“Scott?”

            The broken shell of a twenty-one-year old was still slumped on the couch, Nancy’s dried ejaculate painting his nude twelve-inch body in a gooey film.  He had been abandoned here by his rapist at least thirty minutes before and now was simply drinking in the hollowing sensation of nonbeing he had been piteously swimming through since Judy’s speech ended that afternoon.

            “Scott,” the voice repeated softly.

            At last acknowledging his name, the young man lurched his head upward to see his sister standing above him, having changed back into a more casual shirt and jean shorts.  Ordinarily, he would’ve expected to see her with her arms crossed expectantly and a foot slapping against the floor, or her hands clasped to her hips while she thought up something to accuse him of.

            But she was just standing there, her arms at her sides, and her mouth hanging open a little as her brow furrowed.

            “Yeah?” came the automatic response from Scott’s throat, and the sound of it startled him.

            “You’re, um…” she began, then cut herself off, exhaling audibly.  “Nancy’s… gone now.”

            “Okay.”

            There was silence for a moment.  At last conscious enough to consider his future at least ten seconds in advance, Scott began to wonder if he even had the willpower to start moving his limbs, as almost assuredly, Maggie would take issue with the fact that he was currently sitting at his maximum allowable height.

            Almost as big an issue as the fact that he wasn’t yet at her absolute beck and call.

            Confused that he wasn’t yet feeling the familiar chill and green flash in his eyes, Scott chanced another glance upward, and was startled again to find Maggie lowering herself to her knees on the floor in front of the couch so that her eyes were only a matter of inches higher than Scott’s.

            As deep as his wallowing reverie was now, at this proximity, even the drunkenly forlorn Scott was able to see it.  There was something in Maggie’s ice-water irises as her pupils darted back and forth over his face, studying with dumbfounded effort, while a frown of puzzlement permanently etched itself into her forehead.  Her lips turned a pale white, pursing tightly together, and her nostrils flared several times in quick succession.  A few stray golden hairs fluttered over her eyes, something she normally would’ve brushed aside instantly out of annoyance, but she let them hang as if she hadn’t noticed them.

            Whatever thoughts were inside her head right now didn’t amount to the glowering glee he’d come to know so well, nor even swelling irritation at his lack of action in her presence.  She was intensely focused in a useless attempt to maintain her steely composure, clearly unsure of herself for once, like a stage actress who’d suddenly experienced amnesia mid-performance, and it was almost like looking at the face of a different person.

            Maggie’s nose wrinkled then, her upper lip curling at the corner, and Scott realized it was probably from the stale stench cast by the gummy fluids currently lubricating his head and shoulders.  Still, that peculiar look in her eyes didn’t change.

            “Mom won’t be back until seven tonight,” Maggie uttered, clearly confident in the fact itself but for some reason hesitant in stating it.

            “Okay.”

            “Ella will be here in a couple hours now.”

            “Thanks,” Scott droned.  His answers came as neutrally as he’d ever heard himself speak, like they were spat from the cold womb of a teleprompter.

            Another silence followed.

            “What did she do?” the phrase came at last, delivered more easily now that Maggie at last summoned the gusto to speak it aloud.  It came less as a question and more a proffered confirmation, as she clearly already had a guess.

            Scott cringed, then shrugged lightly to himself.

            What possible kind of shit did he give?

            “Stuck my head in,” he answered, glassy-eyed, as he gazed back up at Maggie’s stoic countenance.

            Maggie’s baby blues blinked, and her entire face seemed to shake.  She quickly adjusted her position on her knees to help pass it off as a byproduct of sudden motion, but it was visible nonetheless.

            “In… you mean, in her…” Maggie repeated, far too petrified by the mention of it to go forward without certainty.  Scott nodded.

            The sixteen-year-old’s frown twisted into a scowl.  She bit her lip, and her breathing seemed to enter an irregular pattern that set her into a series of nearly imperceptible quivers.  Her eyes widened with revulsion, and her mouth hung steadily as though her facial muscles had gone slack.

            “Are you going to get up?” she asked, somewhat groggily, as though she’d just woken from an extended sedation.

            “If I need to do something.”

            “What?”

            “If you’re going to ask me to do something, I’ll get up.”

            Maggie’s eyes narrowed now, devoid of their usual cloying maliciousness, and her eyelid twitched.

            “Why are you doing this?” she pressed.

            Scott sighed to himself, almost with relief at this apparent return to routine.  He knew Maggie couldn’t hang on this long without letting her usual self come back out.  This, at least, was familiar.

            “Doing what?” he asked.

            “You know what.”

            “Answering you?”

            “Yes.”

            “Isn’t that what you want?”

            “Well… yeah, it is.  But…” she mumbled, thrown right back out of her poise once again as she shook her head steadily from side to side in disbelief.  “You’re…”

            “What?”

            “You… were there for Mom’s thing, right?  You listened to it.”

            “Yes.”

            “And you get what she was saying, right?”

            “Yes.”

            “So why are you so…” Maggie continued, dropping off again as her hands appeared over the edge of the couch, her fingers clenched into the fabric of the cushions.  Her cheeks had flushed a rosy pink and her teeth were gritted, almost to the point of grinding.  She was practically trembling with an obvious cocktail of misdirected resentment, confusion, and even what Scott might have called fear if he’d allowed himself to imagine such an alien concept for his sister.  She couldn’t have looked more out of her element if she’d been placed naked on a podium before a thousand prying eyes.

            “Because it doesn’t matter,” Scott blurted with resolve, his voice cracking as his already-red eyes welled again, rawer than he’d ever been before her.  “This is all there is now.”

            If there was bewilderment in the girl’s eyes before, she now looked like she’d come face to face with a wailing daylight phantom as she instantly withdrew several inches from the edge of the couch, her eyes agape and looking like they could shriek.

            “Scott, don’t talk like that.  It’s really weirding me out.”

            “Okay,” he bitterly choked out as soon as Maggie had issued the uneasy command, clenching his lips together and bowing his head as the tears rolled freely down his cheeks again.  A few sputters of sobbing escaped his lips, and he didn’t bother to try and swallow them.  It wasn’t like there was anything he could do to hide it, nor a good reason to expend the effort.

            “No!  You’re… you’re not supposed to… to…” she spat with obvious desperation, slapping her hands back onto the surface of the couch again.  Her fingers slid along the cushy surface and rose up, latching around Scott’s arms as they sat limply at his sides.  The surprise contact caused him to start, but he didn’t make a sound or struggle as she bound his limbs in her fists, firmly but without squeezing.

            “Supposed to what?” he managed, sniffling as cold moisture trickled down the crook of his neck.

            “Come on.  Stop screwing around and do something!” Maggie demanded more loudly, leaning her face in closer until Scott could feel her warm, heightened breath on his chest, a few flecks of spittle landing on his cheeks.

            “What should I do?” came the distant reply.

            “What do you mean what should you do?  Get MAD!” she demanded with a growl as her breathing picked up faster.  Her tone was growing desperate, as though the seconds were ticking by before she lost her chance to relay this request, and her voice was cracking hard.  “Don’t you… don’t you understand, you stupid little… I… I mean… Mom said she doesn’t want you or anyone else like you to be big ever again!  Don’t get it?”

            “I know that.”

            “Quit it, now.  I’m telling you, you have to quit doing this, or I’m gonna… I’m gonna…” Maggie huffed with falsified aggression, clearly trying to fall back into her comfortable pattern of constant threats, but evidently at a loss for coming up with a substantial punishment as she glared as hard as she could at the ejaculate-slogged, slumped-over little remnant of a person before her who obviously wasn’t going to be impacted in the slightest by anything she conjured up.

            “I have quit.”

            “I said STOP!” Maggie screeched.  Her right hand released from around her brother’s arm and, flattening her fingers together, she slapped him across the cheek with her fingertips with more than enough force to instantly send him flopping down onto his side, his face flushed a stinging red from the cracking impact.

            In the same instant, Maggie yanked her arm back and retreated from over the cushion as though she was the one who’d been struck.  She wrapped her other hand around her fist, shaking at this point, and watched her foot-tall sibling lie on his side and slowly press a palm to his burning cheek, cringing as he did, but he didn’t look up at her, nor did he say anything.  Her lower lip quivered, but she couldn’t manage a response either.

            Scott chanced to open an eyelid, blinking up at his abusive sibling, and noticed a glistening in her eyes he couldn’t remember having seen since she was around seven years old.

            The heavy, emotional breathing of the two parties was now so palpable that it was the only thing filling the ears of both Scott and Maggie Stevens, and though the older offspring continued heaving mutedly into the surface of the cushion, the latter sibling by now looked far more distressed.

            “I… I’m…” she mumbled, expelling air heavily as she fought to produce the word.  “I’m s-”

            Before she could finish what sounded apocalyptically like the beginning of an apology, Maggie rose to her feet and darted over to the small adjoining bathroom used for changing into swimsuits.

            After hearing her rummage through a drawer and turn on the sink for a matter of seconds, Scott flinched at the sensation of his sister’s fingers curling under his arm, far more gently this time, to pull him back into a seated position.  He flinched again as a damp washcloth billowed around his shoulders and over his face, but with the ends pinched in her fingertips, Maggie only proceeded to scrub along Scott’s shoulders and chest, making quick work of the residue from Nancy’s games.

            Particular attention was paid as the tip of the warm cloth reached Scott’s reddened cheek where she’d slapped him, but its touch softened even more here, and as his sister’s palm cupped this opposite side to help keep him steady, he couldn’t help but sway a little as he settled into the calming sensation of the wet fabric.

            Once Maggie’s cloth had dabbed away the vast majority of the mess left by Nancy, his sister slid her fingers under his calves and against his back to help him to his feet.  By now, Scott’s crying had been relegated to the back of his throat, and all he could do was dry sob.

            “Stick your legs through,” Maggie whispered, stretching out Scott’s underwear near his ankles.  Confused and still wobbling, he nodded and stepped into them as the girl worked them up his legs and to their proper place.  With this done, she did the same for his pants and shirt.  Scott began to button it back up, but his vision had blurred and his fingers were still trembling so hard that he couldn’t grip the button well enough to slide it through.

            “Let go of it, Scott,” came the soft instruction, and he relented, allowing the practiced fingers of someone who’d spent her preschool days ensconced in a bedroom full of dolls to expertly slide the buttons back into place.  After, she fetched his shoes for him to slip back on.  Next came his jacket, and Maggie helped his arms find the correct holes in the fabric.  Finally, she looped the tie around his tiny collar, and rather than let him wrestle with it again, managed it herself.  Once everything was on, she pinched the lapels of the jacket between her thumbs and index fingers and set about straightening it.

            Scott gazed blankly at her face, which seemed to be pulled taut with the effort of avoiding all expression while she worked.  Her blue eyes seemed cloudy, like they were trying and failing to stare directly through him, and their moisture remained welled and glistening as though held back by brittle glass.

            “Why are you doing this?” Scott croaked, repeating his sister’s earlier question back to her.

            “I… want you to look nice for her,” Maggie responded, at last satisfied with her brother’s get-up, and nodded.  “This’ll be good.”

            Despite himself, Scott almost felt the urge to let loose the most sardonic cackle of his life.  He may have been buttoned back up into his doll-sized formal wear, but his hair was still matted back and his face was flushed from the tears, his eyes bloodshot enough to make him look strung out on several drugs simultaneously.

            He was a little puddle of wasted human refuse wrapped in shiny paper, and he knew it.

            “Shhh,” Maggie hushed, tapping a fingertip to Scott’s wet cheek as he coughed up the last lingering sobs, clearly sensing his concern.  “You’ll… be okay.  You just gotta calm down.  Just breathe a little.  Slow down.”

            Scott nodded, and actually began complying, inhaling slowly and then letting it out as Maggie continued to brush the tears off his skin.  As he did, he could hear her breathing pattern undergoing the same struggle.  The instruction obviously hadn’t just been meant for him.

            It hardly registered that this was the very same girl who, all within the last week, had stomped him into a blackout during her championship and blackmailed him into a hellish ride on her tongue.

            “I’m trying,” Scott said honestly, staring down at his shoes.

            “Okay,” Maggie said, seemingly accepting this with a deep sigh.  “Wanna sit inside ‘til Ella gets here?  Or do you just, um…”

            “I can go inside.”

            “Do you want a lift?”

            Frowning, Scott forced himself to look back up at his sister’s face, and had to do a double take, despite the fact that nothing had really changed in her still-expressionless countenance.  Rather than looking at the face of his sixteen-year-old younger sister, it felt more like looking at a picture of Maggie from an old photo album.

            He knew it was a ludicrous thing to decide, perhaps brought on by the shock of this conversation and his previous traumas, but for an instant, he could see his sister.  His real sister: calm and earnest, loose and uncaring of what others thought of her, unburdened with any of Judy’s longstanding indoctrinations that had rigorously trained her daughter to hate those who couldn’t fight back against her and absolutely relish her dominion over them with ravenous fervor, as though it would make her even stronger.

            A lifetime of Judy’s draconian emotional brainwashing, coiled like black tendrils around the girl’s heart and preventing any of its normal human functions, had been pulled back by just a few inches in this moment, and it was enough to see her.  Scott felt like he’d been slapped across the face again as he stared into the momentarily pure, cautious eyes of his sibling, her shell having been rattled and then cracked to let her potential self through.  All it had taken was something like this, something that not even Judy’s parenting could’ve hardened her so thoroughly against that she couldn’t be touched by basic human sympathy.

            In this moment, Scott understood better than he ever had before that he was not the only one who had been warped into emotional oblivion by a lifetime under the thumb of Judy Stevens.  His sister, and his brother as the bitterly detached island he had been molded into, were in the same oarless boat as Scott, and they couldn’t even see it.

            “Okay,” he answered at last.

            “Good,” she said, scooping Scott up and cradling him on her forearm like she had at the garden party, rather than squeezing him into a restrictive embrace as usual.  Without another word, she made her way to the door, nudged it open with her shoulder, and padded quietly across the concrete around the pool.

            And suddenly, amidst his defeatist turmoil from an afternoon of back-stabbings and totalitarian declarations, the twenty-one-year-old shrunken house prisoner realized he couldn’t give up just yet.  There was more still to be done, and probably far more to endure for it, but it didn’t matter now.  None of it did.

            His soul was no longer the only one on the line.

            Maggie’s thumb passed a final time over Scott’s cheek and brushed away the last round of his tears as she kicked the screen door into the house back open.