Before 9/11, she had all the requirements to become a commercial pilot. Now she's got to log about double the hours previously required, so she's a flight instructor for the time being.

Much as I'm uncomfortable with kids, Frankey has always been the exception. Of course, she has always been exceptional. Deb met her giving a talk at a Unitarian Universalist Diversity Day and found out she lived just down the street from us. She'd come over and hang out and we'd talk. Then we'd have her pet sit when we went out of town and she'd help herself to our adult queer books. Heh. Happy to know I contributed to her education.

But, she seems pretty grown up now. She doesn't have a girlfriend at the moment. She says the only queer places to go that she knows of in central Florida are loud bars where people go to get drunk, and she's not much interested in the clientele there. If anyone knows any place better, let me know and I'll pass the word.

On Friday, before the big date on Saturday, Sara wrote:

Still no word from the great state of Louisiana, either from Jimmy or Remy. Claire is trying hard to assume that is good news on both fronts but it all feels sort of ominous.

The weather doesn't help. Change in the air. Wonderful warm springy weather all week, but unsettling all the same, like there's a Canadian jet stream just waiting for everyone to get really comfortable in their shorts.

This morning is still warm; she had to open the bathroom window while showering. But a cold front is supposed to come in and thunderstorms are expected. That's probably what has her so jumpy. The barometric pressure, or something.

As she's washing she feels a tiny scratch on the top curve of her ass. Something clenches deep inside her as it has every day since she got the scratch last weekend, every time that her fingertips trail over it and she remembers how it got there.

Remy. That knife. He used a knife on you, she tells herself. A knife! She wants to feel a reaction of terror or revulsion, not this strange exhileration. She realizes that as hard as their...appointments are on her, she has no real fear of him hurting her.

He had a knife. So why isn't she scared?

Or at least, not scared of that. When she trembles and shakes, it's not because of a steel edge trailing over her skin. It's what he's trying so hard to peel away inside, and how damn well he's doing it.

She sighs, turns off the water, towels off. What the hell does he want from me? she thinks for the thousandth time. But she already knows. Surrender. To just give in.

Would that be so bad? a voice in her head asks her. What would it matter if she just went with it? Let it happen? Let him do what he wants...own her, as he said. (A shudder runs through her entire body when that phrase pops into her head).

She shakes her head. No. What would that leave her? Where would that leave her for the other 27 and a half days out of the month when she had the rest of her life to take care of? Not an option.

Mama had let love run her life. Jimmy's assorted pleasures are putting him on his own road to hell, unless she can somehow stop it. And they stayed there, trapped in that lazy backwater of one of the most backwards states in the union.

Surrender would take her back there, she knew it. She'd gotten out. She had gotten through college and then law school with that determination, and she'd meet her next goal as well. Partnership in her firm.

Some swamp sheriff, a hick brother, and the whole godforsaken state of Louisiana was not going to change that.

Badsnake wrote:

The first thing Remy learned when he walked in on Thursday morning was that Jimmy had been out for more than 24 hours. Shit! A whole day of trouble for him to get into. Remy chewed Phelps, the officer responsible, a new one and explained to him that if Jimmy was in jail, no matter the absence of paperwork, the only one with the authority to let him out again was the Sheriff. If the Sheriff disappeared off the face of the earth or if his dead and decaying body was discovered in a ditch, then Jimmy's lawyer could come fetch him. Shit.

He knew it was mostly his fault for not explaining the situation to the night shift, but hell, what was he going to say. I'm keeping this boy in here so I can keep fucking his sister once a month. Oh, and to keep him out of trouble. I've got plenty reason to hold him, but I'm not going to press any charges.

Remy knew he got away with a lot. Hell, every Sheriff in the state could pretty much get away with murder. What he did with Ponces on Tuesday, that's how things were done. With the law abiding citizens, he could leave well enough alone. But with all the ones he had to keep an eye on, that's what they expected. They could get away with so much, as long as it didn't hurt anybody, but if they went beyond that, they would pay. And not in the kind of way that a slick attorney might be able to get you out of.

Remy started making what he expected would be a long string of calls. But to his surpise, Jimmy's landlord, his first call, paid off. Jimmy had come home straight from jail, went out for a bit, come back and stayed. Maybe Ponches finally passed the word and Jimmy couldn't find anybody to play with.

Remy knew it was time for another tactic. Strong arming wasn't going to work. The kid had taken about as much abuse as a man could take, so Remy's usual kind of influence didn't even phase him. Remy would have to have a man-to-man talk with the boy, if he could get him to shut up and listen. But he needed to figure out what he would say first.

The boy'd always been a fuck-up. Always treated like a fuck-up. He was used to getting rescued and bailed out and nursed back to health. He wasn't afraid of anything, so he didn't care what happened to him. But maybe he'd care about what happened to someone else. If Remy could find a way to make him be responsible, to act like a man, just one damn day a week even, maybe Jimmy would find out it's not half bad. Maybe he'd like it. But that meant putting him in a situation where he really could fuck up, and trust him to come through.

And his sister. Remy had to figure out what to do about her. He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to fuck her goddam brains out until she was out of his system. But now thoughts of her ate at him. He was so close. So close to cracking that wall. But in another three weeks, she'd have built up another dozen layers. So once he figured out what to do with her brother, he was going to pay her a little visit.

He would do the dream ritual again tonight, just in case, couldn't hurt, and then he'd get up before the sun rose and start driving. When he encroached on her territory, she would defend, maybe attack. But he knew he was stronger. And he knew she was vulnerable.

He thought about her tight control, and that barely contained hellfire right under the surface. He was looking forward to splitting her open and cutting it loose.

Remy finally realized that this was like an assault campaign. They'd had their little truce, but the e-mails they had exchanged in the past few days had blown that all to hell. And her last one was a sign that she was scrambling. If he hesitated any longer, she would regroup. He had to take her in her own turf, where she thought she was safe. And he had to be merciless. He wouldn't settle for anything less than complete surrender.