Number seven: Sorry dad I had to get away. I have decided to see the almost shrink. I need help. This is not your fault. Call Jon, he needs to explain...about the truck. I’ll call you later.I decided not to call Agent Wilkes until I spoke to Mica. I pushed her memory number, and it went directly to message. “Leave it and I’ll call, or not.”“It’s Ed. Maybe I’ll talk to you, if you call. Or not. Oh the FBI is ridin’ after me.”I called to leave a message on Jon’s phone. Instead I got him. “Hey kid. I carried K to my bed and lay her down and we sleep. Like two spoons in a drawer, her pretty butt against my cock and my hands on her boobs. During the night I fucked her when ever I so desired. In the morning I looked at my sister and smiled she was really mine.Karen was the hottest bitch in High School and was my whore. I knew from reading that both her lying to me and her regret of that plus the Stockholm Syndrome accounted for her behavior. She wanted and was my whore in body and soul.. We are both country folk. I was raised on a farm and my wife fell in love with the farm life as well. At the last minute, she decided to stay home. Family obligations were important enough that she made her usual unilateral decision to pre-empt our trip.I didn't think the problem was severe enough to cancel the trip and got on the plane. I went straight to the rental counter and rented an SUV. The first night in the hotel I surfed real estate listings. I printed out locations for several. It frightens me. It reminds of a movie I saw not long ago. Dawn of the Dead. In this movie, a virus started turning people into violent zombie-like killers and very few normal humans remained to face them. I feel like everywhere around me, men and women are becoming monsters. The cops only stop violent men. They let violent women walk away with a slap on the wrist. It is frightening how much some women will get away with by playing victim. The man is not always the bad guy. Sometimes, the man.