Proper Training

"Put that down, Billy Jo." He stood there, cringing against the wall. "You're not in your right mind. You don't know what you're doing."

"Oh, don't I, Davey? You knew what YOU were doing all those times you touched me. All those times you came to me, to my bed, in the wee hours of the night. Every time you used your grubby fingers to pull up my nigh..."

"Billy Jo, that never happened. I've never done anything like that to you. Ever! You know that, right?"

She continued to advance, caressing the nine inch blade in her hands, as she would a pet; its sharp edge felt silky and smooth in her mind, like a dog's fur.

He watched as blood dripped from her hand to the floor. His eyes bugged out, the irises shrinking so that all that could be seen was white - streaked with frantic red. His heart was thumping crazily, every vein in his body bulging. His lungs constricted, his chest drew tight. He could not draw a breath. He started to hyperventilate, gasping and jerking as Billy Jo approached.

"I. Did. Not. Do." He didn't think he could get another word out. It could kill him. He slipped to the floor, his back pressed close to the wall, his spine digging into the wood, impressing its image there. This moment forever scarring the wood.

She stood over him, the blade hissing as she turned it over and pulled it through her hand again. Again. Again. Her blood dripped hot on his forehead as he craned his neck to look up at her.

"You know what you did, Davey." Her eyes glinted yellow and feral in the dim kitchen light. "Now . . . you're gonna pay."

"Please," he whispered, one last word thrown to her mercy.

She laughed as she brought the knife up high over her head. It blocked the kitchen light and cast his world into shadows.

"Did you give me mercy when you took my innocence? DID YOU?"

He could only sit there, his brain fading from lack of oxygen. His vision closed in, forming a dark tunnel as the last image burned into his memory. Her eye glowing, her teeth bared in a maniacal grin, and the arc of her arm coming down - then he passed out.

"NO!"

He jerked up, throwing his hands in front of his face.

She was gone. It was dark. He could feel the soft mattress under him, the sheets tangled around his legs.

The beginning of sunrise was just peeking in through the window.

Shirley was already out of bed, just an indention in the pillow and a few strands of red hair told of her presence in the night.

His clothes were soaked in sweat and he smelled like he did after working in the field for hours.

He took a shower, the sweat and remnants of that horrible nightmare running down the drain.

He stepped into the kitchen. Shirley and Billy Jo had already eaten breakfast. A plate was set for him, covered and warm. He sat down and tucked into it.

Shirley and Billy Jo shared glances over their coffee cups. Davey never raised his eyes from his plate.

He finished and looked up. Something in their eyes, there only momentarily, mirrored in each set, made the hairs on his neck prickle up.

"Well, girls, that was a mighty fine meal." He said, patting his stomach and managing a smile. "I'm gonna head out to the field and do some work."

He walked to the door, and put on his heavy duty boots. The girls never said a word.

It occured to him that they hadn't said a word all morning. And what about that bandage on Billy Jo's hand?

Shrugging the thought off, he ducked out the back door. The click of their coffee cups being set down chased him out.

A thought snapped at him, and he ducked his head back in the door.

"Um. Thank you for breakfast," he murmured.

The girls nodded.

He left again, with a skip in his step.

"See," Shirley said, turning to Billy Jo, "with proper training, any man can become manageable."

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