Disclaimers: The prerequisite disclaimers.

Intellectual Property: The characters are wholly my own. Any similarities drawn between them and any persons, plants, or animals, living and dead, are figments of your imagination. However, some places and products mentioned in the story do exist. No infringement is intended. (Hey, look on the bright side! Free publicity! Yeah!)

Ratings/Language/Violence: R-rated. Generally, the language and violence is mild, as is the sex. However, at risk of spoiling some surprises, the story deals with sensitive issues like overbearing parents, youth violence, rape, and murder.

Sex: Love is expressed between two consenting ladies. If that bothers you, then for the love of God (or a higher being or beings, if any), get help.

Age: If this material is illegal where you live and/or if you are underage then find something else to do.

NOTES: Mickey is NOT the main character. Be patient and you'll meet the two leading heroines in no time at all. Also, this story takes place over about the span of a decade. If you want to see sign language, go to this web site. http://www.bconnex.net/~randys/

If you have any feedback, suggestions, or comments, please let the bard know at sarkel_bard@yahoo.com You are guaranteed a reply if you so wish. Constructive criticism is accepted J

I'd also like to thank everyone who helped. Thanks to Steph, Critic, Ink, and everyone else who has contributed.

Many people have asked me about my posting policy, so here's a rundown. I have a personal policy to post at least once a week, but if I am ahead of schedule or have extra time, I'll post more than once.

A Note: In the story, when Sam (or someone who is signing) murmurs, mumbles or whatever, they are not speaking. The 'screams' 'whispers' and so forth are merely the sign language equivalent.

Author's Note: There is an untitled poem in this part. I do not know who wrote it, but if you can help, please e-mail me so I can give the poet proper credit.

Author's Note: I'd like to thank the wonderful people at Xenaverso for honoring AITF with the Olé award. Check the Xenaverso out at http://www.atenea.easynet.co.uk/xenaverso/fanfic/fanfic_ole.htm

Allison motioned for Sam to get off. "My friend’s deaf," the blonde explained breathlessly to the officer as she scrambled into an upright position.

Sam jerked back in surprise as she stood, praying that the bloodstains blended perfectly with her dark purple shirt. She pretended to realize the ranger’s presence for the first time.

"Uhh…" Allison grimaced, covering her chest with her hands. She felt the patrolman’s gaze pierce her lacy bra and her abundant cleavage as she shivered.

The officer sighed, shaking his head. He was a middle-aged man, with balding white hair and a generous paunch. "Teenagers!" he growled. "Get your shirt back on! This isn’t a hotel room." He stepped closer to the dismayed girls. "I’m gonna give you a warning this time." The patrolman jotted the license plates of both vehicles onto a yellow tablet. "Lemme see your ID and car registration. Both of you. And didn’t I tell you to get your shirt back on?" he snarled at Allison.

Sam glanced nervously at her stepsister, who was forgetting to interpret. Under the circumstances, Sam didn’t blame her.

"Officer…" Allison mumbled a meek reply. "I don’t know where my shirt is? It’s around here somewhere…"

The man rolled his eyes. "Lemme see some identification."

"Right." Allison smiled cooperatively as she reached into Dino for her purse. As an afterthought, she prodded the brunette’s ribs. "He wants to see our ID."

The patrolman examined both girls’ driver licenses and vehicle registrations. "Well, I won’t write you up," he repeated. "Just, you know..." he flapped his hand. "Go somewhere else. Preferably a hotel room. Scat!" A scowl on his face, he lumbered back to his car and drove off.

Sam raised her eyebrows in question and the blonde gave her the rundown. "Oh!" Allison let out a breath she’d been holding for what seemed like an eternity. "Oh… he just gave us a warning." The younger girl shivered as a cold breeze chilled her scantily clad chest.

The brunette smiled as she got her first good look at Allison’s cleavage. She momentarily forgot why she was standing in the middle of nowhere in the first place. Allison’s bra covered all the riches but Sam couldn’t wait to see more. Or less, for that matter.

The lustful look in Sam’s blue eyes unnerved the shorter girl. Only an hour or so before, Mickey had been studying her in just the same manner. "Stop that!" she reproached her stepsister and wrapped her arms around herself tightly.

Sam shook her head, ashamed of herself. What had she been thinking, after all Allison had been through? "I’m sorry. Come on, let’s get going before rigor mortis sets in, ok?"

"Rigor mortis? What’s that?" Allison repeated Sam’s finger spelling, unsure of what the strange word meant.

Sam explained quickly. "Rigor mortis happens when muscles get tight and stiff after death because of all the chemical changes the body undergoes. The neck and the jaw go first, after about four hours. After, like, 10 hours, the body is very stiff. It can’t be bent or anything." The brunette paused to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "After about thirty hours, though, the body is completely limp again."

"Ah." Allison inclined her head in understanding, but her mind was already preoccupied with more pressing matters.

Sam half-grinned. "Don’t worry. I just learned about that in biology last semester. Guess paying attention in class has its merits, huh? Reading those detective novels didn’t hurt, either."

"Yeah, I guess." The blonde smiled. "Oh Sam, I hope Allen hasn’t woken up to find us both gone."

The duo worked methodically and effectively. Mickey’s blanket covered body was hauled into the back of Dino. "Are you sure you’ll be ok driving the Cadillac?" Sam asked Allison anxiously.

"Yes!" Allison repeated. "I’ll be fine." She was no longer afraid; the only thing on her mind was escaping detection.

Sam walked slowly around the scene searching for any other pieces of evidence that she or Allison might have overlooked. "Were you anywhere else? We have the bat, the pepper spray, all the clothes, wineglasses, picnic basket. Everything, right?" She looked to her stepsister for affirmation.

*****

The blonde, now wearing a solid gray T-shirt, studied the blue and white cooler dubiously. "He won’t fit. It’s pretty big but you’d have to cut him up to squeeze him in there."

Sam, wearing a fresh green top as well, fidgeted and sighed, surveying the well-lit three-car garage. Dino was parked in the middle, the Cadillac on the right side. Only one space was empty. The green-eyed girl kept glancing nervously in Dino’s direction, the proximity of Mickey’s corpse obviously unsettling her. Arriving home and seeing that the towhead was fast asleep and kissing his sweet little forehead had done wonders for her. He reinforced that covering up the murder was her only choice.

"Corny’s howling outside," Allison nervously told her stepsister. "He’s not happy about being kept outside while we’re in here. I hope he doesn’t wake Allen or the neighbors up."

"It’ll be fine." Sam patted the blonde’s shoulder and soothed her with a reassurance she wished she felt herself. "Allen sleeps like a log." She surveyed the top of the wooden shelves next to them. "There’s an empty trunk up there somewhere. It might fit…I want to avoid cutting him up if I can. I don’t know if I could do it…. He was my friend and it’s just too gross." Sam shuddered as she imagined severing Mickey’s limbs from his wiry body. She stretched her six-foot frame to reach the top shelf and hauled the burdensome receptacle down. It landed on the floor with a thump.

Allison yelped and jumped at the unexpected sound, fear returning full blast. "Sorry." She cast a meek look in Sam’s direction. "I’m a bit…" The younger woman sneezed and wiped her watery eyes as a thick layer of dust from the box flew through the room.

The brunette opened the trunk and surveyed the interior with a critical eye. It was bigger than the cooler and they might be able to squeeze the bastard in with some trouble. Sam shook her head; there must be an easier way to dispose of the body.

Allison pointed to a messy pile of duffel bags that had been shoved carelessly into a shadowy far corner that was easy enough to overlook. "How about one of those?" Her green eyes glimmered with hope as her savior stared at the heap of bags.

Sam grinned and nodded enthusiastically. "You’ve hit it right on the head!" Her face fell as she saw Allison cringe at her choice of words. "Oh. I’m sorry." She encased the blonde in her arms and hugged the soft feminine body. Allison was crying again and Sam felt like shit. She’d been the cause this time. She held the younger woman, allowing her to get it all out.

After the crying subdued, the blonde looked into Sam’s face. "Oh honey. I can’t do this." Seeing the look of consternation on the dark face, Allison rushed to finish. "I know we have to. Thank you for all your help. I just wish it hadn’t happened."

"Allison!" Sam lifted the girl’s chin. "What were you supposed to do? Let him rape you and do Gods knows what? You did what was necessary. We’ll take care of this together and I’m here for you and with you." She kissed Allison delicately on the cheek. "Let’s get this over with. Come on. I have a huge bag in my closet. It’ll do perfectly." The brunette set off to search for the big duffel she used for military school.

Allison followed the deaf girl to her enormous walk-in closet. Her hand never left its firm and warm hold on Sam. Allison squeezed her stepsister’s hand. "I’m sorry– I can’t stand…" she shuddered at a frightening memory.

"Hey. Hey. I understand but you have to change your clothes. We have to get rid of all the evidence. Put the old set in a plastic sack." While Allison changed, the brunette removed the duffel from her top closet shelf. It was a gray, plain and non-descript bag, easy to disregard and even easier to forget. Sam dumped its contents, mostly old gym clothes, misplaced trinkets, and old papers, on the floor.

Allison joined her hardworking girlfriend in the closet a few minutes later. "How are we gonna get away with this?" she asked.

Sam shrugged as if getting away with murder would be a breeze. "We’ll get the Pinto tomorrow, hope that park ranger doesn’t get a clue. This bag isn’t memorable. It’s not going to stick out in anyone’s mind. We just need to get rid of our fingerprints on the other stuff and dump it separately from the body. We’ll go to a dumpster far away from here. Garbage truck will take all the trash to the city junk pile. Ever seen one of those? Impossible to spot a damn thing, like finding a needle in a haystack. Umm… wash and clean out Dino in a few days when it isn’t too suspicious. We’ll put the other stuff from the garage in the cooler and get a towel or something from the linen closet. And just cross our fingers that no one talks." Granted, if the body was ever discovered and the cops looked hard enough, they’d find fibers and probably a few prints connecting the murder to two seventeen-year-olds. But a little hope never hurt anyone.

Sam and Allison both nodded in mutual agreement and silently returned to the garage, hand-in-hand, for the dirty job. The brunette laid the unzipped container on the concrete floor below Dino’s open rear carriage. "Hold the bag wide open, ok?" she instructed Allison.

Sam climbed into Dino and poked the corpse, still swaddled in the blanket. Thrusting a timid hand inside the rolls of cloth, she suppressed vomit and nausea. Mickey didn’t smell yet, but he would be a putrid mass of dead flesh soon. Sam covered her hands with a plastic bag and lifted the wineglasses, flowers, and other incriminating evidence into the cooler. While Allison looked away, the blue-eyed girl stuffed the corpse into the bag and wiped her hands on her jeans.

The younger woman ventured a peek and helpfully shoved the dead head snugly into the sack. "I’m gonna go get the other stuff we need." Allison ran into the house and returned almost immediately with linens and other odds and ends.

The duo hastily wiped off all of the wineglasses and various things Mickey had brought with him and locked them all in the cooler. Sam surveyed their work, satisfied. The corpse and all evidence had been squared away. They’d wiped all the surfaces in Dino and burned their clothes in the fireplace. "Alli. Tomorrow, we’ll go dump everything when it isn’t too conspicuous. Come on." The blonde helped Sam lift the bag and the cooler back into Dino. Sam then let Corny in the basement. She didn’t want him in the garage overnight, sniffing around for the corpse. "Come on, let’s go upstairs," the brunette prodded Allison gently.

Sam led her stepsister upstairs to the older girl’s room. Neither was ready to turn in just yet. The brunette remained silent, waiting for Allison to talk when she was ready.

"He was in my room. He went through my things for goodness knows how many weeks…" the blonde shivered as she rested her head against Sam’s comforting chest. "I didn’t know how much of what he told me to believe, but he apparently befriended Allen. He knew about us too." She wiped away tears as she stared at an invisible spot on the floor. "God, Sam, it was horrible. I’m so glad you and Allen are all right. I was so afraid. Mic–he… I thought he did something to you two. I don’t think I’ll be able to ride in Dino ever again. I’ll always feel his presence…"

Sam snaked her arm around the younger woman’s shoulders and squeezed her. "I understand. We’ll worry about Dino later. Do you want to talk… you know, about what he did tonight? I can’t imagine what you’re going through–"

Allison shook her head emphatically. "No. Besides, there’s not much to say. Oh, Sam, I can’t get the picture out of my mind of him looking through my dressers and stuff."

Sam kissed her companion’s forehead. "You can stay with me tonight if that helps you feel less creeped-out. Any night you want, actually. Just as long as you don’t hog the covers." She ended the offer on a light note, hoping to brighten the mood.

Allison laughed quietly. "Thank you. I’d really like that." The idea of sleeping in Sam’s strong, comfortable, and protective arms brought some relief to the blonde. "I don’t want to wake up in the middle of the night alone and think of him…"

"Shh." Sam stood and pulled Allison up with her. "You don’t have to explain."

Allison kissed Sam gently on the lips, placing her hands on the taller girl’s firm but graceful hips. "You’re a lifesaver." She flinched belatedly at her words.

"Good one," Sam whispered as she guided Allison to her bed for what promised to be a restless night.

*****

"One trip. Then it’s over. No more. I’ll ask dad for a new car and get rid of Dino. I promise. I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you." Sam put on her game face and squeezed Allison’s shoulders gently. Dino was the best vehicle in which to dispose of Mickey since Sam wanted to eliminate the spread of evidence to other cars.

"I can’t. I just can’t." Allison pleaded with her blue-eyed lover. In the light of day, she couldn’t believe what she and Sam had done and were doing. The thought of sitting in Dino, where she had sat just hours before, with Mickey’s snarling face and scratchy voice…

"Alli, please." Sam looked at her stepsister firmly, her expression leaving the blonde no choice. Sam needed her muscle power to help dispose of everything.

"Can’t I drive in the Pinto? Follow you?" Allison begged. "We need to pick it up anyway. I’ll just tell Allen that the Pinto’s been having problems lately and I want to test drive it. Besides, I don’t want him in Dino with the body." Her fretful green eyes darted to her small son playing fetch with Corny right outside of the garage.

Sam sighed. "Fine. You won’t break down in the car, will you?"

"No." Allison was resolute. "We’ll meet up at McDonald’s in the next town, eat a late lunch, get rid of the stuff in the dumpster there while Allen’s distracted, and be done with it all."

Sam raised a dark eyebrow. "Okay. Hop on in. We’ll be at the Addict in a few minutes. You won’t have to ride in Dino for long."

Allison stood immovable, shaking her head, then she took a deep breath. "All right. Come on, Allen! Let’s go!"

The boy scampered up to his sisters happily. "I like McDonald’s. Can we go to one with playground? Slides and horses? That’s Jaykupozon’s favorite place too."

The blonde patted the towhead’s shoulder mechanically. "Sure. This is your day, sweetie." At least someone gets to have fun today. A thought occurred to her and she decided to ask Allen some questions about Mickey. "Allen, you know that picture you painted of the backyard?"

The tot shook his head. "I dunno remember."

Allison sighed. Ever since Sam painted a mural in Allen’s room, the boy had gone bonkers over artwork and was painting and drawing pictures to infinity. "Sweetie, did you meet anyone after we moved here? A tall boy with brown hair, some pimple scabs? Doesn’t talk quite right?"

Allen gestured in the negative. "Nope!" he exclaimed. "Can Corny come with us to McDonald’s? Corny likes the slides! Please? Can he?"

"Let’s go. Come on." Sam joined her stepsister and stepbrother. "McDonald’s doesn’t serve dogs."

*****

Eugenie Ratzlaff barked at the nurses for the tenth time as they ignored her, going about their business.

"Now turn over, Eugenie. Let me get that bedpan."

The old woman slapped the nurse’s wrist. She thought she knew everything, just because she’d gone to some fancy nursing school and dated a hotshot doctor. "Dammit! My boy hasn’t been here in four days. Michael never misses a day. Something’s happened to him. We’re supposed to be in Florida by now! I knew that woman was bad news! She just used my Michael! I want to call the cops!" Eugenie collapsed back against the bed and wheezed.

The nurse nodded and gave the patient a sympathetic smile. Ms. Ratzlaff had been saying the same things over and over again for the last few days. If her son showed up at 8:30 instead of 8 sharp, she’d whip herself into a frenzy. "Maybe he’s just occupied. I’m sure he’ll visit you soon. Don’t get all worked up, y’all hear?" She turned on her heels and left as Eugenie’s monitors beeped and chirped.

The elderly woman’s crusted, watery eyes rolled up and rested on a spot on the ceiling. Her chest slumped as the minutes marched by without her loyal visitor to pass the time. He hadn’t stopped by in four days but already, she missed her Michael. If the boy wasn’t there the next day, she was calling that deadbeat Andrew and the cops to find him, no matter what the damn nurses thought or wanted. He was a good boy and wouldn’t have missed a visit to his mama without something serious in his way. Indeed, she already had that funny feeling in her stomach that she wouldn’t be seeing her boy anymore. Probably because of some wiles that blonde had pulled. But–Eugenie finally managed a small smile–she had a grandson. Michael’s darling little boy.

*****

Barry uncorked the glass decanter and poured an inch of amber liquid into a pristine crystal glass. He downed the alcohol in one gulp, closing his eyes and feeling the liquor burn his throat. He set the glass down noisily and wiped his mouth. After a discreet look at his locked office door, he picked up the bottle of Scotch and drank directly from it, enjoying the sensation. A loud knock rapped from the other side of the entrance. Finally, Susan’s here. He didn’t need to consult his watch to know that his wife was late to work. Again. Only Monday, and his week was shot to hell.

The business trip to Chicago was supposed to be half-business, half-fun, but when he wasn’t working or in conferences, it had been horrible. Barry had to listen to Susan’s tireless yammering about something trivial or the other.

Susan pounded on her Beauregard’s office door once more. "Yoo-hoo, Beauie! I’m here. You in there?" She shouted.

The lawyer strode across the oak-paneled office and yanked open the door. "Susan, you’re late again." He scowled at his wife but to no avail.

"Oh Beauregard! The nail polish didn’t match my outfit so I had to redo my nails. I waited for them to dry and I had to remind Samantha to record Oprah for me. She was wearing boxers this morning! Boxers!" chirped the redhead as she held up her fingernails for her hunkalove’s inspection. Beauregard’s concerns are irrelevant. After all, he’s the boss! Who cares if I’m late!

Barry sighed and pushed his wife’s proffered hands aside. "We have a new assignment for you. You’ll be working with a new lawyer for the next couple months. Maybe even longer." Someone neutral who can fire you, hopefully!

"Oh Beauie! Does that mean I’m not your secretary anymore?" Susan’s eyes narrowed and she allowed her voice to quiver a bit. She couldn’t continue to be late to work if she no longer was under Beauregard’s direct supervision.

The dark-haired man nodded and motioned for Susan to follow him down the hall. Their destination was an office at the end of the corridor. "We hired a replacement for Stephens, the guy who retired last month," he explained helpfully.

A beautiful exotic woman was busily talking on the phone but waved them in when she spotted Barry in the doorway. She spoke a few last words then hung up.

"Good morning!" she stood and greeted Barry and Susan warmly. The new lawyer in town was tall, slender, with oriental features. Her smooth toffee-colored skin complemented deep chocolate brown eyes that contrasted with her high cheekbones and full, luscious lips. A severe bun held her shoulder-length silky black hair in place.

"Morning." Barry smiled in return as he indicated his wife. "Susan, this is Helen Vierow; she transferred from the LA branch. Helen, this is Susan, my wife, who’ll be working with you. She makes a mean pot of coffee." He grinned at the introductions.

Susan nodded gamely as she studied the woman. Me working for a colored? Imagine! That simply won’t do! I’ll have to speak to Beauregard promptly about this matter. Goodness, the woman must have slept her way to the top. She offered her hand for a weak handshake, taking care not to touch Helen for too long.

Helen nodded at the overly made-up redhead, a negative first impression already forming in her head. Big, handsome, intelligent lawyer is married to this? "Nice to meet you, Ms. Cannizarro." Helen smiled at her new secretary. "I have some papers for you to Xerox. Just a minute." She turned to Barry. "Can we do lunch today? I’m booked all day but I want to go over the proposals with you before your meeting with the Lawtons tomorrow morning."

Susan whirred into possessive mode. This woman was horning in on her territory. "I’m sorry, Heidi. I’ve asked Beauregard to meet me for lunch. By the way, it’s Mrs. Cannizarro." She sidled up to Barry and gripped his arm with her gnarly fingers.

The young woman glared at Susan. "By the way, it’s Helen." She turned to the barrel-chested man. "The proposals can wait. We’ll meet early tomorrow morning."

Barry glanced back and forth between the two women. Looking at Susan, he thought of cold lettuce and bland water. Salad. He turned to Helen and his stomach grumbled. He pictured steaming plates of vegetables and meat. Chinese. Seafood. Steak. Burgers. His blue eyes quickly darted to his wife’s grumpy face. He could hear her already. "Beauregard, Allison needs more clothes. Samantha needs a haircut. Allen has a new friend whose father is a doctor and has this absolutely gorgeous brother who Allison can date. I want a new car, I want new clothes, I want more trips, I want more paintings, I want more, more, more, more."

The words turned into a drone in his ears as his line of sight retreated to Helen. From their discussions of current events, pop culture, literature, he discovered that Helen was simulating, interesting, and more importantly - not self absorbed. He knew whom he would rather spend his lunch hour with. "Susan, those proposals are important and there’s no other time for me to work on them. We’ll do lunch another time. Since you arrived late, you can go ahead and catch up on this morning’s assignments." He shoved a list in her hands. "Helen, if you don’t mind, I gave Susan a few things to do. We can take my car when we go to lunch. I’ll stop by around noon." With that, he was off on his way.

The redhead growled under her breath. She’d better watch out for this woman. It was obvious she had her eye on Beauregard. That wouldn’t do. Now she had to worry about both Allison and this Ellen woman. Her hands were full.

"Mrs. Cannizarro," Helen said. "I’d like you to make five copies of each page and bind them together like this report." The younger woman retrieved a hundred-page document from her desk and held it up for Susan.

The redhead peered at the report suspiciously. Never before while working at the law firm had she actually been requested to do actual work! "All right," she finally replied distastefully. "It’ll be ready by tomorrow morning."

Helen laughed at the comment. "Haha. That’s funny. Now, when you’re done copying, could you type up those letters? I also need you to make a few phone calls for me. Then after lunch, you can file some papers."

Susan stared, gape-mouthed. Indeed, this was an emergency! Beauregard had mercilessly shoved her into the clutches of some… dictator!

*****

"Andrew?" Eugenie’s crackly voice quavered into the phone. Her hands trembled from old age, and she barely succeeded in keeping the receiver in her liver-spotted hand.

A grunt sounded from the other end. "Whoz it?"

A smile immediately appeared on the old woman’s saggy features. It was so nice to hear her son’s voice again, even if he sounded like a caveman and never visited her. She would always love her boy, no matter what. "Oh, Andrew. It’s your mama. I’m lonely. Can you come see me?"

There was a pause and a belch. "Who? Oh yeah. I’ve got better things to do, old lady!"

Eugenie closed her eyes for a moment at Andrew’s harsh words. What had she expected? "Have you seen Michael?" she whispered. "He hasn’t visited in quite a long time."

"Michael? Oh, you mean the retard," Andrew provoked his mother. Mickey had always been her favorite child.

"He’s not a retard!" wheezed the elderly woman as the lines on her heart monitor spiked. "He’s a good little boy, Andrew. Has he been home lately?"

"Dunno." Eugenie could practically see Andrew roll his eyes and scratch his crotch as he watched some talk show or the other, a beer can in his hand. "I dunno, old woman. I don’t give a flying fuck. Try his friends Paul and Sam. Bye." With that, the line went dead as Andrew hung up the phone.

Tears threatened to spill forth from Eugenie’s eyes. Why did Andrew have to be so mean? She’d been a bad mama, but she was so much better now. Why couldn’t the boy give her a second chance? "Oh, Andrew," she murmured as she replaced the phone. What to do now? She had no idea who Paul and Sam were, and no way of contacting her Michael’s so-called girlfriend and their infant son. Time to call the police.

*****

"Uh-uh." The lanky officer who couldn’t have been one day past his high school graduation took notes sparingly. A mop of unruly brown curls disgraced his oddly spherical head and his teeth were crooked and yellow.

Eugenie knew what the cop, Carl Coonts, thought of her. Some hysterical sick old woman with no life. Nothing better to do with her time than bother the police! Well, I’ll show him!

"I have a picture of my Michael," the woman breathed with difficulty as her quivering hand opened the nightstand drawer. She extracted a picture, one of the few she had of her son at the group home, and gazed at it lovingly. It had been taken on Michael’s birthday soon after she entered the home. He had been so good, coming to visit his mama, even after the horrible job she had done raising her boys. Michael’s heart was in the right place. Thank the Lord for her grandchild or she’d be in her grave by now. The reminder of her grandson caused Eugenie to open her mouth again.

"My Michael has a little boy," she offered helpfully as the officer took the picture with barely a glance. "Just a little wee newborn baby boy. So cute. He favors his mother, but Michael said Allen has my eyes."

"Uh-uh." He stared at the old woman blankly.

"Are you going to write that down?" she prodded.

The policeman sighed as he twiddled with his pencil. "Fine."

"I don’t like you!" Eugenie exclaimed firmly, fire returning for a moment to her rheumy eyes. "If you don’t shape up right now and stand up straight, I’m calling your supervisor!"

"All right, ma’am." The officer tried to appear more attentive. "This is what you’ve told me so far. Your 19-year-old son, Michael Patrick Ratzlaff, has been missing for five days. You know this because he visits you every morning at eight. He was supposed to take you, his fiancée/wife Allison and their newborn son, Allen, to Florida last weekend. You got even more worried when he didn’t show up because he was so excited about moving to Florida. You called his brother, Andrew. Andrew didn’t know anything but gave you the names of two friends, Paul and Sam. That about it?"

"He’s a good boy! I know something awful has happened. Michael loves his mama." Eugenie implored the officer through her heavily lidded eyes.

"I know he’s a good boy. I’ll find him, ok?" Suppressing a yawn, the officer’s lukewarm promise didn’t raise Eugenie’s spirits. "I’ll go visit Andrew at the address you provided. See if he can give me more info on Paul and Sam. And I’ll be back in a few days. Michael’s probably fine. Just got a little overwhelmed, carried away." The officer smiled, knowing what probably had happened. The boy hadn’t wanted to be stuck with his mama, so he had left her behind while the family headed to Florida. A good tactic, indeed. Her medicine or whatever she took at this place would have her asleep in no time and she’d forget about it sooner or later.

Eugenie gathered up what remaining strength she had left. Her Michael had to be found! "Officer, please. I know what you think of me. But please, you’ve got to find my son. He’s all I have. All I have."

*****

Carl Coonts knew he had to do something. The old woman had been on his back all day yesterday and he’d finally admitted he hadn’t gotten around to interviewing Andrew yet. A half-hearted effort will do. He rapped at the heavily bent trailer door and waited impatiently for Andrew Ratzlaff to appear.

"Whoz it?" A gangly, pimply-faced young man with greasy brown hair, shirtless and wearing faded sweat pants answered the door. He smelled strongly of stale alcohol and his teeth hadn’t been brushed in days.

"Police." Carl showed his badge through the screened door. "You Andrew Thomas Ratzlaff?"

"Si, si." Andrew grinned. "Look, I didn’t do nothin’. Betta’s lying her ass off. I neffer stole that necklace. Didn’t sleep with her sister neither."

Carl Coonts shook his head, the screen barrier irritating him. "Mind stepping out for a moment? I’m here about your brother, Michael."

Andrew grumbled at the mention of his younger half-sibling’s name but opened the door nonetheless. "Nice day," he observed. "Damn!" he ran his grimy fingers through his unkempt hair. "Old hag called the cops, did she?"

"Yes. I’m here to do some follow-up. Have you seen Michael lately?"

"Nuh-uh." Andrew scowled as he noticed a hole in the trailer. "Gonna get all the bugs in there!" he shouted. "Fuck it all!" He turned his attention back to the officer. "Old hag’s the only one calls him Michael. Everyone else calls him Mickey. I ain’t seen him none last week. I dunno care nothing. He’s a retard prick."

"Right." Carl moistened his lips, his own brother suddenly looking much better in comparison to Andrew Ratzlaff. "He tell you anything about going to Florida? His son?"

"Ha!" Andrew snorted incredulously. "No woman in her right mind would fuck Mickey. Have a kid with him. Nah, I ain’t heard nothing about no Florida. Me and Mick, we don’t talk, comprende? He’s always bitching about my drinking and not visiting that old hag. He obsessed with the old bitch."

"All right." Carl sighed and studied his notes. "On the phone with your mother, you mentioned two friends, Paul and Sam. Do you know where I could reach them?"

Andrew groped his balls and belched loudly. "Whew." He shook his head. "What time is it? I never get up before noon. Whoo… haha."

"Paul and Sam?"

"Ya, ya. Them’s deaf friends of Mickey. School buddies or something. Pathetic, don’tcha think? Dude only had two buds. I dunno where to find ‘em." Andrew closed his eyes and let out a resounding fart. "Whoo! Good one!" He looked at the officer for confirmation.

Carl stepped back at Andrew’s sickening behavior. Poor Michael, wherever he was, having to grow up in an environment like this. Carl took out his card and handed it to the young man in front of him. "If you remember anything, here’s where you can reach me."

"Sure, sure." Andrew promptly tore the business card in half and let both pieces flap to the ground. He headed up the three steps to his trailer door and turned to face the officer one more time. "I tell ya tho. I hope he don’t come back. Good riddance!"

*****

Carl rang the doorbell/light indicator at Paul’s residence. Doing some legwork, he had located information on the region’s program for hearing-impaired children. A conversation with the coordinator and some file searching on her part had yielded the names, phone numbers, and addresses of Paul Ian Kierly and Samantha Alice Cannizarro.

A middle-aged woman with an apron tied around her waist answered the door. Strands of graying brown hair stuck out of her loosely done bun and she smelled like freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.

"Police, ma’am." Carl proffered his badge. "Is Paul here?"

The woman shook her head, not understanding the man, and pointed both of her ears. I’m deaf, she mouthed.

"Umm… right." Carl squinted his eyes.

The woman held up a finger as to say "Wait here. " She retrieved a tablet of white lined paper and a pen from the hallway stand and smiled as she jotted something. I’m Yvonne Kierly. Can I help you?

Carl took the pen and pad, read the woman’s handwriting. I’m a police officer. Need to talk to Paul.

Alarm registered in Yvonne’s eyes as she read the response. Her Paul hadn’t been in trouble for the last couple years. And now especially since he was dating Elizabeth, Paul was becoming such a good boy. About what exactly?

He’s not in trouble, Carl reassured the woman. It’s about a friend of his, Mickey Ratzlaff. He seems to be missing.

Seeing the light come on in the woman’s eyes as she read the name, Carl decided to pursue the matter. You know Mickey?

Yvonne jotted an emphatic response. Good for nothing troublemaker. But I just couldn’t stop Paul from hanging out with him. Let me get Paul. He’s in his room. Come in, sit on the couch. Yvonne indicated the seventies-style couch to the officer and mimicked drinking a glass, her eyebrows raised.

Carl gestured with his hand, declining the drink. "No, no. I’m fine. Thanks."

"Paul?" Yvonne opened her son’s bedroom door and flicked the lights. He was in animated conversation, almost resembling an argument, with his life-long friend, Sam. They got along so well, those two. Yvonne knew her son would always have unrequited romantic feelings for Sam. "There’s a police officer here to see you about Mickey. They can’t find him. You should come, Sam. He’d probably like to talk with you too."

Sam gulped, the news taking her by complete surprise. At least they didn’t show up at my house. Allison would totally freak out. Attempting to cover her hasty reaction with a nonchalant shrug, Sam grinned. "Thanks, Yvonne."

The duo got off of the bed and followed Paul’s mother down the hallway. "You ok, Sam?" Paul asked with furrowed eyebrows.

"I’m fine." Sam grinned non-commitally. Thank Gods Allison is working today and shopping with Beth Miller the Fashion Snob. They’d managed to take care of Mickey’s body and the evidence with relative ease the previous Friday. Now all they had been doing was waiting…

The officer, clearly uncomfortable, stood and shook both Sam’s and Paul’s hand. The striking young woman, dressed in rugged outdoorsy clothing, with the raven black hair and the impossibly deep blue eyes attracted his attention immediately. Yvonne hovered anxiously in the background. He reached for the notepad and wrote. I only need to see Paul.

Paul took the paper and answered. It’s about Mickey right? Sam knows him well too.

This is Samantha Cannizarro? Carl smiled with relief. Great! She was my next stop. I’ll kill two birds with one stone.

Paul held up a finger and led the policeman to the computer and feigned typing while he waited for the word processing program to open. This is faster, he typed.

Both Paul and Sam shook their heads. All right. When’s the last time you guys saw Mickey? Anyone who might know where he is?

Paul thought a moment then typed on the keyboard. I haven’t seen him much. My new gf doesn’t like him–ya know, drugs and stuff. She’s reformed me. Paul grinned as the cop chuckled. Women had that influence. So, the last time… I suppose would be probably last month when we met for a cup of coffee.

He turned the keyboard over to Sam. I don’t remember. Probably not since late December.

Little did anyone in the room suspect that Samantha Cannizarro knew precisely where the young man in question rested. Sam and Allison had managed to dispose of the body and of the evidence with minimal trouble. According to their plan, a garbage truck later that evening had picked up all the trash, including a corpse, in the massive dumpsters behind McDonald's. After eating lunch, Sam and Allison drove to a giant supermarket fifteen minutes away to throw away the evidence in the dumpsters behind the store.

Carl chewed his lip. You two know anything about a fiancée and son? Going to Florida?

Paul laughed out loud, startling the officer. Sorry. I just can’t imagine Mickey with a woman. He always bragged about his girlfriends but I’d bet he’s still a virgin.

The policeman grinned, glad that this hassle was over. He’d tell Eugenie that her kid probably just went on to Florida without her. Thanks for your help. Have a good day. Here’s my business card in case you remember anything new.

No problem. The trio showed the officer to the door and Sam and Paul retreated to his room.

Carl put his key in the ignition and remembered he’d neglected to mention the fiancée’s and the baby’s names. He grimaced, not wanting to go back in. No big deal. He probably just made them up. With that, Carl turned the key and pressed on the gas pedal. Back at the station, he closed Mickey’s file officially, but kept his name on the missing persons list. Just routine procedure. Case Closed.

"Wonder where Mickey is," Paul murmured. "Whatever happened with Allison? Remember he was crazy about her."

Sam shrugged as she thought about Allison briefly. "I don’t know. Come on, let’s get going to SportsZoneArena."

Allison wasn’t coping well with the attempted rape and Mickey’s death. Every night, Sam held the blonde in her arms as she tossed and turned in the bed. They were able to sleep together without detection, even though they were right above their parents’ bedroom. Sam hoped that once she returned to military school, Allison would be strong enough on her own. Sam suggested counseling but the younger woman flat-out refused.

Paul ribbed Sam with his elbow. "You and Allison have it going on now? Rollin’ around in the hay?"

"No!" Sam chided her friend, hoping not to seem too defensive. She wished she could tell him. "Let’s go. I have dibs on the basketball game."

Allison hadn’t been happy upon finding out that Julia Julian had figured their relationship out. She had fretted about Julia’s reliability and about never being able to look the older woman in the eye again. Sam had grinned. "Yeah. I’m still not able to look her in the eye. But I know she won’t tell."

However, Paul’s ability to keep shut was an entirely different matter.

*****

July and August came and went. Summer was almost over, and Sam and Allison settled best as they could into their normal everyday routines. Florida Senator and Mrs. Cannizarro were in town for the first time since the wedding. Susan was thrilled to hold the bash of the year at her house. The party, in the Senator’s honor, promised to be a grand affair.

Barry couldn’t believe how fast time was flying. Where had the time gone? Barry and Susan had only been married six months, and already, he was ready to throw in the towel. As a secretary, the redhead was totally undependable, inept, and ineffective. Helen Vierow was going to fire her soon, and Barry didn’t blame his colleague one bit. He’d be glad to have her out of his hair. And as a wife… he had tried to understand, he really had. She’d grown up in lousy conditions, continually belittled by her family. But that didn’t give her ample reason to accuse him of adultery every time he happened to look at a woman. What was coming next? He asked himself that question many a time. He didn’t want to find out, that was for sure. Swigging a cool can of beer as he gelled his hair for the bash he and Susan were hosting, Barry decided to give the relationship three more months. If things didn’t improve, he’d talk to her about marriage counseling.

And his daughter would be in college soon. At least she had decided on Gallaudet University, located in Washington, D.C., much closer to home than RIT.

Unbeknownst to Barry, Sam and Allison had undergone many a heated discussion about their plans after high school.

"I still don’t understand why you have to go to a local college!" Sam exclaimed for the umpteenth time. She didn’t buy Allison’s argument that she had to be around for Allen.

"Please, Sam!" Allison pleaded. "Washington is only three hours away. We’ll see each other every weekend and in the summers, vacations. More than half of the year! Which is much more than when you’re in military school, actually. And I love this area and need to save money by living at home! And Allen needs me to balance out my mother."

Allison was crazy about the kid and Sam could see her point. Susan was a bitch. "Fine," the brunette grumbled. They wouldn’t actually be attending college for another year, and the blonde had plenty of time to change her mind. Sam was head over heels in love, and the possibility that their relationship might not survive the years after high school never entered her mind.

Allison wasn’t as optimistic. She’d had too many rude surprises and pitfalls in her life. Bob and Mickey, Allen. Her father Phillip, and Susan. She was truly happy with Sam and loved her, but the love she felt for the older girl wasn’t as free and encompassing as Sam’s love for her. Her son came first. If Allen was happy and well, then she could be with Sam. By summer’s end, Mickey’s ghastly death was a constant reminder in the back of her head, and Allison hoped that in time, he would be nothing but a distant and unpleasant memory. Sam was wonderful. She was kind and understanding about taking the physical aspect of their relationship slow.

Meanwhile, from Susan’s perspective, the summer had been a horrible, dreadful mess. That Eileen woman ran her ragged and was such a tyrant and a stickler for details. Who cared if she took a two-hour lunch break instead of a one-hour lunch break? Honestly!

Susan could sense Allison Alexandra and Heidi readying for a seizure of her Beauregard. In addition, she could tell that Julia Julian, that despicable Norene’s horrible sister, had her eye on Beauie-poo as well. Her plan, Bun in Oven, was failing miserably so far. And that mongrel Corny was smelly and all the drool from his pink tongue absolutely nauseated her. Allen was too noisy and annoying and worst of all, Allison Alexandra wasn’t shaking to her potential. She’d only dated a few boys here and there, which terribly upset her mother. And that Samantha was as masculine as ever! The redhead had tried to cajole Beauregard into letting her add some feminine touches to his daughter, but he wasn’t budging. At least Beauregard’s parents, especially his mother, saw the light and agreed with her on virtually all points.

Bash night, the Saturday before Labor Day, arrived admist heavy planning. Susan was running around like a chicken with its head cut off. All the players in town and even beyond would be there! The mayor, a few local Congressmen and state Senators, distinguished lawyers and doctors, the boards of the country, garden, and ladies’ clubs. If only she could waggle her tongue in her parents’ faces and say: "See what I’ve done here!"

Susan had ensnared the perfect date for Allison Alexandra. His name was Brock White. He was a sophomore at Harvard, the son of the owner of the local professional hockey team. He was tall, muscular, debonair, with a rippling tanned chest, crinkly brown eyes, and a smile to die for. Samantha, on the other hand, was getting to be a bit of a problem. She insisted on wearing a shirt and tie instead of lovely dressy attire like all proper ladies do. Moreover, Samantha wasn’t interested in bringing a date, saying in that sign language gibberish or writing on a paper that Allen would do just fine. Honestly! Beauregard had finally convinced his daughter to wear a gown, handpicked by Susan, in exchange for a new Bronco. That just made matters worse in Susan’s opinion. What was the point in discarding Dinosaur and purchasing an equally masculine vehicle for only a thousand dollars more? What had been wrong with her suggestion of a cute little brand-new VW Beetle?

*****

Allison and Sam were in Sam’s room thirty minutes before the party was scheduled to begin. The blonde openly drooled over her stepsister. Sam’s shimmering red dress set off the svelte curves of her smooth upper body and enticing thighs. Her black hair, reaching to her shoulders, was casually styled, giving it that chic look. "Well?" Sam twirled around, enjoying Allison’s reaction.

"You’re beautiful," she finally uttered. "Ohh… I wish you could be my date. I’d show you off to everyone."

"No one said I couldn’t be your date," Sam replied. "I’m more than willing."

Allison shook her head in the negative, as Sam knew she would. "Promise you won’t do anything with Brock?" she teased, brushing the tip of Allison’s nose gently.

The blonde captured Sam’s lips for a deep and intimate kiss that lasted several minutes. As Allison reapplied her makeup afterwards, the brunette studied her stepsister with obvious desire. Allison would turn every head in the room tonight. Her black, strapless dress was a tease and ended mid-thigh. Allison’s hair, pulled into French twist, revealed the nape of her neck. Sam had to control herself from jumping Allison right then and there.

She turned to the taller girl. "All done."

"Mmm." Sam hugged Allison, placing her hands on the shorter girl’s lithe posterior and squeezing it. She nuzzled Allison’s neck, her hands soon finding their way inside the blonde’s dress and onto her supple yet firm breasts. Allison moaned softly as Sam caressed her erect nipples. She’d never allowed Sam to explore her body this far before, and it felt so good.

The blonde, suddenly overwhelmed with lust and passion, ran her hands down Sam’s hips and under the bottom of her dress. She slipped her fingers into Sam’s underwear and for the first time, felt the bare skin of her lover’s butt against her own trembling hands.

Urgently, Sam pressed her lips against Allison’s, forcing her mouth to allow her tongue entry, then her lips traveled downward to the blonde’s chest. Their bodies were so close together and so attuned that they could feel the other’s heartbeat.

"Young ladies!" Susan shrilled from downstairs. "Get down here for the pre-bash inspection!" The light in Sam’s room flickered wildly as the redhead made her desires known. "Ohhh! Allison Alexandra, Brock White just rang the doorbell! You better be presentable!"

The brunette shook her head and continued to savor the upper portions of Allison’s breasts. "Forget about her."

The blonde was loathe to let go, but knew a party was starting in twenty minutes. If she didn’t stop Sam, they would be interrupted rudely in the midst of making love. Besides, Allison had promised herself long ago not to have sex again until her wedding night. "Sam," she said, her eyes downcast. "Later. We really need to go downstairs."

"Mmm." The taller girl sighed. "Later. Okay." She adjusted Allison’s dress and hair for her, and the blonde did the same for Sam in return.

In a way, Allison was grateful that Susan had interrupted. The look of hunger and covetousness in Sam’s eyes was so much like Mickey’s. His face, snarling and rabid, was etched in her mind and had the misfortune to pop up at the worst times.

*****

Susan felt like crying. The party was blazing full-scale, but it wasn’t progressing like she had imagined. No one was awed by the two sets of Cannizarros. Sure, the Senator and his wife laughed and socialized amicably, but Beauregard was always flitting off and talking with this person and that, as if he didn’t want to be with the redhead. And, as Susan noted with a distrustful gray eye, her husband was spending an inordinate amount of time chatting up that Hannah Voo-doo woman. Honestly! And Julia Julian and Allison Alexandra were practically draping themselves over Beauregard.

She reflected upon the time she’d spent studying the dictionary. She needed to tell Julia in no uncertain terms to keep her filthy paws off Beauregard. Obscuring the scowl on her craggy features, Susan glided up to Julia, who was alone at the bar. Sam’s aunt was breathtaking and stunning tonight, her trim figure accentuated by her simple black dress and pearls. Susan was also breathtaking and stunning, but for different reasons. Her tight dress did nothing to positively accentuate her womanly curves. In addition, Susan’s gaudy and flashy jewelry acted as a neon sign of sorts, blinking "VULGAR! NO FASHION SENSE!"

"Julia!" Susan simpered with an obviously insincere smile. She hadn’t wanted to invite the Julians but they were important contributors to the Senator and had many political connections. "I see you’re unoccupied at the moment. May we retreat to the adjoining facilities for a brief dialogue?"

Julia raised an eyebrow. If Barry’s wife was using fancy language to cover up her uneducated background, she wasn’t succeeding. "How about a monologue? I’ll stay here," Julia rejoined with an equally insincere smirk on her features.

Susan harrumphed. She didn’t know what monologue meant, but she could tell right away that Julia was subtly insulting her. "Absolutely not. Come." With a haughty flip of her head, the redhead led Julia into the guest bathroom. She locked the door behind them and spent several minutes preening her clothes and fussing over her hair and makeup. She was so beautiful. Standing next to her was Norene’s nearly identical older sister, with bags under her eyes and graying hair. Honestly, how did Julio manage with such a drab wife?

"Well?" Julia looked at her watch pointedly. "I’m waiting. Surely, you didn’t drag me in here just to have me observe you put on makeup. Although, I admit, you certainly need more than a few beauty and fashion tips."

Susan faced the taller woman disdainfully. "You know exactly why you’re in here. You’re attempting to seduce my Beauregard. My husband." Susan poked Julia’s chest with a hard finger and continued. "Well, let me tell you something, missy… it ain’t gonna happen." The redhead snapped her fingers and gestured emphatically, one hand on her hip. "Got it?"

Julia recoiled at the woman’s boorishness. Susan seemed to become nastier and nastier by the day. She narrowed her eyes, in a fashion much like her niece’s. "First of all," she said calmly, "I pity you. So insecure. I never have to worry about Julio straying. We trust each other. He’s a wonderful man, and we are completely happy with each other. And second of all, I’m surprised Barry hasn’t cheated on you yet. Your ‘makeup’ and ‘fancy hair-do’s’," Julia punctuated the air with imaginary quotes, "do nothing to conceal your ugly, loathsome personality. Get a life, Susan. Get a life!"

Susan gasped and shifted into attack mode. "Oh, you think you’re Miss Thing, don’t you? Well, let me tell you something. I was runner-up in the Miss Arkansas state pageant in my heyday."

Julia cocked an eyebrow, recognizing Susan’s flawed and irrelevant logic. But she had the perfect repartee. "Is that right?" the taller woman said. "I just happen to be a third-place contestant, Miss America."

Susan’s harsh gray eyes widened and she stammered for a moment, unable to respond to the horrible woman’s taunts. "Well–" she fumbled. "I’m younger. So there!" She studied Julia with contempt.

"Congratulations." Susan’s harangue was annoying Julia. "It’s just too bad you look much older than you are, yet act so immaturely. Even your four-year-old son and Corny have better manners. Ta-ta!" Julia waved gaily and pranced out of the bathroom, knowing Susan had lost her so-called "dialogue."

Susan stayed in the bathroom for a few more minutes, collecting herself after Julia’s dreadful and appalling treatment. Why ever had Julia felt the need to shout such horrible untruths? After she was composed, she exited the bathroom, her head held high. Damn woman better not have spread a pack of lies around the room. Susan stopped as she watched Allison Alexandra dancing with Beauregard, grinding her pelvis into his unmentionables. And Brock White, the young man who was supposed to distract her harlot of a daughter from Beauregard, was whirling around the room in an intimate embrace with Julia. Julio Julian was dancing with Mrs. Sofia Cannizarro while the Senator schmoozed potential donors for his next campaign. Susan growled. They had a conspiracy against her, the lot of them! Whatever had she done to deserve this? Even that lawyer woman boss of hers was in it too.

"Cool!" Allen enthused as Helen Vierow, Attorney-at-Law, opened her fisted hand to reveal a quarter. "How did it get there from your shoe?"

Helen grinned. "Magic. Hey, want to see another one?"

"Yeah!" Allen exclaimed. "Ever since Jaykupozon doesn’t visit anymore, I don’t see many magic tricks." His lips curved downward.

"Aww. Sorry to hear that." Helen took in the little boy’s innocent cuteness. She’d love to have a son just like him someday. She rummaged around in her purse for a ribbon, the prop for the next trick. "Who’s that? A friend of yours?"

The boy smiled happily. "He’s from outer space. He came to learn about people. But I think maybe he went away without saying bye-bye." Allen shrugged. "I had fun playing with him."

"Ahh." Helen nodded knowledgeably then performed the next trick for her audience of one.

A second onlooker joined them in mid-trick. Sam glanced at the magician, acknowledging her shyly as she whistled mentally. The woman, a bit taller than Allison, was magnificent and sexy. She wore a long ivory dress with a slit traversing the length of her right leg, stopping mid-thigh, exposing her shapely asset. Sam’s eyes roamed the other woman’s body, appreciating a piece of beauty. The brunette clapped, a small grin playing around her eyes, as Helen concluded the trick with a grand flourish.

Helen, a grin on her face, studied the young woman: slim, exquisite features, incredible blue eyes. This must be Barry’s daughter. She looks just like him. Tall, dark, gorgeous. Shivers went up Helen’s spine as she met Sam’s eyes.

The brunette smiled as she took Allen’s hand. The boy signed enthusiastically to Sam. "Helen’s cool! She can do magic tricks!"

Sam smiled awkwardly at Helen. Gods, how she hated being deaf. It made her a social nincompoop.

That’s right, she can’t hear. Helen remembered suddenly. She knew seven languages, and had picked up finger spelling easily a few years ago. She beckoned Sam closer, motioning for her not to leave. She found an ATM receipt slip in her purse and wrote on it quickly with a pencil. Hi! My name’s Helen. I work with your dad. Nice to meet you.

Sam perused the note quickly and wrote a brief reply. Her father was lucky to lay his eyes on her daily. Thanks. Nice to meet u too. Mind if I steal my date for a few minutes?

Helen laughed and spoke normally, clearly, at Sam. "Sorry. I didn’t know. Sure, go on." She added on the paper: My date’s probably watching a game on TV in the rec room.

Sam grinned. Have a nice evening. She took Allen’s hand and led him to the food bar. "I needed an excuse to go back for thirds," she winked at the boy as she heaped delicious desserts upon her plate.

She saw her father standing at the bar, in animated conversation with Julia, Julio, and her grandparents. Barry sipped from a small third glass of wine. Susan lingered unhappily at the fringes of the circle of adults. Serves her right, Sam thought as she and Allen sat down with Allison and Brock.

"Hey. Gimme five." Brock held up a hand for Allen, who obeyed. He studied his date’s stepsister brazenly. She was a damn hot piece.

Allen munched on his cookies as he talked and signed. "I miss Jaykupozon. Helen’s tricks were good but Jaykupozon was better."

Brock grinned. "That’s your imaginary alien friend, right? Whoo hoo… I’m from outer space, yeow!" He wiggled his fingers. Allison interpreted Brock’s comments for her deaf companion.

Allen studied the Ivy League student reproachfully. "Don’t make fun of aliens. Sammy’s an alien!" he indicated his stepsister affirmatively. "Al thinks she’s one too, but she’s really a girl."

Sam tilted her head in acknowledgement as Allison blushed slightly.

"Wow!" Brock played along. "How long since you last seen Jaykupozon?" Furtively, under the table, he slid his shoe off and rubbed his foot against Sam’s thigh.

Sam jerked in shock. That foot certainly wasn’t Allison’s. It was too big and rough, nothing like her girlfriend’s small and delicate foot. She glared at Brock and signed accusingly at Allison. "Brock just made a move on me!"

The blonde sighed as her twinges of jealousy grew. Brock had been gaping at Sam all night. Allison wished she could stand up on the bar and announce to the world that this beautiful young woman was her lover. Everyone else be damned. "Brock?" the green-eyed girl raised her eyebrows at her preppy date. He was the sort used to getting away with everything.

He feigned ignorance and shrugged. "Accident."

"Right." Allison scowled at him and turned to Allen. A discovery was on the tip of her tongue. It was there, so obvious. But she couldn’t place her finger on it. "Jaykupozon went away a few days after we got back from the beach?" Suddenly, the pieces fell in place. She had been so blind, so stupid.

Allen nodded in the positive. "He was cool to play with. And he wasn’t imaginary no matter what people say!" He thrust his chin forth stubbornly, a glob of chocolate smeared on his cheek.

Allison forced herself to breathe calmly as she met Sam’s shrewd eyes. The brunette realized it too. Mickey had posed as Jaykupozon. "Excuse me." She grinned weakly and darted for the bathroom before she threw up on the table.

"Be right back. I’m gonna see if Al’s okay," Sam signed to Allen and left the group as well. She followed the distressed Allison to the bathroom, locking the door behind them. The exodus passed unnoticed by everyone else in the room, except Julia Julian, who watched discreetly with a critical eye.

"Oh, Sam!" Allison threw her arms around the taller girl. "All this time, can you imagine what Mic–he–must have been doing in the house? With Allen? Oh my God! I’m so stupid. I should have known… thank goodness he didn’t hurt Allen!"

The brunette held her stepsister, yet again ruing the day that she’d met Mickey Ratzlaff. She thought back to all the times Allen had mentioned Jaykupozon–we played with my trucks today…sometimes Jaykupozon sleeps with me at night…Corny doesn’t like Jaykupozon.

Allison seemed to read Sam’s mind. "He must have been the one that got rid of Corny." She shuddered. "Thank goodness Corny came back safe and sound. He’s been through Allen’s stuff. He’s played with Allen! He gained Allen’s trust!"

"Honey…" Sam inclined Allison’s chin tenderly and kissed her on the mouth. Just great, right before I go back to mil school. She forced the blonde to listen to what she had to say. "Honey, Allen’s fine. He’ll forget about Jaykupozon sooner or later. Look…" she sighed.

The shorter girl shook her head and blew her nose. "I’m sorry. I seem to be apologizing a lot lately, don’t I?" She chuckled wryly. "I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. Just the thought, you know…"

"Yes." Sam kissed her stepsister again. "Come on. I know what’ll cheer you up."

"No!" Allison yelped and hid behind the shower curtain but her efforts were not worthy, as Sam immediately located the blonde and tickled her.

Julia observed the duo returning to the party after ten minutes in the bathroom. They were both grinning ear-to-ear, their faces flushed, and in much better spirits. Guess they made up. Seeing the two together made her yearn for Julio. "Come on, babe. Let’s dance." She grabbed Julio’s hand and put her head against his chest for a slow waltz. Ahh, indeed. Life was good.

*****

Eugenie Ratzlaff managed to hold on until the end of September. She knew Michael wouldn’t have gone on to Florida without her. That Carl Coonts was an idiot, but when she complained to his boss, the supervisor defended the investigation. Florida authorities had been contacted, but they could not shine any light upon her son’s or her grandson’s whereabouts. She wished she could haul herself out of bed and find Michael herself. Andrew wouldn’t visit, either. Eugenie’s heart broke every time she thought of her son living in that dank trailer alone, without a father, without anyone to love him.

The nurses were shocked by their patient’s transformation. Gone was the woman with the clear voice, the lofty dreams, the woman who spoke one day of living in bliss with her sons and grandchildren. In that woman’s place, ever since Michael’s disappearance, was a mere shell with decaying skin and brittle hair. Eugenie had withered into a small heap of bones. One day she didn’t wake up. The nurse pulled a white bed sheet over the dead patient’s head, noting the smile and peaceful expression on her face.

Her Michael had come last night.

Eugenie lay in bed, her will to live finally gone. Her son was dead, and her grandson was out there somewhere, never to be found by her. She barely blinked an eye when the nurse turned off the TV and bade a good night. The elderly woman drifted off to sleep, and then he had been there. His sparkling brown eyes, his eager gait. He held a baby in his arms, a little blond boy with the most beautiful green eyes.

Eugenie grinned happily, tears streaming down her face, as she took her son and then her grandson in her arms. "I was so worried!" she whispered, caressing the baby’s smooth angelic face.

"Don’t worry anymore, mama," Mickey said. "Come on, let’s go."

"To Florida?" Eugenie inquired.

Mickey winked as he took his mother’s hand. "To Florida."

As always, e-mails are welcome at sarkel_bard@yahoo.com