Adela was at the door. Purse and keys in hand, she moved warily inside the room, looking behind her and, gently tapping her fingers on the newel post, peeked up the old flight of stairs. With head cocked to listen for any sounds on the second floor, her eyes passed a turn over the living room and froze when they met mine. For five seconds she stood there, facing me, the door open behind her with the mid-morning daylight flooding in. Then, as though with some end in mind, she backed her way to the front door, closed it, and in four strides crossed the room to where I stood, pathetically fitted out in my little sock rag, standing before the end table drawer where the two little kids stared up at both of us in fear and bewilderment. Adela took it all in for a few moments, with her lower lip pulled in, frowning.

“What happened here?”
“I know it looks strange, Adela, but I was cleaning this morning, came downstairs, and heard sounds coming from the table, here.”
“And you yanked out the drawer, and voilà.”
“More or less.”
“Who are they?”
“Um. I’m not sure. I think they visited the house last night, for Halloween.” I thought quickly, and didn’t want Adela to address them directly. It could turn out badly for both me and them.
“Kids.”
“Yes.”
Adela squatted down for a moment and studied them, their faces, their fear. Then she straightened her knees and told me to move back a few feet. 
“What are you going to do?”
“I'm going to put them back where you found them. I don’t know what Mom wanted from them.”
“Right. Just…”
“What?” She picked me up, and her lips tightened a little. Then she smiled, and I saw she understood. “Oh, okay.” Tossing me playfully back into the armchair, she lifted up the drawer. The two kids scuttled back over the wood surface to one of the corners, trying to get as far away from Adela’s hands and eyes as they could. When she saw this, an awful smile flickered around the edges of her mouth. I think this smile scared the two kids more than anything else.
“Oh don’t worry. I’m just putting you back where you were.” Back the drawer went into the end table, and the two kids with it—into darkness, into silence.

Then Adela’s eyes met mine. She had on a tight-fitting sweater, a long skirt, tights, and a pair of flats. My heart fluttered in fear, or perhaps desire.
“What are you doing down here, anyway?”
“Cleaning.”
“Cleaning. Where’s Mom?”
“Out, I think.”
“Oh, you think?” She teased me. Her eyes took a brief look around the room, and then came back to me. “Let’s go upstairs, slave.”
I had to fight this girl, somehow. “Where’s Meredith?” I asked.
“Who’s she?” Adela seemed confused. Then her expression changed: she smiled—she understood. “Oh, Meredith! I was going to ask you. I’ve been trying to find her all morning.”
“She’s not with you?”
“I was outside looking for her.”
“Do you want me to help you?” It was worth a shot. 
She brushed back my hair with her finger, and shook her head. “You wouldn’t be much help.”
“Not at my present size.”
“I can’t do it, Martin.” She had one foot on the bottom step.
“When did you last see her? Meredith.”
“Are we having this conversation?” She sat down on the stairs, and seemed willing to humor me. “All right, Marlowe. Before I fell asleep.”
“I heard something odd last night. I thought I heard voices in Holly’s room, people talking. It sounded like mice or crickets at first, but after a few minutes I was sure there were people talking—in hushed tones—somewhere in the room. I didn’t tell Holly—Ms. Holly—about it this morning. But I thought you should know.”
“Interesting.” A gale of wind nearly knocked me over as she reached down and picked me up in her hands. “I mean it’s interesting, but let’s discuss all this upstairs. I have to take a piss, Martin. Why don’t you join me?” I looked at myself, and could see that I was only five inches tall. Her fingers scooched me down between her grand tetons, and when it seemed I would stay, or fit, she jumped the stairs to the landing, marched into the den, and opened the bathroom door.

Before taking a seat on the toilet, she whispered down to me, “My pussy is so wet right now. My thighs are soaking. Here, feel.” She rubbed the side of her leg with her fingers, and wiped my face with the sweat. Once again, I was unable to make that very important distinction between fear and desire. My brain was petrified, and so was my dick. What could a person do?

But when Adela’s panties were off, I understood why she was so wet. Where the seam of the fabric had been scrunched up against her asscrack, I saw a miniature person, a woman—Meredith. Her neck twitched, and her limbs moved a little, but that was all. She had probably blacked out for a few hours, and was just coming to. Shame overwhelmed me.

Adela noticed that I had wilted somewhat at the sight of Meredith, and while she expected this to happen, she also seemed genuinely angry, and disappointed, with my reaction.
“You can’t take a fucking joke, Martin. You never could.” Her fingers hooked me up, and before I knew it, she was rubbing me against her wet, soiled pussy, trying to get me off. And now, as a contrast to all the shame and pity she had just aroused in me, she also got me aroused again. In less than a minute, I exploded, and almost blacked out because of the mental pain, and the physical pressure. But beyond all this, there was something like gratefulness, which I didn't understand well enough to feel shame for. 

Adela brought me up to her face again, and explained: “You can make me angry. Do you know why?”
I knew, but shook my head.
“Sometimes I think you could be a good slave, and then other times you behave in ways that almost make me think twice.”
“I’m sorry, Adela. I just felt sorry for her.”
“You shouldn’t feel sorry for her. And you know why. Don’t you?” I nodded, but Adela answered for me. “Because she’s a fucking slave, Martin. Because you’re a slave. Because it’s not your job to feel sorry for her. It’s your job to make Mom happy. It’s her job—right now—to learn the goddamn rules. Capiche?”
“I understand. Just—I’m not asking anything, please—just don’t be too hard on her. You weren’t so hard on me. She looks bad.”
Adela studied me for a little, and her expression softened. She looked down, cleaned herself up, and then notched her panties—and Meredith—back into place. “Okay, Martin. I’ll be easier on her.”
“I want to understand you, Adela. But all this cruelty makes it difficult for me.” She rose and walked over to the sink. Liquid soap seeped out of the container, and she washed her hands, contemplatively.  

She grew very serious and passionate. “I’ll tell you what I'm thinking, then. It’s all a game, Martin. All of this is in some sense a game to me, play. But the worth and the point of this game isn’t found in the game itself, but in the sum of everything that’s put at hazard. What’s at risk here, Martin? What’s in the pot? Life and death. The future of mankind. Nothing less.”
She paused. I waited.
“This game we’re playing—you’ll soon learn—is a game that rises to the rules of war. That much is at stake. Your life has brought you here, and maybe chaos has led you to this place, to me, to my mother. But what does that mean for you?”
I listened.
“It means that, whether you like it or not, you’ve selected one possible existence over another, and that until you’re able to finally and—in every way, and on every ground—stake this life against every other possible life, including your former one, the world, at least for you, won't make any sense, won't have any unity to it.” She looked over at me, and I must have seemed thoughtful, because she went on.
“I’m sadistic, Martin. Am I too cruel to people? Am I out for myself?”
“Don’t make me answer that.”
“I won’t. I just want you to think about it. Maybe I don’t understand this any more than you do. Maybe you should ask Holly."
Then I had an inspiration. “You love me.”
She picked me up, and smirked. I guessed it was true. Even so, my heart sank as I tried to comprehend the sum total of her atrocities, Adela’s own wild catalogue of infamies, of sadistic murders. I remembered Joel, Richard, and others.
But there wasn't time enough to reflect on any of this. Adela said, “I’ll have time to love you when this is all done.”
“Then, for my sake, be kind to Meredith for the next few hours.”
“Will do. What else?”
“Put me back in Holly’s room, and please bring me back to 12 inches.”

It was done. And, five minutes later, Holly marched loudly through the front door, and climbed the stairs to her room.

My mind still turned like a wind vane when I thought of the previous night. I decided to ask Holly about it.