her expression is unreadable, and I feel a moment of
sheer terror when she raises her foot and gently lowers it on top of
me.

“Nice job, sweetie!” Naomi cheers, clapping her hands. She
approaches, the thump of her footsteps growing louder as she gets
nearer.  “Now, see if you can pick him up with your toes.”

Nicole’s foot shifts, and I stare up hopefully into her face.  She
frowns down at me, uncertain, as she works her toes around my waist.
“I don’t think he likes this,” she tells her mom.

“Of course he does, sweetie.”  Naomi looks down at me with her
predatory smile.  “Don’t you, Ray?”

I shake my head vehemently.  “God, no!”  Nicole releases me and jerks
her foot away.

“Ray, don’t be a party pooper,” Naomi says, nudging me with the edge
of her sandal. “We’re just trying to have fun here.”

“Stop it, Momma,” Nicole says, watching me nervously.  “He doesn’t
like that.”

“Nicole Carolyn Ricci!” Naomi snaps, stomping her foot dangerously
close to me.  “You do what I told you, or you’re going to your room.
Now grab him!”

Nicole looks down at me with an angry frown, then back at her mother.
 “Why are you so mean to Ray?” she asks Naomi in a truly hateful
voice. “No wonder he wanted to run away.”

“Get your ass in your room right now!” Naomi growls, threatening her
daughter with a raised hand.  Nicole runs crying, stopping in the
hallway and turning.  She regards me, a worried look on her face, as
I lay powerless at her mother’s feet.

“Now!” Naomi screams.  Nicole turns and bolts down the hall into her
room.  When the door slams, Naomi glares down at me.  I climb to my
feet and stare up defiantly, not even flinching when she kneels down
and snatches me up in her fist.

I spend the majority of the afternoon face down on Naomi’s sandal,
with her bare foot resting on top of me.  The leather sole is damp
and sticky, and the bottom of her foot is uncomfortably warm.  The
smell and heat are torturous, as is Naomi’s constant chatter.  Just
the same tired diatribe I’ve gotten from her since I arrived.  “How’s
that feel, little boy? You like it there under Momma’s pretty foot?”

But I don’t respond.  I don’t give her the satisfaction of
protesting, squirming, or even complaining.  I endure the torture,
stoic in the knowledge that I’ve beaten her again, and she knows it.



Dr. Taylor is a sour woman in her forties, with a permanent scowl
etched into the sharp features of her face.  Her blonde hair is
pulled back tight, and she wears tiny wire-rimmed glasses perched on
the edge of her beak of a nose.

“Hello, Ray,” she says in a voice devoid of emotion, staring down at
me in my fish tank.  “Good to see you again.”  She kneels down and
rests her fingers on the edge of the aquarium. I can smell her
perfume and a slight hint of formaldehyde.  “Go ahead and get
undressed,” she commands me.

I glance past her and see Rachel speaking with Paul and Naomi. Naomi
has this totally artificial smile plastered on her face, and talks to
Rachel as if they’re best friends.  Paul looks a little fidgety; it’s
obvious he’d rather be someplace else.

“I said, get undressed,” Dr. Taylor repeats in a stern voice.  I know
from experience that she’ll strip me herself if I refuse to comply.
So I slip out of my sweats and underwear and stand naked.  She
reaches down and grabs me in her dry, leathery hand.  There’s nothing
gentle in the way she handles me; she yanks me into the air with such
alarming speed that my stomach has trouble keeping up.

“Where did you get all these bruises,” she asks, prodding me with her
nail as she rolls me over between her fingers. My body aches dully
in her grasp, but her jabbing finger produces a sharp pain that makes
me cry out.

“Where do you think?” I ask her rudely.  She stands and carries me
over to the dining room table. She tilts her hand, dumping me
roughly onto the wooden surface.  I land in a heap and just lie
there, waiting for this to be over.

She takes a seat and opens her black medical bag.  Reaching in, she
pulls out a small, digital scale.  The doctor sets it on the table
next to me and taps it with her finger, ordering me onto it.  I climb
onto the black, rubber surface.  Dr. Taylor mumbles to herself as she
jots my weight down in her notebook.

The physical continues for half an hour.  Dr. Taylor measures my
height by making me stand against a ruler, then snatches me up and
presses the cold, steel end of her stethoscope against my chest to
listen to my heart and lungs.  She shines a bright light into my eyes
and ears, staring into them with a jeweler’s loupe that makes her eye
seem comically large.

She pokes and prods me with a massive pair of tweezers and a pointed
steel explorer, then uses a gigantic needle to draw blood from my
thigh. I scream and curse from the pain as she dabs my wounded leg
with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball.

“Are we done yet?” I ask her wearily, dangling helpless between her
fingers.  She touches my chest with her short, unpainted nail and
traces a line down my stomach. She flicks playfully at my genitalia,
and almost smiles at my tepid, reluctant erection.

“Done,” she announces, standing up suddenly.  She carries me back
over to my aquarium and drops me onto my bed.  Her hand lingers over
me for a second, then finally, mercifully, withdraws.  I stare
angrily at her black, sensible shoes as she walks away from me.

“So, how’s our little patient?” Rachel asks, glancing toward me with
a friendly smile.

“He’s lost weight since the last time,” Dr. Taylor says, consulting
her notebook.  “He’s a little bruised and battered, but seems to be
in good health.  Blood pressures fine…”  She flips through the pages,
muttering “Fine… fine… good…”  Then she looks over at me.  “Sexual
response is a little slow.”

Rachel shakes her head and winks at me.  “You just have to know which
buttons to push.”  She takes Naomi’s hand and shakes it, playing
along with the pretense of their friendship.  “We’ll get out of your
hair now, Naomi.”

“Thanks for checking him out, doc,” Paul says, offering his hand to
Dr. Taylor.  She takes it a tad reluctantly.  “I’m glad to know he’s
okay.”

“Goodbye,” Rachel says on her way out the front door.  “See you folks
on Wednesday.”



Sunday evening passes with tedious trepidation.  Paul is snoozing in
his recliner, and Nicole is confined to her room.  Naomi is sitting
on the couch, smoking a cigarette and watching TV.  She keeps looking
over towards me, smiling cruelly.  Occasionally, when she knows I’m
watching, she’ll make a show of grabbing her discarded sandal with
her toes, or rubbing her bare foot vigorously against the carpet.

I have only myself to blame, I guess.  I had to defy her and then
mock her efforts to punish me. I called her pathetic last night, and
told her there was nothing she could do to me that hadn’t already
been done a hundred times.  I’ll admit, it was damned satisfying at
the time.  But unfortunately, it’s only strengthened her resolve to
make me suffer.

So now, she’s spent the better part of the evening trying to think of
new ways to torture me.  And as soon as Paul goes to bed, I’m sure
I’m going to experience every single one of them.  Ironically, the
waiting is far more agonizing than any of her silly games are bound
to be. I just want this over with.



Sometime after nine, Paul finally wakes up long enough to shuffle off
to bed.  I pace around the bottom of my aquarium, waiting for Naomi’s
inevitable invasion.  At last, she gets up from the couch with a
grunt and approaches slowly.  In her mind, I’m sure she’s a cat
stalking her prey.  No doubt she imagines me watching her approaching
feet with dread and terror.

I stand with my back against the far glass wall of the aquarium,
staring up at Naomi as she smirks down at me.  “Well now,” she says,
with mocking affection.  “Alone at last.”

I sigh, ever the smart ass.  “Can we skip it tonight, Naomi?  I’m
really tired.”

She responds by rubbing her bare foot against the side of the fish
tank.  The glass squeaks as her toes slide along it, leaving a smear
of sweat and oil residue.  I bite my lip to keep from laughing as
Naomi makes little seductive noises with her mouth.

“Naomi,” I say, with just the right amount of tremble in my voice.
“Please don’t do this.”

“Why, what’s the matter, sweetie?” she asks, her voice high and
saccharine.  “Momma just wants to play with you.”  She slides her
foot over the top of the aquarium and slowly lowers it in front of
me.  “Now, why don’t you kiss Momma between the toes?”

“Please, Naomi…”

“Not Naomi,” she chides me.  “Momma.”  She raises her foot slightly,
letting me catch a glimpse of the pale, wrinkled flesh of her sole.
“Now, kiss me between my toes, or I’ll stomp the shit out of you.”

With a weary groan, I approach her foot.  I press my face between her
toes and brace myself for the inevitable prank.  And of course, Naomi
doesn’t disappoint.  Her big and second toe clench around my head,
pinching it tightly.  I flail and struggle as my nose is mashed hard
against her flesh.  My face is warm and sticky with blood… not a part
of my plan, but definitely an added bonus.

“What’s the matter, little boy?” Naomi asks in her baby-talk voice.
“Do Momma’s feet stink?”

She finally releases me, and I collapse on the bottom of the
aquarium, sobbing with reckless abandon.  “Stop it!” I scream,
flailing and kicking in an insane tantrum.  “I can’t stand it
anymore!  Please stop it!”

Naomi stands there, unmoving, watching my fit. I look up at her,
with blood and tears on my face, and say in my most pathetic voice,
“I’ll do anything you want, Momma.  Just please don’t hurt me
anymore.”  Then I fall to my knees in front of her foot and cover her
toes with wretched, desperate kisses.  I make sure to smear as much
blood on them as I can, just to drive the point home.

“Oh, sweetie,” Naomi says, her voice filled with compassion.  She
reaches down and gently envelops me in her fingers, then lifts me to
her face.  “Momma’s sorry, sweetheart. I was just… you’ve just been
acting like a little prick since you got home.”

“I know,” I blubber.  My nose is still bleeding.  I touch my fingers
to it and examine the blood on them, pretending to be shocked. “Oh
god,” I exclaim, then start sobbing again.  Such sorrow, such pathos…
Naomi’s eyes are starting to tear up just watching me.

“Poor baby,” Naomi says, cradling me in her palm as she carries me
into the kitchen.  “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“I’m so sorry,” I tell her between sobs as she dabs my face with the
wet tip of a paper towel.  “I don’t know why I acted like I did.
It’s just… with everything that happened at Cheryl’s house and… I
never thought I would be safe again… and… and…”

“Shhh,” Naomi whispers as she wipes the blood from my face.  “Hold
your head back, sweetie.  That’ll stop the bleeding.”

I tilt my head upward, staring into her massive face.  Her eyes brim
with tears, and her lips are pursed in a sympathetic frown.  There’s
nothing vengeful or seductive about her now.  She just looks sad and
tired.

“I’m sorry,” she says, stroking me with her index finger.  “Momma is
so sorry, sweetie.”

After my nose stops bleeding, she carries me over to the couch and
cradles me gently against her breast, stroking me with her fingers
and whispering to me that everything is going to be okay.  After
about half an hour, she smiles down at me and says, “Feeling better?”

I look up at her with barely open eyes and offer her a sleepy smile.
She kisses the tip of her finger, then touches it to my cheek. “Well
then, let’s get you to bed.  We’ve got to get up early tomorrow.”

“Are you taking me to work with you?”  I really didn’t expect her to
change her mind about that, but I did kind of hope.  Oh, well.

“You bet, sweetie,” she says, carrying me over to the aquarium.  She
kneels down and gently sets me on my bed.  “And tomorrow afternoon,
after work, Linda’s going to do my toes.”  She pokes me playfully in
the chest with her fingernail. “If you’re a good boy, I’m sure
she’ll let you help.”

“I can’t wait,” I tell her, actually managing a grin.

She stands up and waggles her fingers at me in a childish wave.
“Goodnight, baby.”

“Goodnight… Momma,” I reply.  She beams prettily, then walks off down
the hall.  I listen to her receding footsteps, waiting until I hear
the bedroom door close before I snort with laughter.

“Goodnight, Naomi,” I chortle.  “You enormous, gullible bitch.”



It’s Wednesday night, and I’m feeling sick to my stomach.  I’m on my
way to Dallas to meet Alan and Louise. And my mother. In less than
two hours, I will see her for the first time in over ten years.

I’m in the back of the GenetiTech limo with Rachel, who holds me in
the palm of her hand so I can look out the window.  I’m dressed in
what I guess could be considered my Sunday best clothes – black silk
pants and a long sleeved blue shirt that fastens up the front with
Velcro, black socks, black shoes.  My unruly brown hair has been
meticulously combed and held in place by the tiniest dollop of Paul’s
pomade, which has left the top of my head feeling sticky and wet to
the touch.

The Daltons really wanted to come.  Or, rather, Naomi really wanted
to come.  She made that demand of Rachel, insisting that I would not
be taken out of the house without them.  She then turned to Paul for
support, and lost her temper when Paul sided with Rachel.  By the
time we finally left, Naomi had stormed into the bedroom and slammed
the door.  And Paul had mumbled an embarrassed apology before chasing
after her.

“You look nice,” Rachel tells me, moving me away from the window so
she can admire me.  There’s something so icy and detached in her
gaze, it just gives me the creeps.  When she smiles, its even worse.

“Thanks,” I tell her nervously.  “So do you.”  She’s wearing a short,
black dress that’s cut up above her knees.  Her dark hair hangs loose
around her cold, attractive face.  Her legs are bare tonight, one
crossed prettily over the other.  She’s wearing black strappy high
heels, open-toed to show off her bright red nails.

What disturbs me is that I suspect much of her attire is for my
benefit.  Rachel is obviously one to press any advantage she can, and
she apparently thinks I’ll be more amenable to her suggestions if I’m
distracted.  And despite my resolve to the contrary, she might be
right.

“Well, aren’t you the little gentleman?” she says, baring her perfect
white teeth in a fierce smile. Her arms are bare as well, adorned
only by a single silver bracelet.  Her fingernails are red, and
meticulously manicured.  It’s one of these nails that touches my
stomach and slowly traces its way up my chest. It reaches my chin
and tilts my head up, forcing me to meet her gaze.  Her nail is hard
and thick against my neck, making it difficult to swallow.

“I just want to make sure we’re on the same page tonight,” she tells
me pleasantly. “I’ll be sitting in on your little meeting tonight,
so I’ll know if you say anything inappropriate to your mother, or Dr.
Herndon or Alan.  And if you say anything I don’t like, I can promise
you that your little friend Suzy will be in custody within the hour,
facing charges of kidnapping, obstruction of justice, and anything
else I can think of that will stick.  Understand?”

I try to nod, but can’t really move my head with her fingernail
against my Adam’s apple, so I croak out, “Yes ma’am.”

“As far as everybody’s concerned, your months with the Daltons have
been filled with familial bliss.  They’ve taken good care of you, and
they’re working hard to put Naomi’s unpleasant affair behind them so
they can move on.  One big, happy family, right?”

“Right,” I manage to say.

“And that unfortunate business with Cheryl and Kim?”

“Never happened,” I tell her, earning a smile. She removes her
fingernail from my neck.  I relax and swallow several times to clear
the lump from my throat.

“Now remember, there’s no need to oversell it,” she tells me.  “If
you get carried away, they’ll suspect you’re being coerced and we
really don’t want that.  You don’t, I don’t, and Suzy certainly
doesn’t.  Understand?”

I nod.  “Yes ma’am.”

“Smart boy,” she says, chuckling.  She uncrosses her leg and extends
it out, holding up her admittedly gorgeous foot for me to admire.
Her toes flex slowly in the dim light. “You like my sandals?”

I tear my gaze away from her foot, feeling my ears and cheeks burn
from her scrutiny.  I manage to stammer out, “They’re beautiful.”

“I know,” Rachel says, letting her foot drop.  “You be a good boy
tonight, and I’ll let you play on them on the way home.”



My hearing begins in two weeks in Dallas, which is where I’m meeting
my mother tonight.  Obviously, bringing my mom and Paul together
would be awkward for everybody, which is how SPECTRUM was able to
justify holding this meeting in a neutral location, as well as
excluding Paul and Naomi from the proceedings. As it turns out,
we’re meeting in the Kessler Room of the Dallas Hyatt-Regency.

I don’t remember much about my mother. Her face is faint in my mind,
and would have probably been long forgotten if not for the pictures
in the National Mirror.  I remember her hand, the soft warmth of her
palm and the gentle caress of her fingers.  I remember red
fingernails and the smell of lotion and perfume.

I’m trembling with nervousness and excitement as Rachel carries me
through the lobby in the pocket of her attaché.  I hear the staccato
taps of her high heels on the ornate marble stairs.  The sheer size
of this place makes me sick to my stomach, as do all the people
milling around in the hallway. We pass by lots of people in suits,
tuxedos, evening gowns… probably a wedding reception in one of the
other suites.  My head rings with the white noise of indistinct
conversation.  Laughter, singing, the occasional clink of glass or
silverware…

I’ve never been around this many people at one time in my life, and
it’s scary.

Rachel carries me past the party, and into a smaller corridor. I
breathe a sigh of relief as the crowd grows distant.  We continue on
down the hall, past numerous rooms marked with ornate brass plaques.
At last, we come to a uniformed security guard standing in front of a
closed door.  He mutters something about identification and holds out
something that looks like a large calculator.  Rachel touches her
thumb to a silvery panel, and the guard studies the readout.
Finally, satisfied, he swipes his card and the door to the Kessler
Room opens with a metallic snick.

It’s a big room, obviously built for boardroom meetings.  A massive
marble table, surrounded by plush, black leather chairs fills most of
the room.  There’s a counter against the far wall, with a coffee pot
and a water pitcher, as well as a stack of drinking glasses.  A large
whiteboard hangs on the wall, covered with the faded scribblings of
past meetings. Written in red, playful letters is the message,
“Welcome Ray!” The letters are drawn like balloons, and the dot
under the exclamation point is a heart.

A couple of men in dark, non-descript suits stand at random spots
throughout the room.  Each wears an earpiece, with a wire running
down to his jacket.  One of the men is Oswald, the hulking bastard
who accompanied Rachel to Suzy’s house last Saturday.

The chairs around the table are unoccupied, except for the three at
the far end.  I immediately recognize Alan and Louise, both of whom
stand up when Rachel enters the room.  A woman, vaguely familiar,
sits in the seat at the end of the table.  She looks tiny and
fragile, almost dwarfed by the large leather chair.  Her hair is jet
black, which strikes me as odd, since I remember her as a blonde.
Her face, though, is exactly as I remember it. A little older, a few
more lines, but it’s the face I remember from that picture in the
Mirror.  Her eyes are wide and bright, and she blinks nervously as
Rachel approaches her.

“Hello, Dr. Herndon, Alan,” Rachel says civilly as she takes her
seat.  She leaves an empty chair between her and Alan.

“Rachel,” Alan replies.  “I don’t suppose you’d be kind enough to
respect Ms. Miller’s wishes to meet with her son in private?”

Rachel shakes her head.  “I’m afraid I can’t allow that, Alan.”  She
looks at my mom and offers a sympathetic smile.  “I’m sorry, Cathy.
It’s nothing personal.”

“No, it’s… I mean, that’s okay…” my mom says, her voice trembling and
awkward.  She licks her lips nervously and drums her fingers on the
marble tabletop.  “Where’s Ray?  Can I see him?”

“Of course,” Rachel says with a magnanimous nod.  She plucks me from
the pocket of her attaché case and sets me on the table.  Feeling the
eyes of everybody in the room on me, I walk on trembling legs towards
my mom.

She lets out an excited gasp and touches her hand to her cheek as I
walk towards her.  The red fingernails I remember her having are
gone, gnawed to the quick.  “God,” she says.  “You’re so itty-bitty…
I forgot how… I mean…”

For years, I’ve fantasized about this meeting and tried to imagine
what I would say if I had this opportunity.  And now that I have my
chance, words fail me. I stare up at her, trying to figure out just
how I feel.  Not happy, not angry, not bitter, not sympathetic…

“I’ve missed you,” she says, a tear on her cheek.  “I’m so sorry I
left you like that, Ray.  God, I’m so sorry.”

I approach her hand and tentatively touch her finger.  I look up into
her pretty, childish face, trying to reconcile this sad, awkward
woman with the dim memories I have of my mother.

“It was the drugs,” she tells me, her finger brushing me gently.
“That ain’t an excuse, but I swear that’s what made me act like
that.” She takes a deep breath and smiles at me.  It’s a smile I
remember, not from real life, but from the National Mirror.  “But I
ain’t done that stuff in over a year, and I’m not gonna do it
anymore.  I’m ready to be there for you, Ray.” She wipes at her
tearing eyes and adds, “Son.”

It’s surreal, probably rehearsed.  SPECTRUM’s attorneys have probably
been working with her, making sure she’s ready to say all the right
things in the hearing. In a horrible moment of clarity, I suddenly
realize I feel nothing for this woman. She’s my mother, the woman
who birthed me and was so important to me when I was little.  I used
to love her more than anyone else in the world, but now I’m unable to
feel anything other than a detached sadness.  I feel hollow, somehow
deprived.

“May I…”  My mom turns her hand over, palm up. “I mean, remember
when I used to hold you?”

I shrug.  “I’ve seen pictures.”

I regret saying it as soon as it’s out of my mouth.  For the briefest
of moments, her face lights up at the sound of my voice.  But then,
just as quickly, it dawns on her what I’ve said and her smile
collapses into face of such heart-wrenching sadness.  She takes a
wavering breath and wipes tears from her eyes.

“Oh Jesus, Mom,” I say, running to her and climbing into her hand.
“I’m sorry.”  Her fingers close around me and she gently lifts me to
her face and presses me to her burning cheek.  I smell perfume and
lotion… her perfume and lotion.

“I’m not going to let them take you away from me,” she whispers,
still cradling me.  “I’ll die before I let them take you away from
me.”



After about half an hour, the mood of the meeting lightens
considerably.  Mom proudly displays the greeting she wrote for me on
the whiteboard, and awaits my approval like a little girl.  Louise
and Alan chat with me about things at SPECTRUM, and let me know that
everybody misses me.  They ask me about life with the Daltons and I
reluctantly lie and tell them everything is fine.  But I really do
miss them, I insist, and I can’t wait to be home.

Louise and Mom and I reminisce about my childhood, with Louise
bringing up a painful story of my obsession with a pink rubber eraser
that I named Milton.

“It was so adorable,” Louise says, stroking me playfully with her
finger.  “It had a little face on it – I think Gary drew it with a
ballpoint – and Ray wouldn’t let it out of his sight.  He held onto
it during class, during meals… he even slept with it.” She chuckles.
 “How old were you when you finally gave up Milton, Ray?”

I shrug.  “I don’t know… seven or eight, I guess.”  Up until now, I’d
totally forgotten about Milton.  Leave it to Louise to drag that
embarrassing incident out of the past.

Of course, Mom has to do her one better.  “That’s nothing,” she says,
giggling.  “When he was two years old, he had this thing for one of
my sandals.”

Oh god.  Mortified, I stare at my Mom and pray for something,
anything, to interrupt her story.  I honestly have no memory of what
she’s talking about, and I’d give almost anything to keep it that
way.

“He’d just be crying and crying,” my mother says, smiling from the
memory.  “And I knew he wasn’t hungry, and he wasn’t wet.  So I’d
take off my sandal and put it in the floor.  And he’d just crawl over
to it – he wasn’t walking yet – anyway, he’d get over to it, and I’d
have to help him get up on top of it.  Then he’d just roll around on
it and giggle. And I’d reach down there with my toes and…”

“Okay, Mom!” I say, burying my face in my hands.  “Jesus, that’s
enough.”

“Aww, he’s embarrassed,” my mom says, giggling.

“Get used to it, Ray,” Alan says with an easy grin on his scarred
face.  “Mothers exist to humiliate their kids in front of their
friends.  That’s their whole raison d’etre.”

“Oh, Alan,” Louise chides him.  “Seriously.”

“My mom has a picture of me sitting on the toilet when I was three,”
Alan says.  “I’m butt naked and all pissed off, my little legs
dangling over the edge.  And you know where she keeps this photo?  In
a frame on top of her piano.  Why?  You’re a psychiatrist, Louise.
Why would somebody display a picture like that?”

“It sounds adorable,” Louise says, giggling.

“It sounds horrible,” I tell Alan.  “You ought to steal it.”

“I did,” Alan laughs.  “But she had prints made.”



And so it goes for another hour or so. We talk about the weather,
movies, life in general – everything except for the upcoming hearing.
 With Rachel there, I’m sure Louise and Alan don’t want to discuss
the particulars of their case.

The conversation hits one of those fabled eight-minute lulls, and
Rachel takes that opportunity to stand and announce that we need to
be getting back.  “It’s a two hour drive to Stasheff,” she says
reasonably, “and I really should try to get Ray home before
midnight.”

Get Ray home.  It’s not a slip of the tongue, but rather an
intentional barb on her part.  My mother’s smile falters and she
gazes down at the table.  I turn and glare at Rachel, who meets my
stare with her own.

“Rachel, can I please have a moment alone with my mother?”

Rachel shrugs.  “Sorry, Ray.  I’m afraid it’s not going to happen.”

“It’s okay,” Mom says, reaching for me.  Her hand is so warm and
soft, so safe. She hugs me to her cheek again, then gently presses
her massive lips against me in a kiss. “I love you, Ray,” she
whispers as the tears work their way down her cheek once more. “No
matter what happens, just remember that.  I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I say, surprised and relieved to realize that I
mean it.  I place the palms of my hands against her cheek and kiss
her, nuzzling the warm, tear-damp flesh.  “I love you, Mom.”

Smiling through incredible sadness, Mom hands me over to Alan. Alan
accepts my proffered hand between his finger and thumb, and shakes
it.  Then, grinning, he mutters, “Aw, hell,” and hugs me
affectionately to his chest.  “We’re going to get you back, Ray,” he
whispers to me.  “I swear to God, you’re coming home.”

Finally, I say my tearful goodbyes to Louise.  She presses me to her
breast, then to her lips.  “Don’t you worry about a thing,” she tells
me.  “You’ll be home with us soon.”  She says this loudly, for
Rachel’s benefit.

She hugs me to her cheek, and as I stroke the soft, warm skin, I
whisper, “Suzy Le.  Talk to Suzy Le.”  Louise gives an imperceptible
nod of her head to let me know she heard me.  Then she kisses me one
more time, and sets me down on the table.

The atmosphere in the room gets downright chilly as Rachel slips me
into her attaché case and stands up.  She and Alan seem to share a
lingering, knowing look between them.  There’s nothing romantic or
smoldering about it… it’s an exchange of barely contained hostility.
I suddenly remember Rachel mentioning, almost in passing, that she’s
the one that gave Alan his scar.

I peer at the three of them from my vantage point, watching them as
Rachel walks away.  My mother breaks down and starts crying, and
Louise moves to comfort her.  Alan sits there, staring after us with
an intensity that’s downright frightening.

The door to the Kessler Room closes, and I find myself crying.



“You did very well in there tonight,” Rachel tells me. We’re in the
limo, on our way back to the Daltons.  Rachel holds me in her cupped
hand, letting me look out the window at Reunion Tower. “I really
appreciate you cooperating.”

I sigh, my tears once again under control.  “Look, we both know why I
cooperated.  So don’t insult me by acting like we’re friends, okay?”

Rachel shakes her head.  “I’m not acting, Ray. With everything
that’s going on here, I think you really need at least one person you
can trust.  And I’d really like to be that person.”

God, everything she says is so calculated.  But she knows the right
buttons to push, and she pushes them with ruthless efficiency. I
remember my dream from Saturday night. “It’s not about doing things
to him.  It’s about making him do what we want.  Or making him WANT
to do what we want.”

“How are things at the Daltons?” Rachel asks me.  “I mean, really?”

I shrug.  “Fine.”

“Really, Ray,” she says, raising an eyebrow.  “I’m the one person in
the world you don’t have to lie to.  Tell me, and maybe I can make
things better.”

“If you already know, why are you asking me?”

“Based on the bruises and contusions on your body, and Naomi’s
general demeanor, as well as your particular… fixations, I’m guessing
Naomi takes delight in tormenting you.”

“If you say so.”

“I’m serious, Ray.  I can stop it if you just ask me.”

“Why?” I stare up at her cold, indifferent face.  “Why do I have to
ask you?”

“Because that’s what friends do, Ray.  They ask.”

Which is bullshit.  She wants to hear me ask because it’ll make me
her accomplice.  If she were to take care of things without my
asking, she knows I wouldn’t have to acknowledge the favor.  But this
way, it’s conspiracy.  It’s me and Rachel against the people that are
making me miserable, and that puts me just a little deeper in
Rachel’s pocket, metaphorically speaking.

It’s funny.  Many times, I’ve said I would sell my soul if only I
could knock that smug look off of Naomi’s face.  And it looks like
that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

“Okay, Rachel. Things are actually pretty good between me and Naomi
right now.  I mean, she and I came to an understanding of sorts on
Sunday, and she pretty much quit fucking with me.”

Rachel nods.  “But?”

“But she still plays with me, and I hate that,” I tell her.  “Every
morning, she wakes me up and makes me take a shower with her.  Then
she takes me to work with her and when I’m not in her pocket, I’m
straddling her foot, or dangling from her tit, or whatever little
game she’s thought up. And she talks to me with this horrible baby
talk that makes me want to puke my guts out.”

I look up into Rachel’s face.  “I want it to stop.”

“It will,” Rachel tells me.  “Tonight.  Anything else?”

“Um…”  There’s a tinge of excitement about making these requests.  I
feel like Aladdin after he let the genie out of the lamp.  Three
wishes… better not waste them…

“Okay, Paul and Naomi have really got it in for Nicole these days.
Paul’s still pissed about the whole Cheryl and Kim thing, and Naomi
lost her temper because Nicole told her to stop being so mean to me.
So now the poor girl is grounded until she dies of old age.”

“I’ll talk to Paul,” Rachel says.  “I’m sure I can get that lifted.”

“All right,” I say.  “I’d really like to get out of that goddamn
aquarium.”

Rachel sighs.  “I’m afraid you’re still something of a flight risk,
especially this close to the custody hearing.  But if you can stick
it out for just two more weeks, I think we can come to some sort of
compromise.”

I sigh.  “Okay, then how about letting me see Suzy?”

Rachel chews her lip.  “I’ll agree to one supervised visit between
now and the hearing, with more lenient visitation once you’ve been
remanded to the Daltons’ custody.”

I nod.  “It’s a deal.”

“Not yet,” Rachel tells me, glancing out the window at the passing
traffic.  “If I agree to these terms, I need your word that you’ll be
on your best behavior during the hearing.  Just like you were
tonight.”  She looks down at me and offers a tight-lipped smile.  “If
you’ve got problems or grievances with anybody at all, you tell me
and I’ll handle them.  I don’t want you airing this stuff in public.
Understand?”

“Yeah,” I say, puzzled.  “But how do you know I’ll keep my word?”

Rachel winks at me, an awkward gesture at best.  “Because I trust
you, Ray.  Friends trust each other, right?”

“Right.”

“So, we have a deal?”

“Yeah,” I say, nodding slowly.  “I guess we do.”

“Great.”  Rachel says, crossing her leg.  She leans forward slightly
and, with her free hand, begins fiddling with the straps on her
sandal.  “What do you say we seal the deal?”

“What do you mean?” I ask nervously.

“Oh, I think you know,” Rachel says.  Her shoe slips from her foot
and lands on the floor with a thud.  And as she lowers me towards her
bare foot, I realize I’m no longer certain which one of us is
manipulating the other.  Nor do I really care.

She slips me between her long, beautiful toes and I respond with an
erection so sudden and ferocious that it makes my head spin.  I
stroke the soft scented flesh of her toe and lay my face on the
smooth red nail.  And as her toes slowly grind together, creating
delicious friction, I allow myself, if only for a while, to
experience the sheer joy and freedom that can only come from total
submission.

Did I really want this?  Or did she just make me want it?  Who the
hell knows?  Sometimes it’s goddamned hard to tell the dancers from
the dance.



Okay, you want to know the truth?  I’m terrified.

In just a week, a formal custody hearing will be held to determine
where I’m going to spend the next couple of years.  As far as the
public is concerned, the battle is between my mother and my father.
But in actuality, the combatants are SPECTRUM and GenetiTech Labs.

SPECTRUM is where I lived from infancy until about two months ago.
My mother was ill-equipped for the travails of raising a son no
bigger than her finger, so when SPECTRUM approached her with a deal,
she accepted it eagerly.  I have no regrets with regards to this –
when my mother’s infrequent visits stopped altogether at age five,
the folks at SPECTRUM became my family.  They’ve never treated me
with anything other than kindness and respect, something I always
took for granted until just recently.

GenetiTech Labs is SPECTRUM’s chief rival.  This company has been the
subject of a number of unsettling rumors, many of which I have come
to believe over the past two months.  They were the one’s that
convinced my father to sue for custody, and it was their attorneys
that got me remanded into the Dalton’s custody until the formal
hearing could take place.

My father, Paul Dalton, has struck some kind of deal with GenetiTech.
 I’m not sure of the specifics, but I do know that, once I’m
relegated into his custody, the Daltons will move with me to Midland,
where GenetiTech is based.  I’ll spend every day in the laboratories
of GenetiTech, being subjected to cruel experiments at the hands of
Dr. Taylor, all under the cold, pitiless eye of Rachel Foster. And
every night, I’ll return home to the Dalton’s, where Naomi will no
doubt take great delight in tormenting me for all the grief I’ve
caused her.

Which is why I’m terrified.  For the past two months, I’ve been too
preoccupied to even give the upcoming hearing much thought.  I mean,
when I was fleeing for my life from Cheryl and her unbalanced
daughter Kim, the issue of my custody seemed abstract and
unimportant.

But now, I’ve had more time to think.  Last Wednesday, I struck a
deal with Rachel – something akin to making a bargain with the devil,
to be sure.  I promised her that I would behave myself during the
hearing and not go out of my way to make things difficult.  In
return, she promised me three things:  she would convince Naomi to
leave me alone until after the hearing, she would arrange for an end
to Nicole’s vicious and arbitrary grounding, and she would allow me
one supervised visit with Suzy.

And now that I’m no longer being forced to shower with Naomi, or
spend my days with her and her boss Linda at the beauty shop, the
bleakness of my situation hangs over me like a miasma. My bravado
melts with each passing day.  Right now, the only thing that gives me
a glimmer of hope is the memory of Alan Mackey and the promise he
made to me.

“We’re going to get you back, Ray.  I swear to God, I’ll do whatever
it takes to get you back.”



I wasn’t privy to the conversation Rachel had with the Daltons on
Wednesday night, but she obviously managed to put the fear of God
into them.  After she left, Naomi knelt outside my aquarium and told
me that I would no longer be going to work with her.  Instead, I
would remain here at home with Debbie and Nicole.  She tried to play
it off like it was her decision, but I could tell she was rather
unhappy about the whole thing.

Unfortunately, I don’t think Naomi was quite as convincing as Rachel
when she explained things to her sister.  As soon as she left for
work on Thursday morning, Debbie came over to the aquarium and stood
there, grinning down at me.

Debbie looks a lot like her sister, although she lacks the scowl that
seems permanently etched into Naomi’s features.  She’s pretty, in a
frail and waifish way. On this particular morning, her bleached hair
was hanging long and loose over her shoulders. She was wearing a
pink cropped t-shirt and white shorts that showed off her tan midriff
and legs.  She wasn’t wearing as much makeup as usual, and her face
was refreshingly free of bruises, which I guess meant her boyfriend
Walt had recently been on his best behavior.

Debbie’s hard to read, and she has always been a bit mercurial where
I’m concerned. Sometimes she’s playful, sometimes she’s mean, but
usually she seems content to just leave me alone.  Unfortunately, it
didn’t look like I was going to get off that easy on Thursday.

I was sitting on the edge of my sponge bed in the aquarium, staring
nervously through the glass wall at her feet.  She was wearing
flip-flops to show off her new pedicure, and she would wiggle her
toes playfully when she was sure I was watching.

“Hey, little guy,” she said sweetly, still looking down at me.
“Guess what I got done last night!”

I made a show of admiring her smooth, pink toenails through the side
of the aquarium.  I craned my neck up to look into her blue eyes.
“They’re very nice,” I told her.

“You think so?” she said.  “You should see them up close.”  With a
wicked grin, she reached down and snatched me up out of the aquarium.

“Hey, you can’t do this!” I shouted, staring into her gigantic,
smirking face. “You’re not supposed to pick me up without
permission!”

“Yeah, Naomi told me,” Debbie said.  She tickled my stomach with a
long fingernail, also pink.  “So, how’d you work that little deal
with my sister, anyway?  Did you blackmail her again?”

She carried me into the living room and plopped down on the couch.
“Is Naomi having another affair, or did you get something even better
on her this time?”

She effortlessly peeled my clothes off, despite my frantic struggles.
 “Don’t wear yourself out,” she told me.  “Save some of that
squirming for later.”  She grabbed my kicking leg between her finger
and thumb and dangled me upside down.

Impotent with rage, I watched as she slid her foot from her sandal
and brought it up to rest on the edge of the coffee table.  Her smile
grew downright vicious as she slowly lowered me towards her foot.
Her toes flexed anxiously, spreading in anticipation as I grew
nearer…

The phone rang, and Debbie swore under her breath.  She tucked me
between her toes and clenched them together, holding me tight.
“Don’t go anywhere,” she told me playfully as she reached for the
portable.

“Dalton residence,” she said in a cheerful voice.  “Can I…”  Her
voice trailed off, and that infuriating smile on her face faltered.
“Who is this?” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously and she glared down at
me.  “You’re full of shit, whoever you are,” she said. “You really
expect me to…”

She stopped speaking and glanced down at her chest, at the three red
points of laser light that had suddenly appeared just over her heart.
 With a terrified squeal, she relaxed her grip on me and shook her
foot, letting me fall to the wooden surface of the coffee table.

“He’s not hurt or anything,” she said, her voice shaking.  She was so
scared, she almost sounded like a little girl. “We were only…”
After a couple of seconds, the red points vanished.  She let out a
quivering breath and switched off the phone.  Without a word, she
scooped me and my discarded clothes up in her palm and carried me
back to the aquarium.  She them walked over to the window and peered
nervously through the curtains.


Ever since she was threatened by that unidentified, modular voice on
the phone, Debbie has left me alone.  In fact, she keeps her distance
from the aquarium and leaves it to Nicole to feed me and change my
water. Nicole, I should add, is quite grateful to me because, once
again, I managed to get her ungrounded.

So now it’s Monday, just seven days until my hearing commences.
After lunch today, Nicole invited me to play in her room with her,
and I accepted because I was ready to get out of that damned aquarium
for a while.  She gently picked me up and carried me to her room.  As
we were leaving, I peered from her cupped hands at Debbie, who was
watching in horror and glancing nervously at the window.

She needn’t have worried.  Apparently whoever was watching the house
had been well briefed on the situation.  Nicole was exempt from the
hands-off rule, at least for the time being.

We’ve been in Nicole’s room for a couple of hours now, on her bed.
She sits with her back against the headboard, her knees bent and her
bare feet to either side of me, flat on the rumpled bedspread. She
looks down at me, watching me pace back and forth.

“Rachel says the custody hearing is a lock,” I tell Nicole, stopping
to peer up into her wide, brown eyes.  “I think GenetiTech bribed a
judge or something.”

“I don’t want you to go to GenetiTech,” Nicole says, frowning
suddenly.  “And I don’t want you to go back to SPECTRUM, either.  I
just want you to stay here.”

“I know, sweetheart,” I tell her, petting her big toe with the palm
of my hand.  Her toes flex slightly at my touch.  She wants to play
with me, to feel me wiggle against the bottom of her foot or in
between her toes.  I know there’s no malice in it – to her, it’s just
a fun little game.  But she knows I’m not in the mood, so she
restrains herself.  God knows, it’s more than Naomi or any of her
idiot friends were ever willing to do.

“We could try and sneak you over to Suzy’s again,” Nicole says to me.
 She smiles a little sheepishly and adds, “I promise, I’d really do
it this time.”

“It’s no good,” I tell her.  “They’re watching Suzy too carefully.
It wouldn’t work.  In fact, I doubt it would have worked if we’d gone
through with it the first time.”

“It’s not fair,” Nicole sighs. “No matter what, they’re going to
take you away from me.”

“It’s not as bad as all that,” I say, with more optimism than I feel.
 “If the Daltons get custody of me, I’ll still live with you guys.
I’ll just have to go to GenetiTech every day, just like going to
school.  And if my mom gets custody, I’ll still come and see you.”

“Really?” Nicole says, a small smile creeping across her sad
features.  “You think she’ll let you?”

“Of course,” I tell her.  “Why wouldn’t she?”

Nicole shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess because I’m not really your
sister or anything.”

I stroke her toe again, just above the nail.  “As far as I’m
concerned, you are.”

Her toes clench together, pressing down against the mattress.  “That
tickles,” she snorts.

“Oh yeah?  How about this?”  I throw myself onto her toes and begin
tickling her mercilessly between them. She lets out a happy squeal
as she shakes me loose and gently lowers her bare foot on top of me.
She giggles with sheer delight as I struggle playfully beneath her
warm, soft sole.  And as she peers down at me, I can’t help but smile
back.

It’s the first time I’ve enjoyed myself in days, which of course is
the universe’s cue to piss on my head. The door to Nicole’s room
opens and Debbie pokes her head in.  Nicole guiltily jerks her foot
off of me, leaving me lying on my back.

“You’re supposed to knock,” she admonishes her aunt.

“Your parents are home,” Debbie says nervously.  “And that Rachel
woman. I think something’s wrong.”



“…traumatic experience for all involved,” says the African-American
gentleman with impeccable hair and a charming smile.  “But not to
worry… Sister Mary Agnes is fine, and the alligator is expected to
make a full recovery.”

The perky blonde behind the desk laughs… well, perkily.  “Thank you,
Brandon,” she says, then turns to face the camera.  On the screen
behind her, the picture of Louise holding me over the candle is
displayed alone with the caption “It’s a Small World After All.”

“Move over, Bat Boy,” the blonde chirps.  “There’s a new kid on the
tabloid block, and inquiring minds are desperate to discover if this
tiny teen is real, or just a little joke.  For more on the story,
here is Brenda Benoit.”

A quick cut to some footage from the old movie “The Incredible
Shrinking Man,” in which the shrunken protagonist is being chased by
a giant cat.  A woman’s voice, nasal and Northeastern, speaks over
the footage.  “They say that size doesn’t matter, but one young man
has been causing quite a stir this past month. And when it comes to
Raymond Miller, size is all that does matter.”

Cut to the picture from the National Mirror, of me as a baby lying in
my mother’s palm.  Some horrible country song called “Little Bitty”
plays quietly in the background as Brenda Benoit continues her
fingernails-on-blackboard narrative.  “Raymond Miller was born in
January of 1986 to Dallas woman Cathy Miller.  Miller, a waitress and
part-time stripper, told reporters that she had no idea she was
pregnant until just after her diminutive son was born…”

And so on.  The piece basically features ever picture ever taken of
me and published, and some conjecture about the nature of SPECTRUM’s
experiments on me.  At one point, a digitally masked “insider” goes
into lurid detail about grotesque experiments, then goes on to
explain how the women at the lab would take turns taking me home each
night. It’s all lies, of course.  It only takes me a couple of
seconds to recognize the “insider” as Tony, the fat kid that took my
picture at SPECTRUM and set this whole mess into action.

The annoying correspondent touches on Benny Doyle’s story in the
National Mirror that was retracted last month, suggesting that the
entire story was fabricated by SPECTRUM in an ongoing campaign of
deception and misinformation.  Her theory is enhanced by the
surprising news that Doyle shot and killed himself in his apartment a
week ago.  “The death was ruled a suicide,” she says in a dark,
conspiratorial tone.

The story finally closes with Brenda Benoit, who turns out to be an
attractive but shrill woman with shoulder-length brown hair and large
glasses, addressing the blonde anchor. “Other than the photographs
and the testimonies, we have no hard evidence that Raymond Miller is
anything other than a tiny figment of somebody’s imagination.  But
just in case, I’d watch where I stepped.”

The blonde anchor laughs as if Brenda Benoit is the most hilarious
American since Mark Fucking Twain.  “Oh, I will,” she says.  “Thanks,
Brenda.”  She then turns back to the camera and says, “And thanks to
all of you, for watching Inside Line…”

The picture freezes when Rachel hits the Stop button on the remote.

I’m standing on the coffee table, still staring in disbelief at the
lurid account of my life on the screen.  Paul and Naomi are sitting
on the couch behind me, with Nicole squeezed in between them.  For
several seconds, nobody says a word.

Then Nicole breaks the silence with a giggle.  “I can’t believe Ray’s
on TV,” she says.  “That’s so cool!”

Rachel looks at her coldly, then back at me.  “It’s going to air
tomorrow night,” she says.  “We’ve tried to block the story, but
unfortunately our people didn’t get wind of it until it was too
late.”

“So?” Paul says.  “Let it air. I’m tired of having to be so
goddamned secretive all the time, anyway…”

“Secretive?”  Rachel’s icy veneer is shattered by a rare look of
annoyance.  “Everybody in this damn town seems to know about Ray!”

“We just told our closest friends,” Naomi says defensively.  “You
said we…”

“It doesn’t matter.”  Rachel sighs and regains her composure.  “It
was pretty much inevitable, I suppose. I was hoping to keep a lid on
things until after the hearing.  But there have been e-mails
circulating ever since Doyle’s article last month…”

“Did he really kill himself?” I ask, glaring at Rachel.  It’s not too
difficult for me to imagine her blowing his brains out, then putting
the gun in his dead hand.

Rachel just looks amused.  “Yeah, he really did.  We had nothing to
do with that.  Just dumb luck, I guess.  Anyway, we’ve been fortunate
in that most of the stories are decidedly anti-SPECTRUM.  There are
at least two separate online petitions calling for an end to Ray’s
torture, and an old GenetiTech e-mail is making the rounds again,
only somebody changed it to refer to SPECTRUM. Right now, Ray is
well on his way to becoming an urban legend.”

Paul shrugs.  “Like I said, so?”

“It’s only a matter of time before somebody gets the facts straight,
so we need to be proactive,” Rachel says.  “We’re bound by
non-disclosure until after the hearing, but the following week I’ll
arrange for a press conference with journalists a lot more credible
than goddamn Brenda Benoit.

“You guys will go on TV and tell your story, about how you saved poor
Ray from those Nazi bastards at SPECTRUM.  We want everyone to see
that Ray is safe and happy with his new family.  And immediately
after this story airs, GenetiTech will come forward and publicly
offer you assistance in caring for Ray, educating him and meeting his
special needs. That way, the entire deal is above board and,
hopefully, beyond reproach.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all worked out,” I say.

Rachel gives me a cold smile.  “I’d say we’re definitely ahead of the
game.”



Before she leaves, Rachel informs me that I’ll be meeting with Suzy
tomorrow afternoon at an undisclosed neutral location. She tells the
Daltons that she’ll be coming by to get me around 1:00, so make sure
Debbie is aware.

I spend the better part of the evening, pacing around in my aquarium.
 Nicole is in her room, and I wish fervently that I was in there with
her.  When I’m playing with her, I can almost forget how terrified I
am of what may come.  But I know it’s not going to happen tonight,
not with Naomi and Paul sitting in the living room.  Any time Nicole
comes near me, Naomi barks at her and tells her to get away.  And
unfortunately, I forgot to account for that little loophole when I
made my deal with Rachel.

Paul and Naomi sit and talk quietly, occasionally glancing in my
direction.  Are they nervous too?  Paul’s temper seems a bit short,
and Naomi has been on edge… well, more on edge than usual.  They’ve
got their heart set on the GenetiTech deal going through, and I think
they’re nervous that something unexpected is going to happen.  Which
means Dad will have to keep his crappy job selling plumbing fixtures
and Naomi will have to stay on at the Beau Monde Beauty Shop.  They
won’t get the beautiful new house in Midland, or the sizeable weekly
checks they’ve been promised.

I wonder if Rachel has threatened them with something further should
the deal fall through. Naomi seems awfully nervous around her
lately.  Of course, that might just be because she thinks Paul is
having an affair with her.  She’s been a bit paranoid since her own
affair with Benny Doyle last month.

At last, Paul gets up to go to bed, leaving Naomi alone in the living
room.  She sits on the couch, smoking and watching Everybody Loves
Raymond.  She lets her sandal dangle absentmindedly, then slaps it
against the bottom of her foot by flexing her toes.

I stand there with my cheek pressed against the cool glass, watching
with morbid interest and remembering a time not long ago when the
sight of her bare foot filled me, not with dread, but with nervous
excitement.  God, how I used to watch those toes with guilty
fascination, and imagine myself grasped between them, or pinned
beneath them.  How could I have possibly known how miserably reality
would prove to be?

But even now, images flit unbidden into my mind.  I remember that
first time, that frightening mixture of shame and pleasure, as she
slid me between her toes and wiggled them until I came.  That feeling
of utter helplessness, of total surrender…

I feel myself growing hard and try to shake the thoughts from my
head, but still the memories flood in. I remember running around on
the floor between Naomi and Cheryl as they teased me ruthlessly with
their feet.  I remember the confused desire I experienced with
Rachel, as she brought me to orgasm with cold detachment.

And, most painfully, I remember Suzy’s beautiful pale green toenails
and her long, perfect toes.  That perfect night in her room…

An involuntary moan escapes from me as my erection becomes
unbearable.  My mind is swimming with frustration, worry, and guilty
desire as I run over to my bed and throw myself on it. I masturbate
frantically, hoping the act will purge the growing sense of shame and
trepidation.

As I grind against the green sponge, the memories flash through my
mind faster and faster.  I’m squirming between Naomi’s soapy toes in
the shower… I’m clinging to Cheryl’s toes as her bare foot depresses
the accelerator… I’m staring, angry and helpless, as Naomi’s sandaled
foot stomps down on my little car, utterly destroying it… I’m
squirming between Cheryl’s toes, weak from the overwhelming smell of
polish, as Naomi paints the nails pink… I’m trapped in Naomi’s
nylons, my back pressed against her foot, staring up into her angry,
mocking face…

I hear her footsteps approaching and force myself to stop what I’m
doing. My entire body tenses and revolts at the sudden cessation,
and my breaths come in short, harsh gasps as I struggle to maintain
control of my rebelling body.

“Having fun?” Naomi asks, her voice mocking and cruel. I can’t look
at her.  I keep my face buried in the sponge, terrified at the
prospect of looking over and seeing her feet through the glass of the
aquarium.  I can’t bear the sight of those twitching toes right now…

“You thinking about your little girlfriend Suzy?” Naomi asks me.  “Is
that what you’re thinking about right now?”

“Please just go away,” I whisper weakly into my bed, knowing she
can’t hear me. I hear a soft thud outside the fish tank, the
unmistakable sound of a sandal falling to the floor.  Then the
vibrating squeak of flesh rubbing against the aquarium wall.  In my
mind’s eye, I can see her bare toes sliding up the glass and my body
tenses.  My erection is so tight that it hurts.

“Or are you thinking about Momma’s pretty feet?” she asks in a
surprisingly tender voice.  My face is still buried, but I can feel
the warmth of her immense foot as it comes nearer and nearer.  I
brace myself for the inevitable contact, and hardly even jump when I
feel her enormous, leathery sole press down on top of me, mashing me
deep into my bed.

“Go ahead, sweetie,” she tells me, mashing down gently with her toes,
then releasing.  She does it again and again, moving me up and down
against my sponge bed. I want so desperately to stop, but it’s out
of my hands now.  I convulse madly as the violent orgasm erupts from
me.  My fists clench at the porous surface of my bed as I spasm again
and again, my heart pounding in my ears.

“Good boy,” she whispers.  “Now roll over and kiss Momma’s foot.”

I’m too weak to move, but it doesn’t matter.  She rolls me over and
presses her big toe into my face.  I kiss it weakly with my eyes
closed.  I can’t stand the thought of looking into her face right
now.

At last, her foot lifts away from me.  I lie there still as a corpse,
silently praying that she’ll leave me alone.

“Oh, Ray,” she whispers with such excitement in her voice.  “You
can’t even imagine the things I’m going to do to you when this
hearing is over.”  She lets out a quiet chuckle.  “I’m going to break
you, little boy.  Before too long, you’ll be begging me to do these
horrible things to you, and you’ll thank me when I’m done.”

I roll over onto my stomach and bury my face again, weeping bitterly
and helplessly.

“Goodnight, sweetie,” Naomi says.  “If I were you, I wouldn’t mention
this to your friend Rachel.”  Her footsteps fade mercifully as she
walks away.



The Sand Dollar Motor Lodge sits on the outskirts of Stasheff, a
dilapidated cluster of buildings in dire need of paint and repair.  A
rusted metal sign hangs crookedly out front, proudly advertising the
fact that the rooms feature air-conditioning and color TV.

I’m sitting in Rachel’s hand, staring at this place through the
window of the GenetiTech limo, which I’m sure looks horribly out of
place driving through the dusty parking lot.  We pass by the swimming
pool, which has long since been filled with dirt and now sports a
tangle of grass and weeds.

This is the single, supervised visit with Suzy that Rachel promised
me.  But Rachel and her entourage showing up at Suzy’s family’s
apartment was out of the question, and asking Suzy to come to the
Daltons’ house was a bit awkward, so Rachel selected this nasty
fleabag motel as a neutral meeting location.

“It’s discreet,” Rachel tells me, as if reading my mind.  “We’re
trying to limit your public exposure before the hearing.  Besides,”
she adds with a cold smile, “it’s the only motel in town that charges
by the hour.”

I nod, but say nothing.  Rachel regards me with a cock of her head.

“Is something wrong, Ray?” she asks me.  “I thought you’d be a little
more excited about seeing your girlfriend.”

I sigh.  “Last Thursday, Debbie decided to play with me after Naomi
told her no.  And your snipers scared her into leaving me alone.”

“Yes, I know,” Rachel says.  “We had them stationed for 24 hour
shifts through the weekend.  Now they’re watching in random shifts of
4 hours.  That ought to work as a deterrent.”

I shrug.  “I guess they weren’t on last night, around 9:00?”

Rachel frowns.  “What happened?  Did Naomi do something to you?”

I nod. “She warned me not to tell you, but I don’t have any choice.
I really want that shit to stop, Rachel.  I’m living up to my end of
the bargain…”

“I’m sorry, Ray,” she says in a flat, unflinching voice.  “It’ll
stop.  I promise.”



I can only imagine how many roaches must be scurrying out of sight in
this place.  The air in the room is stale, but cool.  The
air-conditioner rattles noisily, ruffling the stained, orange
curtains.

There’s a double bed in the center of the room, with an obnoxious
bedspread that sort of matches the curtains.  A velvet painting hangs
on the wall, featuring a small child with obnoxiously large eyes
sitting on a donkey.  I swear, the décor of this place actually makes
my old garish dollhouse look tasteful and understated.

I’m standing on the simulated wood grain table, pacing back and
forth. The table is bare except for a pitcher of ice water and a
couple of empty glasses that still have the paper caps on them.  Oh,
and a nasty aluminum ashtray – empty but filthy – sits close to the
edge.

Rachel is sitting in one of the chairs, watching me as I walk the
distance from the ashtray to the pitcher, and back again.  She says
nothing, but simply stares at me, making no attempt to hide it.
Eventually, the stress of her silent gaze becomes too much to bear
and I talk just to break the tension.

“She thinks you’re screwing my dad, you know?” I tell Rachel,
watching her face for any trace of surprise or annoyance.  Of course,
there is none. “You told her to leave me alone, and she’s afraid of
you, so she takes it out on me.”

“I’m not,” Rachel says evenly. “There’s no reason for me to be
engaging in any kind of sexual relations with your father, and it
would only serve to jeopardize the entire operation.  And I assure
you, I’m not attracted to him.”

“Maybe you should tell her that,” I say.  “It might set her mind at
ease.” I ponder this a moment, then reconsider.  “On second thought,
fuck it.  Let her suffer.”  This actually earns a tight smile from
Rachel.

“I’ll handle Naomi,” she says. “I underestimated her once.  I never
make that mistake twice.”

“What did you tell her?” I ask.  “Last Wednesday, I mean.  You told
her something that kept her scared for almost a week.  What was it?”

Rachel shrugs. “Sometimes, in my line of work, I’m required to
uncover somebody’s weakness and then use it against them.  In your
stepmother’s case, it wasn’t very hard.  I told her we needed Paul a
lot more than we needed her, and that I was more than willing to
orchestrate a public divorce after the hearing and cut her out of the
deal.  And just to make sure that Paul maintained custody, we’d make
sure that she was accused of doing something despicable.  And then I
reminded her about her affair, and told her she’d already laid the
ground work for us.”

“Oh,” I say, a little disappointed.  I’m not sure what I expected,
but with the melodrama of snipers watching the house, I was hoping it
was something a little more… exciting.



There’s a timid knock at the door, and Rachel gets up to go answer
it.  She marches across the room in her short black skirt and
stiletto heels, beautiful and menacing as ever.  No matter how hard
she tries to convince me that she’s my friend, she still scares the
hell out of me.

Rachel opens the door, and the bright sunlight spills into the room.
Silhouetted against it, I see Suzy’s unmistakable form.  Last time I
saw her, she was sitting on her bed, sobbing bitterly as Rachel took
me away.  And that memory is one that knots my stomach and nearly
brings me to tears every time I think about it.

I watch anxiously, my heart racing.  I want to look into those
gorgeous green eyes and feel her fingers wrap so gently around me.  I
want to lie on her breast and feel her heart beat beneath me.  I want
to feel her lips against me, and her warm, sweet breath on my skin.

But mostly, I just want her to know that everything’s going to be
fine, because I can’t bear the thought of her worrying about me.

She enters the room and as Rachel closes the door, the glare fades
and Suzy’s features come into view.  She looks so scared, so
miserable.  Her eyes are brimming with tears.  She chews her upper
lip nervously as she approaches.  I watch so desperately for that
sexy smile that borders on being a smirk, but it doesn’t come.

She stops and stands several feet away from the table, wringing her
hands nervously as she looks at the floor.  She can’t even look at
me, I realize with mounting horror.

“Suzy, what’s wrong?” I ask, my voice trembling.  “I swear,
everything’s going to be okay. You don’t have to worry about…”

“Ray, I can’t do this,” she says in a dead, morose voice.  “It was a
mistake and we never should have…”

I’m suddenly dizzy, as if all the air has been yanked from my lungs.
I blink and feel the warm tears running down my cheek. “Suzy, please
just hold me…”

She takes a wavering breath.  “Please don’t make this harder.  I…”  A
pained look crosses her face and she glances over her shoulder at
Rachel, then back at the floor.  “We can’t be together, Ray.  It’s
just not… it’s not right.”

My heart doesn’t just break, it rips into a million pieces.  I run to
the edge of the table, as close to her as I can get.  Her words buzz
angrily in my head like a swarm of hornets.  “God, Suzy… how can you…
you told me that you loved me!”

She trembles and wipes at her eyes.  “I know,” she says.  “I
shouldn’t have said that.  It wasn’t right.”

“Yes it was!  You know it was!”  I’m shouting desperately, helplessly
separated from her by a gap of three feet.

“Forgive me, Ray,” she whispers.  “Please, just forgive me.  I had no
right to do this to you.”  She turns and runs from me. Rachel opens
the door for her, allowing her to leave.

“Suzy, please!” I scream after her, falling to my knees.  “God, not
you too!  Please!”

The door closes, and she’s gone.



It’s bullshit. It’s got to be.  There’s no way that really just
happened.  There’s no way that everything that passed between me and
Suzy meant nothing to her.  But why would she say those things to me?

I stare over the edge of the table and for one crazy minute consider
just leaping off of the edge.  God, it hurts so much right now.

“I’m really sorry, Ray,” Rachel says, walking towards me.  And the
weird part is, she really looks compassionate. It’s so odd to see
any trace of emotion on her face, and just the thought of Rachel’s
sympathy is enough to burst the dam.  I collapse on the table and sob
with terrifying ferocity, wondering if I’ll ever be able to stop.

Rachel gently scoops me into her palm and strokes me with her
fingers.  After all these weeks of her cold, emotionless detachment,
this surprising show of concern moves me beyond measure.  I continue
to cry bitterly and Rachel continues to comfort me with surprising
tenderness.

The door opens, and the driver sticks his head in.  “Everything okay
in here, Ms. Foster?”

“Everything’s fine, Oswald,” Rachel says.  “Just wait in the car.
We’ll be out in a bit.”

Oswald grunts his affirmation and closes the door.  Rachel turns her
attention back to me.  “It’s okay,” she whispers, still petting me
softly.  “Everything’s going to be okay, Ray.”

“Why would she say that?” I ask, gazing up into Rachel’s beautiful
face.  “Why would she say those things to me?”

“I don’t know,” she tells me.  “Maybe she’s just a little confused.
Maybe she just needs a little time.”

“God, I feel so alone.”

She shushes me and wipes the tears from my face with the tip of her
finger.  She smiles down sweetly at me like a benevolent goddess
bestowing comfort.  “You’re not alone, Ray,” she whispers.  “You’ve
got me.  You’ll always have me.”

She’s so sweet, so compassionate.  And somewhere in the back of my
mind, a warning flag is raised.  I suddenly remember her words to me,
not fifteen minutes ago.  “Sometimes, in my line of work, I’m
required to uncover somebody’s weakness and then use it against
them.”

Suddenly, I’m clinging to a fervent hope.  Suzy only said those
things because, somehow, Rachel forced her to. Because Rachel wanted
an excuse to comfort me and cement our bond.  Because, for some
reason, it is very important to Rachel that I trust her and think of
her as a friend.

The tears slow, then stop as I glare up into her face. The smile
hasn’t changed, but now I can see it for what it truly is.  Cynical,
manipulative… devoid of real emotion.

“You bitch,” I snarl at her, climbing to my feet and pointing. “How
dare you?”

The sympathetic smile is gone in an instant, replaced by that cold,
indifferent stare.  “Looks like I underestimated you as well,” Rachel
says, her fingers closing around me.  “I must be losing my touch.”

“Why would you do that?” I ask her angrily.  “What possible reason
could you have for doing that to us?”

“I needed her out of the picture,” Rachel says.  “And that was the
only way I could think to do it that wouldn’t endanger our dynamic.”

“Fuck our dynamic, you colossal bitch!” I shout at her, pounding on
her thumb.

Rachel sighs and shakes her head.  “Come now, Ray.  Don’t be like
that.  I assure you, my friendship isn’t something you just want to
throw away.”

I glare into her impassionate face, blinking away the tears and
wiping angrily at my eyes.  “Why would you do this?  Why?”

“She was in the way.  I needed to find a way to get Suzy out of the
picture without making you suspicious, and that seemed like the
easiest path to take.  I mean, it was either that or fake a car
wreck.”

I can’t tell if that’s supposed to be a joke or not.  Rachel says it
so matter-of-factly, as if she seriously considered it as an option.

“I need you on board, Ray,” Rachel tells me.  “And I can’t have some
little… romantic like Suzy distracting you from the tasks at hand.
Besides, you’ll eventually see it’s for the best.  I mean, do you
really believe someone like you could have a lasting relationship
with someone like her?”

I actually start trembling in her grasp, so overcome with anger that
I can’t seem to form the right words.  I manner to sputter out, “You…
colossal… bitch!”

Rachel sits down on the foot of the bed, and I hear the muffled thud
of her kicking off her shoe.  She smiles so coldly as she raises her
leg, bringing her foot to rest on the edge of the bed. The dark
nylon stretches weblike between her toes as she wiggles them slowly
and seductively.

“God, no!” I shout at her.  “What the hell is the matter with you?”

“I can take off the stocking if you like,” she tells me, her tongue
barely brushing along her upper lip.  “I know you prefer bare feet.”

“I said no!” I shout, punching her finger as hard as I can.  My fist
makes a soft thunk against the thick flesh of her index finger.  It
hurts my hand, but I doubt she even felt a thing.

She shrugs.  “Have it your way.  We’ll keep the stocking on.”

She undresses me and heartlessly toys with me for about fifteen
minutes, rubbing my feverish flesh against the rough nylon of her
sole, then along the underside of her toes.  And up until the moment
that I finally, reluctantly satisfy her with a sputtering orgasm, I’m
haunted by the words she said earlier.

“Sometimes, in my line of work, I’m required to uncover somebody’s
weakness and then use it against them.”

She wants me to say I forgive her, but this isn’t about absolution.
This, as always, is simply about power.  And Rachel has once again
demonstrated her ability to make an utter shambles of my life with
minimal effort on her part.

“If it makes you feel better,” she tells me as I lie in a gasping
heap in her palm, “the only reason Suzy said those things was because
I had a man stationed outside her apartment, ready to shoot her
parents if she didn’t cooperate.”

I look at her wearily. “Why would that make me feel better?” I ask
her, my voice croaking with exhaustion.

“I just thought you might like to know, that’s all,” Rachel says.
“And if you keep your end of the bargain, I’ll see what I can do
about straightening things out between you and Suzy.”

It’s a lie, delivered with icy professionalism.  I know she’ll do no
such thing, no matter how well I behave.

But it doesn’t matter. I have no intention of keeping my end of the
bargain anymore.  If it lies within my power in any way to put a
crimp in GenetiTech’s plans, I’ll find a way to do it. And somehow,
in some way, Rachel is going to pay for fucking with me and Suzy like
this.



When we get back to the Daltons’ house, Rachel puts me in the
aquarium and takes Naomi aside to have words with her. Once again, I
have no idea what’s being said.  But Naomi’s face grows pale and she
actually starts crying.  When Rachel is finished, Naomi nods dumbly.

Rachel leaves, and Naomi immediately comes over to the aquarium and
glares down at me.  “I told you not to say anything to that woman,”
she snarls.

I sigh and nod.  “I know.”

“She’s not going to be able to protect you forever, little boy.  And
as soon as this hearing is over…”

“Yeah, I know.”

She stamps her sandaled foot, and it makes a loud slapping sound.
“Dammit, little boy!  You are going to be sorry.”

I look up at her, unable to even muster the tiniest bit of concern.
“I know.”  She storms off angrily, and I remember with an almost
wistful sense of nostalgia when Naomi was the biggest problem I had
to worry about.

I lie down on my bed, painfully aware of just how alone I am.  Poor
Suzy is probably in her room right now, beating herself up for doing
what she did to me.  God, I long for her so badly it makes my entire
body ache, and the more I torture myself with those thoughts, the
more futile my future seems.

A future spent at the mercy of Dr. Taylor, Rachel Foster, and Naomi.
A future separated from everyone I care about. A bleak, hopeless
future.  I lie on my back and sob helplessly in the dark, until
finally, mercifully, sleep overtakes me.



My custody hearing begins tomorrow, and I can’t sleep.

GenetiTech put us up in the Hyatt-Regency, the same hotel where I met
my mother less than two weeks previously.   Rachel informed us
proudly when we checked in that it was the same hotel that the
president stayed in when he visited the D/FW area.  I’m not sure if
she meant the president of GenetiTech or of the United States.

In the darkness, somewhere out there beyond the cardboard walls of my
shoebox accommodations, Paul is snoring like a goddamn chainsaw.
It’s only a matter of time before Naomi nudges him angrily and tells
him to roll over.  It’s happened four times already, and I fully
expect it to continue until the morning.

So I lie there on my green sponge bed, staring wide-eyed into the
darkness and letting my mind drift.  I think of sweet little Nicole,
who is at home with Naomi’s sister Debbie.  She’s been my sole friend
and confidant this past week, something I desperately needed.  I also
find myself thinking about poor Suzy, and all that she has suffered
for the sin of loving me.  Other faces flit through my mind… my
friends at SPECTRUM – Alan, Louise, Gary, Sally, Leslie – will I ever
see them again?

I think of my mother, but have trouble remembering her face as I saw
it last.  When I try to envision her, all I can come up with is the
picture from the National Mirror where she’s holding me in the palm
of her hand.  For years, that was the only connection I had to my
mother, and it seems so much real to me than that nervous, aged woman
I met eleven days ago.

“Goddammit Paul,” Naomi growls, and I hear a muffled slap.  “Roll
over.” My father rolls over with a snort and a mumble, and the room
is mercifully quiet.  If I’m going to get to sleep, I’d better do it
in the next fifteen minutes, before the snoring starts again…

* * *

After my ill-fated meeting with Suzy at the Sand Dollar Motor Lodge
last Wednesday, I was more than ready to return home to the Daltons.
To be perfectly honest, the idea of spending even another minute with
Rachel Foster was enough to turn my stomach.

Unfortunately, Rachel wasn’t ready to relinquish me just yet.  There
was so much we needed to take care of before the hearing, and she
felt they needed to be handled before the Inside Line story aired
that night.  Because once that cat was out of the bag, there were
going to be reporters and photographers crawling all over the town of
Stasheff.

Personally, I still think her reasoning was a load of crap.  She knew
I was bitter about the stunt she had pulled with Suzy, and she wanted
to make damn sure she’d managed to control the damage before she
dropped me off.  She wanted to be certain that I was still on board,
and wasn’t planning on doing anything crazy that might jeopardize the
custody hearing.

I was more than angry with her.  At this point, I truly hated her.
More than Naomi, more than Cheryl… if I could have, I would have
happily killed her.  But when you’re the size of an action figure,
your options for vengeance are severely limited.

So I pretended to acquiesce to her.  I did it grudgingly and a bit
spitefully, because I knew she’d immediately suspect a total change
of heart.  Rachel promised to help me smooth things over with Rachel
when the hearing was over, and I pretended to believe her.

We spent the entire afternoon meeting with Cindi Martinez, first
chair attorney for the Daltons in the matter of Dalton v. Miller.
She and the rest of her firm began operating out of a rented office
in downtown Stasheff back in April, coincidentally just two weeks
before my father Paul Dalton obtained their services.  The fact is,
they’re crack members of GenetiTech’s own legal team, and I have no
doubt it was them that approached my father, instead of the other way
around.

Ms. Martinez droned on and on about all kinds of things I didn’t
really understand.  Diminished capacity, special needs, etc.  To tell
the truth, I couldn’t really concentrate.  My mind was on Suzy.

“If we’re lucky, you won’t be called to testify,” she said.
“However, there’s a pretty good chance SPECTRUM will call you if they
think it will help their case. So you should be prepared.”

She rummaged through a stack of papers and found a couple of pages
stapled together.  She flipped back and forth between them, then
looked at me.

“I’m not going to write your testimony down, because we don’t want
you rehearsing it,” she told me.  Her fingernails were long,
French-manicured and they drummed relentlessly on her oak desk as she
spoke. “We’ve been working on several approaches simultaneously, but
with the Inside Line story broadcasting tonight, we’ve decided to
capitalize on all the anti-SPECTRUM press.”

“When life gives you lemons, make lemonade,” Rachel said in a voice
so devoid of inflection that it was almost funny.

“No one expects you to lie, Ray,” the attorney continued.  “I know
you still bear some affection for your former wardens, and I fully
expect that to come out in your testimony.  We intend to play it off
as brainwashing, just another in SPECTRUM’s long line of atrocities.”

“They didn’t brainwash me,” I told her, glaring up into her brown
eyes.  She was wearing glasses with thick, black frames that made her
look severe and intimidating.  I wondered if they were prescription,
or just an affectation.

“Of course, you’ll make that claim.  Which of course just goes to
show how effective their brainwashing techniques were. Let’s face
it, Ray.  Your mother sold you to a lab and let them perform
experiments on you.  No judge in the world is going to believe this
was in your best interests.”

“Why are we even having this hearing?” I asked.  “Didn’t you guys
already bribe a judge or something?”

Ms. Martinez looked amused.  “He’s got a mouth on him, doesn’t he?”

“He’s going to keep it in check during the proceedings,” Rachel said.
 She poked me in the back with her index finger and added, “Aren’t
you?”

I nodded miserably, and Cindi Martinez continued.  “The crux of our
case is going to be our portrayal of your life with the Daltons.
It’s the first time you’ve ever lived in a true family, and you’re
very happy with them.  They’re very good to you, and they make you
feel safe and secure.  But SPECTRUM still has an unhealthy hold on
you as well, which is why you’re so conflicted…”

“I’m not conflicted!” I shouted at her.  “I hate the fucking Daltons!”

Rachel said coldly, “If you expect my help in patching things up with
Suzy, you’d better…”

“Fuck you,” I screamed, whirling to face her.  “How stupid do you
think I am?”

Rachel’s fingernails grasped me by the collar of my shirt, and lifted
me awkwardly into the air.  I hung helplessly in front of her face,
which was no longer cold and dispassionate.  She actually looked
pissed, which terrified me beyond reason.

“Your little friend Suzy is very vulnerable, Ray.  The only reason
she’s still alive is because, up to this point, you’ve been a team
player.  I suggest you get your head in the game, before the little
bitch winds up raped and murdered.”

I was hyperventilating, unable to take in enough air.  The entire
room seemed to be spinning, and my heart was pumping so hard it felt
like it was going to punch a hole in my chest. It was so warm, and
the air was thick with the smell of Rachel’s perfume.

“Next week, you will be GenetiTech property,” she told me through
clenched teeth.  “Say goodbye to Suzy, and say goodbye to SPECTRUM.
When you’re spending your days with Dr. Taylor and your nights with
Naomi, you’re doing to be in desperate need of a friend.  And I may
very well be your only hope, so don’t go burning that bridge.
Understand?”

I nodded weakly.  Rachel set me back down on the desk and I laid
there in a huddle, weeping.  Ms. Martinez sat patiently, drumming her
fingernails and waiting for me to regain my composure. When I
finally had my tears under control, she continued prepping me and I
listened, reluctantly and bitterly.



At some point, they brought in this morbidly obese woman to measure
me for some new suits. The idea, Ms. Martinez explained, was to
display me looking my best, so the judge could see just how
beneficial living with the Daltons had been.  I was ordered to strip
naked, and this woman took my measurements.  Rachel and Ms. Martinez
watched with some amusement as the woman manipulated me with her fat
fingers to get the dimensions of my inseam and waist.  Finally, the
entire humiliating incident was over.  The woman promised to have my
clothes ready by the weekend, and I was allowed to dress.

At around six, Ms. Martinez sent one of the clerks out to pick up
some chicken for dinner.  I can’t even begin to convey the horror of
watching these two immense women tearing meat from the bone, smacking
loudly and licking their lips. Rachel offered me a small piece of
chicken, insisting I eat it off of the tip of her finger.  I wasn’t
hungry, but I managed to choke it down to avoid offending her any
further.

They finally decided to call it a day at a quarter of eight.  Rachel
carried me down to the limo, and asked Oswald to just drive around
aimlessly for a while. At eight o’ clock, she switched on the little
TV in the back of the limo so we could catch the Inside Line
broadcast.  I watched the entire thing while straddling her foot,
clinging to the nylon and vainly trying to ignore her slowly wiggling
toes.

Finally, sometime after nine, Rachel apparently decided my spirit had
been broken enough.  The sad thing is, she was pretty much right.
I’d like to say I was only faking to keep her off guard, but in truth
she had succeeded in dashing my hopes. For the first time, I was
truly forced to face the facts that soon I would belong to
GenetiTech.

So last night, she brought me home and had another little talk with
Naomi about leaving me alone.  When she left, Naomi stormed over and
did her best to dishearten me. But she was too late.  Rachel had
already done a bang up job, and Naomi couldn’t possibly make me feel
any worse.  Frustrated by my lack of reaction, she stomped off
angrily to bed.

And me?  I pretty much cried myself to sleep.  But you already know
all that.



The fallout from the Brenda Benoit story on Inside Line began the
next morning.  I was already awake, but didn’t really feel like
facing the day ahead.  Depressed, exhausted… I really can’t say.
Just weary, I suppose. I didn’t have a reason for getting up, so I
decided to just stay in bed.

Debbie was still giving me wide berth after her run-in with
GenetiTech’s snipers last week.  She’d hardy even looked at me since
that phone call.  As usual, she went out on the back porch for her
morning “smoke,” and I breathed a sigh of relief that I wouldn’t have
to listen to her pace around in those annoying sandals for at least
fifteen minutes.

So imagine my surprise when I heard her scream!  She let loose with a
string of profanity and ran back into the house, slamming the back
door behind her.  “There’s some pervert with a camera out there,” she
shouted at me.

At about half past eight, the phone started ringing and it didn’t
stop all afternoon.  Poor Debbie got more and more flustered with
each call, telling the person on the other end that Paul and Naomi
weren’t there, and she really couldn’t answer their questions.

The doorbell rang, and Debbie peered through the peephole.  She
turned and pressed her back to the door, a panicked look on her face.
 “There must be a million of them out there,” she said nervously, as
she slid down to the floor.  “Why can’t they just go away?”

Nicole came running into the living room in her sleep shirt, all
excited.  “What’s going on out there?” she asked, a gigantic grin on
her face.  “There’s a big crowd outside!”

“Paparazzi,” I told her.  “Reporters.  They’re here to get a picture
of America’s favorite new urban legend.”

“Cool!” Nicole said, clapping her hands.  “Are we going to be in
People?”

The doorbell rang again, and Debbie spit out another list of swear
words as she climbed to her feet and looked through the peephole
again. This time she sighed in relief and opened the door.

“Morning,” Rachel said, walking in.  She was followed by two men in
non-descript black suits and sunglasses.  I didn’t recognize either
of them, but they were dressed just like her driver Oswald.

“Looks like we’ve had a little excitement here this morning,” Rachel
said.  “Eastwood and Kenner are here to make sure it doesn’t happen
again.”  The two men nodded in agreement, then turned and walked out
the front door.

“They’ll keep the crowd away,” Rachel said.  “They’re quite
efficient.”

“What about the phone?” Debbie asked, her voice still shaking. “It
hasn’t quit ringing all morning?”

Rachel shrugged.  “I’d suggest getting Caller ID, but that’ll be a
moot point after next week.  Either unplug it or deal with it.”  She
walked past Debbie over to my aquarium and knelt.  I sat up on the
edge of my bed and regarded her morosely.

“Just wanted to let you know I won’t be around for a couple of days,”
Rachel told me.  “I’ve got to fly back to Midland and take care of
our last minute preparations.  But I’ll be back on Saturday to
collect you and your parents.  We’ll drive you to Dallas and get you
set up in your hotel.  The hearing starts on Monday.”

I nodded, and mercifully she stood and walked away.  She gave Debbie
her card and instructed her to call if anything unexpected should
happen.  Then, finally, she left.  I breathed a sigh of relief when
the front door closed behind her.

Debbie walked over to the phone and unplugged it from the jack.
Then, with a relieved smile on her face, she informed us that she’s
going to go start breakfast.  As soon as she was out of earshot in
the kitchen, Nicole walked over and knelt outside the aquarium.

“You want to play in my room today?” she asked.

I nodded.  “In a bit.  First, I need you to do something for me.”

“What?”

“Plug the phone back in.  I need you to call Suzy for me.”



Rachel had Suzy under constant surveillance, so I knew a meeting was
out of the question.  She probably had the phone tapped as well, but
that didn’t matter.  I just need to get a quick message to her, to
let her know that I knew…  Unfortunately, as I learned at the Morgan
house next door, I’m incapable of making myself heard on the
telephone.

I crouched on Nicole’s shoulder, holding her hair to steady myself.
She held the portable to her ear just over my head.  I could hear the
muffled ringing, and a man’s voice answer.

“Mr. Le?  May I speak to Suzy please?” Nicole paused a second, the
added “It’s Nicole Ricci.”

A few seconds later, another voice came on the line.  It was muffled
and indistinct, but I recognized it as Suzy’s and my heart began
pounding.  I stood and hoisted myself up on Nicole’s hair, anxious to
get closer to the receiver.  Nicole grinned as she felt my struggles
against her neck, and tilted her head slightly to bring the phone
down closer to me.

“Suzy, it’s Nicole,” she said. “I was just calling to give you a
message from Ray.  He says… he knows you were protecting your family
and…”

“Tell her I love her and I understand!” I said loudly.

“He says he loves you,” Nicole said with a giggle.  “And he
understands.”

For a long while, there was no response and I wondered if Suzy was
afraid of some sort of retaliation from Rachel.  I told myself it
didn’t matter if she replied or not.  What was important was that we
both knew what Rachel had been trying to accomplish, and that it
hadn’t worked.

But finally, she spoke.  Her voice was choked with emotion, but I
heard her quite clearly.  “Is Ray there, Nicole?  Can he hear me?”

“Yes!” I shouted futilely.  Nicole repeated it.

“I love you too, Ray,” Suzy said.  “No matter what anybody says, or
makes me say.  Remember that.”

She hung up then, obviously wary of GenetiTech listening in.  But it
didn’t matter. Suzy loved me, and she knew I loved her.  I felt like
a tremendous weight had been lifted.  In fact, for the first time
since yesterday, I felt a glimmer of hope.

* * *

Monday morning comes at last, and the weather matches my mood
perfectly.  It’s pouring down rain, which apparently doesn’t happen
often in Dallas in July.  Just what I need to steady my nerves… some
kind of ominous portent.

Paul is in the bathroom, having his shower.  Naomi has just finished
hers and is pacing around the room, rubbing her head vigorously with
a towel.  She walks over to my shoebox and peers down at me with a
playful grin.  “You should see the tub in there, sweetie,” she tells
me gleefully.  “It’s enormous!”

The look of horror on my face must be readily apparent.  Naomi leans
in closer and whispers, “Don’t worry, little boy.  You’re safe from
me.  At least, until after the hearing.”  With a chuckle, she goes to
get dressed, leaving me to shudder in private.



There is a throng of reporters and photographers on the courthouse
steps, hoping to catch a glimpse of me.  They swarm towards Paul and
Naomi and Rachel as we make our way up, but some men in dark suits
run interference, blocking the paparazzi and holding them back.

Rachel showed up with a special carrying case this morning, because
it might look bad if the Daltons brought me to my custody hearing in
a shoebox.  Right now, I’m cowered in the back of that case, as far
from the mesh window as I can get.  It’s dim inside here, and the
entire thing rocks back and forth with the movement of Rachel’s body.
 I feel the bounce of the steps, and can hear the staccato footsteps
as they make their way along the marble floor.

Finally, we stop and Rachel speaks to a woman whom I immediately
recognize as Cindi Martinez.  She leads us down another corridor and
into the courtroom.  The door closes behind us with a heavy, metallic
snick. My carrier comes to rest on a table, and I catch a glimpse of
Rachel’s hand through the mesh as she reaches to open the door.

“Come on out, Ray,” she says softly.  “It’s okay.”

I walk out onto the oak table and look around. The courtroom is a
little shabbier than I expected, but my entire legal experience comes
from the occasional episode of Ally McBeal.  The judge’s bench sits
vacant, flanked by the American flag and the Texas flag.  The jury’s
box sits empty as well, but the gallery behind us is sparsely
populated.  I see Gary, Alan and Louise sitting behind the rail,
looking hopefully in my direction.  When they see me looking back,
they all wave discreetly and smile.  I wave back and glance at the
woman seated next to them.  When I realize who it is, my knees
tremble and I almost burst out in tears.

There sits Suzy, looking lovelier than I’ve ever seen her.  Her
beautiful black hair is pinned up, and she’s wearing a pretty green
dress, the same shade as her nail polish.  I want so badly to run
over to her, to throw myself on whatever body part happens to be
handy and just lavish her with kisses.

Suzy gives me that playful grin, the one that makes me dizzy, and she
flits her fingers in a quick greeting. I wave back enthusiastically
until Ms. Martinez brings her hand down on its edge, blocking me from
Suzy’s sight.

“Let’s keep the fraternization down, shall we?” she says with a
humorless, tight-lipped smile. “Why don’t you come over here, with
me?”

Ms. Martinez walks along the table to the other side of my father and
sits down.  As I follow after her, I glance over my shoulder and see
my mother sitting at a similar table across the room, in front of
Suzy, Alan and Louise. Next to her is a scary, thin guy with white
hair and thick glasses.  He’s one of SPECTRUM’s attorneys; I remember
him from the meetings back in April, when Paul Dalton first surfaced.

I walk past my father’s arm in its white dress sleeve, past the
pitcher of ice water, and stand where Ms. Martinez indicates with the
tap of her manicured fingernail.  Behind them, Rachel and Naomi have
taken their seats in the gallery.

Hail, hail, the gang’s all here.  I glance furtively in Suzy’s
direction, but can’t see her because my father’s in the way.  He sees
me looking towards him and offers me a nervous smile.  I look away,
and he sighs.

Ms. Martinez pops open her briefcase and rummages around for a few
seconds before removing a legal pad and a pen. She sets it down on
the table between her and my father and leans towards him.  “If you
have any questions or feel the need to tell me something, write it
down and show me,” she tells him.  “Judge Weining doesn’t tolerate
interruptions.”

My dad pours himself a cup of water and gulps it greedily.  The poor
bastard looks almost as nervous as I feel.  Probably afraid
something’s going to happen and his sweet deal with GenetiTech won’t
go through.

The quiet murmur in the courtroom drops off suddenly when the
uniformed bailiff enters the room and orders us to rise for the
honorable Judge Weining.  A heavy man with freaky white eyebrows and
thinning hair steps up behind the bench and bangs the gavel.  Court
is in session.



SPECTRUM’s lawyer, whose name is Oscar Bentz, leads things off with a
motion.  “Raymond Miller is sixteen years old, your honor, and more
than capable of making this decision on his own.  We ask that he be
allowed to decide for himself where he wants to live.”

Ms. Martinez stands up and replies, “Ray’s decision-making capacity
is diminished by the fact that he has spent his entire life in a lab,
and it is our opinion that he is incapable of acting in his own best
interests.  We ask that your honor decline the motion and allow the
hearing to continue.”

Judge Weining ponders it for a second, but in the end sides with
GenetiTech.  He stifles Bentz’s arguments, and the hearing gets
underway.

First up on the stand is my father, Paul Dalton, who swears to tell
the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I watch
anxiously, hoping that he’ll be nervous and twitchy up there.
Unfortunately, the smooth bastard comes off as quite amiable and
sincere.

“I only want to do what’s right for my son,” he tells the judge, “a
son I never knew I had.  I’ll never forgive his mother for keeping
him a secret or for selling him to those Nazis at SPECTRUM.”

“Objection!” Bentz calls, and the judge sustains.  Ms. Martinez
resumes her questioning, and Paul paints a very rosy picture of my
blissful life at the Dalton house.  “We’ve provided the boy with a
loving family, and I think that’s just what he needs at this point.”

Bentz stands up and approaches Paul slowly, hoping to unsettle him.
Paul tugs slightly at his collar, but maintains his composure.

“Mr. Dalton,” Bentz says.  “I understand that you have negotiated a
deal with GenetiTech, to turn your son over to them for study in
exchange for a sizeable stipend.”

“Is Mr. Bentz going to ask a question, your honor?” Ms. Martinez asks
snidely, “or is he simply going to testify?”

“My question is this,” Bentz says.  “Doesn’t this strike you as a tad
mercenary, Mr. Dalton? You claim to have your son’s best interests
at heart, and yet you appear to be auctioning him off to the highest
bidder.”

“It’s not like that,” Paul says coolly, obviously prepared for this
question.  “Ray is a special-needs child, and GenetiTech has kindly
offered to help us meet those needs.  But Ray will continue to live
with us and will remain a viable member of this loving family.”

“Fine. Thank you, Mr. Dalton.”  Bentz starts to walk away, but stops
and turns dramatically.  If I had to venture a guess, I’d wager that
Oscar Bentz has seen Inherit the Wind a few times.  “One more
question, Mr. Dalton,” he says matter-of-factly, as if he just
thought of it. “Isn’t it true that while in your custody, Ray Miller
was kidnapped by your neighbor Cheryl Morgan?”

Paul is visibly startled by the question, and Ms. Martinez shifts
uncomfortably behind me.  They really didn’t expect SPECTRUM to know
about that.  And SPECTRUM probably wouldn’t have, if Suzy hadn’t
contacted them for me. I feel almost giddy.

“No, that’s not true,” Paul says.

Bentz glares at him.  “Are you sure, Mr. Dalton?  Isn’t it true that
your poor son was subjected to all manner of physical and mental
torture at the hands of this woman and her daughter?  That he was
sexually assaulted?”

“Absolutely not!” Paul insists.

Ms. Martinez sighs dramatically behind me.  “Asked and answered, your
honor.”

“I agree,” Judge Weining says.  “Counselor, move on.”

Bentz scratches his chin.  “No more questions, your honor.”



Ms. Martinez next calls Naomi to the stand.  Once she’s sworn in,
Naomi describes in nauseatingly sweet detail just how much she adores
me.  “I love Ray like he was my own,” she tells the judge as tears
run down her cheeks.  She points at my mother and says, “I’ll never
understand how that woman could just abandon him like she did.”

“Objection,” Bentz calls.  This time, the judge overrules.

When Ms. Martinez is done, Bentz gets up and faces Naomi.  “Ms.
Dalton, maybe you’d care to tell us just what happened to Ray Miller
during those three weeks in June?”

Naomi smiles, puzzled.  “Um, what three weeks are those, sir?”

“The three weeks when he was being molested by your neighbor.  The
three weeks when you didn’t report him missing because you were
afraid it might hurt your chances of obtaining custody.”

“Your honor,” Ms. Martinez says in an annoyed voice.

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” Naomi says.  She’s much cooler than
Paul was.  “Ray was never kidnapped, and I think it’s despicable of
you to try and sway this judge by repeating that lie over and over.”

“Objection!” Bentz snaps, glaring at the judge.  “This is ridiculous!”

“Personally, I think it’s a very astute observation,” Judge Weining
says, and Bentz flushes.  “Let’s move on, Mr. Bentz.”

Bentz sighs.  “Ms. Dalton, did you or did you not have an affair with
a Benny Doyle during the month of June?”

“We never had sexual relations,” Naomi says.  “Mr. Doyle was a very
charming man, and I believed us to be good friends.  I confided in
him about Ray, and he betrayed me by printing that pack of lies.”

Bentz walks over to his briefcase, and pulls out a folded issue of
the National Mirror.  “So, it’s your testimony that Mr. Doyle lied in
this article?”

“Yes,” Naomi says.  “In fact, I believe the paper retracted the story
and fired him.”

“So, you never said to Mr. Doyle,” Bentz pulls his glasses down and
peers over the top of them at the paper.  “Ah, here we go.  You never
said, ‘I love the way he feels when he’s squirming between my toes.
So tiny and helpless, not knowing if I’m going to…”

“Your honor!” Ms. Martinez says indignantly, standing up.  “Mr. Bentz
is offering evidence from a tabloid article that has since been
labeled libelous and retracted.  I don’t even know where to start
objecting.”

“No need,” the judge says.  “Mr. Bentz, I’m losing patience.  Do you
have anything remotely relevant to ask this witness?”

Poor Bentz’s face is bright red.  He crumples the newspaper in his
fist and lets his arm drop to his side.  “No more questions, your
honor,” he says.



Things aren’t looking very good for me right now.  I don’t think
Bentz is as incompetent as he appears to be, but I do believe that
Ms. Martinez and Judge Weining have him at a distinct disadvantage.
He returns to his seat and plops down angrily.

Ms. Martinez calls Rachel Foster to the stand to elaborate on the
GenetiTech deal.  Rachel explains that the Daltons will be relocated
to Midland, but that I will remain unequivocally in the care of my
father and stepmother. GenetiTech will provide for my education, as
well as for any special needs.

She smiles warmly, banishing her ice princess personae for the
duration of her testimony.  “It’s a win-win situation for all
involved,” she announces proudly.  Ms. Martinez thanks her and takes
her seat.

Bentz doesn’t even cross-examine her.  Judge Weining declares a
one-hour break for lunch, and we adjourn.



One of Cindi Martinez’s clerks shows up with some sandwiches, and we
all have our lunch in one of the empty conference rooms.  Ms.
Martinez is in good spirits as she tears into her chicken salad,
laughing about poor befuddled Oscar Bentz.  Paul and Naomi are
laughing as well, certain that they have the case in the bag.

Rachel and I are the only ones that don’t join in the revelry. Me,
because I don’t really feel like celebrating and Rachel because, well
because she’s Rachel.

“I can’t believe they brought that little whore Suzy in here,” Naomi
says around a mouthful of turkey breast on wheat.  “What do you think
she’s planning on saying?”

Ms. Martinez shrugs.  “Good question.  Why don’t you tell me?”

“Well, she knows about the kidnapping,” Paul says, “because she’s the
one that actually rescued Ray from next door.” Rachel clears her
throat, and I give her a smirk.  I wonder if it pisses her off that
Suzy was able to find me and save me while she and all her little
minions were standing around and scratching their heads.  Maybe
that’s why she has it in for Suzy as well, I suddenly realize. Maybe
she actually feels threatened by an eighteen-year old college
student.

“Is that all?” Ms. Martinez asks Naomi.  “Did she ever witness any…
impropriety between you and your stepson?”

“What the hell are you asking?” Paul snaps.  “My wife has never
treated Ray with anything other than love and respect. Anybody that
says otherwise is a goddamn liar.”

Suddenly, they’re all looking at me.  I gulp and swallow my bite of
toast and cheese and look into their faces.  Ms. Martinez looks
indifferent, Paul looks anxious, and Naomi glares at me as
threateningly as she can.

“Love and respect,” I repeat.  “A real Carol Fucking Brady.”

Rachel’s hand comes to rest on the table right next to me.  I turn
and look into her steely eyes.

“Remember what we talked about, Ray,” she says.  “Now’s not the time
to start making stupid little jokes.”

I nod.  “Whatever you say, Rachel.”



After lunch, SPECTRUM gets the ball rolling by calling my mom to the
stand. She trembles as she makes her way up there, a tiny and
fragile woman with short, black hair.  I study her as she takes her
seat, trying hard to reconcile her face with the image of the smiling
blonde woman in the National Mirror.

Bentz has settled down a bit, and seems to be in control once again.
After my mom is sworn in, he asks her in a gentle voice to explain
the nature of her deal with SPECTRUM.  She slowly describes how
SPECTRUM approached her and offered to raise me onsite and provide
for my every need, and in exchange she would be sent a monthly check.
 Then she breaks down and starts crying.

“You’ve got to understand,” she sobs, “I never stopped loving my son.
 My biggest regret is that I didn’t spend more time with him.” Bentz
steps up and offers her a handkerchief, and she wipes her eyes with
it.  After a few seconds, she continues in a wavering, pitiable
voice.

“Your honor,” she says, looking directly at the judge, “I’ve had my
share of troubles over the past fifteen or twenty years.  But I’ve
recently turned my life around.  I’ve put all that behind me, and now
I’m ready to make amends to my son.”

Bentz takes his seat, and Ms. Martinez goes to work on my mother.
And my poor mom just falls apart under the redirect.  Ms. Martinez
brings up her habitual drug use, and hammers the fact that she sold
me to a lab for testing.  By the time she’s finished, my mother is
wailing unintelligibly on the stand.  And despite Bentz’s constant
objections, it’s obvious Ms. Martinez has done a brilliant job of
portraying Cathy Miller as a heartless whore.



When Bentz calls Suzy to the stand, my heart skips a beat.  I feel
such a horrible, gnawing frustration in my gut, being so near her and
yet unable to touch her or even speak to her.  I watch nervously as
Bentz questions her, but she seems poised.  She gives an account of
my kidnapping and subsequent rescue, despite Ms. Martinez’s frequent
objections.  When it’s time for the cross-examination, I hold my
breath and clench my fists.

“Ms. Le, could you please describe the nature of your relationship
with Ray Miller?”

Suzy blushes ever so slightly. “Ray is a very good friend of mine,
and I love him dearly,” she says.  I hear Rachel shift uncomfortably
behind me.  No doubt she’s upset that her plan to drive a wedge
between me and Suzy didn’t work.

“Would you describe your relationship as romantic?”

Dangerous ground here, and I can tell Suzy is a little apprehensive.
She glances towards Bentz for guidance, but he has none to offer.
Finally, Suzy says with a smile, “I could very easily fall in love
with Ray Miller.”

My heart skips a beat and my face is suddenly flushed. I’m sure I
have an idiot grin on my face, but I can’t help it.  She loves me, I
think to myself, basking in the sheer thrill of it.  She loves me!

“Did Mr. and Mrs. Dalton approve of this… decidedly unorthodox
relationship?” Ms. Martinez asks.

Suzy shrugs.  “I don’t think they really knew.  I mean…”

“Are you sure?” Ms. Martinez says.  “Isn’t it true that Mrs. Dalton
ordered you to refrain from any inappropriate behavior towards her
stepson?”

“No!” Suzy insists.  “She never ordered anything like…”

“And isn’t it true that, when you ignored her wishes and continued to
flirt with Ray that she dismissed you?”

“No, that’s not true!” Suzy says, growing flustered.  “She fired me
because…”

“Ms. Le, did you come here to lie just so you could get back at your
former employers?”

Bentz leaps to his feet.  “Objection!  Your honor!  This is a
flagrant abuse of…”

“Withdrawn,” Ms. Martinez says.  “No further questions.”

Suzy can’t even look at me as she walks back to her seat.  She wipes
at her eyes and rubs the tears from her cheeks.  And dear God, I want
so badly to call out to her, but I don’t dare. Not yet.



Louise takes the stand and explains that I was quite happy and
well-adjusted at SPECTRUM, and she in no way considers my faculties
diminished.  “Despite his size,” she says with a kind smile, “he is a
totally normal 16 year old boy.”

Ms. Martinez has no questions, so Louise is dismissed.



Gary Pepperidge, who was the project lead at SPECTRUM while I was
there, is called next by Bentz.  “Our experiments were humane and
non-intrusive. Our primary objective was to determine the cause of
Mr. Miller’s genetic anomaly, so that we might possibly affect a
cure.  Other than that, we were interested in charting his physical
and mental capabilities.  We provided him with premium
accommodations, a top-notch education, professional counseling…”

“What about his emotional growth?” Bentz asks. “Did Ray Miller grow
up in a sterile environment, without intimacy or human contact?”

“Of course not,” Gary says indignantly.  “Like I said, we provided
him with a professional counselor… um, Louise Herndon.”  Gary points
across the room at Louise, who sits quietly in the gallery.  “Over
the years, we all came to see Ray as a part of the family.  Many of
us considered him a personal friend, and he developed a deep,
affectionate bond with Louise and with Alan Mackey, our chief of
security.”

This goes on for several more minutes, as Gary goes into details
regarding my living quarters, my curriculum, and the time I spent
during the off hours with them.  He gives me a friendly grin, and I
smile back.

Bentz finishes, and Ms. Martinez stands up.  She reaches into an
architect’s folder on the floor next to the table, and pulls out a
large poster board.  On it is a blowup of the National Mirror photo
that shows me in Louise’s hand, being suspended over a lit candle.
It was the picture taken at my birthday party by that fat kid Tony,
and Louise was simply holding me up so I could blow out the candle on
my cake.  But the Mirror cropped it and used it as evidence of their
sinister allegations.

“Is this one of your benign experiments, Dr. Pepperidge?” Ms.
Martinez asks.

“I object!” Bentz shouts, leaping to his feet. “Ms. Martinez is
using the exact same source that she discredited earlier in these
proceedings.”

“Your article was retracted,” Ms. Martinez says.  “This one wasn’t.
And this photo is a matter of public record.”

Judge Weining shrugs.  “She’s got a point, counselor.  Overruled.”

“No more questions, your honor.”  Gary glares angrily at Cindi
Martinez as he makes his way back to his seat.



Poor Oscar Bentz looks absolutely deflated, and I realize with
mounting horror that he’s just about at the end of his rope.  The
hearing is almost over, and right now the Daltons are looking like
the greatest parents in the world since Joseph and Mary.  On the
other hand, my mom has come across as an opportunistic substance
abuser, and SPECTRUM hasn’t been able to shake the Nazi image slapped
on them by the National Mirror.  Things look grim, and I’m rapidly
running out of hope.

“Anyone else, Mr. Bentz?” the judge asks, a trifle impatient.

Oscar Bentz rubs his eyes.  “One more witness, your honor.  We’d like
to call Ray Miller to the stand, please.”

“Objection, your honor,” Ms. Martinez says.  “It has already been
established that Mr. Miller lacks the capability to decide for
himself.  That’s why we’re holding this hearing in the first place.”

“It’s been asserted, not established,” Bentz says.  “Since we’re
determining this boy’s future, he deserves to have his say.”

Judge Weining nods.  “I’m afraid Mr. Bentz has a point, Ms. Martinez.
 I’ll allow it if Mr. Miller is willing.”  The judge then looks
directly at me and says, “Mr. Miller?  Do you want to take the
stand?”

Ms. Martinez’s fingernails drum nervously next to me, and I can hear
Rachel’s foot tapping on the floor behind me.  I know they’re both
waiting for me to decline, to end this hearing once and for all.  But
I can’t.  I can’t just give up and let GenetiTech win.

“Yes, your honor,” I call out. “I’ll testify.”  Cindi Martinez’s
fingers are suddenly still, and Rachel lets out an exasperated
breath.

The judge leans forward, touching his ear.  “I’m sorry, I couldn’t
hear him.”

“He said yes, your honor,” Oscar Bentz says triumphantly.  “He will
take the stand.”

“Very well.”  The judge scratches his head, then turns to the
bailiff.  “Wally, could you please bring the boy over here?  We’ll be
all day waiting for him to get here on his own power.”

The bailiff walks over and awkwardly sets his hand on the table, palm
up.  I climb in and huddle in the center, as far from the sides as I
can.  He carries me to the stand and sets me on the small shelf just
under the microphone.  He then bends the microphone down so that it’s
right at the level of my face.

“Try that,” he says to me with a friendly smile.

“Um, hello?” I say, startled to hear my voice broadcast through the
room.  It sounds ridiculously high-pitched, like a cartoon character.
 I honestly had no idea.

The bailiff rests the bible on the shelf next to me, and I place my
hand on the rough leather cover.  “Do you promise to tell the truth,
the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

“I do.”  My voice booms from the speakers, squeaky and silly.  I
wonder how come it doesn’t sound like that when I’m just speaking
normally.

“Mr. Miller,” Oscar Bentz says, pacing back and forth in front of the
witness stand. “Could you please describe your life at SPECTRUM?”

I take a deep breath and glance over the lip of the stand at Ms.
Martinez and Rachel.  They’re both glaring angrily at me, doing their
best to intimidate me. “I was happy at SPECTRUM,” I say.  “The
people there were like family to me, and I miss them horribly.”

“You’ve been living with your father since the end of May, correct?”

I nod, which is stupid since nobody can really see it. “That is
correct,” I answer.

“Can you describe your life at your father’s house?”

The next five seconds pass with excruciating slowness. I look back
and forth between the Daltons and my friends from SPECTRUM.  Rachel
has made all sorts of threats, both veiled and overt, if I should get
up here and say the wrong thing.  Most recently, she threatened to
have Suzy killed – or, more accurately, raped and killed – if I
didn’t cooperate.

But Rachel operates in the shadows.  And if I expose her threat, she
won’t dare act on it.  Not without implicating herself.  I’m positive
of it, so certain that I’d bet my own life on it without hesitation.
But how can I bet Suzy’s?  How can I possibly risk letting something
horrible happen to her?

“Mr. Miller?” Bentz prods me.  “Can you describe life at your
father’s house?”

Trembling, I lean into the microphone and say, “Alan, you need to
protect Suzy.  Don’t let anything happen to her.”

“Your honor!” Ms. Martinez bellows.  “What kind of stunt is Mr. Bentz
trying to pull here?”

“Keep her safe, Alan!” I shout.  “Swear to me!”

“You got it, kid!” Alan calls to me, and Judge Weining bangs his
gavel.

“No more outbursts from the gallery,” the judge says.  Then he glares
at me. “Mr. Miller, I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but
knock it off and answer the question.”

The courtroom falls silent, and once again Bentz asks me, “Can you
describe life at your father’s house?”

And somewhere inside me, a dam breaks. I’m barely aware of what I’m
saying as it spills out of my mouth.

“They keep me in a fishtank because they’re afraid I’m going to run
away.  My father just ignores me and hasn’t said more than a dozen
words to me since I got there. He just leaves me in the hands of
Naomi, who has done nothing but abuse me.”

“Objection!” Ms. Martinez shouts.

“I’ve been in constant fear of my life from her.  She treats me like
a pet or a plaything, and she’s always trapping me under her foot and
threatening to stomp the shit out of me.  And this one time, she got
mad and she punished me by putting me in her pantyhose and leaving me
there all night!”

“Your honor!” Ms. Martinez shouts again.  “I object to this!”

“She and her neighbor Cheryl used to do horrible things to me. They
said they would shove me down the garbage disposal or burn me with
cigarettes if I didn’t do what they said, and this one time Naomi got
mad and destroyed this car that I got from my friend Sally at
SPECTRUM!”

Ms. Martinez slaps the table with the palm of her hand.  “Objection,
your honor!”

The judge looks startled, as if hearing her for the first time.  “Um,
sustained,” he says.

“And that stuff about the kidnapping?  It’s true,” I ramble on
gleefully, trembling as the words spill like bile from me.  “Cheryl
and her daughter kept me prisoner and would have killed me if Suzy
hadn’t saved me!”

“These remarks are slanderous, your honor,” Ms. Martinez yells to be
heard above my amplified voice.  “I ask that they be stricken from
the record.”

“The objection has been sustained, Mr. Bentz,” Judge Weining says.
“You’d better control your witness.”

“And Rachel Foster threatened me, too! She said she would let
GenetiTech torture me, or she’d give me to Naomi and let her do
whatever she wanted with me.”

“Mr. Miller, that’s enough,” the judge says angrily.

“And then Rachel said that if I got up here and told the truth, she
would see to it that Suzy wound up raped and murdered…”

Judge Weining bangs his gavel furiously.  Cindi Martinez and Oscar
Bentz are talking simultaneously, each trying to drown out the other.
 They’ve gone past the point of even talking intelligibly, and each
just seems to be striving to make more noise than the other.  Both
Naomi and my mom are weeping, and Paul is in a shouting match with
Gary and Louise.  Alan stands next to a shocked, silent Suzy, and
glowers menacingly towards Rachel.  Rachel stares back with cold
menace.

“That is ENOUGH!” the judge shouts, banging his gavel again and
again. “I swear to God, I’ll have Wally throw the lot of you in a
cell if you don’t shut the hell up RIGHT NOW!”

He glares at me.  “You, Mr. Miller, obviously have issues with
authority.  If I hear so much as a peep out of you, I’ll find
someplace to imprison you as well.”

The courtroom is silent once again, and Judge Weining lets out an
exasperated sigh.

“Based on what I’ve heard, it’s obvious Mr. Miller is in need of a
firm but loving family.  His outlandish tales disturb me, not because
I believe them, because I don’t, but because they seem the product of
an unhealthy mind.”

I stand there numbly, refusing to hear what’s being said.

“Mr. and Mrs. Dalton, you seem to be fine and decent folks, and I
have no doubt you can provide the nurturing environment that this boy
so badly needs.  As for his other special needs, the folks at
GenetiTech seem willing to help, and I’m going to suggest that they
add psychological counseling to their program.”

My legs are weak and useless.  I fall to my knees, desperately
gasping for breath.

“I hereby remand Ray to the custody of his father, Paul Dalton, until
his 18th birthday, at which point we will reconvene to determine
whether or not he has the mental capacity to be considered an adult.”

Gasps and murmurs from the gallery.  Louise is crying and Suzy is
clinging to Alan, who puts his arm protectively around her shoulders.
 He looks at me, his goofy grin gone, his eyes fierce. There’s such
determination in his face, and I wish I could take comfort from it.

You promised me, Alan, I think bitterly as I watch my friend across
the courtroom. You promised you were going to get me back, no matter
what.  But the hearing’s over and now it’s too late.



I don’t even get to say goodbye to my friends. Rachel marches across
the courtroom and snatches me up roughly.  “Oh, Ray,” she whispers to
me with a cruel smile. “You’re really not going to enjoy the next
two years very much.”  She shoves me into my carrier and takes me out
of the courtroom, right behind Paul and Naomi.

“Congratulations, you guys,” Ms. Martinez says, hugging Naomi and
shaking Paul’s hand.  She lifts my carrier up and peeks at me through
the mesh window.  “Although I’d sure hate to be in this little guy’s
shoes right now.”  She grins maliciously at me.  “Did you really
think that was going to make a difference?”

I hang my head and say nothing.  Ms. Martinez chuckles and says, “See
you guys at dinner, I hope.”



We’re in the limo, on our way back to the hotel.  I’m still in my
carrier, now riding in Naomi’s lap.  I can hear her fingers rapping
anxiously on the side, and I find myself trembling at the thought
that very soon, I’ll be at her mercy.

“Those things Ray was saying,” Paul says uncertainly.  “Were they… I
mean, did any of it…”

“Oh, Paul,” Naomi says with a dismissive chuckle.  “Puh-lease. He’s
been looking for an excuse to get back at me ever since I fired
Suzy.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.”  Paul sighs with obvious relief.  “I’m
sorry I even asked, Naomi.  I guess it’s just been a stressful day.”

“The ordeal’s over now,” Rachel tells him.  “I’m sure SPECTRUM will
appeal, but I wouldn’t worry about it. In two weeks, you’ll be
settled in your new home and GenetiTech will be able to begin their
study of Ray.” She leans forward and looks at me.  “Dr. Taylor is
really anxious to get started.”



“Cindi was hoping to take us out for a celebratory dinner tonight,”
Rachel tells the Daltons once we’re back in the hotel room.  I’m
still in my carrier, now sitting on the dresser.  “She and her
associates wanted to take us to The Mansion on Turtle Creek.”

“That sounds great,” Paul says.  He points at me and adds, “What
about the boy?”

“I can get someone from security to watch him for you,” Rachel says.
“I mean, if you’re afraid of going off and leaving him alone.”

“What do you say, Naomi?” Paul says, sitting down on the bed next to
her.  “You up for a fancy dinner tonight?”

Naomi shakes her head. “I’m tired, and I’ve got a little bit of a
headache.  You guys go ahead and go.  I’ll stay here and keep Ray
company.”

“You sure?”  Paul stands up.  “Okay, then.  I’ll bring you back
something.”

As Paul and Rachel are leaving, Rachel calls, “Goodnight, Naomi.”
Then, with a touch of irony in her voice, she adds, “You and Ray have
fun.”

As soon as they’re out the door, Naomi walks over and kneels down in
front of the dresser so she can look at me.  I’m still cowering in
the back of my carrier, desperately praying for a miracle to deliver
me from what lies ahead.

“You know, I still think your daddy is screwing that woman,” she
says.  “But I guess I can’t really blame him for it.  God knows I
probably drove him to it by fucking Benny Doyle.”

She smiles wistfully, then stands up.  I feel the carrier tremble as
she grabs it and lifts it into the air.  Peeking nervously through
the window, all I can see is the pink fabric of her dress, just under
the swell of her breasts.

Suddenly, the carrier shakes violently, hurtling me against the
foamed wall with a painful thump.  I try to scream out as I bounce
about the inside of the carrier, slamming into the walls, the floor,
the ceiling.  Finally the violent shaking stops, and the carrier
tilts backwards.  I fall onto my back and slide along the floor until
I tumble against the back wall.

The window is now over my head, and Naomi peers down at me through
the screen mesh.  “Oops,” she says with a giggle.  “Sorry about
that.”

I can feel the soft thud of her steps as she carries me across the
room, staring at me the entire time with that infuriating grin.
There’s a bouncing sensation as she plops down on the bed.  Then she
opens the door on the carrier. “I think it’s time for you to come
out now, little boy.”

I shout angrily as my carrier rotates again.  I manage to dig my
fingers into the soft foam floor of my cage as it tilts in the
opposite direction.  Nervously, I glance downward through the open
door at the beige carpet beneath me.

“Come on, you little shit,” Naomi mutters, thumping the sides of the
carrier like a ketchup bottle in an effort to shake me out.  Finally,
she taps the upturned cage against the floor, which jars me loose.  I
slide and bounce along the floor of the carrier, plummet through the
door, and land roughly on the carpet.

“Ooh, there we go,” Naomi says, tossing the carrier onto the
bedspread beside her.  She sits on the edge of the bed, looking down
at me with wicked glee.  Her bare feet are to either side of me, her
toes wiggling slowly and seductively.  I raise my head and stare
helplessly at the pink polish on her nails, at the numerous
indentions in her skin left by the tight straps of her sandals.

Her high-heeled sandals, pink and strappy, lie overturned and
discarded on the carpet, just under the edge of the bed.  I look
beyond them, at the cavernous safety under the bed, and wonder if I
could make it there before she stopped me.  It’s a king-sized bed and
if I can just make it under, I might be able to fend her off until
Paul and Rachel get back.

I make a break for it, darting recklessly between her feet.  But
Naomi is ready for me. She lifts her left foot and slams it down on
the carpet, blocking my path.  Unable to stop in time, I stumble into
the side of her foot and fall to my knees.

“Oh good,” she says, flicking me with her big toe and knocking me
sprawling.  “I was hoping I’d get to punish you for something.”
Lying on my back, I cringe as her wrinkled sole hovers over me.  With
torturous slowness, she lowers her foot on top of me, pinning me
beneath her toes as she has so many times before.

“We’ve got about two or three hours before your daddy and that Rachel
woman get back,” Naomi says to me quite reasonably.  “I’m thinking a
nice, long bath might be in order.”



The tub is immense, sculpted from white marble and adorned with gold
fixtures.  Right now, Naomi is reclining in the tub, with bubbles
coming up to her chin. Her bare leg rests on the side of the tub,
her foot sticking straight up. And of course, I’m squirming as she
grinds me between her soapy toes.

A half-full glass of champagne, raided from the mini-bar, sits on the
shelf within easy reach.  There’s a phone in the wall just outside
the tub, and Naomi is on it right now. The cord stretches downward
to where the headset rests between her shoulder and her ear.

“Debbie?” Naomi says sweetly.  “Yeah, that’s right.”  She glares at
me suddenly and pinches her toes together.  I yelp with pain, then
reluctantly return to kissing her big toe.  Naomi says, “Well, tell
Nicole that Ray is now an official member of the family.  She has a
new big brother.”  She giggles.  “Or little brother.  I don’t know
how that works.”

Debbie’s voice chatters excitedly but unintelligibly on the line, and
Naomi beams.  “Thanks, sweetie.  We should be home sometime
tomorrow.”  Another pause, then another giggle.  “Well, everybody
else went out to celebrate, but I decided I’d rather stay here.  I’m
having a bath with Ray right now.”  She winks at me and squeezes me
between her toes again.

“Well, of course sweetie.  I know you’d love to personally welcome
Ray to the family.”  She laughs again gives me one more playful
pinch. “Okay, Debbie. I will.  Love you too. Bye.”

She hangs up the phone, then reaches for her drink.  She takes a gulp
and giggles as the bubbles tickle her nose.  “I hope you don’t have
anything planned for tomorrow night,” she tells me, shifting her foot
so I can’t look away from her. “Debbie and I have something very
special in mind.”

I glare at her angrily, but don’t respond.  There’s nothing I can say.

Naomi clears her throat.  “I didn’t tell you to stop kissing that
toe, did I?”  I return to my duties, but it’s too late.  She lifts
her foot from the edge of the tub and, still grasping me painfully
tight, plops it into the water.  I kick and squirm under the water,
my eyes screwed shut to keep out the stinging soap and oil.  I writhe
in the grip of her toes, feeling it loosen slightly.  Then I suddenly
slip free and bob to the surface.  I flail my arms to knock away a
hole in the wall of suds on top of the water.  I tread water wearily,
gasping for air.

The water rushes and churns beneath me as Naomi sits up and moves
around inside the tub. She reaches for me and plucks me up with her
finger and thumb.  She leans back once again, sighing as she sinks
back down into the bath.  Then she flicks my erection with her
fingernail a couple of times and, giggling, sets me in between her
breasts.

“I own you, little boy,” she whispers to me, her fingers stroking her
nipples just under the surface of the water.  Even through the
floating lather, I can see them growing stiff as she fondles them.
“I can do whatever I want to you, and there’s not a person you can
tell that will care.”

Her hands slide down deeper into the water, out of sight.  I can feel
her heart thumping through her warm, wet flesh.  She squirms and
moans a couple of times as her hands do their magic beneath the
surface.  At last, she spasms and relaxes with a weary sigh.

She’s right, I realize.  Paul will choose not to believe me, and
Nicole will be helpless to offer me anything other than sympathy.
And Rachel… well, Rachel was more than happy to deliver me into
Naomi’s hands after my little stunt in the courtroom.

I am so screwed.



There’s a small knot of photographers and reporters standing on the
sidewalk when we pull up in front of the house.  A single police car
is parked in the driveway, behind Paul’s car.  The beleaguered deputy
is standing there, staring bitterly at the dozen or so members of the
press. One of the GenetiTech security guys is standing next to him,
scowling angrily.

Meanwhile, several other GenetiTech men in dark suits have formed a
barrier between the reporters and the house.  Their weapons are
holstered, but their threat is all too evident.  And the reporters,
despite their enthusiasm, seem to be keeping a respectful distance
from the security team.

“What the hell?” Rachel mutters, looking out at the small throng.  I
cower in Naomi’s palm, staring out at the crowd.  I know the windows
are tinted and they can’t see me, but it’s still creepy.

Rachel flips up the armrest and hits speed dial on the speaker phone.
 The line rings a couple of times, and I see the GenetiTech agent
standing next to the deputy answer his phone.  “This is Jurgen,”
comes a harried voice over the speaker.  The sounds of the reporters
can also be heard in the background, as well as just outside the
window.

“Jurgen, what the hell is going on here?” Rachel demands.

“They’ve been here since this morning,” the agent says.  “Apparently,
somebody let it slip that the Daltons were coming home today.  We’ve
kept them away from the house, but local law enforcement won’t do
anything to disperse the crowd.  Says they’re not breaking any laws
being on the sidewalk.”

Rachel sighs.  “So how come the deputy is here?”

A pause.  “He’s here to protect the reporters. Says if we make a
move against them, he’ll arrest us.”

“Okay, Jurgen. Stand by.”  Rachel hangs up and mashes another
button.  A generic man’s voice answers, “Hello?”

Rachel rubs her eyes with her fingers. “Three nine nine eight seven
six four nine seven zero Bravo Zulu Tango,” she says in a weary
voice. There are a couple of clicks, and another number dials
itself.

This time, a woman’s voice answers.  “Operations.”

“Judith, I want you to put me through to the Stasheff Sheriff’s
Office,” Rachel says.  “Make sure you get me his direct line.  I’m in
no mood to talk to Sarah the fucking Mayberry Operator.”

Another couple of clicks, and the line rings again.  This time, a man
with a heavy drawl answers, “This is Sheriff Gordon.”

“Sheriff, this is Rachel Foster with GenetiTech.  Perhaps you
remember our meeting two months ago?”

“Yes, Miss Foster.  I remember.  What can I do for you?”

“Sheriff, I was assured the complete cooperation of your department
for the duration of my assignment.”

The sheriff exhales loudly.  “Miss Foster, those reporters have a
right to be where they are, and they ain’t breaking no laws.  And…”

“Sheriff, I’m in no mood to debate the finer points of law
enforcement, so let me cut to the chase.  If you don’t tell your man
to get rid of those reporters right now, I’ll put my team on it.  And
if anybody makes a move to interfere, I guarantee you my next call
with be to Governor Perry.”

For several seconds, nobody says a word.  Then, finally, the sheriff
wearily concedes.  “I’ll take care of it, Miss Foster,” he says,
before hanging up.



The deputy is arguing with several of the reporters when three other
police cars pull up.  The sheriff himself gets out, along with five
more deputies. Five minutes later, three of the journalists are in
cuffs and being led away.  The rest disperse reluctantly, trudging to
their cars parked down the street.

Carrying me, Naomi follows Rachel and Paul into the house and slams
the door behind her.  Nicole immediately runs over to us, all smiles
and giggles.  She’s been enjoying the media circus and basking in all
the excitement.  Debbie, on the other hand, looks worn out.  She’s
slumped on the couch, massaging her temples.

“Crisis averted,” Rachel says, without a hint of sarcasm.  “I’ll
station some additional security just in case, but I’m sure you guys
will be fine.” She looks directly at me, huddled in Naomi’s hands,
and smiles her cold smile.  “Look forward to working with you in a
few weeks, Ray.”



The shell flies high into the air, whistling loudly, then explodes in
a shower of red and white.  The crowd “oohs” and “aahs”
appropriately. Nicole squeals excitedly and claps her hands, and I
have to grab onto her hair to keep from sliding off of her shoulder.

It’s the Fourth of July, three days since I was legally declared the
pet, property, and prisoner of the Daltons.  And as our first
official family function, Paul has brought us to the parking lot of
the Wal-Mart to watch the annual Stasheff Chamber of Commerce Freedom
Fireworks Extravaganza.

Of course, Paul’s first inclination was to leave me at home, which
would have made me quite happy.  I’m not too wild about crowds, and I
really didn’t relish the idea of spending the evening with Naomi in a
dark, miserably hot parking lot.  But Naomi and Nicole both insisted
that I come along, and of course Paul relented.  Fortunately, Nicole
has maintained custody of me for the evening.

Nicole sits on a spread blanket on the hard concrete, cross-legged
and staring up at the sky.  My dad and stepmother are sitting behind
us in a pair of lawn chairs.  Ever since we got here, Naomi’s been
complaining about the mosquitoes and the heat, making a big
production of fanning herself with a folded leaflet.

In the distance, a muffled Sousa march plays over a crappy speaker.
This patriotic gesture is drowned out by several nearby car stereos
that blast competing country/western and classic rock stations.  The
whole scene already reeks of white trash when, I swear to God,
somebody in the crowd starts shouting, “Freebird!”

Another burst of fireworks fills the sky with bright blue streaks and
little exploding white stars, and the crowd once again responds with
their mechanical moans of approval.  Except Nicole, who truly seems
to be enjoying herself.

“Momma?” she says, turning around.  “I’m thirsty.  Can I go get a
Coke?”

Naomi ponders for a second.  “I’m thirsty too, Paul.  Why don’t you
take Nicole and go get us something to drink?”

Paul sighs wearily as he stands.  “Fine.  Let’s go, kiddo.”

Nicole reaches for me and gently takes me from her shoulder, holding
me in her cupped palm. “What do you want to drink, Ray?  We can
share!”

“You’d better leave Ray here, sweetie,” Naomi says.  “You might lose
him in that crowd, and we’d never find him.”

Nicole reluctantly dumps me into Naomi’s outstretched hand.  “We’ll
be right back,” she says to me, almost apologetically. She and Paul
shuffle off towards the dimly lit refreshment stand.  As soon as
they’re out of sight, Naomi’s fingers close tightly around me.

“Happy Independence Day, little boy,” she says with an evil grin as
she slides off her sandal and thrusts me between her sweaty, grimy
toes.



Just a portent of things to come, I suppose.  Ever since the hearing
on Monday, Naomi has been working overtime to break my spirit, to
make me docile and submissive. And the horrifying thing is, I think
she’s succeeding.

Thoughts of rebellion seem so distant, so unattainable now, and I’m
almost afraid to ask myself how much worse things can get.  I
remember when I was a prisoner of Cheryl next door and I told myself
I couldn’t possibly sink any lower.  And Cheryl came home one night,
drunk and angry and horny, and made a liar out of me.

I also remember my desperate flight for freedom, that terrifying week
I spent living like a rat in that house, pursued relentlessly by
Cheryl and her daughter Kim.  But in spite of it all, there was hope.
 I wanted so badly to escape, to make my way to Suzy so we could live
happily ever after.

I realize now how naïve that dream really was. GenetiTech has
invested a lot in obtaining me, and would never allow that to happen.
 Even now, if I could somehow manage to get out of the aquarium that
the Daltons keep me in, I can’t endure the thought of another ordeal
like that one. I’ve got no one to run to, nowhere to go.  And I’m
too weary to resist even Naomi’s heavy-handed games.

My spirit is truly broken, and that’s the most crushing defeat of all.



I awaken Friday morning to the sounds of Paul and Naomi arguing.  I
lie there in my aquarium on my green sponge bed, knowing this is
going to end badly.  Every time they argue, Paul winds up storming
off.  And Naomi, angry and deprived of a proper release, usually
decides to take it out on me.

They’re arguing because Paul is going to work, even though his office
is supposed to be closed today.  Naomi is upset because she was
hoping to get started on the packing today, and she fully expected
Paul to be around to help.

“It can’t be helped, Naomi,” Paul says in his patented martyr tone.
“They’re grooming Olson as my replacement, and they want me to train
him.  And I need to do it today, while there’s nobody else in the
office.”

“Fine,” Naomi says in a voice that clearly indicates that it isn’t.
“Debbie and I will get started on the packing today.  Do you think
you can at least make it home at a decent hour tonight?”

“Sure, honey,” Paul says.  “I’ll try and duck out early if I can.”
He leans over and kisses Naomi on the cheek, then grabs his keys off
the dining room table. He heads out the front door, while Naomi
stands there, staring after him with her arms crossed.

She slowly turns, and I drop my head and close my eyes, feigning
sleep. My heart is pounding and my stomach is knotted, which is
pretty much the way I wake up every morning.  I can hear her
approaching footsteps as her slipper shuffle over the carpet.  Maybe
she’ll pass on by, I tell myself desperately, wondering if she can
see my hands trembling.  Maybe she’ll leave me alone just this once…

I can hear the soft grunt as she kneels down outside the aquarium,
and sense her shadow falling over me.  I can hear her exhale each
breath.  Every muscle in my body tenses, bracing for the inevitable
touch of her warm, leathery flesh.  Please go away, I chant
frantically in my mind.  Please go away please go away please go
away… the words come faster and faster in my head until they’re
nothing more than a frenzied, pleading buzz.

“Wake up, Ray,” Naomi says in a voice devoid of kindness.  I turn my
head slowly to face her and blink, as if uncertain.

“Huh?  What is it, Momma?”

She reaches into the fish tank with alarming speed and flicks me with
her index finger, knocking me out of the bed and onto the glass
floor. “I said, wake up,” she says.  “Now.”

I climb to my feet and stare up into her emotionless face.  “Is… um…
is anything wrong?”

She shakes her head, and a dreadful little smile creeps across her
features.  “It’s time for our shower.”



I spend the morning shower on Naomi’s breast, clinging obediently to
her nipple as she lathers, rinses, and repeats.  Soapy water washes
over me, stinging my eyes and making me sneeze, but I don’t let go.
I’m determined not to give her an excuse to punish me today.

“I’ve really missed this,” she tells me once we’re out of the shower.
 I’m huddled in the palm of her hand, wet and trembling.  She rubs at
me with a washcloth to dry me off.  “Momma really likes it when we
can shower together.  Don’t you?”

I nod numbly.  “Yes, Momma.”

“That’s good, because we’ll be doing it all next week.”  She rolls me
over effortlessly in her hand and rubs the cloth along my back.
“You’ll be going to work with me, too. It’s my last week, and I
promised Linda and the girls I’d bring you to the beauty shop. You’d
like that, wouldn’t you?”

My face is pressed against the flesh of her palm, but I manage a
muffled, “Yes, Momma.” Her finger, wrapped in the washcloth, wipes
along my buttocks, playfully violating me.

“I figured you would.  I know Linda’s dying for a turn with you, and
I think her niece Abby might even have a little crush on you.” Naomi
giggles as she rolls me onto my back.  “Too bad we’re moving… the two
of you might have made a really cute couple.”

I cringe at the thought of Abby, and find myself trembling furiously.

“Ooh, you poor little thing,” Naomi says.  “You’re shivering.  Let
Momma warm you up some.”  She holds her cupped palm up to her mouth
and exhales on me a couple of times.  Her breath is warm and the wet
smell of spearmint clings to me.

“How’s that?” she asks, smiling sweetly.  “Better?”

I nod.  “Yes, Momma.”

“Good.”  She bends down to set me on the floor, then drops the
washcloth next to me.  “Now be a good boy and dry Momma’s feet.”



Abby is Linda’s niece – an obese, painfully shy teenager with no
sense of hygiene or social awareness.  She works part time at her
aunt’s beauty shop, keeping track of appointments and sweeping the
floors.  At first, she was inclined to treat me kindly.  When she
first met me, she petted me and cooed over me like I were a puppy.

But of course, Naomi and the other girls lost no time helping her
overcome her initial shyness with me.  I spent hours tucked between
her acrid breasts or squirming beneath her foul, sweaty foot.  And I
swear to God, one time she dropped me onto the seat of her chair and
sat down on me, carefully so as not to crush me.  However, once she
had me pinned beneath her monstrous ass, she farted and giggled at my
desperate struggles to free myself.

And you know what the really sad part of this whole story is?  That’s
not even the worst thing that’s happened to me since I left SPECTRUM.
 For sheer, soul-numbing torture, the honors still go to Cheryl
Morgan next door.



Despite its hellish beginnings, the rest of the morning has been
relatively pleasant.  I say “relatively” because I’ve spent most of
it on the floor, being buffeted around between Naomi and Debbie’s
bare feet.  But their mood has been more frisky than vindictive,
which is a welcome change from the last couple of weeks.

They’re sitting at the dining room table, drinking wine and
mercilessly toying with me as I scramble along the floor.  Debbie
showed up about an hour ago with a bunch of boxes and some packing
tape, but the girls were quickly sidetracked and haven’t managed to
get much packing done.

“Where’s Nicole, anyway?” Debbie asks, making a playful grab for me
with her toes. I dodge and run forward, only to find my path barred
by Naomi’s foot.

“She went over to Heather’s house for a pool party,” Naomi says.
“Her family’s a bunch of rich snobs, but she seems nice enough.  They
just got back from Europe.”  Naomi kicks at me, driving me backwards.

“Must be nice,” Debbie says.  “Have you talked to Cheryl since… you
know?”

“No,” Naomi says venomously, “and good riddance.  To that bitch and
her psychotic daughter.”

“You don’t think you’re being just a little harsh?” Debbie asks.  Her
foot looms over me and slams down on the carpet, missing me by
inches.  I’m pretty sure that was intentional. “I mean, she sounds
like she’s really sorry about…”

“You’ve been talking to her?” Naomi asks, slapping the table.  “Why
the hell would you…”

“She called me last week, that’s all,” Debbie says.  She sweeps her
foot along the carpet until she hits me and knocks me on my back.
Before I can get up, she raises her foot slightly and brings it down
on top of me, pinning me to the floor. “I mean, she and I got to be
pretty good friends when we were… I mean, when you were… you know…
during your rough time with Paul.”

“Good friends, huh?  Did you know she was holding Ray prisoner?”

“Of course not, Naomi!” Debbie says indignantly, mashing me with her
foot to make her point.  “But you know she’s not the one that
kidnapped Ray. She just found him.  And I know you’re mad that she
kept him like she did, but… you know.  The idea of having this little
guy all to myself would be pretty tempting, too.”

“I guess,” Naomi says with a sigh.  “But still, she lied to my face
about it.  She came over here and held my hand and comforted me, and
all the time she had him back at her place.”  She takes a long sip of
wine, then reaches for her cigarettes. “Besides, I think Nicole is
better off away from that little psycho bitch Kim.  She was a bad
influence.”

I try to squirm out from under Debbie’s foot, but she finally manages
to catch me between her toes.  She wiggles them slowly, and I gasp at
the sensation of gentle friction as she rubs my shirt against my
skin.  “I just thought you’d want to know that she’s sorry,” Debbie
says, grinding away at me.

“It doesn’t matter,” Naomi says.  “We’ll be moving to Midland in a
few weeks, anyway.  Might as well leave that bridge burned.”  She
takes a drag on her cigarette and looks down at my struggles with an
amused smile.

“I guess,” Debbie says, then looks down at me as well. I must look
quite silly, writhing between her toes as she brings me to a
reluctant orgasm.  Despite my efforts, an involuntary moan escapes my
lips and I blush furiously as the two women laugh.

“Does that feel good, Ray?” Debbie says, shaking her foot a little as
she pinches her toes together. Then, to Naomi, “He’s really enjoying
this.”

“Of course he is,” Naomi chuckles.  “I swear, I never met anybody
more obsessed with feet than that boy.”  She taps off her ashes and
sets her cigarette in the ash tray.  “Now quit hogging him.  Let me
have a turn.”

“Okay… okay…” Debbie says.  She spreads her toes and lets me fall to
the floor in a collapsed heap. For several seconds, I just lie
there, panting and waiting for my heart to stop pounding.

“Come here, Ray,” Naomi says, tapping her foot.  “Come to Momma.”
Obediently, I climb to my feet and stagger wearily to her.  I plant a
reverent kiss on her toe, and then climb on top of her foot.

“Ooh, good boy,” she says, wiggling her toes delightedly.  “That’s
Momma’s good little boy.”

Debbie sighs.  “I swear, Naomi.  You are so lucky.  I’m gonna miss
you guys when you’re gone.”

“Don’t worry, Debbie,” Naomi says, her toes still twitching with
pleasure as I dutifully scratch the skin above them.  “You can always
come and visit.”



After an hour or so, the bottle of wine is finally empty.  Naomi
reaches down and plucks me from her foot, then lifts me to her mouth
to plant a drunken kiss on me. Her breath is sour with cigarettes
and wine, and her lips are sticky, but I accept the kiss graciously
and offer her one in return.  Anything to keep the mood light.

“You’re such a little cutie,” she says with a giggle as I dangle
between her fingers.  “Momma’s sorry she’s been so mean to you
lately.”

“I’m sorry I was bad, Momma,” I tell her, swallowing all self-respect
and dignity.  Like I’ve said before, diplomacy is a must when you’re
the size of an action figure.

She flashes me a bleary grin, her teeth smeared red with lipstick.
As usual, she’s wearing way too much makeup.  And – I feel it bears
mentioning – she put it all on this morning, knowing full well all
she had planned for today was packing.

“I’m gonna go get some more wine,” she says, standing a little
unsteadily.  “You wanna go with Momma to get some more wine,
sweetie?” she asks me. “Huh?”

“Um, I really need to use the bathroom,” I tell her.  “Can you… drop
me off?”

“Of course, sweetie,” she says, then lifts me to her lips for another
kiss.  She grabs the empty bottle and shuffles clumsily toward my
aquarium.  “I’m getting a little buzzed,” she announces to either me
or Debbie.  “Probably shouldn’t have drunk all this on an empty
stomach.”

She kneels awkwardly and sets me down in my aquarium.  I lie there on
my bed and smile up at her, watching her monstrous hand withdraw.
She’s a bit ungainly as she slowly stands, placing her empty hand
against the wall to steady herself.  She gives me a mischievous
little wave with her fingers, and staggers into the kitchen.

So that’s the key to survival with Naomi.  All I have to do is keep
her drunk, and curl up like a puppy at her feet.  If I can just keep
that up for the next two years, then I won’t have to worry about her
taking a lit cigarette to me or stomping the shit out of me.

Two years!  Hell, two more days of this, and I’ll be begging for a
trip down the garbage disposal!



You see, one of the reasons why SPECTRUM came off so badly in the
hearing was because of the deal they made with my mother.  They
offered to provide me with food, shelter, clothes, amenities, and a
quality education.  In addition, they also offered my mother a
generous monthly payment.  And all they wanted in exchange was to run
some simple tests on me, to chart my growth and development.

I have no illusions about SPECTRUM’s benevolence.  I know they aren’t
running a charity, and I know they didn’t make that offer to my
mother out of the goodness of their hearts.  But I have no complaints
about the way things worked out.  I know my mom was relieved for them
to take me off her hands and, when her visits petered out and
eventually stopped altogether, I was really happy to have a surrogate
family in Louise, Gary, Alan, and the rest.

But the problem lies in perception.  As far as the public was
concerned, especially after those insidious National Mirror articles,
my mother had sold me to a laboratory so they could perform
experiments on me.  And no amount of arguing to the contrary could
shake that image from their minds.

Which is why GenetiTech was careful when they made the deal with my
father.  According to the terms of their agreement, I’ll still live
at home with the Daltons.  But every weekday, instead of going to
school, I’ll be picked up and delivered to the GenetiTech labs.
Mornings will consist of labwork, where the incredibly creepy Dr.
Taylor will perform her daily battery of tests on me, presumably to
chart my growth and development, blah, blah, blah.  Afternoons will
be dedicated to my education.

In other words, it’s essentially the same deal my mom had with
SPECTRUM.  But at the moment, GenetiTech appears to be an
organization of benevolent scientists with my best interests at
heart, while SPECTRUM comes across as a bunch of slathering Nazis.

If SPECTRUM committed any sin during this whole fiasco, it was
severely underestimating GenetiTech, and the lengths to which they
would go simply to obtain me.  Hell, this has been an ongoing
assignment for Rachel Foster.  For the past few months, she has been
solely dedicated to my acquisition.  They even have a codename for me
at GenetiTech. They refer to me as “Homunculus.”

Everybody at SPECTRUM just called me Ray.



After pissing down my neck for the past two months, the gods of fate
have finally decided to cut me a break.  Naomi and Debbie have taken
their second bottle of wine and gone into the living room, leaving me
alone in my aquarium.

Naomi finally convinced Debbie that they should go ahead and get the
packing started, so they staggered all the way over to the bookcase,
dragging an empty box with them.  Several minutes later, the two of
them were engrossed in an old photo album and the packing was, once
again, forgotten.

“God, look at that wedding dress!” Debbie snorts.  “You look like a
French whore!”

“Oh, you should talk, you bitch.  Nice puffy shoulders on that dress.”

“It’s a bridesmaid dress!  You’re the one that picked it out!”

And so on.  They continue looking at pictures and shrieking with
laughter, and I’ve obviously slipped their minds.  I keep waiting for
the good fortune to come to an end, for one of them to look my way
and remember they’re supposed to be making me miserable.

But they keep laughing and drinking, and before I know it, an hour
has passed.  The laughter stops, and soon all I can hear is the
occasional snore from Naomi.  I’m still trying to figure out how to
take advantage of this unexpected reprieve when the front door opens
and Nicole comes in.

“Hello!” she calls, and I cringe, praying she won’t wake them up.
She walks into the living room, still in her wet swimsuit and
flip-flops, a large towel draped over her shoulders.  Her brunette
hair hangs damp and stringy, and her face is flushed from being out
in the sun.

She spots Naomi and Debbie passed out on the couch and shrugs. She
turns to head for her room and sees me in my aquarium. With an
excited grin, she hurries over to me and kneels.  Without a word, she
reaches down for me.  I, of course, offer no resistance.  The
prospect of spending the afternoon with Nicole is the most attractive
offer I’ve had in a long time.



“Thanks for not waking them up,” I tell Nicole from atop her
nightstand.  The tinny voice of Brittany Spears issues from the clock
radio next to me.  I’m standing with my back to her because she’s
changing out of her swimsuit and I promised I wouldn’t look.  I can
hear her shuffling around, opening and closing drawers.

“Hey, if I woke them up, Momma would make me help with the packing,”
Nicole tells me.  “Have they been drinking?”

I snort.  “Yeah.  They got started around noon.  I think they made it
through two bottles of wine.”

“They were looking at wedding pictures,” she says.  “Momma only does
that when she’s drunk.”

“Which wedding?” I ask.  “The one to your father?”

“No,” Nicole says, suddenly bounding into view and diving onto her
bed.  The springs creak softly as she bounces a couple of times.  “I
think she burned all those pictures.  These are the ones from when
she married… you know… Paul.  Your dad.”

She reaches for me and rolls onto her back, setting me down on her
chest. Her hand comes to rest just behind me, so I lean back against
it.  I can feel the warmth of her skin and the beat of her heart
through the pink t-shirt.

“So, you’re glad they’re asleep?” she asks me.

I shrug.  “Asleep.  Passed out.  Whatever.  Yeah, I’m glad.  Why?”

“You thanked me,” she tells me, stroking me with her thumb.  “For not
waking them up.”

“Oh, yeah.”

She smiles at me almost dreamily as she gently rubs my chest with the
soft tip of her thumb. “How come?” she asks.

“How come what?”

“How come you’re glad they’re asleep?” She shifts slightly, her
smile fading somewhat. “Have they been mean to you?”

I shake my head, and her smile returns with a tinge of relief. “No,
not mean.  Just… playing with me, you know?  I was getting tired of
it.”

“Right,” she says.  “Did Momma make you play on her feet again?”

I blush slightly at the straightforward question.  “Yeah, she and
your aunt both did.”

She shakes her head.  “And you don’t like doing that.”

“I don’t like being forced to do things,” I tell her.  “I don’t like
being treated like a toy.”  She stops petting me long enough to brush
the hair out of my eyes with her thumbnail.

“I know,” she says, her smile fading again.  “When I think about what
me and Kim did to you, it makes me want to cry.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” I tell her, touching her thumb with the palm of my
hand and planting a gentle kiss on it. “I told you, we’re past
that.” I give her a reassuring smile. “I mean, hell. Right now,
you’re about the only friend I have.”

The smile returns, but there’s something sad about the way her brown
eyes look at me.  “You’re my brother,” she tells me.  “I won’t let
anything bad happen to you.”

I grin and tickle her tummy through the t-shirt.  I know she can’t
feel it, but the gesture makes her giggle.  “I couldn’t ask for a
better sister, Nicole.”

She’s silent for a few seconds.  Then she says, “I saw Kim over at
Heather’s.”

I sit up, my heart suddenly pounding.  “Oh God.  What did… I mean…
did you talk to her?”

She shakes her head.  “I think the only reason they invited me over
was to ask me questions about you.  Kim was telling them all about
how we kidnapped you and kept you as a pet, and about all the stuff
we did to you. And about putting you between our toes and giving you
organisms.”

“Yeah,” I say, a little abruptly.  “I remember.”

“So Heather was asking me to invite her and Amy over, so they could
see you.  And all I could think about was how mean Kim was to you,
and how’d they’d probably be worse, so I told them I wasn’t allowed
to have anybody over.”

She sighs.  “So then Kim called me a little baby and told Heather and
Amy that the only reason she lost you was because I got scared and
told Suzy, and that if I hadn’t ruined everything, she would have
brought you over so everybody could play with you.”

Her eyes are a little teary, but she’s not crying.  She just looks a
little dejected, which is still more than I can bear.

“So they all started calling me baby, and talking about all the
horrible things they would do to you if you were there, so I told
them all to kiss my a-word and I went in and asked Heather’s dad to
drive me home.”

“Kiss your a-word?” I repeat, smiling.

She grins, a little embarrassed.  “Yeah, they laughed at me when I
said it.  I probably should have just said ‘ass.’”

I snort with laughter. “You know what?” I say to Nicole, standing up
and walking up her chest, towards her face.  “Fuck ‘em.”

She gasps, delighted at my use of the forbidden word.

“Come on,” I tell her.  “Say it.”

She purses her lips and nods a couple of times, as if letting it
build up.  Then, in a voice filled with surprising resolve, she says,
“Yeah, fuck ‘em.”  She giggles and gives me a conspiratorial smile.

“You’re about to leave those losers behind,” I tell her.  “When you
get to Midland, you’re going to be the pretty new mysterious girl
that everybody wants to know.  You’re going to have so many friends,
you’ll forget you ever knew a Heather or Amy or…”  I make a
distasteful face and say, “Kim.”

“You really think I’m pretty?” she asks me.

I walk up and kiss her gently on her chin, and pat it with the palm
of my hand.  “You know I do, Nicole.”

I back away from her, watching her smile prettily and brush her damp
hair from her face.  For a few minutes, neither of us says a word.
She resumes stroking me with her thumb, her eyes practically batting
as she regards me.

“Ray?” she finally says, breaking the silence.

“Yeah?”

“You like feet, don’t you?”

I look at her, startled by the question.  She has this coy, playful
smile on her lips.  “Nicole, why are we having this conversation?”

She shrugs.  “Because you never give me a straight answer when I ask
you.  I just want to know.”

“Know what?”

She looks away shyly.  “You know.  Do you like playing on my feet?”
She’s lying with one knee bent straight up, with her other leg
crossed and resting against it.  I glance over my shoulder and notice
her toes wiggling almost unnoticeably as she asks me this.

“Well,” I say, “do you like it when I play on your feet?”

“No fair,” she laughs.  “I asked you first.”

“You answer me, and I’ll answer you,” I tell her.

She actually blushes.  “Yes,” she says, then giggles.  “Remember when
you first came here, and I got mad at you and put you in my socks?”

I laugh.  “Yeah, I remember.  That’s a pretty bad example, though.”

“Oh, yeah.”  Her smile fades a bit, and she sighs.  “I guess you
don’t like it, do you?”

“I didn’t say that,” I tell her, grinning sheepishly.  “I just said I
hated being forced to do stuff.”

She lets out an exasperated sigh.  “You said you’d answer me,” she
says, giggling.

I chuckle and shake my head.  “What are you talking about?” I ask her
with mock indignation. “I did answer you.”

Suddenly, she gets this devilish look in her eye.  Her smile is the
same as her mother’s, only without the cruelty and malice.  She
reaches for me and picks me up between her thumb and forefinger.

“Okay, fine,” she says, still smirking as she lifts me into the air.
“How about this?  If you don’t like playing on my feet, you should
probably tell me now.”

She holds me, letting me dangle for a few seconds, waiting for my
response.  When I say nothing, her face lights with pure joy as she
gently sets me on her foot.  I make a big production of throwing my
arms around her big toe and kissing it.

Nicole laughs with delight, and I do too, wishing this moment would
never end.



It’s a little after four when the door to Nicole’s room opens and
Naomi regards us, bleary and disheveled.  The two of us are on her
bed, looking through the latest issue of Teen People.  I offer up a
silent prayer of thanks that she didn’t walk in on us earlier. Last
time Naomi caught me and Nicole playing like that, she punished me by
making me spend the entire night in a pair of her stockings.

“Oh, you’re home,” Naomi says in a creaking voice.  “Good.  Why don’t
you bring Ray in the living room and help me and Debbie get stuff
packed?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Nicole says.  She wraps her fingers around me and
plucks me from the double page spread of Eminem, and follows her
mother into the living room.

“Jesus,” Debbie says, rubbing her eyes and shaking her head.  “I feel
wrung out.”

“I guess we had ourselves a little nap,” Naomi says, and the two of
them share a giggle.  At least they still seem to be in a good mood.
I might make it through this day with a shred of dignity after all.

“Okay, Nicole sweetie. I need you to start packing up those Precious
Moments in the curio cabinet.  You’ll need to wrap each one with
paper towels to keep them from getting scratched.  Oh, and wad up
some paper towels and tuck them down in between the statues to keep
them from banging together when we move the box.”

“Okay, Momma,” Nicole says, still holding me.  She starts to carry me
over to the cabinet with her, when Naomi clears her throat.

“Why don’t you put Ray down on the coffee table, so we don’t have to
worry about accidentally stepping on him?”

Nicole gives me a smartass, knowing grin as she sets me down next to
the empty wine bottle. I touch her finger surreptitiously with my
palm as she lifts her hand away.  I watch her walk away, my spirits
still high from the afternoon we spent together.  I’d almost
forgotten how it felt to be happy…

Debbie’s bare foot thuds down behind me, her heel striking the table
with such force that it knocks me over.  I roll onto my back and
stare up the length of her thick, wrinkled sole, at her twitching
toes far above my head.  “Sorry, kiddo,” she says with a giggle.
“Were you daydreaming?”

“It’s okay, Aunt Debbie,” I say, remembering to sound submissive and
humble.  “I’m sure it was an accident.”

She shifts her foot and scratches her sole against the edge of the
table, making a dry, rubbing sound.  The entire table trembles
beneath me as she rubs the bottom of her foot up and down on it.  Her
toes wiggle slowly and playfully, then finally spread apart when
they’re down to my level.

“So, how about it?” she asks, grinning wickedly.  “You charged up and
ready to go again?”

Naomi sighs.  “Debbie, not now.  We’ve got to make some headway
before Paul gets home. He’s gonna wonder what we did all day.”

Debbie jumps up, startling me with the suddenness of her motion.  I
suddenly find myself staring straight ahead at her tan leg, so I turn
and pretend to be studying the contents of Naomi’s ash tray.

“He’s not gonna wonder long if he sees these empty bottles,” Debbie
says, chuckling.

“Shit.”  Naomi trudges over and snatches the empty bottle off of the
table. She then heads into the kitchen and returns with the other.
“I’m going to go throw these in the bin before…”  She glances over at
Nicole, who is dutifully wrapping her horrible little statues in
paper towels.  “Anyway, I’ll be right back.”

She slides her feet into Debbie’s flip-flops and traipses over to the
back door.  Just as she opens it, the phone rings.

“Shit,” she repeats.  “I thought we unplugged that damn thing.”

“We did,” Debbie says.  “I plugged it back in when we woke up.”

“Get it, would you?”  Naomi heads out the back door and slides it
shut.

Debbie plops back down on the couch and snatches up the portable
phone. “Hello?” she says cheerfully as she watches me.  She places
her foot on the edge of the table and wiggles her toes rather
emphatically.

“Oh, hey Paul,” she says, still glaring at me with an expectant
smile. With her other hand, she snaps her fingers and points at her
foot.  “Nah, we’ve been packing stuff all afternoon.”

I point at myself and shrug, and Debbie responds with a resounding
nod.  Sighing, I approach her foot and allow her to grasp me with her
toes.

“You did?  Well, we had it unplugged earlier.  Those reporters have
been calling non-stop.”  Her toes wriggle slowly, grinding around me
as they did before.  Only this time, there’s no response.  It’s not
alluring, it’s not even accidentally arousing. I feel nothing but
disgust and self-loathing for giving her the satisfaction the first
time.

“Oh, she had to step outside for a second,” Debbie says, leering at
me as she continues her clumsy seduction attempt.  “She’ll be right
back.”

“What are you doing, Aunt Debbie?” Nicole asks warily, staring at us
from across the living room.

Debbie shushes her and points at the phone.  “So, you on your way
home now?  Coz we’d love some dinner if you wanna stop…”

“Aunt Debbie!” Nicole shouts, leaping over a box half-full of
Precious Moments and charging towards us.  “He doesn’t like that.”

“Sure he does, honey,” Debbie says, then pinches her toes together
hard enough to make me yelp.  “Don’t you, kiddo?”

“No, he doesn’t!” Nicole insists, trying to weave around the coffee
table to get to me.  Debbie kicks up her other leg and presses her
foot into Nicole’s chest, holding her at bay.

“What?” Debbie says into the phone, squeezing me relentlessly between
her toes.  “No, your daughter’s just upset about something…”

“Daddy!” Nicole screams.  “Aunt Debbie has Ray between her toes and
she’s hurting him!”

Debbie suddenly flings her foot and hurls me to the surface of the
coffee table.  I land with a hard thump that knocks the air out of
me.  “No, of course not,” she says into the phone, glaring angrily at
Nicole.  “She’s just mad because Naomi’s making her work.”

Nicole bats Debbie’s foot aside and snatches me up from the table.
I’m still gasping, struggling for breath as I look up into her
beautiful, concerned face.  She rubs my chest gently with her
fingers, as if trying to massage the air back into my lungs.

“You are?”  Debbie sits up and leans forward, still giving me and
Nicole the evil eye.  “Okay, Paul.  I’ll give her the message. Bye.”
 She hangs up and tosses the phone onto the couch.  Then she stands
up and puts her hands on her hips.  “You little snitch,” she says to
Naomi. “Why are you trying to get me in trouble?”

“He doesn’t like it when people do that to him,” Nicole insists
defiantly.

Debbie snorts. “Of course he does.  He liked it just fine when I did
it to him earlier.  Right, Ray?”

I get enough air in my lungs to manage a weak and croaky “No.”

“You little liar,” Debbie snarls, and suddenly snatches for me.
“Give him back to me.”

“No!” Nicole says, backing away.  “You leave him alone.”

“I said, give him to me!  Right now!”  Debbie lunges for Nicole, who
screams and bolts towards her room.  She’s barely cleared the dining
room when Naomi comes back in.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Naomi demands.  “I could hear
you screaming from the backyard!”

Nicole and Debbie both start talking simultaneously, with Debbie’s
gruff and angry voice overpowering Nicole’s high-pitched indignation.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Naomi says, rubbing her eyes.  “Who was on the
phone, Debbie?”

“Oh,” Debbie shrugs.  “It was Paul.  He wanted me to tell you he was
working and wouldn’t be home until late.”

Naomi’s eyes narrow and smolder with an anger I’ve only seen two or
three times.  And none of those times ever ended well for me.  My
stomach knots with terror and I cling to the fragile, fleeting safety
of Nicole’s fingers.

“Son of a bitch,” she hisses through gritted teeth.  “Son of a
fucking bitch!”

She kicks off Debbie’s sandals and storms across the living room,
stopping only to pound the wall with her fist. “He lied to me.  He
flat out lied to me.  He knew he wasn’t coming home early tonight.”

Debbie and Nicole stand, transfixed, afraid to move.  Naomi’s rage is
a terrifying thing to behold.  She paces like a caged animal back and
forth, her fists and jaw clenched.

Then, finally, she stops and takes a deep breath.  “Fine,” she says
bitterly.  “Let him stay out all night and fuck his little
girlfriend.  I don’t care.”

Poor Nicole is trembling right now, with tears streaking down her
cheeks.  I caress and kiss her fingers, desperate to comfort her and
feeling woefully inadequate for the job.  Her fingers close over me,
as if to protect me from her mother’s wrath.

“Nicole,” Naomi says.  Her voice is calm, but still angry.  “I want
you to take some of the boxes into your room and start going through
your closet.  Okay?”

Nicole nods.  “Okay, Momma.”  She grabs one of the collapsed boxes
and starts to carry me back to her bedroom.  For one crazy, naïve
moment, I actually imagine Naomi is going to let it happen.

But, she calls after Nicole.  “Why don’t you leave Ray on the table?
He’ll be fine in here with us.”

“But Momma,” Naomi protests.  “Aunt Debbie was…”

“Nicole Carolyn Ricci!” Naomi screams so loudly that Nicole bursts
into tears.  “Put your brother down and get your ass in your room
right now, or I swear to God I’ll take a belt to you!”

There’s so much pain, so much remorse in her eyes as she sets me down
on the table.  “I’m so sorry,” she whispers, her fingers gently
cuddling me.  I kiss her index finger and offer her a smile filled
with bravado, all in a hopeless attempt to reassure her.  Sobbing
loudly and with abandon, she trudges off to her room, dragging the
empty box behind her.

After an awkward silence, Debbie clears her throat and says, “Um,
should we get back to packing?”

Naomi shakes her head. “I don’t feel like packing right now.  I feel
like stomping the shit out of somebody.”  She looks directly at me
and flashes an evil smile that makes my blood run cold.  “You’ll do.”



My screams are muffled as Naomi clutches my head between her toes.  I
flail and thrash, desperate to free myself as she squeezes tighter
and tighter.  Her foot rocks back and forth, yanking me roughly
across the carpet.  Finally, she releases me and I fall to the floor
in a trembling, sobbing heap.

I’m naked.  My clothes lie in shreds on the floor around me, ripped
from me by Naomi’s massive fingers only moments ago.  My face is
pounding and warm with sticky blood, and my shoulder grates painfully
when I try to move my arm.

“What the hell are you crying for?” Naomi snaps at me. “You love
Momma’s pretty feet, don’t you?”  Her bare foot slaps the carpet a
hair’s breadth away from me.  “Don’t you?”

There’s nothing remotely playful or teasing her voice right now.  All
I can hear is fury and disgust.  And for the first time ever, I’m
terrified that she’s going to kill me.

Even Debbie sounds a little worried.  “I think you’re really hurting
him, Naomi,” she says. I can feel the thud of her footsteps as she
cautiously approaches.

“Bullshit,” Naomi snarls, and prods me in the side with her big toe,
flipping me onto my back.  The edge of her toenail pokes me roughly
and leaves a welt on my abdomen.  I lie there, quivering and
helpless, as she peers down at me with a hateful smile.

“You like it down there at Momma’s feet, don’t you?”  Her foot hovers
over me, looming as if to deliver its final blow.  I stare at the
white, leathery flesh of her sole and snivel unintelligibly.  I’m
going to die, and that knowledge paralyzes me.

“Don’t you, you little shit?” Naomi continues, speaking so
emphatically that spit flies from her mouth along with cigarette
smoke. “You like fucking my toes, don’t you?  You wanna stick that
little dick of your between them and just fuck them until you pass
out, right?”

I keep looking straight up at the bottom of her foot, imagining it
slamming down and ending my life time and time again.  Will it hurt?
Will I feel my insides burst and squish as my bones are crunched to
splinters?  For some reason, I find myself crazily thinking of Louise
and the silly fantasies I used to have about her.  Her sweet face in
my crazed mind makes me cry even harder.

“Answer me!” Naomi screams, her foot descending.  I scream and brace
myself for the end, but it doesn’t come.  Instead, her soft and thick
sole presses down on me, gently at first, but harder and harder,
until I can’t even get a breath.  I press uselessly at her foot with
my trembling hands and nod frantically.

“Yes, Momma,” I wheeze.  Suddenly, the weight is gone. I open my
eyes and raise my head, wincing at the pain in my shoulder.  Naomi
sits on the edge of the couch, a cigarette dangling from her lips.

“Get up,” she orders me.  And it’s probably one of the hardest things
I’ve ever done, but somehow I manage to clamber to my feet and stand.
 My head is pounding in time with my heart, and I’m so dizzy it feels
like the entire room is spinning wildly.  Every second that my legs
don’t buckle is a miracle in human endurance.

Naomi raises her bare foot barely, rocking it back on its heel.  “I
want you to crawl under my foot and lick it,” she tells me.  “And
then I want you to kiss each of my toes and tell me how pretty they
are.  And after that…” She takes the cigarette from her mouth and
releases a long stream of smoke from her nostrils.  “After that, I’ll
think about letting you off the hook.”

Letting me off the hook?  The truth is, I’m being punished for
something my father did.  His great sin was to call her and tell her
that he was working late, which he does quite frequently.
Unfortunately, his timing was pretty bad in this case. Naomi was
already hung over and in a foul mood, and already pissed at him for
going into work in the first place on what was supposed to be a
holiday.  And, on top of everything else, she has this insane idea
that he’s having an affair with Rachel Foster from GenetiTech. So
she was quite ready to punish my father and, since he wasn’t here to
receive the brunt of her rage, that horrible duty fell on me.

I can’t bear the thought of being under her foot again, of lying
there and just waiting for it to slam down and kill me.  And I don’t
believe for a minute that she’s going to “let me off the hook.”

“You’ve got to the count of three,” Naomi says, tapping her foot
angrily.  Her toes clench tightly and wiggle slowly, and it’s not too
hard to imagine myself caught between them, being ground to a pulp.

“One…”

My next act is the hopeless action of a person who truly has nothing
left to lose.  I whirl around and stumble towards Debbie, who stands
less than a foot away. She sounded like she might be sympathetic to
my plight.  Right now, I’m gambling everything that she will be.

“Two… son of a bitch!” Naomi stands up and stomps toward me.  Her
foot slams down so close behind me that I can feel the rush of air.
But she’s too late.  I dive awkwardly onto Debbie’s foot and cover it
with damp, desperate kisses.

“Help me, Aunt Debbie,” I plead with her.  “Please, don’ t let her
kill me.”

Debbie reaches down and plucks me from her foot.  She holds me by the
waist between her thumb and forefinger, letting me dangle helplessly
as she lifts me into the air.  She looks at me with obvious concern,
then back at Naomi, who has stopped her charge and is waiting for
Debbie’s next move.

“Sorry, kiddo,” Debbie tells me.  “Nothing I can do.”  With a shrug,
she reaches over and drops me into Naomi’s waiting palm.

“Oh, you little piece of shit,” Naomi says to me as her fingers close
tightly around me.  “Now I’m really gonna make you miserable.”



Bound and helpless, I’m dangling upside down from Naomi’s fingers.
I’m completely wrapped in a strip of packing tape.  My arms are fixed
at my sides, and my legs are held together by the tape, which has
been wound around my entire body several times.  Only my head remains
exposed, protruding from the cocoon of tape.  White hot pain flares
from my shoulder every time I try to turn my head, so I simply stare
straight ahead into her monstrous face.

My cheeks are tight and itchy with wet tears and dried blood, and my
left eye is swollen shut.  I can’t even breathe through my nose
anymore, so I’m take laborious gasps through my mouth in between
sobs.

“You look like a little worm,” Naomi says with a sneer.  “Doesn’t he,
Debbie?”

From behind me, I hear Debbie giggle nervously.  “Yeah, right out of
Cuervo bottle.”

“Hmm,” Naomi says, then licks her lips.  The sight of her slimy
tongue at such close proximity is horrifying.  “You know what we do
with the Cuervo worm, don’t you Debbie?”

“Eat ‘em up,” Debbie says with a sickening perkiness.  “Yum yum!”

 Naomi lifts me high into the air and dangles me over her upturned
face.  She opens her mouth wide and slowly lowers me towards it.  I
wriggle helplessly against my bonds and scream as she dips me into
her mouth.  My face presses against her tongue, and her thick saliva
covers me like a sheet.  I’m still squirming uselessly when her lips
close around my waist and I find myself trapped in the dark, wet
chasm of her mouth.

Even though I can’t breath through my nose, the smell is still enough
to make me gag.  The warm, fetid air inside her mouth carries with it
the sour, stomach-churning reek of cigarettes and wine.  I try so
desperately to pull my face away from the slimy, bumpy surface of her
tongue, but the shooting pains in my shoulder are unbearable.

She moves me up and down inside her mouth, sliding me along her
tongue.  I keep my eyes screwed shut and my mouth closed for as long
as I can, but eventually I’m forced to take a breath.  I can taste
her saliva mingling with mine, a thought that makes me heave dryly.

I’m still convulsing and gagging when she finally pulls me out of her
mouth and lays me in the palm of her hand.  I open my eyes just in
time to see her reach down with her index finger and dab the spit off
of my face.  She mashes my swollen eye and my injured nose roughly.
I scream as white flashes fill my vision.

“You know what?” she tells me, her face softening a little at last.
“I’m getting tired of punishing you.”

“Please,” I sputter weakly.  “Please, Momma.  I’m so sorry…”

“I know, sweetie,” she says, walking with me, carrying me somewhere.
I can’t see anything but the blur of the ceiling overhead.  “Remember
when I told you if you ever ran from me, I’d take a lit cigarette to
you?”

I nod weakly, wincing at the ache in my shoulder.  “You… you’re not
going to…”

She shakes her head and laughs.  “Of course I’m not.  Don’t be
stupid.”  I sigh with relief, hoping against all hope that the worst
is finally over.

She carries me into the kitchen and opens the refrigerator.  “I came
up with a better idea,” she tells me as she sets me inside, laying me
on the bottom shelf.  I’m too tired to even sob as she closes the
door, leaving me in darkness.



So cold… I convulse in the darkness, my muscles shivering violently
within my tight constraints.  The flesh on my face is numb and stiff,
and I can’t even cry anymore.  All I can manage is a pathetic, weak
moan.

I want to die…



It feels like days later when the light comes on, blinding me.
Naomi’s hand reaches down and scoops me up.  Her flesh is so warm
that it burns my face to touch it.  Still, I revel in the sensation.
Her warm fingers envelope me and my muscles, awakened by the sudden
warmth, begin convulsing all over again.

“Mercy,” Naomi says as she carries me into the living room.  I shake
violently in her grip, screaming as my body is wracked with ferocious
spasms.  Naomi actually appears concerned as she presses me with her
fingers, trying to settle me down.

“Is he okay?” Debbie asks, peering down at me with a frown on her
face.

Naomi fumbles with me with monstrous fingers, trying to peel the tape
from my convulsing body.  She finally manages to pull up the edge
with the tip of her fingernail, and she begins unwrapping me.  The
process goes unhindered until the very end, when she pulls the tape
from my naked flesh.  I scream myself hoarse from the unimaginable
agony. Even when my voice is gone, I continue hiss and rasp through
my sore, swollen throat.

“Jesus,” Naomi whispers, honestly scared.  She finally gets the tape
off and shakes her fingers violently to tear it loose. Then she
massages me with her fingertips until, at last, the shivering abates.

“I’m so sorry, Momma,” I cry in my gravelly voice, hugging myself as
I cower naked in her palm.  “God, I’m so sorry.”

“Shhhh,” Naomi comforts me, hugging me against her cotton blouse,
just under her breasts.  “It’s okay, sweetie.  Everything’s okay.”

Debbie whistles.  “You really did a number on him, Naomi.  Those
GenetiTech people might not want him now.”

“Shut up,” Naomi snarls, startling me and making me jump.  “Shhh,
baby,” she says to me, peering down at me with a worried smile.
“Everything’s going to be okay.  I promise.”

“I’m so sorry,” I wail again and again, unable to stop myself.
“Please don’t hurt me anymore.”

“He might have hypothermia,” Debbie says.

Naomi sighs impatiently.  “He was only in there for twenty minutes.”

“But he’s little bitty,” Debbie insists.  “You shouldn’t have put him
in the refrigerator, Naomi.”

“I know!” Naomi shouts.  “Okay?  Now drop it!”



It’s about an hour before I finally get my hysteria under control.
The entire time, Naomi is holding me, petting me, doing everything
she can to soothe me.  She apologizes for hurting me, and she swears
that she’ll never do it again.

When it becomes apparent that I wasn’t permanently injured, Debbie
takes her leave of us. She tells Naomi she needs to get home and fix
dinner for Walt.  I glare at her hatefully from Naomi’s hand,
remembering the way she betrayed me and the shameful way she treated
me.  I find myself hoping that Walt’s in a bad mood tonight.

But the funny part is, I can’t bring myself to bear Naomi any malice.
 She did things to me a hundred times worse than Debbie, but all I
think to do is grovel for her forgiveness and thank her for her
mercy. She pleads with me, begging me not to tell Paul or Nicole or
anybody else what happened between us tonight, and in my eagerness to
please her, I agree.

I think she really broke me this time.



It’s almost nine, and still no sign of my father.

The dinner dishes are washed and put away.  Naomi made some kind of
chicken spaghetti casserole and although it was as repugnant as
always, I ate every bite she gave me and asked for seconds.  Even
Nicole was a little alarmed by my behavior, not to mention my bruised
and battered appearance.

Speaking of Nicole, Naomi apologized to her for yelling at her and
for using such foul language.  And to show that her heart was in the
right place, she offered to let Nicole hold me after dinner.

So now Nicole is sprawled across her father’s recliner, her head
propped against one arm and her legs draped over the other.  I’m
lying on her chest, relishing the sensation of it rising each time
she breathes.  I’m curled up under the protective canopy of her hand,
sore and tired beyond measure, but safe once again.

Naomi sits in her usual spot, smoking her usual cigarette.  I gaze
wearily in her direction, surprised by the level of affection I feel
for her now.  The worst part is, I know it’s wrong.  I know I should
be angry.  I know I should hate her.  But all I can imagine is how
good it would feel to lie beneath her warm, soft foot and kiss her
beautiful toes…

“Poor thing,” Nicole whispers, her fingers brushing my back.  “You’re
so sleepy.”

I smile up at her.  “I don’t want to go to bed, though.  Can you hold
me a little longer?”

“Of course,” she says, giving me a gentle squeeze.  “As long as you
want.”

“Thanks,” I say drowsily, laying my head back down.  “Love you.”

“I love you too, Ray,” Nicole whispers, and I can feel her heartbeat
quicken through the fabric of her shirt.



Ever heard the term “deus ex machina?”

Literally, it means “god from machine.”  The ancient Greek tragedians
used to resolve their plays by having the gods lowered down onto the
stage to wrap up the loose ends.  It was acceptable back then, but
nowadays it’s considered bad literary form.  At least, that’s what
Dana told me.

“The protagonists should solve the problems with their own ingenuity
and talent,” she told me.  “If something improbable happens out of
the blue to end the story, then the reader feels cheated.  Like if
the hero is about to be killed, but the bad guy suddenly gets hit by
a lightning bolt.”

So deus ex machina is bad storytelling.  But as has often been
commented, truth is often stranger than fiction.  And real life
seldom conforms to the tight strictures of literary form.  Or, in the
words of a great, anonymous 20th century philosopher, “Shit happens.”



The phone rings, startling me awake.  For one horrible, confused
moment, my mind struggles to ascertain just where I am.  Then
everything falls into place, and I realize I’m still lying on
Nicole’s chest.  She’s looking around and blinking uncertainly, so I
guess she just woke up too.

Naomi snatches up the phone before it can ring again and answers it
in an urgent voice.  I rub the sleep from my eyes and ask Nicole what
time it is.  She yawns, then squints to look at the clock on the
mantle.  “Eleven o’clock,” she informs me sleepily.

Eleven o’clock, and my father still isn’t home.  That’s probably him
on the phone, with another excuse.

“What?” Naomi shouts, leaping up from the couch.  The sudden loudness
of her voice startles me, and Nicole feels my body jerk beneath her
hand.  She strokes me gently with her fingers to calm me, while I
watch Naomi pace frantically while listening to the voice on the
other end of the line. I realize she’s not angry, she’s upset.  As
in crying.

Nicole realizes something’s wrong about the same time I do, and she
sits up.  Naomi is standing in the middle of the living room, holding
the phone in her trembling hand.  Her mouth contorts spastically, and
tears are running down her cheeks.

“Momma?” Nicole asks, standing up.  “What’s wrong?”

Naomi doesn’t answer.  She just stands there, blinking away tears and
chewing her lip to keep from sobbing.  Concerned, Nicole runs to her.
 Naomi doesn’t say a word, but wraps her arm around her daughter and
pulls her close.

After an eternity of silence, Naomi finally says in a dead, trembling
voice, “I understand.  I’ll be right there.”  Still hugging Nicole
(and me) to her, she turns off the phone and sets it down on the
coffee table.

“What is it, Momma?” Nicole asks.  “Why are you crying?”

Naomi releases us, then kneels down so she can speak to me as well as
Nicole.  “Your daddy has been in a car wreck.  He’s in the hospital
right now.”

“Is he…” My mind races, trying to formulate the question.  “Is he
going to be okay?”

Naomi breaks down as she shakes her head.  “No sweetie,” she says in
a choked, sobbing voice.  “I don’t think so.”



I know this makes me sound like some kind of horrible monster, but
I’m having trouble working out just how I feel right now.

I know he’s my father, and what happened to him is horrible.  Tragic.
 But I’d be a hypocrite if I were to suddenly pretend that there was
anything familial or loving in our relationship.  Paul Dalton
impregnated my mother, and it’s there that my relationship with the
man should have ended. He’s my biological father, but even now I
can’t bring myself to think of him as my “dad.”  I was never anything
more than an investment to him, a chance to make a lucrative deal
with GenetiTech.

And now he’s dying, and Naomi can’t stop weeping.  Nicole is crying
too, although I suspect that might be more out of sympathy for her
mother than any deep love she felt for poor Paul.

“Oh God, Ray,” Naomi moans, her face streaked with tears and smeared
make up.  “Your poor, poor daddy!”  She hugs me to her chest, sobbing
fiercely.  And I find myself actually moved by her grief.  She must
have really loved him, I realize.  Seems like all they ever did was
argue, bicker, and snap at each other, but on some weird level, she
truly loved my father.

We’re in the ER waiting room, huddled together in a corner, away from
everybody else.  Naomi sits in one of the thinly padded blue chairs,
shaking with sorrow as she hugs me, kisses me, and nuzzles me against
her wet, sticky cheek. “Your poor, poor daddy,” she keeps chanting,
over and over again.

Nicole sits next to her, her face buried in her mother’s blouse.
Naomi’s arm is wrapped protectively around her daughter as she hugs
Nicole to her.

Debbie sits on the other side, rubbing Naomi’s shoulder and telling
her how sorry she is.  She keeps glancing at me, and I can tell that,
even now, she’s wondering if it would be inappropriate to ask if she
could hold me.

And finally, Debbie’s boyfriend Walt paces like a caged animal as we
await news from the surgeons.  Walt, with his mullet and his Steve
Miller tattoo, who went to high school with Paul, who spent two years
in prison for statutory rape, who has a nasty habit of smacking
Debbie around whenever he loses his temper…

“Um, I can hold him for you, if you want,” Debbie finally suggests
awkwardly.  “I mean, I don’t mind.”

Naomi ignores her and looks down at me, shaking her head sadly.  “I
shouldn’t have gotten so mad at him,” she tells me.  “I shouldn’t…”
Her head bobs as the tears begin again.  She squeezes her eyes shut
and lets out a mournful wail.

A heavy man with a bleached crewcut and a Hawaiian shirt notices us
from the door of the waiting room.  He enters and approaches us,
stopping about halfway across the room.  Then he pulls out a camera
and snaps a picture of me in Naomi’s hands.

“Hey!” Walt shouts, charging towards the man.  The photographer turns
and bolts out the door, with Walt in hot pursuit.  Debbie calls after
him and chases him to the door, but stops and simply stares down the
hallway, watching the pursuit. She walks back over, shaking her
head.

“Fucking vulture,” she says, sitting back down.  “Walt’ll beat the
hell out of him.”



An hour later, Walt is still fuming about “letting that son of a
bitch get away,” when the surgeon comes in.  He’s an African-American
man, forty or so, with a kind and weary face.  He’s wearing a clean
pair of scrubs, presumably because family members find it rather
distressing to see their loved ones’ blood splattered all over the
presiding surgeon.

Naomi gazes at him hopefully, but it’s apparent he doesn’t have good
news for us.  Debbie and Walt are standing and flocking around him,
but he takes the seat next to Naomi and offers her a sympathetic nod.

“How is he, doctor?” Naomi asks in a trembling voice.

“Mrs. Dalton, I’m afraid your husband’s wounds were too… grievous for
us to save him.  He passed away at 2:26 this morning.” He hangs his
head and takes a deep, somber breath.  “I’m so sorry for your loss,
Mrs. Dalton.”

Naomi begins to whimper as she hugs me and Nicole to her tightly.  “I
don’t know what I’m going to do without him…” she chokes out between
sobs.  Debbie begins to weep as well and seeks comfort in the awkward
embrace of Walt.

“As for the woman that was in the car with him,” the doctor
continues, “it looks as if she’ll pull through.  However, there’s no
telling if she’ll ever come out of her coma.”

The sobbing stops with eerie suddenness, and the waiting room is
deathly quiet. “What woman?” Naomi asks, her voice tight.

“There was a passenger,” the doctor says, suddenly aware of the
awkward vibe in the room.  “I’m sorry, I thought you knew.”  He
glances down at his notepad.  “A Rachel Foster, I believe?”



Eventually, it all comes out.  Paul and Rachel were both quite drunk
when the accident happened.  In fact, Paul’s blood alcohol level was
right around .21 when he was behind the wheel. The investigating
officer found no evidence of any other vehicles being involved in the
accident, and concluded that Paul had simply passed out and driven
off the road.

They were on their way back from Quitman, where they had been checked
into the Five Points Motor Lodge under the name of Mr. and Mrs.
Fugazi.  According to the clerk at the motel, they had been coming
there fairly regularly over the past month.

And while Naomi is still reeling from the shock of all this, she
suffers another blow on Saturday morning, when Alan Mackey, chief of
SPECTRUM security, shows up at her door to collect me.



“I assure you, it’s all quite legal,” Alan informs her, showing her
the document once again.  “With the death of Paul Dalton, custody of
Ray reverted to his mother.  And she has authorized us to act in this
matter on her behalf.”

“No!” Naomi screams, clenching me tight in her fists and clutching me
to her chest.  “You can’t have him!  Not after everything we’ve gone
through…”

“Mrs. Dalton, I can sympathize with your…”

“Fuck you!” Naomi screams at him.  Then, suddenly, she glares down at
me with the same fury in her bloodshot eyes that I saw just last
night. “And fuck you too, you little bastard,” she snarls.  “This is
what you wanted all along, isn’t it?  You’re probably happy your
daddy died!”

Alan’s hand shoots out and catches Naomi’s wrist, squeezing it until
her fist opens into a shaking claw.  He reaches over with his other
hand and plucks me from her loosening grip.

“You son of a bitch!” she screams, struggling to pull away from him.
“Let me go, you fucking Nazi!”

Alan looks down at me in the palm of his hand.  “You okay, kid?”

I stare back up at him, blinking and still unable to believe that
he’s really here.  That this whole nightmare is actually over.

“I’m fine,” I tell him.  “Am I going back to SPECTRUM?”

“Absolutely, kid,” Alan says, flashing me his goofy grin.  A pale
scar runs down his freckled cheek, a souvenir of some past mission.
I remember Rachel telling me once that she was the one that gave him
that scar, and I resolve to ask him about it later, when things are
back to normal.

Nicole stands in the doorway of the dining room, watching me and Alan
with a forlorn look on her face.

“Hey, Alan,” I call up to him. “Can you give me a minute with
Nicole?”

Alan nods.  “Sure, kid.”  He steps towards Nicole, who takes an
involuntary step back from him.  I can’t really blame her.  Alan’s
probably the nicest guy I know, but he looks pretty imposing.  At
least, when he’s not smiling.

“Here you go, little girl,” he says, placing me into Nicole’s waiting
palm.  Then he walks back over to Naomi to keep an eye on her.

“I don’t want you to go,” Nicole says. She’s been crying so much
since last night, I doubt she has any tears left.  But her face is so
morose it breaks my heart.  I never imagined how hard it would be to
leave her.

“Listen, I’m going to come see you when I can,” I tell her.  “And I’m
going to make sure you’re on the visitors’ list, so you can maybe
come with Suzy to visit me sometimes.”

“I’m happy for you, Ray,” she tells me, petting me with her fingers
as she smiles sadly down at me.  “I know you’re glad you’re going
back to all your friends, but I’m going to miss you so much.”

“I’ll miss you too, Nicole,” I tell her.  “I always wondered what it
would be like to have a sister, and I couldn’t ask for a better one.”
 I wipe at the tears in my eyes as I smile up at her.  “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she says, and gently presses me to her lips.



“I can’t believe you made him live in this… cage!” Alan snarls as he
gathers what few possessions I have left from the aquarium.  He
stands up and whirls on Naomi, who’s watching him angrily from the
doorway.  She stands with her arms crossed, leaning against the wall,
with a cigarette dangling from her scowling mouth.  More out of habit
than anything else, I glance down at her bare feet and see her toes
twitching angrily.  No doubt she’s imagining me between them right
now, fantasizing about the cruel punishment she’d love to inflict on
me.

“If the little shit didn’t keep trying to run away, we wouldn’t have
had to keep him like that,” Naomi snaps back defensively.  It’s
frightening to me how quickly she became angry with me again, after
all her tearful promises last night.  I know she’s been through a
lot, and right now emotional balance is something that only exists in
theory, but still.

I wonder how long it would have taken, if Alan hadn’t shown up.  How
long until her grief over my father turned into bitter rage over his
affair.  And how long until she would decide to take that anger out
on me. Last night, I was afraid she was going to kill me.  And now I
realize that, had I stayed here, she probably would have eventually.

“Come on, Ray,” Alan says, turning his back on her.  “Let’s get the
hell out of here.”

He strides out the front door, holding me in one hand and tucking
what remains of my wardrobe in his pants pocket.  I peer back, beyond
his shoulder, at the front of the Dalton house.  Nicole stands in the
open doorway, watching sadly as I’m taken away from her.  I wave
goodbye, and she waves back until Naomi yanks her inside and slams
the door.



“Jesus, kid,” Alan says as we drive through scenic downtown Stasheff.
 “You look too skinny. Didn’t they ever feed you?”

I sigh.  “I can’t believe it’s over.  It was…” I find myself unable
to think of the words to convey just how overwhelmingly,
gut-wrenchingly awful the past two months have been.  There was
nothing in my upbringing to prepare me for it, to help me equip with
the constant teasing and torture and fear for my life. To help me
cope with the degradation of having my spirit broken and my humanity
methodically stripped away.

“Oh, God,” I cry, as it all comes rushing back to me.  The shame, the
misery, the utter helplessness.  I remember clinging obediently to
Naomi’s nipple or toes while she pleasured herself in the shower.  I
remember long, horrible hours at the beauty shop, being passed around
as a plaything to Linda and the other girls.  I remember cowering on
the floor while Naomi and Cheryl toyed with me mercilessly with their
bare feet, and struggling to climb Cheryl’s nylon-clad leg while she
watched, amused.  Squirming under Cheryl’s foot while she sat on the
toilet, and masturbating onto her sandal in the dank, dark prison of
that shoebox.  I remember the feeling of sheer helplessness when
Cheryl – feeling drunk, horny, and amorous – forced me inside her.

And as I collapse sobbing in the passenger seat of Alan’s car under
the emotional weight of everything that has happened, more memories
bubble up, unbidden and unpleasant.  Rachel’s cold detachment as she
brought me to orgasm between her toes. Dr. Taylor’s creepy manner as
she poked and prodded my naked body, and the perverse delight she
took in rubbing her finger between my legs.  Dangling helplessly from
Kim’s toes, or screaming and splashing in the commode as she looked
down, laughing.  Or being forced to eat the cookie crumbs I picked
off the bottom of her foot.  Naomi stomping on my little car,
pulverizing it beneath her sandaled foot.  Being taped and immobile,
lying in the refrigerator, praying to die if only to end this
horrible existence once and for all…

The pain, the horror, the humiliation… it all comes tearing out of me
with such force that my cries become screams.  For about ten minutes,
it pours out of me like a toxin.  Then, as suddenly as it came on me,
the horror is gone.  I’m left curled up on the car seat, weeping and
hyperventilating.

Alan has watched all this sympathetically, knowing better than to
interfere.  I guess he knows a thing or two about trauma, and he
waits patiently for me to exorcise my own demons.

I sit up and wipe at my eyes, my face burning feverishly from the
intensity of my crying jab.  I’m a little embarrassed, but Alan
reaches over and gives me a friendly tap on the arm with his index
finger.  “Feel better?” he asks me.

And much to my surprise, I do. I have no illusions about my state of
mind, you understand.  I’m sure I’ll be spending years in therapy,
trying to work my way through all the horrible things that happened
to me. But for the first time since Paul Dalton showed up in my
life, I feel free.  I feel happy, and I feel truly hopeful about the
future.

“Um, where are we?” I ask Alan.  We’ve been stopped for some time,
and I had just assumed he’d pulled over to let me finish my tantrum.
But that doesn’t seem to be the case, as he’s taken the keys from the
ignition.

“Hudson House Bed and Breakfast,” he tells me, smiling.  “I need to
get my bags and check out.  Besides, there’s someone here who’d
really like to see you.”



She’s sitting in an overstuffed leather chair in the lobby, engrossed
in the latest issue of Entertainment Weekly.  I stare from Alan’s
hand, utterly transfixed by her and unable or unwilling to look away.
 Her silky, black hair cascades down over her shoulders, perfectly
framing her beautiful olive face.  She’s wearing a short denim skirt
that shows off her perfect legs, one of which is crossed prettily
over the other.  And she’s wearing those same black, clunky shoes she
always does.

Alan clears his throat.  She puts down the magazine and looks up at
me.  Her face lights up with excitement, and she lets out a delighted
squeal as she jumps out of the chair.  She tosses the magazine onto
the table and runs over to us.

“Oh God, Ray,” she says, her beautiful green eyes brimming with
tears. “You poor, poor baby.  What happened to your face?”  The
swelling of my eye has gone down a little since last night, but I’m
sure it still looks quite frightening.

Alan slips me into her cupped hand, and she immediately lifts me to
her lips and covers me with kiss after kiss.  As she gently nuzzles
me against her cheek, she whispers, “I was so scared I’d never see
you again.”

“Me too, Suzy,” I tell her, stroking her cheek with my fingers.  God,
her skin is so warm and soft, and just the sensation of it against my
own is enough to make me tremble.

“Suzy and her family have been staying here for the past week,” Alan
tells me.  “We’ve had them in protective custody ever since the
hearing, while we were waiting to see how this whole thing would play
out.”

“Mom and Dad went home this morning,” Suzy tells me, caressing me
with her long, pale green fingernails. “But I told Alan I wanted to
hang around and see you before you guys took off.”

After all this time, I can’t believe I’m being held by Suzy again.
And all I can think about is how much I’d love to be alone with her,
to make up for all the lost time…

“What time do we have to leave?” I ask Alan.

He shrugs.  “We gotta hit the road in the next ten minutes, kid.
I’ve got a one o’clock meeting in Dallas, and that’s a two hour
drive.”

“Oh,” I say, disappointed.  I look up at Suzy, who smiles sadly.
“Maybe next time,” she tells me softly.

Alan runs his hand through his unruly red hair, and suddenly grins.
“Aw, hell,” he says, fishing his cell phone out of his pocket. He
hits speed dial, then speaks.  “Switch 389.”  A few seconds later, he
says, “Cody?  I’ve been unexpectedly detained in Stasheff… no, it’s
nothing serious.  But I’ll need you to cover me in the one o’clock.
I’ll e-mail you my report.  Okay?”

He winks at me and Suzy as he speaks into the phone.  “Good.  Pass it
on to Gary and Louise, please. Thanks.”  Flipping the phone closed,
he slides it back into his pocket.

“Here you go,” he says, handing his room key to Suzy.  “Check out
time’s at three, so I should be back around 2:55.”

“Thank you, Alan,” Suzy says sweetly.

“No shit!” I exclaim happily, unable to contain my excitement.
“Thanks a lot!”

“No problem,” Alan says with a wink.  “You kids have fun.  And don’t
steal any change off of the dresser.”



For over an hour, I am an adventurer, an explorer, scaling the
landscape of my goddess.  She lies flat on her back on Alan’s bed,
making every effort not to move as I crawl over her.  I mount her
nipple and stroke it relentlessly, making her squirm and moan with
pleasure.  Her own hands flutter over me, eager to reach down and
press me into the warm, soft flesh of her breast.  Several times, she
controls this urge and slaps her hands back down to her sides. But
finally, she can’t stand it anymore.  Her hand comes down on me, and
she mashes me up and down, up and down…

“Hey,” I call to her, feigning indignity.  “I’m trying to work my
mojo here!”

She giggles, and her hand falls back to her side.  “Sorry,” she says
breathlessly.  “You can’t imagine how good you feel right now.”

She’s naked, except for a pair of white cotton panties.  My own
clothes lie in a wad on her stomach, where I discarded them in a
hurry. Her long legs stretch out along the bed, crossed at the
ankles.  And there, in the distance, are her gorgeous feet.  She
offered to let me start there, but was delighted when I suggested
starting at the top and working my way down.

Her skin is so warm and soft, and the feel of it against my own is
intoxicating.  I have this urge to just lie down and spread out, to
touch as much of her with as much of me as I possibly can.  I’m dizzy
with the alluring smell of her – perfume and soap, sweat, and the
faint smell of her arousal.

Her nipple is hard as a rock, and she’s so close.  I can feel her
heart pounding, and the rise and fall of her chest as her breaths
come more and more quickly.  But I can’t quite “close the deal,” as
they say.  Suzy’s a good sport, and I’m sure she’s enjoying it, but I
know she’s craving more.  And when I see her hand snaking down her
stomach towards the elastic waistband of her panties, I’m suddenly
seized with a bold idea.  Something I never thought I’d be willing to
do…

“Wait!” I call to her, sliding down her breast and landing in a
crouch on her abdomen. I scramble along the taut, warm flesh of her
tummy past her massive hand and straight to her waist.

“Oh Ray, you’re not!” she exclaims, her voice anxious and delighted.
I lift the edge of her waistband and burrow under into the soft
darkness underneath.

The smell is amazing, like nothing I’ve ever experienced.  Exotic and
strong, not unpleasant but quite overpowering. It’s the tantalizing
smell of her sex, and the fact that I’ve done this to her excites me
all the more.

I crawl through the soft, curly hair on my hands and knees, feeling
the fabric of her panties pressing down against me.  Outside, I can
hear Suzy moan and slap the bed with her hand as my hands finally
touch something warm and fleshy.  I begin to stroke it, slowly at
first, amazed by the heat and dampness.

Suzy’s moans become regular as I massage her faster and faster.  She
squirms and writhes, pounding the bed with her fists and heels.
Suddenly, I feel her bucking beneath me.  Her hips thrust upwards,
and her moans grow shorter and sharper.

Her flesh feels almost feverish against my damp, sticky hands. Her
body wracked with pleasure, she finally screams, “Oh, God!” as she
arches her back for one final, grand thrust of her hips.  I’m
suddenly drenched in a warm, sticky explosion. I take this as a sign
that my work is done.

The cotton of her panties is drenched, as is the hair that surrounds
me.  I climb back out under her waistband, thrilled by the grin that
greets me when I poke my head out.

Her face is flushed, and there are actually tears running down her
cheeks.  One hand rests on her heaving chest as she gasps for breath.
 And she’s looking at me with such adoration that it makes my heart
race.

“Oh my God,” she says, between breaths.  “That was the most amazing
thing I’ve ever felt.”

I squirm out into the open and climb shakily to my feet, drenched and
sticky with her juices.  “So,” I ask, grinning back.  “Was it good
for you?”

“Jesus, Ray,” she says, “I had no idea you were going to… I mean…”
She finally just giggles and snatches me up in her hand.  “God, I
love you!”  She falls back on the bed, hugging me between her bare
breasts.  “I love you so much!”



“I should have planned ahead,” Suzy says, sliding off her damp
panties and dropping them on the floor.  “Looks like I’ll be taking
those home in my purse.”  She smiles and looks down at me, still
standing on the bed.  “That is, unless you want them?”

“What?” I ask.  “I mean… what?”

“It’s a tradition amongst teenage boys, isn’t it?” Suzy asks,
winking.  “You’re supposed to keep the panties of your first girl.”
She looks thoughtful.  “I mean, I’m assuming it’s a tradition.
Unless John Hughes was lying in all those movies…”

I shrug.  “I’m not one for tradition.  Besides, Sally and them would
have to build me an additional wing on my home to display them.”

Suzy laughs and sits down on the bed next to me.  “I was your first,
wasn’t I?” she asks.

A horrible memory flits into my mind of being tangled up in Cheryl’s
matted hair and pressed against her wet slit.  I remember that
sickening pop it made as her monstrous fingers pried it open, and I
remember being enveloped in darkness.  And perhaps the worst memory
of all is her voice, raspy and hateful, growling, “Fuck me, you
little bastard,” as she slid me in and out…

“Ray?”

“Yeah, of course you were,” I tell her, grinning up at her.  “From
now on, I’ll call you Ms. Le because you were my teacher.”

“Okay, you little smart ass,” she says.  “It’s your turn, and I’ve
got something to show you.”

She picks me up and gently sets me on the floor at her bare feet.  I
stare, fascinated as always by her meticulously pedicured toenails,
pale green like her fingernails.  Her long toes wiggle slowly and
seductively, no doubt for my benefit.

“Are you ready?” Suzy asks, looking down at me.

I have no idea what she’s got in mind, but my entire body is tingling
with excitement.  “Ready!” I call up to her.

She raises her left foot and slowly advances it towards me, brushing
me between the legs with her big toe.  My erection is fierce and
throbbing, and an involuntary moan escapes from me as she
effortlessly grasps me between her toes.

I’m about to compliment her on her technique when she grasps me with
the toes of her other foot as well.  She passes me back and forth,
playing with me, squeezing me, flipping me over, and stroking me.
Finally, she holds me gently but firmly with one foot while the big
toe on her other once again brushes me between the legs.  I moan
again and again as she relentlessly kneads my prick.

My stamina isn’t nearly as impressive as hers, and I come in a
frantic, noisy spasm, screaming her name.  When I’m done, I hang
limply in her grasp, stroking and kissing her sexy toes.  I feel
myself being lifted smoothly into the air as she crosses her leg.
Turning my head, I look up into her face with awe.

“Okay, that was just incredible,” I tell her, still out of breath.
“When the hell did you learn how to do that?”

“After our date last month,” she tells me, smiling a little
sheepishly.  “I practiced with a Star Wars figure.  Han Solo, in case
you’re wondering.”

Still dangling, I rub her big toe and rest my cheek on her smooth
nail.  “You’re amazing,” I tell her, without a trace of irony. “Did
you learn any other tricks?”

“Well,” she shrugs.  “I was practicing flinging him into the air with
my toes and catching him in my hand, but I accidentally snapped his
head off.  So I probably won’t be doing that trick this afternoon.”

“I love you, Suzy,” I tell her, gazing up at her.  “And not just
because you have sexy, prehensile monkey toes.”

Laughing, she plucks me from her foot and lies back on the bed,
laying me between her breasts. Her fingers stroke me gently, and her
warm flesh surrounds me.  As I lie there, listening to the beat of
her heart, I realize just how much I do love her.  And the fact that
I have to be separated from her again is the only thing that mars my
return to SPECTRUM.



The rest of the afternoon is spent cuddling, playing, and talking.
Suzy tells me how much she wishes she could take me to college with
her.  She has a lot of friends, but she’s never been as close to
anyone as she is to me.  I can’t believe I’ve only known her for two
months… she fits into my life as if she’s always been there.

She’s younger than most of her friends, since her parents started her
in school a year early.  She loves her parents dearly, but she
resented having to come back to Stasheff over the summer, where the
only available jobs were babysitting and shifts at the Dairy Queen.
Of course, she adds, she would have never met me if she hadn’t been
babysitting for Nicole, so she’ll probably cut her parents some slack
from now on.

I find myself telling her about my friendship with Nicole, about the
bond that grew between us after I was rescued from Cheryl and Kim.
I’ve never had a sister before, and I have to admit that I really,
really enjoy being somebody’s brother. I think of her now, dealing
with Naomi’s grief and mood swings, and I pray that she’s okay.  Suzy
promises to check in on her for me.

And so on, and so on.  As the afternoon wears on, Suzy suggests
rather shyly that we take a bath to make ourselves presentable for
Alan.  And even after our intimacy of only a few hours ago, she’s a
little shy about the idea.  I suppose I am too, because I’ve never
had a good bathing experience. But I know in my heart it’ll be
different with Suzy.

And it is!  I massage her feet and play between her soapy toes; I lie
on her breast and massage her nipple while she lays her head back and
sighs contentedly.  The games are similar to the ones inflicted on me
by Cheryl and Naomi, but the fact that it’s Suzy makes the world of
difference.  It’s like the vast gulf between love and rape.

When Alan comes by at 2:55, Suzy and I are clean and dressed and
saying our rather tearful goodbyes.  She says she’ll call me as often
as SPECTRUM will allow her, and she promises to come up and visit
when she can get away from school.  She also promises to bring Nicole
to see me, if Naomi will allow it.



As we pull out of the hotel parking lot, Alan holds me up so I can
wave goodbye.  Suzy stands by her car, tears streaming down her
cheeks from beneath her sunglasses, waving and smiling that sexy
smile. I watch her recede in the back window until I can’t see her
anymore.

I sigh as Alan lowers me into the passenger seat, feeling my eyes
grow teary as well.  My carrier is in the back seat, but Alan said I
didn’t have to ride in it until we actually got to SPECTRUM.

“Thanks for this afternoon, Alan,” I tell him, looking up at his
face.  He stares straight ahead as he drives, giving me a good view
of the scar that runs down his right cheek.  Once again, I remember
Rachel telling me that she was responsible for giving him that scar,
and I wonder if it would be inappropriate to ask him about it.

Alan turns towards me, an easy grin on his face.  “No problem, kid.
You know, that girl’s crazy about you.”

I laugh, unable to contain my joy.  “I know!  God only knows how I
got that lucky!”

“You deserve someone like her in your life, Ray,” Alan tells me.
“You deserve a good family, and lots of friends… hell, you deserve to
be outrageously fucking happy.”  He sighs.  “And if I can do anything
to make that happen for you, I will.”

It hits me all of a sudden just how much I’ve missed SPECTRUM. And
the closer we get, the more excited I get.  I’m going to see Louise,
Gary, Dana and the rest.  I’m going to live like a human being, and
eat good food, and go to the bathroom in private…

I’m going home…



EPILOGUE – TWO MONTHS LATER

Things have gotten back to normal around here, I suppose.  I
occasionally wake up in the morning trembling, with my stomach in
knots, and then I remember that I’m not in that goddamned aquarium
anymore.  It’s funny, the triggers that linger in my mind.  The smell
of cigarette smoke, or the slap of someone walking in sandals is
enough to terrify me if I’m not expecting it.  And I can’t watch that
horrible “Unpack Your Adjectives” on Schoolhouse Rock without wanting
to vomit.

Poor Louise is really earning her money with me these days.  I’ve got
neuroses piled on top of phobias buried in a mountain of fetishes and
guilty fantasies.  She knows everything about me now, every sick and
twisted thought I’ve ever had, but she still seems to like me okay.
Last week, I asked her if she’d ever let me paint her toenails, and
she just chuckled and told me she didn’t think that would be a good
idea.

Sally built me another car, and the guys in the lab actually put
together a modular track for me.  There’s usually a pretty good crowd
gathered around to watch me race, I suspect some money occasionally
changes hands between the techs.  But I’ve gotten really good at
driving, and Gary keeps saying he’s going to bring one of his remote
control cars from home to race with me.

I haven’t heard a word from Naomi since my father’s funeral.  I
remember seeing her in her black dress and veil, looking so weak and
frail. Even now, it’s difficult to remember her as the terrifying
goddess who tormented me for two months.

I get an occasional e-mail from Nicole, when she can get on the
computer in the school library.  She tells me everybody is fine, that
Naomi is working full time in the beauty shop and has gone back to
hanging with Cheryl from next door again.  She really wants to come
visit me, but Naomi won’t let her have anything to do with Suzy, let
alone travel with her to Dallas.  Last time I wrote her, I told her I
was planning on spending Christmas with Suzy in Stasheff, and that I
would hopefully get to see her then.

Speaking of Suzy, she’s coming up to visit in two weeks!  She’s
skipping her Friday classes so she can spend a long weekend with me,
and Alan has already made arrangements for her to stay at the Dallas
Hyatt-Regency, and he’s already made arrangements to take me off-site
so I can be with her.  God bless him.

Suzy’s really excited about the trip, and keeps e-mailing me to make
sure we’re still on and that nothing’s come up.  Last night, she
attached a picture of the new shoes she bought for the trip, these
incredibly sexy thong sandals, light green and beaded. According to
her e-mail, they’re “kiwi suede.”  All I know is, I can’t wait to see
them up close and personal.

My mom was supposed to come visit me last weekend, but she didn’t
show.  I suppose this should bother me more than it does, but I guess
I never quite managed to get my hopes up in the first place.
Wherever she is, I hope she’s okay.

Rachel is still in a coma.

Dad is still dead.



I’ve been thinking about something over the past couple of nights.
Actually, I guess I’ve been thinking about it since my father died in
July, but it’s really been on my mind this week.

I remember when I was first taken from SPECTRUM and handed over to
the Daltons.  Alan has always blamed himself for that, even though
I’ve told him time and time again that I know it wasn’t his fault.
The image of him crying when he found out is one that has always
stuck with me.

His promise has stuck with me as well. “We’re going to get you back,
Ray.  I swear to God, I’ll do whatever it takes to get you back.”

I assumed he was referring to the custody hearing.  But that came and
went, and SPECTRUM’s legal performance was less than awe inspiring.
In fact, Oscar Bentz and Cindi Martinez (the two attorneys), as well
as Judge Weining, have been suspended pending an investigation for
misconduct.  But that’s neither here nor there.

I think of Alan’s promise to me, and I think of what he said to me in
the car on the way home from Stasheff. “You deserve to be
outrageously fucking happy.  And if I can do anything to make that
happen for you, I will.”

And I think of poor Paul Dalton, who died in the same car wreck that
left Rachel Foster in a coma.  And how everybody was ready to jump to
the conclusion that Paul and Rachel were having an affair, because
everybody had already been thinking it to some degree.

Rachel once denied ever having an affair with my father, and I
believed her.  She lied about a lot of things, but for some reason,
her answer rang true that time.  “There’s no reason for me to be
engaging in any kind of sexual relations with your father, and it
would only serve to jeopardize the entire operation.  And I assure
you, I’m not attracted to him.”

Plus, Rachel went everywhere in that damn limo.  Granted, if she were
having an affair and trying to be discreet about it, she might very
well have been riding in my father’s car.  But it just doesn’t set
right with me.

The police said it was a case of drunk driving.  There was no sign of
a collision, or any indication that any other car was involved.  And
the clerk at the motor lodge claimed that Paul and Rachel had been
coming there incognito for the past two months.  But the police can
be manipulated, and witnesses can be bribed or threatened.  Hell,
Rachel did that sort of thing eight times every morning before
breakfast!

But in order for things to work out as well as they did for me, both
Rachel and my father had to be taken out of the equation.  Rachel
Foster was single-minded in her desire to acquire me for GenetiTech,
and made it apparent that there was no plan too depraved, no threat
too sordid that she wouldn’t employ it.

So what I’ve been wondering is, was my father’s death really an
accident?  Or could Alan have somehow orchestrated everything that
happened?



It’s late, and Alan and I are watching The Godfather on the big
screen TV in the lounge.  He originally had a date with Dana, my
English Literature tutor.  But she backed out at the last minute,
just like we all knew she would.  Dana’s a sweet girl, but Alan’s
just setting himself up for grief and heartache every time he asks
her out.

So, Alan declared it to be Bachelor’s Night and invited me to watch
the movie with him.  It’s one of my favorite flicks, and Alan’s a
good friend, but that’s not why I agreed.  Right now, I’m watching
half-heartedly as Michael Corleone weds the breathtaking Apollonia,
trying to work up my nerve to ask Alan whether or not he murdered my
father.

“Alan,” I say nervously.

He turns and looks down at me, his goofy grin intact.  “Yeah, kid?
What is it?”

I hesitate, the question on my lips.  I feel as if I’m standing on a
precipice, about to plummet into a chaotic, swirling abyss.  Then,
something in me breaks and I just blurt out the question.

“How did you get that scar?”

Alan chuckles, and tells me a story about a liaison with Rachel
Foster, some six or seven years ago, when the two of them wound up in
a hotel room together and she attacked him with the broken bulb end
of a lamp.  And I listen and nod and laugh at the appropriate places,
and I know I’ll never ask him the other question, because I really
don’t want to know the answer.

If you really, really want a happy ending, you should never
underestimate the power of denial.


THE END