"We're sorry, but your number is on this person's call block list. We apologize for any inconvenience. We recommend removing this number from your contact list. Please have a nice day."

The hand holding the receiver dropped, and Richie stood staring at it for a full minute. He stood at the same kiosk he had tried last time, his mind bursting with everything he wanted to say. They were the only thoughts which now remained active as the rest of his mind had gone numb.

He had tried the number thrice. The first two times, the words of the recorded message had barely registered. He had clung to the vain hope that he had hit some sort of glitch in his father's cell phone account.

With a trembling hand, he hung up, his fingers still curled around the receiver. His fingers tightened until the knuckles turned white. He lifted the receiver and slammed it back down, as if thinking this would somehow force the line to clear.

He picked up the phone a forth time and punched in his father's phone number, meticulously copying it digit by digit from the piece of paper, his heart pounding until his chest ached. Breathing hard in desperation and anxiety, he brought the receiver to his ear.

"We're sorry, but your number is on this person's call block list."

"You're wrong!" Richie cried. "He wouldn't block me!"

"--for any inconvenience. We recommend removing this number--"

"I'm his fucking son!" Richie shouted. "Why would be block me?!"

"--list. Please have a nice--"

"Shut up you stupid bitch!" Richie screamed. "He'll talk to me! I stopped being a dick! I'M NOT A TOTAL DICK ANYMORE!"

"We're sorry, but your number is on this person's--"

Richie yanked the receiver away from his ear and grasped it with both hands. He slammed it against the hook over and over, his teeth clenched, cords standing out on his neck. When the metal hook finally bent and snapped, he smashed the receiver against the phone itself until the innards of the ear-piece spilled out, dangling by thin wires.

Richie finally uttered one last incoherent bellow and threw the receiver into the kiosk. It bounced off the side, cracking the glass. The receiver fell and dangled from its wire, which had been pulled a half inch from its conduit.

Richie staggered back, his face red, his eyes blurred. He swung his watery gaze to where several people had stopped to gawk at the spectacle.

"What the flying FUCK are you all looking at?!" Richie bellowed before he ran from the strip mall until he ground his teeth at the sharp stitch in his side. He staggered to a stop near a street lamp just as it flickered on. His throat stung from the cold as he gulped air, and he leaned against the post with one hand, his other clenched at his side.

Think it's that easy, huh? came the voice that only moments ago he would have killed to have heard again. Think you can make up for years of being an asshole in just a few days? Yeah, no wonder you couldn't get through. Total fucking waste of time is what it would be.

Richie pounded his fists against the lamppost. "What the fuck do you want from me?" he croaked. "What do you want me to do?!"

The voice fell silent, and nothing would make it come back. Did it have as little idea as he, or was this part of an elaborate plan to continue punishing him? Wasn't having his mother fall enough, or was he being blamed for that as well?

Richie was far from religious, thus the idea of divine retribution was lost on him, yet he could not shake the feeling that everything had to be some sort of cosmic tit-for-tat, as if he had screwed things up so much over so many years that it had taken this to bring everything back into balance.

Richie pushed himself away from the lamppost and forced his hands to drop to his sides. He wondered if Jason would have a rational explanation. Maybe he would say that Richie's father thought he was being pranked when he kept getting calls with no one at the other end.

He shook his head. That was too simple. It had to be something deeper, and he had a simple means to test it: find a phone he had not called from yet and try again. Richie looked up at the sky. Twilight was already giving way to night. He had no idea from day to day if his mother would be home to cook. If she was, she was likely fifteen minutes from setting dinner on the table.

Richie did not care. This was more important. He had worked so hard at obeying his father's last directive, but he had no idea if it were enough.

"Or do I have to help Heather first?" Richie demanded, his gaze drifting up the lamppost as if expecting to see his father's shining presence at the top. "Is that it? Is this some sort of goddamn test?"

Yeah, it's just one big fucking game to you, the voice came with such cold clarity that Richie slammed his hands over his ears as if believing he could shut it out. Finish the side quest and get the reward. Brilliant. No wonder you can't get through. Not sure how you can think you're not a dick when you act that shallow.

"It's not ... I didn't mean ..." Richie trailed off, then clenched his teeth and rammed his fist into the side of the lamppost. It rang with the impact, and pain flared across his knuckles.

Richie squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to help Heather, and not just for the thrill or any reward.

Yeah, sure, you're not thinking one bit how this might get you some more of her pussy.

"Shut up," Richie hissed. "We're Harbingers. We do it with each other all the time. We're supposed to!"

His father's voice remained silent, and he let out a ragged sigh of relief. He did not understand his own desires anymore. Why did he want to talk to his father when he would hear all the same shit over again? He should be happy he could not get through. What was driving him to do this?

Richie sighed and started home. He would try another phone later. Right now he needed to get away from the voice, and only the influence of the corrupted line would do that.

Diane glanced at the clock again and swore it had not moved in the last few minutes. She sighed and jumped to her feet to stir the stew again just for something to do. Until five minutes ago she had conversation with her father to pass the time, until her grandmother called. Now her father was off in the next room with the phone speaking in rapid-fire Japanese.

She stepped back to the living room in time to hear the garage door rising. She raced through the dining room and towards the entrance hall, skidding to a stop at the threshold and clutching the door frame. She held her breath until her mother emerged, letting it out as a gusty sigh. Her lips twitched into a smile as she saw Heather bring up the rear.

"Hi," was all Diane could think of to say.

"Everything all right, dear?" Janet asked. "You look rather relieved to see us."

Before Diane could answer, Heather stepped up to her, gave her a quick hug, and whispered the words "she's okay." Diane uttered another quick, relieved sigh before she spoke again. "The roads are still icy and all that."

"It was fine. Did you stir the stew for me?" Janet asked as she walked down the hall towards the kitchen.

Diane felt Heather come alongside her and wrap an arm around her waist. "Yes, mother. The last time I did it was just before you got home." Diane noticed Heather's gaze, which was directed towards the family room. "My father is on the phone," Diane said in a soft voice.

Heather nodded, looking wary. "Um ... does he speak ...?" She tailed off with an uncomfortable look on her face.

Diane gave her a small smile. "He speaks fluent English and Japanese."

Heather nodded and sighed. "Of all the things I could be worried about."

"Dinner will be another ten minutes or so," Janet called out from the kitchen. "I just have to heat the rolls and we'll be ready."

"We'll wait in the living room," Diane replied. She paused before tugging herself from Heather's arm, reluctant to leave the comforting touch. If it were up to her, she would spend the next hour snuggling up to her lover, as if she expected something bad to happen once dinner began.

As if sensing her lover's distress, Heather leaned close as she was led into the living room, "Your mother really is okay, Diane."

"So nothing happened?" Diane asked as they sat down on the sofa. "You got out before your mother got home?"

Heather did not respond. She had fallen into her seat as if she had stumbled at the last moment and now sat rock-still.

"Um, Heather, are you--?"

"Huh? What?" Heather said, blinking rapidly. "Oh, um, sorry, I was distracted. What did you ask me?"

"I asked if you managed to get away with my mother before your mother showed up."

Another pause, this time more significant, making Diane's heart thump. "Not quite," Heather finally replied.

Diane bit her lower lip and tried not to imagine the worst.

Heather sighed and rolled her eyes. "Look, I think my mother is wired to use her stupid power on anyone who shows up at the house. She tried it with your mother, but she didn't get very far. I put a stop to it pretty fast and your mother seemed to bounce back from it. I don't think she even remembers quite what happened."

Diane stared off towards the kitchen and watched her mother bustle about placing rolls on a pan. She lay her head on Heather's shoulder. "I can't let my mother get involved in this. Now I'm going to be worried about your mother coming over here."

"She's never done something like that," Heather said. "All her time is spent at the Inn or at home."

Diane felt the small shiver and heard the catch in Heather's voice. "Is something else the matter?"

"Had to watch Aunt Jo and Melinda going at it," she said in a barely audible voice.

"I'm sorry. I know that must be terrible for you."

Heather shook her head. "Let's not talk about that. I kind of want to get away from all that tonight. I have to admit, if stopping my mother from messing with your mother's head was the worst that could happen tonight ..."

She trailed off. Diane lifted her head from Heather's shoulder, and her eyes widened as she slid in her seat away from Heather. In her worry she had failed to notice that her father's phone conversation had ended.

"Good evening to you, Diane," said Diane's father Ralph in a formal but gentle voice.

"Good evening, father," Diane replied, relieved to sense no obvious disapproval in his eyes or voice. She was never quite sure how far into traditional Japanese customs his father would go. He vacillated between that and contemporary American, as if still eager to try both. "Um, this is Heather."

"Hello, Mr. Woodrow," Heather said, her voice quavering slightly. "I mean, good evening."

Ralph bowed his head. "Good evening to you, Heather," he said as he dropped into the easy chair opposite the sofa. He glanced between the two girls, first laying his hands on the hand-rests and then folding them in his lap. Diane realized at once that her father was at a loss for words, a rarity for someone like him. She wondered if he had ever really made peace with her lesbianism, or if he had been content to let her mother sort it out.

Diane felt the need to fix the situation somehow, but she was equally at a loss. Before she could descend into panic, Heather said, "I don't think I've ever met anyone who could speak both English and Japanese so well, Mr. Woodrow. It must have been interesting growing up with both cultures."

Diane could not have expressed her relief in words. Heather's precog powers must still be working on some level, for she had managed to say precisely the right thing. Ralph beamed at Heather, his lips curling into a wide smile, and he proceeded to regale Heather with stories of his upbringing.

Diane's mother set the pan of rolls in the oven. "Dinner in five minutes."

Diane smiled and nodded. She felt like they had managed to clear the first hurdle.

Heather soon felt as much relief as Diane for finding a way to break the ice. Just as they had sat down on the sofa, she had an extremely vivid image of Ralph at ease at the dinner table, gregarious and pleasant, expounding on some amusing anecdote from his childhood. For about three seconds it had completely enveloped her senses, just as a precog vision would do.

Heather felt more relaxed at dinner than she had for over a month. She even managed to laugh; she could not remember the last time she had heard her own laugh. It helped that Janet was an excellent cook. While her own mother was a good cook as well, dinner was such a tense affair anymore at her own house that she wanted to get away from the dinner table as soon as possible.

Their conversion continued past the end of the meal, and only Janet standing was an indication it was finally over. Diane stood up with her and collected her plate. Heather followed suit, assuming it was the tradition to help clear the table and clean up after dinner.

Janet turned to her daughter. "No, honey, that's okay, you don't have to clear the table. Ralph will take care of the dishes."

Diane looked nonplussed, even as her father plucked the plate first from her hand and then from Heather's. "Oh. Okay."

Diane glanced at Heather, and Heather caught the anxious look in her lover's eyes. She hoped Diane was worried over nothing.

Janet paused to whisper something to her husband. He nodded and took the plates to the sink, and she turned towards the girls. "I thought we might sit in the living room for a bit and get to know each other a little better before Heather has to head home."

"Oh, um, sure, Mrs. Woodrow," Heather said, trying to sound casual. She glanced at Diane, who briefly bit her lower lip before she stepped past.

Heather followed the others. Diane sat on the edge of her seat on the sofa, as if ready to bolt at a moment's notice. Janet took the easy chair, much to Heather's relief. If she had been forced to take that chair, the conversation would have felt like an interrogation no matter how innocuous the topic. Though she had a feeling she already knew what Janet wanted to talk about.

"First of all, Heather, I want to say it was a great pleasure finally meeting you tonight," Janet said with a warm smile. "I knew you and Diane were friends for so very long, but Diane rarely spoke about you."

Diane managed a weak smile, though her cheeks grew pink. Heather grinned and squeezed Diane's hand. "It's okay," said Heather. "We weren't exactly as, um, close as we are now."

Heather thought about the implications of touching her lover in front of Diane's mother only after it had been done, yet she found no evidence it had caused Janet the least amount of distress. If anything, she seemed a little more at ease.

As if reading Heather's thoughts, Janet said, "And it's obvious you care about Diane as much as she does about you, which pleases me to no end. That was really my only concern over your relationship."

Heather smiled as she felt Diane squeeze her hand in return. "Thank you, Mrs. Woodrow. We, um, sort of went through something like that already, where we wanted to make sure we did feel the way we thought we felt, if that makes any sense."

"It does. If anything is evidence of Diane's feelings, it's how down she gets every other week when you're ... unavailable."

"Mother, please," Diane said in a very low voice.

Heather tried to give her a look of reassurance, though she felt no such thing herself. "I miss Diane very much during those weeks as well." Or at least I assume I would if I wasn't so enthralled to Mistress during that time, Heather added in her head.

Janet nodded and paused. She crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap, her eyes shimmering slightly. "I'm the last person who wants to pry into other people's affairs, Heather, but where you're so close to Diane that you're part of the family, I am concerned for you."

Heather was so struck by the concept that she was considered family already that a few more seconds passed before she could fully comprehend what Janet had said. "I'm grateful for that, Mrs. Woodrow, but, really, everything is okay."

"Diane told me you have some sort of ... that you spend every other week at Laura Bendon's house."

"Um ... yes, that's right."

Janet paused again, but Heather was determined not to volunteer information. If Diane's mother wanted to know anything, she was going to have to come out and ask. Heather was gambling Janet would not want to go that far.

"And it prevents you from seeing Diane for some reason."

"Yes, it does. I wish it didn't, but that's just how it is."

Janet looked increasingly uncomfortable. Heather hated doing this. If Janet remembered anything of what happened between her and Laura or her and Penny, then she could imagine something even worse concerning Heather.

"Mother, I really don't think we need to pursue this," Diane said, her voice edged with desperation. "I'm ... I'm okay with this arrangement."

That did not sound convincing even to Heather's ears, and it was clear Janet was not impressed either. If anything, the obvious doubt in her daughter's voice galvanized her, for her face took on a more determined look as she said, "Heather, I need to ask you, just what is this arrangement between you and Ms. Bendon?"

Heather had tried to prepare for this question. She had come up with several ideas, honed the details until she could repeat them in her head without mistake, and now all of them seemed lame.

She saw only genuine concern in Janet's eyes, and that made her feel worse for lying. If that wasn't enough, she felt shame for not praising Laura being such a good Mistress to her otherwise naughty slave.

"I've fallen way behind in a few subjects in school," Heather said. "I had some emotional issues, mostly dealing with discovering my orientation. Mi ... my ... the p-principal decided to tutor me, but there's a lot of work to get done so it's easier to live in her guest room and study there."

Janet nodded slowly, her eyes flicking to her daughter. Heather squeezed Diane's hand tight and repeated in her head as if hoping to somehow transmit it to her lover, please go along with this ...

"I-I don't want her to fail her classes this semester," Diane piped in a quavering voice. "It's bad enough we're not on the same class rotation. So I'm willing to make the sacrifice."

Janet stared at her daughter for another long moment, and Heather heard Diane shift in her seat. She knew Diane was a horrible liar but hoped having her there would bolster her confidence. "I see," Janet said in a low, neutral voice.

Heather was not sure Janet was entirely convinced, but she had thrown herself down this path and had to keep following it. "I know it's unusual, Mrs. Woodrow, but after dating so many boys, to find out I ... that I really like girls was kind of traumatic. It was like I never attended school for over a month."

Janet's expression softened. Heather felt awful. She was likely playing on Janet's struggles to understand her daughter's situation. This was the kind of manipulation she used to do for fun against her peers. It reminded her too much of a past she would rather leave behind.

"I apologize for prying," Janet said. "And thank you for answering. It ... certainly is far more tame an explanation than some of the rumors."

Heather tried to make light of it by rolling her eyes and forcing her lips into a tiny smirk. "Diane and I are not shy about holding hands or kissing each other in school. So I can probably guess what they're going to think about me staying at ... where I go every other week."

"Yes, of course," Janet said, her voice more reassured. "I was foolish to give those rumors any credence at all."

"Mother, you're not foolish, you just--" Diane began.

"Mrs. Woodrow, I agree with Diane," Heather said before Diane could say anything to upset the lie. "I really appreciate your concern for me. Thank you."

Janet gave them a more natural smile. "And it means it won't be forever. Once you're caught up at the end of the semester, you won't have to do this anymore."

Diane's hand suddenly gripped Heather's like a vise. Heather was sure Diane was wearing her panic on her face like a mask and thus kept eye contact with Janet. She did not break stride, even while cursing herself for not thinking of that detail. "Yes, that's very true. I'm looking forward to things going back to normal."

Janet nodded again and stood. "I'm glad we had this talk, and I'm very happy you agreed to come over for dinner. I hope we can do this again soon."

Heather stood and smiled. "So do I, Mrs. Woodrow."

"Well, we better get you home. If you'll give me a minute to change, I'll drive you back to your house."

Heather nodded and watched Janet head to the stairs. Diane stood and drew alongside Heather, glancing into the kitchen where her father was almost done cleaning the last of the pots which could not go through the dishwasher. She ushered Heather out of the living room and towards the entrance hall. "Heather, what are we going to do at the end of the semester when--"

"Diane, please, don't worry about that now," Heather said in exasperation. "Just be glad your mother bought that story."

"If she did. You don't know my mother like I do. She'll act like she believed it because it's what she wanted to hear. Then she'll start to think on it more and start asking more questions."

"Then ... then we'll just deal with it when it comes up," Heather said in a helpless voice. "I had to tell her something, Diane. If I told her the truth, that would just get her involved like you didn't want."

Diane sighed. "I know. I just wish ..." She trailed off.

"Just wish what?"

Diane stared at Heather for a moment, then narrowed her eyes slightly. "Nothing."

"Don't tell me it's nothing. I know that look. What is it?"

"I ... might have an idea."

Heather frowned. "Diane, no. I told you before. Don't try to rescue me."

"Why the hell not?" Diane hissed. "What good is having this stupid new power of mine if I don't use it for something?!"

Heather clenched her teeth to stop herself from saying more angry words to Diane. She glanced behind her when she heard footsteps coming down the stairs. "There's a very good reason why you shouldn't try and I promise I'll tell you at some point, but not now."

Diane blinked in surprise and opened her mouth to say something, but held her tongue when her mother appeared. Janet handed Heather her coat. "Let's get going so I can get you back on time," Janet said as she stepped past the girls. She paused at the door to the garage and turned around. "Oh, and Heather? I hope you won't be terribly disappointed if I just drop you off and don't try to say hello to your mother."

"Not at all, Mrs. Woodrow," Heather said. She gave Diane a hug and whispered in her ear. "Tomorrow I'll tell you, I promise."

"I'm holding you to that," Diane whispered back. She was slow to relinquish her hold on her lover and gave Heather a forlorn wave.

Heather smiled and headed out.

If Jason were grateful for anything regarding the job at the Inn, it would be the timing. At first he considered it another bane, coming right before exams. Now it gave him an excuse to remain holed up in his room. Normally he had no need to do any more than a brief brush-up the night before the exams, but in his efforts to unravel Elizabeth's journal, he had fallen behind in his schoolwork.

That night, it was hard to concentrate. His mother still insisted on the open-door rule, and now yet another argument between his parents drifted to him from below.

"If his grade slips even a single point, Audrey, he's quitting this job," his father declared, his voice louder than earlier, as if Jason were meant to hear it.

His mother said something in return, but Jason could barely hear it. She rarely raised her voice anymore, responding in soft tones of either utter resolve or sly sultriness. Whatever she said was expected to be a given and needed no argument for or against.

"You're talking utter nonsense again," said Henry. "Just listen to what you're saying. You're putting this stupid job ahead of everything else."

Jason would have braced for the explosion had this been a week ago. If there was one thing her mother despised, it was dismissing something she said. That was gone as well. His father must be trying to get a rise out of her, as he had exhausted everything else.

"Whatever he's learning there, it is not more important than school or his friends."

Jason looked up. That was the first time he had heard his father openly support his social life.

"No, don't give me that bullshit, that's the same crap your sister was spewing over Thanksgiving."

Jason's eyes widened. His father was trying to hit every one of her hot buttons. Finally she elevated her voice to the point where Jason could hear at least some of the response: " ... to make a clear choice here, Henry. He has to understand what is important for his future."

"Yes, his future, one that makes sense to him. Not the version you want that you're trying to ram down his ... aw, shit!"

Jason tensed. His father's pager had gone off in the middle of his sentence, and he heard no more of what was being said.

Jason tried to return to his studying, but the words from the textbook slid off his mind. He would get to the bottom of a page and have no memory of what he had just read. He closed the textbook just as the garage door went up.

He again tried not to think his father was abandoning him. The clandestine activities aside, his father was still a practicing neurosurgeon, and lives depended on him. Yet as Jason heard the garage door go down, he felt alone and vulnerable.

Only minutes after his father was away, he heard his mother climbing the stairs. He thought about opening the textbook again and pretending he was hard at work, but there was no point; she paid no heed to such things anymore.

Jason sat on the edge of his bed as his mother appeared at the door. She had changed dresses again. The blouse was the same, buttons straining against her bosom, but the skirt was shorter, the hem rising above her knees and revealing flashes of milky thigh as she swayed her hips.

Jason said nothing in greeting. Whatever he would say, however it was worded, would be turned into some sort of proposition by his mother's ears.

Audrey slid her hand up the side of the door frame and tilted her hips. "Your father had an emergency back at the hospital," Audrey said in a voice with a permanent husky cadence.

"Yeah, I heard him leave," Jason said. He let out a slow, relieved sigh. He still harbored no desire for her; he had yet to descend that far.

A sultry smile played across Audrey's lips. "Are you ready to take a break from studying? I thought we could spend some time together downstairs."

"Maybe some other time, Mom, I'm kind of tired."

Audrey hesitated, and Jason wondered if that excuse would work again as it had other nights. The Darkness was, in its own way, keeping the unspoken bargain: it would not set his mother on him sexually if he continued to go to the Inn every afternoon. Instead, it wanted him to make the first move. He had to avoid even the simplest acts of affection lest he risk losing control.

Audrey lay a hand against her bosom and drew in a deep breath, the buttons stretching further until slivers of straining breasts could be glimpsed through the gaps. "Are you sure, Jason?" Her fingers played with the topmost button. "You've been working sooo hard on school and work, and I'm so very proud of you. I want to show you my appreciation."

Jason swallowed. His cock twitched, but no more than that. He told himself it was just a normal response to a thinly-veiled sexual advance. "I'm fine, Mom," Jason said in a strained voice. "And like I said, I'm tired."

Audrey stepped into the room, popping open the topmost button of her blouse. "You wouldn't have to come downstairs. I could ... spend time with you up here."

Jason's heart raced. His fingers curled into the edge of the mattress.

"Would you like that?" She popped a second button. "Would you like me to show you how excited I am about your job?"

"M-Mom, no, it's okay. Really, please, it's fine. You don't ... I don't need anything from you."

Audrey stopped, her fingers playing with the next button. Slowly, she lowered her hand and uttered a long, forlorn sigh. "I have not been myself lately, have I?"

Jason stared, his eyes widening. "What?"

"It's like I've been a different person. Like I'm not acting as your mother."

Jason's heart leapt. Was she managing to resist the control? Did his father finally do something to help?

"Don't you agree?" Audrey asked in a sad voice. "Don't you think I've been acting badly?"

Jason could dare to believe that he was hearing his old mother's voice, until he drew his gaze along the outline of her body. Her Aura was the same, inky blackness swirling and writhing in excitement.

"I feel like I've failed you, Jason," Audrey said, taking a step closer.

"No, Mom, you haven't--"

"Yes, I failed you. I did not act like your mother. You can't deny that."

Jason slowly nodded. "All right, you haven't been acting normally, but--"

"And I've been causing you all sorts of anxiety. But ... you could change all that."

Jason sat very still. The only sound was that of his pounding heart and blood rushing through his ears.

"You could tell me what you want me to do, and I'll do it."

Jason let out a ragged breath. His fingers curled tighter until the nails bit into the sheet. His mother advanced until she stood before him.

"You could take control of your life right now, Jason."

Jason clenched his teeth. His cock swelled as memories of Cindy teased his thoughts. His mother's eyes flicked downward, glistening and smoldering. She let out a slow, husky breath as a distinct bulge rose against the denim.

Audrey descended to one knee and placed a hand on his thigh. "Just tell me what you want, and I'll gladly do it for you," she cooed, her hand sliding slowly up her son's thigh.

Jason recalled how much he loved manipulating Cindy, and how he looked forward to more mind-controlled sex. His cock pulsed with his pounding heart, far too cramped for comfort. The imagery playing out in his head changed, and he saw his mother instead, humping him hard and moaning in forced delight.

But she doesn't deserve that, came Jason's desperate thought.

What about when she used to yank the coax cable from the modem just to force him to go outside? Wasn't it such a day which led him to discover the House? Was she not thus responsible for starting him down this path in the first place? What if he had been allowed to stay online? None of this would have ever ...

Melinda would never have become my girlfriend.

Jason grasped his mother's hand and pushed it off his thigh. He bolted to his feet, and Audrey stood a moment later, giving him a confused look.

"No," Jason said, even though his cock still pulsed and ached. "I don't need anything like that from you."

Audrey paused, then slowly nodded and turned away. "All right, Jason," she said, her voice back to its normal sultry cadence. Jason knew at once the Darkness had tried to trick him, and it made it easier to quell his lingering desire. She looked to him from the door and smiled. "If you change your mind, just come find me."

She gave him a lingering, lustful look and slipped out of the room.

Jason fell back onto the bed with a tremulous sigh, his face dropping into his hands. "That wasn't fair," he said in a quavering voice. "You were using my mother against me. You were trying to push me as if I were still at the Inn."

By all means, Jason, keep thinking that if it comforts you, came the silky voice of the Darkness, startling him into lifting his head. Eventually it won't matter. You're learning just what you are capable of. It's only a matter of time before you unleash your full potential.

Jason curled his hands into fists and pounded them once against his thighs. He wanted to rail at the Darkness like Richie claimed to have done so many times, but now he understood how that played into its hands. At best, anger clouded good judgment, and at worst was the easiest emotion to manipulate. He needed only to look at the history books to realize that.

He took a few deep breaths and forced his hands to unclench. If he had any hope of delaying his fall, he had to remain of sound mind.

Jason turned his head when he heard the faint sound of a distant door closing. His mother had holed up in her sewing room again. If he listened carefully enough, he knew he would eventually hear the moans of self-administered orgasmic pleasure. He fought down the imagery of what his mother would look like with a dildo sliding into her pussy.

He finally realized he had given up any hope of stopping his fall. He would be condemned to watch himself slip away a little more each day. Already he feared how he might act towards his friends on the bus.

He glanced at the phone. He had not used it in over week, not since his mother had forbid him from talking to his friends. He assumed the edict was still in force but doubted his mother would be in any position at the moment to enforce it.

Richie burst out of the kitchen. "Look, will you leave me the fuck alone for just one night?!"

Cathy trotted up to him, her sheer negligee trailing behind her, bare breasts bouncing underneath. Her ass cheeks rippled inside her skimpy black lace panties. "Is something the matter, Richie?" she said in a worried voice. "You told me to dress sexy for you. Is this not sexy enough?"

Richie stopped, and Cathy nearly ran into him. He turned around, intending to plead with his mother only to find her racing up the stairs. His gaze flicked down Cathy's body, his cock twitching. "Yes, you're sexy, okay? I just don't want to do it tonight. That so fucking hard to understand?"

Cathy let out a husky sigh, her hips swaying and tilting in a slow, sensual dance. She slid her hand over her mound, fingers drawing moisture through the lace. "I've just been so wet for you since you got home, Richie."

Richie's cock swelled as he imagined it between her plump tits. He frowned and started towards the stairs. "Tough shit, I've got other things on my mind."

"But ... I-I can't cum by myself. I've tried. You know I've tried. I have to have your cock in my--"

Richie spun around at the foot of the stairs. "Look, you're not gonna fucking die or something if you don't get laid!"

Cathy's eyes glistened. Her fingers slipped under her panties and sank into her folds with a faint wet sound. "It feels like it, though," she said in a breathy voice. "Like I'm so aroused it hurts. Like I'll never stop being wet."

Richie's jaw clenched. Cassie said it was okay to keep fucking her, but Dad would never say that, Richie thought. Or would he? Dad, tell me what to do!

He heard no reply. He sensed the presence seething in a corner of his mind, as if so angry with his son that words had failed him. He tried to remind himself that his father's voice could not come to him as easily here, but logical thinking had become a luxury the moment he had heard the recorded voice on the phone at the strip mall.

What he did sense, however, was amusement, a mocking of his inability to decide what he really wanted of his father.

How can I stop being a dick when I don't know what the right thing to do is?! Richie shouted in his mind, his hands clenching into fists.

Cathy took a few hesitant steps towards him, her eyes half-lidded as her fingers slowly thrust into her depths. "Please fuck me, Richie. Please fuck my wet pussy."

"Later," Richie muttered through clenched teeth as he backed up onto the stairs. "Just give me some fucking time alone, okay? Give me some goddamn space."

He raced up the stairs as Cathy uttered a disappointed sigh. "Please don't be long, Richie. I've looked forward to your cock all day."

Richie barely suppressed the urge to clamp his hands over his ears. At the top of the stairs he uttered a curse and tugged the belt of his jeans so his stiff cock would rest a little more comfortably. When this proved impossible, he uttered another curse and barreled towards his room, intending to slam the door behind him and prop something under the knob.

Maybe he wouldn't come out at all. Maybe he wanted to find out if Cathy could live without sex from him. Maybe he wanted to call the Darkness' bluff that this was really torture. Maybe he had stopped caring what happened to her.

Maybe you decided you want to be total dick after all.

Richie raised a fist and was about to pound it on the door frame as he passed, when he stopped and frowned towards his mother's bedroom. The only sounds he expected to hear were the soft moans of self-pleasuring. Instead, he heard her bustling about as if she were preparing dinner again.

Richie approached his mother's bedroom and peered inside, his eyes narrowing. He caught Sandra standing in her lacy black underwear, but soon she slipped into a tight red dress. "What the fuck, you're going out again?" Richie snapped.

Sandra glared at him. "Yes, and I'm late, no thanks to you."

"Shit, you don't fuck enough strangers during the day, you go do it every night now?"

"What the hell difference is it to you?" Sandra's eyes shimmered for a moment. "Not like you got any lack of pussy for yourself."

"Yeah, and that's another thing. When the fuck is Cathy going home?"

Sandra wriggled her bosom into the dress and tugged it tight until the nipples poked two points in the fabric. "I told you already why she has to stay," she said in a subdued voice.

"Well, I call bullshit on that."

Sandra grimaced as she struggled to pull the zipper up behind her. "Don't fucking start with me on that tonight."

Richie stared at his mother's Aura, which slithered casually, as if Richie were no more than a minor annoyance. "I'll start anything I fucking want. I don't want to do this shit anymore."

Sandra snorted. "You? Not want to fuck a willing pussy? Yeah, tell me another one."

"Stop it!" Richie shouted. "Stop acting like you're really my mother! I know you're just a puppet. Stop pretending you're not!"

Her Aura swirled faster, as if agitated, and Richie felt a sense of satisfaction. He remembered Jason saying once that the Darkness had limited energy, and distractions could tax its ability to maintain control of every situation.

Sandra sighed as she straightened her dress around the hips and tugged the bottom down her thighs. Her eyes took on a forlorn look for a moment before hardening along with her voice. "I don't fucking have time for this! Look, we'll talk about it tomorrow, okay? But don't get your hopes up."

"She can't stay here forever, or her family is going to ... see, there it goes again!" Richie cried as the phone rang downstairs. "Someone calls for her almost every day now! Each excuse she gives them for staying is lamer than the last."

Sandra straightened and ran a hand through her hair. "It will ... will all be taken care of."

"By who, the same Dark bitch who drove Dad away?!"

Sandra backed up a step as if Richie had lunged at her. "What ... why the hell are you bringing him up? That's was none of your--"

"Richie!" Cathy's voice rang out from below.

Richie turned towards the door and bellowed, "Look, shut up, I said I would fuck you later! Leave me the hell alone!" He turned back towards his mother. "Don't give me that shit! If some fucking lame-ass child porn rap hadn't forced him out--"

Sandra's eyes widened. "How the fuck did you know about--?!"

"Richie!" Cathy called out again.

Richie growled and lunged at the door, grabbing the frame on either side as he shouted, "I said I would fuck--!"

"You have a telephone call!"

Richie's words froze in mid-stream. "What??"

"You've got a call. Someone named Jason."

Richie's eyes widened. "Jason?! Why the fuck ... what ... hang on!"

He burst out of the room and took the stairs two at a time to his mother's admonishment, "Don't you dare tell him anything about what you just mentioned to me!"

Richie snatched the phone from Cathy and jammed it to his ear. "Jason? Yeah, this is ... wait." He frowned at Cathy. "Scram."

"But will you--?"

"Yes, goddamn it, yes, I'll fuck you. Now shut up and get the hell out of here."

Cathy gave him a hurt look but let out a husky sigh of anticipation and slipped her fingers under her panties as she trotted out of room.

Richie watched her go and paused another moment before he spoke. "Jason, yeah, it's Richie. What's up, dude?"

"I'm sorry if this is a bad time."

"Just another day in fucking paradise, man. What's up?"

He heard an emotion-laden sigh. "I want to give you fair warning. What they're doing to me at the Inn is starting to really get to me." Jason paused. "I may start to be a danger to the others now."

Richie's fingers curled tighter around the phone. "Come on, man, you're kiddin' me, right?"

"I wish I were. They're trying to turn me against the rest of you like I thought they would. I ... I was almost manipulated into doing something like that with my mother."

Richie very nearly blurted out that it was not that big a deal considering the number of times he fucked his own mother. He fell against the wall with a thud. "Come on, dude, you gotta resist this."

"I tried. Maybe I'm managing to slow it somewhat, but that's all."

Richie's heart thumped, and it took massive effort not to scream at his friend. Richie had hoped this was his opportunity to get guidance without looking like he was seeking it. Jason would know what he should do. Jason would have all the right answers. He'd know whether Richie should keep fucking Cathy or let her fend for herself.

Maybe he would know if Richie had indeed stopped being a dick.

"You're going to have to keep an eye on me, Richie," Jason said in a quavering voice. "If any of the Harbingers look like I'm doing something to them, you have to put a stop to it."

Richie's throat closed up. When he had agreed to this, he had never thought it would get to this point. He figured Jason would come up with some kickass plan from that great nerd-brain of his, something none of the others would have ever thought.

Now Richie was the only one protecting the Harbingers. He remembered how well that had gone when it had been just one.

"Richie, please, I'm counting on you," Jason said. "You have to pull through for me."

Only a total dick wouldn't.

Richie could not tell whether the last sentence had been from his own head, his father's voice, or from Jason's mouth. It didn't matter. He blinked and wiped one of his eyes. "S-sure thing, dude. I got your back."

Jason let out a long sigh. "Thank you. I feel much better knowing you're on top of this."

Richie said nothing, as his thoughts were a jumble.

"I better get going. I'll see you tomorrow. Bye, Richie."

"Bye," Richie croaked before Jason hung up.

He hung up the phone with a trembling hand just as the garage door went up. He heard Cathy call his name in a lusty voice as faint squishing noises and low moans emanated from the living room.

A good fuck, he thought through the numbness which had settled over his mind. Yeah. That's what I need. Then I'll be fine. This shit with Jason is just a precaution. His brain is so filled with all that nerd crap that it doesn't know when to chill the fuck out.

Richie took a deep breath and let it go as a ragged sigh before stepping out of the kitchen.

Ned's hand fell to the mattress beside him, the flapping of the journal page loud in the dim silence of his room. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead just above them in an attempt to chase away the lurking dull ache there. When this proved fruitless, he looked at the notebook splayed open in his lap, the pages filled with his useless scribblings.

He frowned and slapped the notebook under its cover, hurtling it off his lap. It tumbled towards the edge of the bed and slid to the floor. "Yeah," he muttered as he rubbed the back of his neck to ease the stiffness. "Threes. Right."

Ned had tried every way to apply the number three he could conceive. He had looked at every third letter, every third word, every third page. He thought he had something on the last one, as each third page did seem somehow off from the others, but he decided it was just wishful thinking on his part.

Ned's fingers flexed in frustration and crinkled the edge of the yellowed page still in his hand. He lay it down lest he damage it further. It was the third page after the one in which Elizabeth had declared several years' work to be so much hot air. He glanced at it again and clenched his teeth. Something about that page still bugged him, but he could not put his finger on what.

He rubbed his eyes, not wanting to look at the time. He figured it must be pretty late, as he could hear his father snoring through the walls. The man generally staggered to bed sometime after midnight, smelling of beer and cigarettes, thus Ned tended to keep his bedroom door shut all evening.

He pounded a fist once into the mattress. He now knew how Jason felt when everyone relied on him to have the answers or to tell them what they wanted to hear. Worse, he was the man of action forced to pore over the scribbles of a dead Witch trying to divine wisdom which most likely was not there to be found.

Threes, dammit, he thought as he yawned. His eyelids drooped as exhaustion caught up with him. His eyes skittered across the journal page, and then abruptly popped fully open. "Wait, I didn't see that before!" Ned cried as he snatched the page up and held it barely an inch from his nose. "A three right in the ... oh ... fuck."

Ned's hand thumped down again. It was not a number three, it had only looked that way from a combination of exhaustion and desperation. It was only a capital letter "E" written with curves where the sharp corners should be. He had seen lots of people write like that.

Ned blinked. He picked up the page again, his eyes darting over it. He picked up the next one, and his eyes flicked between the two. "Wait a cotton-pickin' minute here," he murmured as he sat up straight.

Every capital "E" on the page and the next were drawn with ramrod straight lines coming to sharp points. Only this one "E" near the center of the page was any different. Every other letter near the rounded "E" was perfect, as if typed.

Ned slammed the pages down onto the pile and picked up the lot. He thumbed to the next third page. After nearly a minute of searching, he found another one near the beginning and another near the bottom. When he looked on the third page after that, he found nothing.

"Shit," Ned muttered. He returned to the page in which he had found the initial curved "E". He scanned the page letter by letter until the headache spread to his temples, his eyes trying to wander.

He finally stopped on the word "from" in the middle of a sentence. The lowercase "f" had been drawn with a pointed instead of curved top, and it almost touched the right end of the horizontal slash, like a backwards "4."

Ned's heart thumped, and his eyes continued to strain. He had to reread a sentence three times before he spotted what at first looked like only a vague "wrongness." There he found a lowercase "j" with the bottom part curved almost all the way back on itself, like a backwards "6."

He grabbed the other pages, nearly tearing one in his eagerness. He thumbed to the next third page and located the curved "E's" again. He finally noticed a lowercase "L" with a tiny tick mark off the top, angling right, like a backwards "1."

"Holy shit," Ned breathed. Three numbers on each page. "463" on the first, and "313" on the second. But what did they mean?

He looked ahead to the next third page, where he had found no rounded "E." After some searching, he found another backwards "1", an "S" with a truncated lower loop and straightened lower curve which looked like a backwards "2," another backwards "6" ... and a capital letter "O" with a tick drawn in the upper right, like the aborted slash through a backward number "0."

"Aw, fuck," Ned muttered. "1260" broke with the threes rule. Was this just a fluke after all? The numbers made no sense in relation to one another. He tried adding, subtracting, multiplying and dividing, and came up with nothing which screamed "this is the message."

He stared at the first page again and found a capital "S" with a straightened upper curve. A backwards "5?" So that made the numbers on the first page "4635."

He searched some more until his eyes ached and found another "O" with a little tick mark and a lowercase "L" with the same, making his find "463015."

He searched until he started to nod off. In a hypnogogic moment, he imagined a huge number "8" falling on him, startling him awake. He found himself staring at two lowercase "o's" touching each other. He slapped his face a few times until it stung and used the stimulus to search out another "0" and another "1". Now he had "146038015."

The rush of discovery swept the cobwebs from his mind. That had to be the lot. Three numbers of three digits each: "146 038 015." He had no idea what it meant, but it was a definite pattern. Did it encode for the formula of Elizabeth's potion? Or for a location where they could find it? Or did they translate into letters or other symbols?

He looked at the journal and sighed as his adrenaline spike wore off. He wished he had found this sooner when he was still fresh. He pushed himself until he found all the numbers on the next third page and came up with "031 067 003," just to confirm that the pattern held.

"Goddamn," Ned muttered, both in elation at his discovery and frustration that he was too tired to pursue it further. He gathered the journal pages and stuffed them back into the folder. He climbed out of bed and stepped over to his closet. He looked behind him before opening the door and crouching near a box containing old, worn shoes.

He pulled the box aside and glanced over his shoulder once more. He eased his finger into a knothole in the plank of the old hardwood and tugged. The piece came away in his hand, revealing an opening into the sub-flooring. He slid the folder inside, where it sat with other items of sentimental value that he did not want his parents' grubby hands touching.

He put back the board and the box, stood, and stretched, letting off another massive yawn. As soon as he walked away from the closet, he wanted to get the journal out again. He hated leaving it for tomorrow. He wished it were still early enough he could call Cassie and tell her of his find. Maybe she would sleep a little easier that night.

Unlike himself. Despite having to drag himself into bed, he lay awake for some time, numbers cavorting in teasing and tantalizing dance in his head.

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