Heather welcomed the slow return to lucidity which accompanied her waning hours at Laura Bendon's house every other Sunday evening. The jeans and shirt felt strange at first, as did the underwear beneath. In her twilight state between slavery and freedom, she felt lingering shame that she was not dressed as her Mistress would have liked.

"Are you quite done?" came Laura's sharp voice at the door.

Heather spun away from the mirror. Her eyes shimmered, and for a second time she almost begged her Mistress to keep her. As she stood before Laura, more of the icy tendrils of control eased, and she let out a shaky breath as the urge passed. "Yes, I'm dressed," Heather said in a flat voice. Her lips remained parted after the last syllable, and they trembled with the need to follow with the word "Mistress." She slowly closed her mouth instead. "I-I'm ready to head home."

"And you can still call that a home?"

Heather hated discussions like this, while enslaved or otherwise. She wanted to remain silent, but the need for continued obedience compelled her to respond. "I want to see my sister."

"I've already told you of a way you can see her all the time."

Heather tried to think of her sister's welfare as a means to push back the Dark presence in her mind. A sly smile touched Laura's lips as it surged forward instead. She shivered when her pussy tingled, and her legs trembled with the desire to kneel before her Mistress.

"Don't ever think you can escape, slave," Laura said in a silky voice, Heather's pussy aching in response. "I'll be a constant presence in your mind. You'll always be thinking about what you could do to please me."

Heather clung to her uncorrupted core like a boat to an anchor, the tempest of Laura's power trying to carry her along its crashing waves. They did not rise as high nor tossed her as hard, as if Laura were tiring of the struggle.

Laura uttered a small sigh as if to prove Heather's speculation, even as her lips curled into a sly smile. "You don't believe me, of course. In that case, I would like you to have this."

Heather gave her Mistress a quizzical look as Laura reached into the pocket of her robe and withdrew something black. Heather's eyes widened when the object was brought into the light, and she nearly recoiled.

"Take it," Laura said.

Heather took a tentative half-step forward but would not lift her hand. She stared at the crotch of the panties, the short and squat dildo thrust upward like a perverted monolith.

"I said take it, slave," Laura said in a warning tone.

Heather swallowed and grasped the panties. A rush of heat wrapped itself around her. She shook her head as an image of a helpless and writhing Melinda flitted through her mind.

"Yes, I know," said Laura in a flat voice. "You somehow rejected the idea when you should have begged me for the opportunity."

Heather thrust the panties back at Laura. "I-I'm not going to do it," she said, her voice shaky from the effort. Already she craved her Mistress' punishment for her disobedience. Only the thought of her sister's safety stopped her.

Laura coaxed Heather's fingers into curling around the panties and gently pushed it back. Heather shuddered as the enchanted sex toy was pressed to her bosom.

"You will keep it with you at all times," Laura purred. "And you will think about how much it would please me to use it on your little sister."

Heather stared at the item and willed her hand to let it fall to the floor. Instead, it guided her hand to her pocket, as if it somehow had a mind of its own. Another few seconds passed before she could let go of it.

She let out a sigh like a balloon deflating. She felt drained, as if she had just fought against something trying to steal more of her mind.

"I'm not sure who is helping you or how," Laura said. "But it cannot help you every minute of every day. You'll want to obey my wishes eventually."

Heather staggered as her head cleared, the rush of warmth into her mind almost as overwhelming as the icy chill of Laura's power had been. She placed a hand over the bulge in her pocket and vowed never to use it. It would remain hidden and untouched until the evening she returned to Laura's house.

The faint sound of a car approached the house and stopped, followed by the blare of a horn. Laura looked at her watch and sneered. "Your mother is ten minutes earlier than last time. I'll have to have a chat with her about that." Laura smiled. "You remember her, don't you? The one who sold you into a life of sexual slavery?"

Heather could think of no one she wanted more to see. She clung to the thought that Laura could say anything she wanted to further her own agenda despite the rush of guilt at the idea of doubting her Mistress.

The horn sounded again, longer this time.

Laura stepped to the side and swept her arm down the stairs. "Go. But do ask your mother how Melinda has been treated while you were gone. I'm sure she's found all sorts of interesting things for Melinda to do."

Heather hesitated for another second before she bounded down the stairs, fleeing before she could heed the voices in her head whispering with sultry abandon for her to stay.

Richie gripped Cathy's waist as she bounced in his lap, her ass slapping against his thighs, his cock spearing her tight tunnel. She panted almost in time to the noise, which elicited a smirk from Richie.

"Shit, you're really horny tonight, huh?" Richie said.

"Oh God ... yes, Richie ... so horny ... oh God don't stop ..." Cathy moaned.

"Stop? You're doing all the work. Guess your pre-dinner fuck wasn't enough."

Cathy panted harder, Richie's fingers curling tighter as she stepped up the pace. "Uhng ... I could do this ... all night ..."

Richie's breath quickened only slightly. He focused all his will into holding himself back, wanting to extend her pleasure as long as possible.

Multiple orgasms in quick succession is a wonderful way to weaken her will. You'd slip into her head so easily after that.

Richie clenched his teeth but otherwise did not react. It had been goading him ever since he had given in to Cathy's advances. It would not work; he had a higher directive.

(Don't be a dick)

Cathy leaned forward, her breasts swinging with each slap of her body against his. He removed his hands from her hips long enough to play with them until she shivered and moaned, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

Richie panted as his pleasure escalated beyond his ability to control. His aching cock speared her hard and fast, her moisture oozing down his balls. He loved the faint tickle they left against the sensitized flesh.

Cathy had not bothered to dress for dinner. She had remained naked through the meal, squirming as if she had not even noticed the two orgasms she had by his cock before dinner. Richie was tempted to enter her mind just long enough to plant the idea that she liked to be naked all the time.

Temptation was as far as it went.

(Don't be a dick)

Cathy was not his slave and would never be. Whatever she did was at the Darkness' bidding, and he was simply the recipient of her affections.

How do you know you haven't already enslaved her?

Richie wanted to laugh. He knew far more about what it felt like to control someone than he thought the Darkness would ever realize. He knew the exultation of leaving nothing to chance and the triumph of having the ultimate predictability in his life.

"Oh God!" Cathy cried. "I'm gonna cum ... oh God! ... Ohhhh! Uhhng! ... F-fuck ... keep fucking ... yes, please ... make me cum like that again ..."

Richie grasped her hips, slamming her down atop him with each thrust as his pleasure approached its peak, his muscles already straining in anticipation. He held himself back as long as he could stand, even as he felt the writhing tendrils of Dark power sliding across the surface of his mind, their icy touch leaving an almost tangible glaze.

He sensed Cathy rocketing towards another climax. She gasped and trembled, every muscle tensing. When she let go, he knew it would be mind-blowing, or could be if he let it; if he let her will leak out her ears as she throbbed; if he slid down the channel of their shared lust and emptied her head of all other concerns.

(Don't be a dick)

Richie threw his head back and clamped down on his thoughts, letting himself ride the orgasmic wave. Cathy squealed, and his thighs dripped from a short burst of fluid from her throbbing pussy. His cock pulsed inside her tight cunt, some of his seed tricking out and down his balls.

By the time his eyes opened, the moment had passed, and he let out a long sigh as his orgasm waned. Cathy ground her hips against him as if needing more, her eyes half-lidded and dazed. Still staring at him with sultry, wanting eyes, she slid to the floor. She took his flagging cock into her eager mouth and sucked a few last lingering drops before licking him clean.

Richie heard a moan and a wet noise next to him on the sofa. He turned his head to see his mother with her hand thrust down her panties, moaning and writhing.

"Shit, Mom, you spent your whole freakin' day with cocks stuck up your twat," Richie said.

"I-I can't help it," Sandra moaned in a shaky voice. "I love watching my son fuck."

"Mmmm," Cathy murmured as she drew back, his cock leaving her lips with a faint smack. "He's so good at it, too," she cooed, massaging his balls.

Richie aborted his smile, his lips twitching into a facsimile of one.

(Don't be a dick)

Cassie had given him leave to fuck his cousin, not take some perverse liking to it. He had likely said too much during their tryst. Maybe if he did not betray any enjoyment and relegated it to a chore or a duty, it would reduce whatever trauma she suffered later if the Darkness let her go.

Sandra moaned and spread her legs as she fingered herself. "Mmm, Richie, please," she breathed. "Give me some cock before you go to bed. You've got me so horny again."

Richie sighed and watched her Aura churn. "Yeah, fine, but you gotta let me recover a bit."

Sandra smiled and slid closer to her son. She withdrew her glistening fingers from her sex and caressed his soft cock, drawing slick moisture around his shaft. "Oh, I can get you back up real fast, Richie," she purred.

Richie's hands clenched into fists. He had not asked Cassie if this were okay. But wasn't this the same thing? If he refused, the Darkness would just let her masturbate herself senseless and never let her cum.

(Don't be a dick)

I'm not! Richie cried. I'm not being a--

He clamped down on his thought, but curiosity brushed the edge of his perception. Not being a what, Richie, hmm?

Richie clenched his jaw and thought of nothing. He focused his attention on his mother, her gorgeous plump tits, her nice rounded ass, her skilled fingers pumping his now slowly hardening cock.

"Yes, that's my boy," Sandra cooed. "Always ready to give his mother a nice fuck."

Richie let out a husky sigh as his cock expanded. His balls ached in protest, but it did nothing to stop his recovering erection. Her fingers wrapped about his now hard member and gave it several slow strokes. Cathy settled back on her feet, watching with rapt interest and sultry eyes.

"Come upstairs with me," Sandra whispered in Richie's ear as she snuggled her bosom against his arm.

Richie swallowed as his mother's fingers worked his cock in a slow tease, the pad of her thumb swirling slowly against the spot just under the head. Richie quivered and writhed. "No, we stay down here," he moaned.

"It's more comfortable upstairs. We can--"

"No. Down here or nowhere."

Sandra paused. Her grip on his cock loosened. "I could just stop and--"

"And you get no cock in your twat tonight."

Sandra hesitated again, then let out a small sigh and resumed stroking him. "All right, Richie," she said in a subdued voice.

Richie felt the Darkness was somehow stronger in the master bedroom, as if it had latched on to that room as its anchor. The more distant he remained, the less it could affect him. He knew he had none of Jason's fancy logic behind it, and he was likely wrong, but the bedroom was tied too much to the awful past which had led them to this nightmare present.

Sandra slid off the sofa and onto her knees. She pulled off her top and crawled between Richie's legs, lifting her lust-filled eyes to his. Richie looked back in what he had hoped was the attitude that he could care less what she did. Still gazing at his face as if daring it to maintain its stoic look, she took his cock into her mouth, massaging it with her tongue, her cheeks dimpling as she drew her mouth back in a hard, slow suck.

A rush of hot breath passed between Richie's parted lips, his fingers curling into the edge of the cushion. He heard a slide of cloth and tilted his head to see Cathy helping Sandra remove the rest of her clothes. Sandra let Richie drop from her mouth to cast off the jeans and panties, then enveloped his cock in soft boob-flesh.

Richie never got tired of that, nor did he mind when Sandra spread her knees apart as Cathy reached between them, sinking her fingers into his mother's soaked slit.

(Don't be a dick)

Richie swallowed and forced his face to a mask of stone. This was a duty. This was a necessity. This was the lesser of two evils. If he thought it long and hard enough, he was sure he could convince himself.

Diane lay on her side on the bed, staring at the phone. The lamp was on its lowest setting, the lighting as subdued as her optimism. Diane wanted to call Heather, as she should be home by now, despite knowing full well that she was often a little out of it for a few hours after her release.

Diane tensed and let her frustrations out as a slow sigh. That was all the emotional response she would allow, lest she open the floodgates and cry all evening until she went to bed. Her abortive attempts to call finally ended in a fast-busy when she hesitated too long with her finger hovering over the speed dial. She hung up and flopped onto her back, staring up at the ceiling.

Diane had felt Heather take some of the energy she had channeled, but she had no idea if it had had any effect. Success was as much a fear as failure. What if she had helped Heather disobey an order and earn a severe punishment? What if Heather had not been allowed to go home?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a floorboard squeak. She glanced towards the open door as she grabbed the magazine at her side and held it as if she were reading it. Her mother appeared at the threshold a second later. "Diane, can I talk to you, please?"

From the tone of voice and the way her mother had already stepped into the room, Diane knew there was only one right answer. She sat up and set the magazine aside. "Um, sure. What is it?"

Janet glanced about the room. She flicked the switch on the lamp to its brightest setting. "First off, if you're going to read, don't strain your eyes trying to do it in the dark."

"Sorry, mother," Diane said in a tight voice.

Janet sat at the edge of her daughter's bed and tilted her head slightly. "Diane, are you all right?"

"What? Yes, of course I am."

"You've been a little distant the last few days. Is everything okay with Heather?"

Diane honestly did not know, but she could not tell her mother that. "I ... yes, I suppose so. I'll see her in school tomorrow."

Janet paused, her mouth twitching as if in several abortive attempts to speak. "Is tonight ... is tonight when she's returned home?"

Diane's eyes widened slightly. "Well, yes, but how did you--?"

"Just thinking back to how you've acted towards the evening every other Sunday."

God, am I that obvious? Diane thought.

"Are you worried about her?"

Diane drew her knees towards her chest. "I guess I am, a little bit. I mean ... not ... not that anything bad happens to her while she's there."

Janet gave her daughter a speculative look which Diane was unsure how to interpret. Diane was still surprised she had managed to speak such a blatant lie without her voice becoming unsteady. From the way her mother looked at her, however, she doubted she had been very convincing.

"Um ... is that all you wanted from me, mother?" Diane asked, trying not to sound like she wanted her mother to leave (and failing).

"No, that's not what I came up here for, I just happened to think about it. I wanted to know if you considered inviting Heather over for dinner one night."

Diane drew her knees closer, wrapping her arms around them. "What? Dinner? Over here?"

Janet smiled and brushed a stray strand of hair from her daughter's eyes. "Yes, honey, right here. We do have only one house."

Diane blushed, and her lips twitched into a tiny smile. "Why do you want her over? I mean, not that there's anything wrong with it."

"Because she seems to be a very important part of your life, and your father and I would like to meet her." Janet paused and took Diane's hand. "It's the same thing I would do if you had a boyfriend you were so close to."

Diane's smile widened. That sort of acceptance meant more than words. She thought she heard an undertone of anxiety, as if it were her mother who was worried more. "I really appreciate that, thank you."

Janet squeezed her hand. "So will you invite her?"

"Um ... sure, I'll ask her."

"I'd like her to come over this week." Janet paused. "Since next week she'll be back with Ms. Bendon. So could you ask her tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? But--"

"Wednesday or Thursday would be best."

Diane saw and heard an urgency to her mother's request. "This is very important to you, isn't it?"

Janet paused, her eyes taking on a faraway look for a moment. "Yes," she said in a low voice.

"Why?"

Her mother looked taken aback, as if not expecting to be questioned. Diane was no less surprised to have heard it come from her own mouth. She was a split second from withdrawing it when her mother spoke. "I'm worried about her as well." Her eyes glistened. "I can't tell you exactly why. I'm sorry."

Diane wanted to press on. What exactly did her mother know? What did her mother remember of the incident with Laura Bendon? Diane aborted the idea when her mother averted her eyes rather than be subjected to her daughter's stare.

Janet stood and turned away. "It has nothing to do with your relationship with her. I want to make sure you're clear on that."

"Yes, mother, it's okay. I never thought it was that."

Diane actually would like Heather over for dinner, but worried that the conversation would turn to the subject of their principal. Did her mother suspect the truth and simply wanted to grill Heather herself? Would she stop Diane from seeing Heather to protect her from Laura's influence?

Janet headed for the door but stopped at the threshold. She let go her breath as a slow sigh, as alarming to Diane as yelling would have been. "And I don't want you acting any differently towards her than you normally would."

"I'm sorry? I don't understand."

Janet turned towards her daughter. "If you had a boyfriend over, I'd expect a little, well, open affection. I don't want you to feel like you have to suppress it just because your lover happens to be female."

Diane's eyes widened.

"Naturally I wouldn't expect it to get explicit," Janet said, her voice quavering. "Just ..."

"No, I get it, mother. I ... well ... o-okay, I'll keep that in mind." Diane had no other coherent response; that was the best she could devise.

Her mother paused, as if the moment had become awkward for her as well. She smiled faintly and backed towards the door. "I'll try to remind you tomorrow morning before you head off to school."

"Okay, mother," Diane said, nodding.

"I'm looking forward to meeting her," Janet said in a more relaxed voice. "Your father is, too. Just please forgive him for being a little more awkward about this."

Diane nodded and wondered how much her mother had told him of Laura.

"Good night, Diane."

"Good night, mother."

Diane watched her mother leave. She had hoped the movement of the line would serve to isolate her mother from the dangerous knowledge of Haven; now her mother seemed intent on discovering it for herself.

Melinda sighed and fell on the edge of her bed, her breasts bouncing under her shirt and sweater. "Shit, listen to me, I sound like a whiny brat. You don't want to hear me complaining all night."

"Melinda, I've already told you, I want to hear it," Heather said in an earnest voice. "I feel so cut off when I'm at Mi ... when I'm over there."

Melinda rolled her eyes. "Forget what I said before. If you have to call her 'mistress' all the time, fine. I'll deal."

"I wish I didn't have to call her that, either."

Melinda shook her head. "No, you don't."

Heather frowned. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I didn't mean that you want to be her slave, just ... just that you don't not want it now. Look, never mind, it's not important, I just--"

"Well, yeah, it's important. I thought I was doing better this time around, especially after whatever Diane did this morning."

Melinda gave Heather a pained look. She was caught between needing to vent her own laments and showing she cared for her sister. The problem was that Heather seemed less her sister every time she returned home. Melinda had not wanted to say it.

She shot to her feet. "Well, she needs to do that more often, then!"

"I still don't understand what you're seeing. Is my Aura darker or something?"

Melinda shook her head. "No, it's not that. It's more like you're getting used to it. Like it's something you do because you always did, like going to school."

Heather sighed. "You ever stop to think, runt, that raging against it all the time would just drive me insane? I don't hear you talking about fighting back against Aunt Jo when she was fucking you with the strap-on."

Melinda's eyes shimmered, and she fell back to the bed again.

Heather covered her eyes with her hand. "Shit, I didn't mean that, I'm sorry."

Melinda wiped her eyes and shook her head. She tried to speak, but her throat had closed up.

"Melinda ..." Heather began in a soft voice.

"F-forget it," Melinda croaked before clearing her throat. "I got tired of fighting it. It was easier just to let her do it."

"That's sort of the same thing with me."

"Is that how they're going to get us? By waiting until we give in?"

"It's 'not giving in.'"

Melinda shot up from her seat again and turned away from her sister. "Like hell it's not. If I'd cum right there in church, I ..." She dropped her face into her hands. "I-I just want this to stop. I just want it to end."

"Melinda."

"Maybe that's how it gets you. It keeps at you until you don't want to fight it anymore."

"Melinda, stop it!"

"We'll just give in and be good little girls who--"

"Stop it!"

Melinda whirled around and stared at her sister. Heather's eyes glistened as if she were on the verge of tears, her look of desperation so intense it shocked Melinda into momentary silence.

Heather lay one of her hands upon a bulge in the pocket of her jeans. It trembled as it fell away, and she let out a ragged sigh. Her gaze softened, and one corner of her mouth twitched upward. "This is a switch, isn't it?"

Melinda was too distracted by the sudden shift in Heather's emotions. "What?"

"You're usually the one telling me to stop acting like that when I pine for Mistress."

Melinda sighed and sat on the edge of her bed.

"And what the hell is up with your boobs?" said Heather.

Melinda blinked. "My what?"

"They've been flapping all over the place since I got home. You're not wearing a bra?"

Melinda averted her eyes and shook her head, her cheeks glowing pink. The words rose on cue, and she fought them for only a few more seconds before exhaustion took its toll and they tumbled from her mouth. "Slutty girls like me don't wear underwear."

"What the hell does ... oh." A pause before Heather added in a soft voice, "Aunt Jo, huh?"

Melinda nodded, not trusting her voice.

"No panties, either?"

"Slutty girls don't cover their pussies since they're wet all the time." Melinda blushed crimson by the time she had finished her programmed statement.

"Shit, I'm sorry," Heather said. "I didn't know."

"Just don't worry about it, okay?" Melinda squirmed as moist heat radiated from her sex, cocooning her body in soft warmth. "I-I'll deal with it."

"I'll try not to trigger it anymore."

Melinda's eyes shimmered as she stared at her sister. A year ago, such a statement would have been said with sarcastic intent only. Even as little as two months ago, Melinda would have assumed Heather would take the clandestine opportunity to torment her little sister.

"What?" Heather asked, concern in her voice.

Melinda jumped up and raced across the room. She threw her arms around her big sister and uttered a small sob in Heather's ear. "I love you, Heather," Melinda whispered in a shaky voice.

Melinda felt her sister tremble before uttering a deep sigh and embracing Melinda in return. "I love you, too, Melinda. I wish I had told you that more."

"You were too busy being a big-boobed bubblehead," Melinda said without a trace of hostility in her voice.

"And you're a pesky little runt," Heather retorted, her voice just as affectionate.

Melinda closed her eyes and let the tears leak from them until she felt the unwanted arousal fade. She held her sister with no growing lust or unbidden desire for the first time in a long while.

Another little victory, she thought.

"Are you sure you're going to be all right, Melinda?" Heather asked as she gently drew back from the embrace.

"No, I'm not sure. But like I said, I'll deal. Doing it with Aunt Jo is marginally less perverted than with Mom."

"You have any idea why Mom's doing this?"

Melinda flopped onto her back on Heather's bed. "I told you, it's just like you and Ms. Bendon. I'm just another slave for sale."

"Or maybe Mom doesn't want to do the dirty work herself anymore."

"Shit, Heather, is this going to be about her protecting us again? She wants to do us in. Get over it."

"No, I can't believe that."

Melinda bolted up. "What the fuck, Heather? You're the one who said she sold us out after all that shit with Nyssa!"

"You don't understand, Melinda!" Heather cried. "I can't believe that anymore!"

"Then make me understand," Melinda said, voicing it as a challenge.

"I ... I can't explain it ... I just feel like it's important somehow."

Melinda's eyes widened. "Wait, did you get a vision or something? Can you see the future again?"

"No, nothing like that. It's just a feeling. I mean ... I had other reasons for wanting to believe that maybe Mom is looking out for us somehow, but now--"

Melinda frowned. "What other reasons?"

Heather hesitated. Her hand flirted with her pocket. "I can't explain that, either."

"You're not making any sense."

Heather sighed. "I know. Look, just humor me, okay? Just for a minute, try not to think about Mom as some sort of monster."

Melinda folded her arms, welcoming the chance to still her bouncy breasts. She opened her mouth to deliver a retort, something along the lines of how it was as possible as a snowstorm in hell, but she curbed her tongue and said, "Fine, sure, whatever."

Heather paused and ran her fingers through her hair. "Melinda, did you ever stop to think that maybe she made some sort of bad decision at some point, that ... that maybe she got into something over her head?"

(so foolish as to get mixed up in the business of the Inn)

(left with no choice in the matter)

The memory of the conversation between her mother and her aunt in the car that morning suddenly replayed in Melinda's head as if it were happening again.

(so foolish)

(no choice)

Melinda felt a hand alight on her shoulder and recoiled. She turned her gaze back to Heather, who held her hand in the air for another moment before lowering it. "You okay?"

"Huh? What? I'm fine, Heather."

"You just looked like ..." Heather trailed off.

"Like what? What's wrong?"

"You looked like I do -- or what you've told me I look like -- when I get one of my visions."

Melinda rolled her eyes. "I didn't get any stupid vision, okay? I was just remembering something." She glared at Heather. "You didn't do that to me, did you?"

"I didn't do anything to you. I told you, I can't really do anything like that anymore." Heather paused. "Wait, what did you just remember?"

"I'm not going to tell you, because you're just going to go deeper into this shit."

"What, you know something about Mom?"

"I don't know shit about her anymore!" Melinda snapped. "Okay, fine. This is what I heard ..." Melinda recounted the entire conversation in the car.

Heather looked askance at her little sister. "How the hell did you remember it in that much detail?"

"I haven't a fucking clue. I'm not supposed the one that can do that sort of thing."

"So it might mean something."

Melinda hesitated, and for a moment she dared to entertain the notion of her mother as victim. It did not last long, and she leapt from the bed with a tired sigh.

"Melinda, just think about it for a minute," said Heather.

Melinda spun around. "No, I'm tired of thinking about it, not for a minute, not for a fucking second. Fine, let's say she got mixed up in this for some other reason. She was still stupid to do it in the first place. I--"

She stopped herself when she realized she had just wasted a few more precious moments with her lucid big sister.

"L-look, I don't want to argue about this anymore," Melinda said in a quavering voice. "I don't want to argue about anything with you. Let me get ready for bed, and then let's change the subject, okay? I just want to enjoy this time with you."

Heather slowly nodded, though her eyes shimmered.

Melinda charged into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. She leaned on the edge of the sink, her eyes lowered, unable to face herself in the mirror. When she finally forced her gaze up, it glistened back at her.

Her eyes darted to her bosom. She remembered her twelve-year-old self, just on the cusp of puberty, staring at her tiny swellings and wondering if they would ever grow.

She had distressed over it so that her mother had taken notice. Penny had eschewed the standard talk about how her body was still developing, and she needed to give it more time. Instead, her mother showed her photos from an album.

Pictures of Heather at twelve; pictures of herself at twelve; pictures of Aunt Jo at twelve; pictures of other female relatives on her side of the family at twelve. To the last one, each was like her, nothing more than a cupful; to the last one, each sported a generous bosom in adulthood. Penny had shown her the photos with no explanation. Melinda had been baffled at the time but came away feeling better about herself without understanding why.

Until now as she stared at herself in the mirror.

Melinda swallowed and shook her head, averting her eyes. That was the past, the long past, before her mother had done something stupid and ruined everything.

Melinda went about her business preparing for bed. She did not glance at herself even once in the mirror.

Jason grabbed the last of the pages as they were ejected from the printer, almost too warm to touch. He organized the pages with their brethren and slipped the entire stack into a manila folder, the words "Journal Notes" written in black marker along its tab.

He dropped the folder next to its sibling on the bed whose tab sported the words "Hacking Techniques." He opened it and perused the first few pages, which explained the techniques needed to break into the public records at City Hall. He flipped to a random point in the center and found his notes on hacking into the main router of Haven High School.

He sighed and closed the folder, placing it under the "Journal Notes" folder. Atop this he stacked a third, labeled "Elizabeth's Journal." He stopped himself from opening it again. He could face it with nothing more than anger and contempt.

He shifted his gaze to the last folder. Written upon its tab were the words "Letter to Melinda."

Jason took it into his lap and stared at it for a few moments before he could will himself to open it. Upon the first page, printed in large font were the words "Do not read this until I am gone."

Jason had agonized on the final word of that sentence almost as much as he had the content of the letter. He still did not believe he had used the right word, yet no words could convey what he meant. He did not want her to read this until he had reached a point of no return. When it was clear that the Jason she knew would no longer be, that was when he wanted her to read it.

He slammed the folder shut and considered leaving it. It felt cowardly to pour out his feelings on a piece of paper in stark black ink, and then stop her from reading it until he was safely out of the way. Jason curled his hand into a fist atop the folder. He had hardly spared her a thought in the past few days, and he had the audacity to think he could play with her feelings.

His head whipped up when a soft knock sounded on the door. His gaze spun towards the computer, and he jumped off the bed to jostle the mouse. The intrusion alarm had indeed gone off, but he had been too wrapped up in himself to hear it.

"Jason," said his father's voice.

Jason bounded atop the bed. "Just a minute," he said in a curt voice. He gathered the folders and stuffed them under his pillow. "Come in."

Henry did not advance when he opened the door, his eyes darting around the room. "Everything all right?"

"As right as can be expected, I suppose," Jason said.

"If it helps any, I tried to talk some sense into your mother about the job."

"It doesn't. But, yeah, thanks, Dad."

Henry hesitated before he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. "You said earlier you were doing something which could help Audrey."

"Didn't pan out," Jason said in a tight voice. "So I suppose the ball is in your court now."

Henry let out a slow breath.

"You remember, all those things you hinted at that you maybe could possibly sort of do."

Henry frowned. "You'll also recall I said I am also limited in what I can do."

"At this point, anything would be welcome." Jason managed to bite back the words "even from you" before they could tumble past his lips.

"I'm trying, Jason."

"Trying? Trying what?" Jason demanded, his voice rising. "I'm fucking sick of your cloak-and-dagger games."

"You know how I feel about you using that sort of language towards your father."

"Deal with it. Right now, your wrath is the least of my worries. Shit or get off the pot, and you better do it soon."

Henry cast a somber look at his son. Jason hoped now it had really sunk in. He doubted his father would do anything, but at least he might satisfy himself that the man would feel a keen sense of guilt after Jason succumbed.

"I'm sorry," Henry said in a low voice.

Jason wished his father would keep arguing with him. He understood why Richie seemed to enjoy being at odds with everyone. Anger was easier to focus and tap for additional mental strength. Unfortunately, it was just like any other artificial stimulant: it gave the added jolt at the expense of feeling even more drained later.

"Do you have anything useful to tell me?" Jason said in a exasperated voice.

Perhaps Jason was hoping it would spark an argument, as his face betrayed disappointment when his father shook his head.

"Fine. Please close the door behind you on the way out."

Henry hesitated, his eyes taking in the room as if expecting to see something. Jason clenched his fists and remained tensed like a coiled spring until his father finally left and the door clicked shut.

Jason grabbed the folders and stuffed them into his book bag. His eyes scanned the bed to ensure he did not miss anything. Finally, he turned his attention to the computer.

For a full minute he could do nothing but stare at it. It felt like a central part of his life. He was nothing without it. The others wanted to believe he was brilliant, but most of his success was because of a machine. He was only as good as his tools.

The mouse pointer quivered as he directed it to the shutdown option. He stared as he was logged out and the shutdown messages scrolled across the screen. Finally, there was a faint pop from the speakers, and then stark silence. The monitor briefly displayed "NO SIGNAL" and went dark.

Jason rolled his chair back and pulled the tower out from under his desk. He unscrewed the fastenings in the back and slid the side up and off. He pulled a small screwdriver from his pocket and unseated the hard drive from its cage. It was still warm; he felt like he had just ripped out a beating heart.

He wrapped the hard drive in anti-static foam and carefully slipped it into his backpack. Nothing more would fit after that. The stack of backup tapes would have to be carried in a bag. He dumped them next to his backpack so he would not forget in the morning.

He felt no urge to replace the computer's cover. It was an empty shell to him now. Only the fear his contingency plan would be discovered motivated him.

He replaced the cover and shoved the tower back under the desk. This last bit of deception felt like a small victory, as Pyhrric as it was. The longer he held off despair, the less likely he was to break down into a useless cycle of self-pity.

Jason suddenly lifted his head and said, "Am I being stupid?"

The question had haunted him all evening. Was he underestimating his mother's ability to recover from emotional trauma? Was he not considering his own importance to the Harbingers? Was he making these decisions based on logic or emotion? Who was more important in stopping the Darkness, himself or his mother?

Jason felt he had, in effect, failed. He could not make the right decisions. He could not apply logic and come up with the right answer, for the right answer would not have him rendering himself as harmless to the others as possible. He was sure Ned would hate him for this. Richie, too. Maybe even Melinda. She was likely counting on him to help rescue her from her mother and Heather from Ms. Bendon.

Jason wiped his eyes, sniffling once. He trudged off to the bathroom to get ready for bed and wondered if he would get any sleep that night.

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