He claimed she was going to be a slut like her mother so he was going to train her properly. He didn’t see the softball bat that his wife hit him in...the head with. By the time he regained consciousness, the police had arrived. He died in prison six months later, a victim of jailhouse justice.Karen was torn up because she knew what he did was wrong, but admitted that she enjoyed being forced. Now she felt guilty because she had enjoyed it.“I’m sorry,” I said emotionally, stroking Mrs. Walker’s. She sat with her feet curled under herself, almost kneeling and leaning forward on the windowsill, a thick, leather bound book open before her as she concentrated on the slim pen that idly wrote beautifully curved letters within. It might have seemed an odd sight, the young woman of barely twenty, living inside a sizable, birdcage come apartment, high above the city streets with just one door that was locked from the outside, but to Amelia it had been this way for some time. She had been. I scanned several busy tables for a minute before I saw the one in the corner where a man sat alone with a silver bucket and a bottle of wine. Although I was looking at him from behind, where I could see nothing but the blonde curl that hung down like an inverted question mark from the back of his short, thick hair. I knew it was Matthew. My own son! Just then he turned and saw me. Our eyes met across the crowded barroom floor. I remembered the sexy fantasies I'd had. I waved to her and "fell" over my rake. She looked scared, frightened that I may be hurt. She came to help me, out of concern and love. Yes, that was it. LOVE. I told her that I may have broken my ankle. I needed her to call for help. I told her to go into my kitchen and use the phone on the wall to call 911. She went inside. But as soon as she walked past my doorway I ran in after her and stopped her. She was petite, so small. She needed me to take care of her. She wanted me to. She loved me..