Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 {Okay, rather than avoiding the psychobabble all together, I'm
concentrating it to this episode.  With the caveat that the psychiatric
terms are archaic, and the narrator isn't qualified to diagnose a gran mol
paranoid schizophrenic, much less a subtle emotional abuser with violent
psychotic episodes which completely mask her more rational manipulations.
So, if you want to explore theories to explain, or debate the motivations,
and symbolic origins of the eponymus character, keep in mind that one of
them is in way over her head, and progressively being brainwashed into
codependent Mind Control.

   Also a pervasive theme of Mother/daughter molestation, with some
borderline adult Lesbian rape, and various Anger-Retaliatory humiliation of
boys through men.  Trigger codes at the chapter heads where appropriate.}

   ;

   Sex is not love, but we sometimes abuse the ones we love the most.  Even
love can be toxic.

   Mother Love {FF/gb Saph Ince Fant}

   "Secret Touches." I looked up from my notes.  "Often, the best way to
tell something is wrong is if we're not supposed to talk about it.  So, if
you or someone you know is touched by an adult, and it's a secret, it's
best to find someone you trust to tell about it." A little boy raised his
hand, "Yes, you have a question?"

   He got up, and looked around nervously.  "Like my momma?" This can be
difficult enough without the whole school there to hear it.  But they
middleschoolers were notably sober, and serious, considering the subject
matter.

   "Yes," of course, "Your mothers are perfect examples of an adult you can
trust." He looked down, confused.  "Or policemen, teachers, other faculty,
if you don't know anyone you can trust, you can call either of the hotlines
on the back of the handout." He sat down, but his posture, how he looked
around, and the expression on his face gave me reason to follow up after
the presentation.  We wrapped up early, to leave time to talk to anyone who
might need more individual care.

   His teacher called him "Chris?" He stopped, and turned.  "Would you like
to talk more privately?" He hung his head, as if in trouble, but they gave
me a room to use.  Walking past the low wall with windows to the
playground, a lot of the other kids were taking advantage of the early day
to run around and play, but I noted sever talking, to eachother, and every
visible faculty.  Reporting usually goes up after one of these
presentations, which is why we do them.  Also, the K-9 officers were always
a big hit.  There was a line to pet the well trained German Shepherds.

   He wiped his eyes.  "It's okay to cry, do the boys tease you?" He
nodded, "That's normal, but it's not okay.  You understand, it's not
anything wrong with you, they're in the wrong." He nodded, "Now, your
mother hasn't been telling you to keep secrets?"

   "Here," he shrunk away from my patting his back.  High between the
shoulders, but he stooped even further.  Holding the door to lead him in.
The folded tables, and chairs were stacked up against the wall, leaving
some room in the middle for 2, across from one another, but not a desk. 
"Have a seat." He picked the closest, so I could keep an eye on the door. I
put my notes up on my leg.  "You're not in trouble, Chris.  Is that short
for Christopher?"

   He looked up, "Christian," shook his head.

   "You can trust me, anything you tell me is confidential.  That means it
will not leave this room, unless you give me express permission.  Okay?" He
nodded.  "Good, now were you told to keep a secret?" He closed up again,
crossing his forearms in his lap, as if to hug himself.  He didn't fidgit,
his knees were held together, and he slouched.  Over, enough for his
forearms to rest in his lap.  "I can't help but sense that something is
bother you, but I find that talking about it, helps us deal with emotional
trauma better than trying to deal with it on your own." He nodded, but
didn't look up.  "Hm, keeping, certain secrets hurts, your feelings, and
keeping it bottled up just makes it hurt worse, and worse.  I'm here to
help, but I can't if I don't know what's troubling you so much."

   "h." He just sighed.  Shrugged, but didn't look up.  Great, that leaves
20 questions.

   "Did someone touch you?" He shook his head, "A friend?" no, "Expose you,
or themselves to you?"

   He looked up, eyes and face wet from quietly crying.  "What's 'xposed
mean?"

   "Take off their clothes, or make you take your clothes off, to expose
privates." He looked away.  Not down, avoiding my eyes.  "Okay, that's
okay, it's not your fault." He dropped his head, and went back to crying
silently.  This was going nowhere, "Do you think your moth, hH!?" He looked
up, his eyes were still tearful, but then I saw something else.

   Fear.

   "Has your mother told you to keep any secrets?"

   "She, snh!" he wiped a dribble of snot from his lips, "Momma says some
things is private, like your privates.  So, if you touch them, or even look
at them, it's very very naughty, and I get in trouble."

   "What kind of trouble?"

   "She spanked me?" He winced, but at least he was opening up.

   "What were you in trouble for?" He looked away again, "It's all right,
you're not in trouble now, i just have to get to the cause of your
feelings, to help you deal with them."

   His head fell, "My sister," now I could hear the lump in his throat,
"She come in my room, naked." He looked up, "I didn't look, honest!" Avoids
eye contact too, "But she pulled my pants down, and said 'that's fair'." He
started sobbing, quietly, but I picked him up, and held him in my lap until
he calmed down enough to go on.

   "Oh," I held his head, "Dear, that's just normal anatomical curiosity.
Sometimes, that's how boys and girls learn the differences, when they get
to be that age."

   "She don't got no wee wee."

   "No," I sat him back on his seat, "She's a girl, and girl's wee wees are
on the inside.  That's all." He sniffed, "There, feel better?" He nodded.
"Is there something else, you need to get off your chest?" He shrugged,
holding back.  "Something that confuses you, or you don't understand?"

   "This was long ago, now she's a lesbian."

   "Is that the secret?" He nodded.  "How, do you know she's homosexual,
does she have a girlfriend?" No, "Did she tell you?" Shook his head.

   Well, that's odd.  Most children don't express a sexual preference that
young.  {Author's note, this is in the past, so there's a lot of
anachronistic concepts, including persistent myths like this one.  Also
explains a lot of the archaic terms, and attitudes.}

   "Well, since it's her secret, I think it would be best if I talked to
her." 2 children, in an at-risk situation.  Still have to narrow down the
source, the cause of all this trauma.  I led him back out, "Could you tell
me which class she's in?"

   "She don't go to this school," he shook his head, "She's only 9."

   That's definitely odd.  The way he described it, she exposed herself to
him, "Long ago," which at 9 could be just a couple years, but that's
definitely disturbing behavior for someone as young as 7?  His teacher came
out of the office, and waved his file.

   "You can go, Chris."

   He stopped at the door, "Momma picks her up first." Pushed open the
door. "Uh!" He never, offered anything, without significant prompting. 
From what little I could pick up from the little time I had to watch him,
it was almost like a cry for help.

   "This was everything I could get." I flipped back and forth between
grades, and reports.  Copies, but legible ones fresh from the ditto
machine. By the blue, and the spotty lines down it.  I found him before she
did, not hiding, but he didn't stop to play, or socialize with friends. 
Just standing at the curb, looked thoughtful.  "He gets bullied, a lot." It
says [Fighting] but that can also mean being picked on.

   "Does he fight back?"

   She shook her head, "That's why he's bullied." Those types of boys, once
they find an easy target, they tend to focus on them.

   He just walked, slowly across the playground.  Head, and shoulders low,
ignoring the laughter, and playing all around.  A ball bounced, right
behind him, but he didn't react.  His teacher went out, "Terry," she
yelled, "I told you;" rushed to chastise the girl that threw it.  I caught
the door, and followed him.  Of course, I had given him a lot to think
about, but he just stopped at the curb.  Waiting with his textbook, and
workbook held in front of him.

   "So," he didn't look up, "What Tina did, was." but at least he had
stopped crying.  "Normal?"

   "I'm not so sure," it could easily be explained, "She just showed her
hers, and you showed her yours?" He nodded, "That is normal." Anything
else; Given the rough timeframe, as curiosity before she developed romantic
feelings for other girls.  It may have traumatized her as well.  {Again,
antiquated concepts of sexuality, in adults.  The common perception is that
it's a choice, or can be caused by sexual abuse, or seeing a penis too
young.  Even by professionals.  Similarly, there's no distinction between
homosexual Acts, and being Gay.}

   He was quiet, so I looked for more answers in his records.  Incomplete,
they went back to last year's elementary grades, but not before that.  "Did
you move, here?" He nodded, "Where from?"

   "Philadelphia." Mental note to send for those records, and his sister's.
His place of birth listed as Honesdale, however.

   "And your father?"

   "He's a fuckin' deadbeat." Normally monotone, his voice changed. 
impersonating someone, I assumed to be his mother from context.

   "And, did your mother remarry?"

   He shook his head, "She hates men." He didn't look up, "There they are."
They pulled up, and I heard the transmission, shifting out of gear. 
Windows down, I bent over to look past Tina, and she turned.  "The fuck're
you?"

   I handed my card to Tina to pass over.  She turned back, eyes front,
perfect almost rigid posture.  Her brown hair in ringlets, like her
mother's darker black.  And the messy shock of curls on her brother.  He
got in, oddly went around.  The trunk, looking back for traffic, but got in
behind her.  "Dr.  Anders?" She glared over the card.

   "I'm not a Doctor, mrs Lowell, but Chris is showing some behavioural
problems, which indicate emotional trauma at home."

   "It's Lovel." German pronunciation?  "And he prefers Ian." I looked
back, but from his expression looking up, he most certainly does not.  She
handed the card back, "It says you have a Doctorate."

   "Yes, in child development, but I'm a social worker with CPS,
specializing in emotional trauma." And abuse.

   "Well," she reached up for the shifter, "I have to help them with their
homework, and fix dinner, so;" She pulled it down out of park.

   ...School traffic, the busses loading in another lot from where I
parked, with the police cars, and the K-9 van, but I couldn't feel
comfortable letting them go back, and as I stood up, I looked down, trying
to figure out what was nagging me.  Tina, sat perfectly, hands on her
knees, eyes front, then it all started clicking together.  "Well," she
pulled up slowly, "I have your address, so I can come by later." She
slammed on the brakes.

   Good Girl/Bad Boy.  She gets everything, all the attention affection...
"However, there were some issues, which I have to address before they
become Legal issues."

   She put it in gear, "Are you threatening me?"

   "Of course not," I leaned back down, "you." She smirked, sideways, eyes
front so her mother didn't see.  ""Chris may have some psychological
issues, which will only get worse with the police, so now is probably the
best time."

   "IAN!" her foot slipped, turning to raise her hand, and then she kicked
it to a stop again.

   "MRS, Lowell!" She stopped, looked guilty.  Literally this far from
striking him.  He gets all the abuse, punishment.  Tina exposed herself to
him, and he was spanked for it.

   "What did you do." Calmer, she put her hand on the seat back, but he had
his books up protectively.

   "No," she stopped, up on her arm, ready to pull back an open handed
slap, and realized the situation.  "Christina.  I think it would be better
if we talk in the car." Police cars parked right behind me, a Canine van to
show off the dog, and another to unload all the presentation material.

   "I don't know what he told you,"

   "But you won't hear it talking over me.  Now," I am threatening you. 
"Either, I can come with you, to check out their living situation, or I can
go back in there, and talk to the authorities." I reached in, pulled the
stem on the door lock.  She turned, I think I saw the start of a smile, but
she locked it down.  Looked at the mirror at a break coming up.  "Well, get
in?"

   "Buckle up, Chris." I pulled the lap belt over my hips.  It was going to
be a rough ride.

   [Preferrential Pedophile] Huh!  The same damned stereotypes I've been
fighting my whole life, she reached down and shut off the turn signal. 
"Lovel, is that German?"

   "Frankish, originally.  Related to the Loels, and the Lovells, but my
great grandmother didn't change the spelling when she emigrated from
Vienna." She looked back, in the rear view.  "And he prefers Ian."

   "No," I looked back, "He doesn't." How you handle a bully {Again...}
backing down just encourages them, and puts you in their place for you. 
"Actually, he prefers Chris.  Isn't that right?"

   "Ian is fine." Yes, mother.

   "Isn't that confusing?"

   "Why did you name them Christian, and Christina?"

   "Huh!  Well, it's a long story." She looked up, away to lie, "His father
named him Christian."

   "And Christina?"

   "A childhood friend." Of course.  "What kind, of behavior are we talking
about?" At least covert incest, possibly more.

   "She exposed herself to an older boy, and made him expose himself to
her." She looked back, in the side mirror, then her eyes locked back,
straight ahead when I glanced over.  She touched her shoulder, she didn't
react.  No expression on her face, whatsoever, like a doll posed on a
shelf. "Is this true?"

   "Yes, mother."

   "Huh!  Well," makes excuses, "That's normal," she shrugged, "So she has
a boyfriend, a bit young, but she's always been gifted." Helping her with
her homework gives her an opportunity for control, over her grades, and
learning.  To correct what the teachers get 'wrong.' I'd seen it before,
all of this, just not in this unique combination.

   "Incest," I shook my head, "Is not normal."

   "WHO SAID ANYTHING ABOUT INCEST!"

   "Chris did," I sighed, rubbed his shoulder to reassure him.  "That's
what brought this to my attention.  Now, in my experience," her eyes
searched, trying to process all this, and think of a good excuse for all of
it which gave me time to talk; "It's best to determine the cause of such
behavior before the authorities are involved, for the children's sake."

   "Is that why you're doing this?" She rolled her eyes, dismissively.

   "Yes, I find police aren't reliably equipped to deal with these
circumstances, properly.  The result often further traumatizes the
victims."

   "She's not a victim." Yes, she is.  She's your victim, but parental
incest is an abuse of Denial.  I'm not abusing her, I love her.

   "That still has to be determined." Now, she has to prove it to me.  "Are
you, in Private school, Christina?" She just shook her head, looked
forward. She was dressed, almost in uniform, what some sects would call
Modest.  "Do you go to church?" Recently, a lot of charges of pedophilia
have surfaced, especially in the catholic diocese.

   "We are Atheists."

   "But you were raised Christian." Can't ignore the subconscious naming.
"Catholic?" Guessing, "Protestant?"

   "Bruderhoffen."

   "I'm sorry, my German ist nicht mir gut.  Is that Pennsylvania Dutch?"

   She nodded, "Society of Brothers," like Quakers are Society of Friends.

   "Puritans."

   "You know the Mennonites?"

   "I have worked with some, yes."

   "Not unlike them, I grew up in a community."

   "In Honesdale."

   "Not far from there, but they kept us.  Well, like prisoners.  To
protect us from the world, until I ran away.  That's why I'm raising them
agnostic."

   "Not Atheist." Like she said before.

   "Huh!  Well, I don't believe in God, however if Christina." also
emotional neglect.  Ian is out of sight, out of mind, until something goes
wrong to blame him.  Otherwise, she only has eyes for her daughter. 
"Decides she wants to believe differently."

   She has a 'choice.' The illusion of 'Free will,' so she doesn't think of
herself as a tyrant.  Except her daughter is frozen, like a statue.  Afraid
to betray anything, or attract any attention.  Emotional pick a card, a
choice as long as you chose what I've chosen for you, reinforced every day.
Telling her what's 'right.' Of course, that lies out the window if she
decides she wants to be a Lesbian, for example.

   "Why the interest in our beliefs?  Are you, spiritual?"

   "I haven't seen any reason to believe in god." Actually avoiding any
more triggering subjects.  Again, it could be explained in the car by her
mother's driving.  Always on the edge of road rage, so probably best to
steer clear of any emotional minefields until we're safely off the road. 
Also, she may relax somewhat at home, where she feels more in control.  I
will learn a lot from how she keeps it, I expect obsessive compulsive
neatness.  Possibly with micro-messes to indicate areas of emotional
avoidance.  Like her son's room, she'd order him to clean it, spank him for
not doing it, but not have the level of focus to keep it perfect.  Like
Christina's.

   I wasn't disappointed, but right in the door I was struck by something
else.  Antiques, looked like mission furniture, very well made, and
perfectly maintained.  Why, you can see your reflection in the polish, but
simple, almost austere, unadorned.  Also, textiles.  A tapestry, or family
quilt, embroidered, and held up on a fringe of macrame'.  "You have a
lovely home." I looked at the back, wedding ring pattern, but nothing
hidden behind it.  Just a wall.

   She closed the door, "Now," locked it, "I will not be threatened in my
own home."

   "I don't want to threaten you, however in my experience, police are ill
trained and equipped to investigating these cases, and that could be even
more traumatic for her." I turned, looked down.  "Now, where would you feel
most comfortable, Christina?  Here, in your room?" She looked up the
stairs, no.  Not there, too traumatic.

   Her face brightened, "My mom has an office!"

   She apparently doesn't want us going there, "Perfect." Right, shift
subjects real quick, mentally shuffle files around, "Upstairs?" She's
manipulative, not demanding, but given an option, picked the worst one for
her mother.  Or, took the opportunity to go in the forbidden space, Her
domain, but her expression was definitely glee at getting away with it.

   "Down here," the hall behind the stairs.

   Like a Grandmother.  Retired, puttering around, nice garden out front,
"What do you do, professionally?"

   "I work from home.  Telecommute."

   "What does that mean?" I understood the word, and prefix, just not what
that means in the context of a career.

   "Systems analyst and network administrator.  For the University, and
other local networks."

   "Computer networks."

   "Yes, like your social services network, or the AP."

   "Associated Press."

   "Yes," I followed her down a hall, past the kitchen, which was draped
with hand towels, dish cloths, needlepoint, and knit.  Spotless, everything
in it's place, but decorated, again like a Grandmother.  "In here," she
held open some French doors.  To a den, but with bookshelves, I looked
around.  "Classics," I ran my finger over the edge of a shelf, not a mote
of dust, on the old looking spines either, pulled out a hardbound set of
Dumas (Musketeers, Iron Mask, and Monte' Christo) and the top of the pages
were dusted as well.

   "Mostly non-fiction," I left it out, slightly, sat down.  "History, it's
a bit of a hobby."

   She looked, didn't get up to push it back in line with the others, nor
seem distressed by the urge to.

   "First, I would like to talk to the children, together."

   "Not without me." See, now that's the problem.

   "Well, unfortunately, Chris in particular has problems talking about,"
anything, or at all without being forced to, "Certain things in front of
you."

   She nodded, turned to him.  "Ian, tell her what she needs to hear."

   "Yes mother."

   "Now Ian, do you remember when your sister came in your room, naked?"
His chin started to wrinkle.  "It's all right, relax.  You aren't in
trouble, close your eyes if it will help." He nodded.  "Okay, take a deep
breath, do you remember what you were doing before that?"

   "Playing?"

   "With toys?" he nodded, "What were you playing with?"

   "Cars, and trucks."

   "Good.  That's very good."

   "Are you hypnotizing him?"

   "No, Mrs.  Lowell, I'm trying to eliminate distractions so that he can
remember better." So, you're not helping.  She's not in denial, she's
actively covering up.

   "Leave her alone!" She got up, stood in front of her.  Defensively.

   "Come here, 'Tina." Calmly, she crossed her legs, and held her across
her lap.  Which isn't easy without your leg falling asleep.  Held her
protectively, no doubt afraid of losing her.  I turned on my chair.

   "Now, Christina.  How would you describe your relationship with your
mother?"

   "We're in love," she looked up.  Her mother glared, tried to shake her
head, without looking like she was.  The family secret, what I was here to
expose.

   "Now," she turned back, "There's love, and then there's love.  You
understand that there's a difference between how a mother loves her
daughter, and how lovers;"

   She interrupted, "I love her," she shook her head, "And she loves me." I
felt a little sick at the way they held eachother, "That's what in love
means." She says, to an adult.

   "Yes, however there are different ways people express love for one
another." She nodded, "Such as hugs." She let go of her mother's neck,
"Kisses." She nodded.  Folded her hands in her lap, not on her knees, but
protectively, over her privates.

   "I thought this was about Ian."

   "What this is about." I took a breath, "Is the family situation.  I
don't need Chris right now, and he might not want to hear any of this."

   "Go do your homework," trying to Control herself, now.  Wouldn't want
him to hear any family secrets, however.  He went in his room, down stairs,
but Familial Abuser.  Sure as soon as I saw the front room, decorated by
the Grandmother.  Possibly passed, but the quilt up on the wall, from
macrame fringe tied over a rod like a tapestry.  i looked behind it, no
window, but the back quilted in Wedding Ring pattern.  Crochet throw over
the back of the vintage 60s conservative couch, China cabinet, no pictures
oddly enough.

   "Now," probably sleeps on the couch, a study, not sure what kind of work
because everything is put away.  Here's the picture, singular, "Make
yourself comfortable," in Her space, she took the couch, so She sat next to
her.  I rolled Her chair from behind the desk.  "First, its best to find
the cause of the trauma, before we decide how to address her behavior."

   Wish I had her school files too.  "Is this about her father?"

   "What about your father?" She hugged her, to silence her in her blouse,
but it could look protective.  No, it still could be protective, don't run
away with your assumptions.

   "I caught him, changing her diaper."

   "And?".  That's not enough to explain anything.

   "And, huh!".  She looked up, to the left, then down at her.  She looked
back up, "That's why we moved here, to get away from him."

   "She was in diapers, so she must have been a year or two old?"

   "She was potty training," she shook her head, "So maybe 3?"

   "And you're what, 8 or nine now?" She nodded.

   "Nine.  You don't think starting so early made her misbehave, do you?"

   "I have to hear it from her, though." I turned back, "Christine, do you
mind me calling you that?" She shook her head, "All right, Christine." Hard
to build trust with her possible abuser right there, Her arm around her. 
"Do you remember your father?".  She nodded.  "Do you remember when you
were potty training?".  Most people can't, remember anything before about
four to six, but that was 3-to-5 years ago.  She looked up, to the left,
then her eyes switched over to the right.  Away from her mother, but, "He
touched me."

   "In your diaper?" She nodded.

   "And on the potty, and when he tucked me in at night."

   "Touched you how?"

   "In the," she looked at her mother.  "Privates?"

   She nodded back, "Its okay, dear.  Tell her what he did."

   "All right, when you say in the privates, do you mean in the private
area?"

   "Uh," she thought, "Inside the outside?"

   "Between the folds." She thought, nodded sincerely.  "Touched you with
what?" A washcloth?  I can tell they are lying, both of them to cover the
mother.

   "Fingers?  Well, one finger inside, but the other fingers outside.  Then
she licked my butt." She covered her smile, and blushed.

   "Your father." She nodded.

   "Oh yeah," she pretended to burst out a laugh, "His fingers." Came out
more like a scoff.

   "Do you have any trouble telling male from female?  I mean boys from
girls?" She shook her head.  "How can you tell?"

   "Boys where pants." That's how she pronounced were, but common confusion
for her age.

   "Okay, however, I am wearing pants."

   "Yeah but not boy pants!" She laughed.  Good, backing off from the
triggering subject, just have to circle around.  "But if I wore boy pants,
say jeans.  Do you have any jeans?" She nodded.  "All right, if I was
wearing jeans, and they didn't have any decorations.  Just regular anybody
jeans, how would you tell?"

   "Well, you're shaped like a lady."

   "Yes," I nodded "Good, however girls aren't shaped like ladys, so if you
saw a boy and girl, dressed the same, do you think you could tell the
difference?"

   She nodded, "Girls are pretty, and have long hair."

   "What's this have to do with anything?"

   "Well," I looked over at her, "Now that we have a proximate cause, I
have to eliminate other possibilities."

   "Like when she just said he instead of she." I frowned, she saw it, "Or
vice versa."

   "Yes," I turned back to the little girl.  "Do you know what
homosexuality means?"

   She nodded.  "It means Abomination.  I learned it in church," she looked
at Mom, "I just went to the bathroom, I went right back to Sunday school,"
didn't have to ask if they were christian, also part of the décor.  "But I
heard Pastor Roberts, he said when men love each other like women its a
abomination, and they will be put to death."

   "Yes," she turned back, "However when women love each other, they are
called Lesbians.  That is also homosexual." As good an explanation as any,
however it also shows she hasn't been exposed to the concept before. 
Therefore, the family secret is not that she is a lesbian.

   "Oh," looking back at her mother.  "So, do you think I'm" she closed her
eyes and cried.

   She held her to her blouse again.  "I don't know, dear," she looked at
me angrily.

   "Mom," she squirmed.  Reluctant to say anything, but her arm tight
around her shoulder, "Nh, you're hurting me?"

   "You can go out, and play with your brother now," she ran off, "We don't
want to traumatize her any more." She got up, held her hand out, reaching
for her, but I closed the door.

   She got up, and the mother looked after her with longing.  "You have
homework."

   "They can finish their homework before Monday." We do these
presentations on fridays so as not to interrupt the week too much.

   "Do as she says," she nodded, "Keep an eye on your sister, Ian."
Noticably shaken, she still had to try to maintain Control, and was
protective of her to the end.

   "Yes mother."

   "Close the doors."

   "Yes, Mother."

   "So," I looked back, "Samantha." There's also a noted difference in her
demeanor when the children are out of sight.  "Is it all right if I call
you Samantha?"

   "Sam," trust, "If you like." Becoming friendlier, more personal, trying
to make me trust her.  Manipulative, but subtle to most people.  I've
worked with it before, however.

   She got up, "Would you like a drink?" Hands shaking, she turned to a
small neat bar.

   "I don't."

   "Well," she looked to a cut glass decanter, "Do you mind?"

   "It's your house," I reassured her, "Your liver." She poured some sort
of whiskey, the lid off the ice-bucket, then picked up a selzer for a
spritz instead.  "Huh!" She sat down, opened a wooden box, and pulled out a
cigarette.  "Smoke?"

   "Go right ahead."

   She took a drag, "Huhhhh!" Took a long breath, and set it down in a
matching cut crystal ash tray.  Like the highball glass, and bar set, her
nose cane down, exhaling from her nose smokilly.  She straightened, and the
relaxation was replaced by that rigid, Puritan pose.

   "Well, Sam." She braced herself, straightened, and subconsciously
assumed the position.  Uncrossed her legs, "You might as well say what you
came here to say." Hands folded in her lap, her eyes said cut the crap, and
get on with it.

   "All right," I stood up, "I'll go ahead and ask how long you've been
molesting your daughter." Pulled the Trigger.

   Morion {FF NS.  The two accounts are different due to 2 points of view,
with a "Nervous Breakdown" in between.  Trying to keep the distracting
psuedopsychiatric asides to a minimum, but Mother subconsciously edits out
psychotic seizures to fit them in with her internally consistent
delusional. Bear with me.}

   "Like I said," she sat calmly by the doors, "I find it best to
understand the causes of behavior before deciding on a course of action." I
winced, put down the rye spritzer, and flicked the ash off.  With the
children gone, "Well," I thought back, "I guess you mean his father."

   "What about Chris' father?" I gritted my teeth.  Pushing my buttons, she
knows I hate her calling him that.  Chris, and Chris, constantly reminding
me.

   "Well," I let it out, "I caught him, changing his diaper."

   "Before Christine was born." I nodded.  "This is why you divorced him?
They are half siblings."

   "Yes," and I reverted to my maiden name.  "Well, when I saw he was,"
Look down, shamefully, "Excited by it.  We had a fight, and I threw him
out."

   "He had an erection." I nodded, lips tight.  Took another sip to wash
the taste out of my mouth.

   "I couldn't see, how he was touching him, but.  Well?  He got angry,
when I pointed it out."

   "Did he abuse you?"

   "He Tried to." Firm no.  "He thought, because of the way I was raised
that I was Weak." He found out, that I was Not.

   "Let's get back to that.  How was your childhood, with the Bruderhof?"

   "You aren't familiar with them?"

   "Never heard ovem." She has an accent, a strange one.  Sounds like a
drawl, but she covers it.  Speaks properly, not unlike a doctor, or a
therapist.  Another sip to cover my smile.  2 can play this game, and I
always win.

   "Well, first of all, they raise children in Creche." She nodded, "That
means we all grew up at the school, in dormitories, until we come of age.
Not with our parents, we know who our brothers and sisters are, but we all
referred to eachother as Brother, and Sister." Even our cousins.

   "Society of Brothers."

   "Yes, like the City of Brotherly Love.  The Pitts were Anabaptists as
well."

   "I see."

   "What does this, have to do with my children?"

   "Now," she shook her head, "Calm down, it just helps me to understand
how you raised them." Held up a hand, "You obviously hated the Brotherhood
way of life, so people from environments likeat tend to overcompensate in
some areas."

   "Like insisting I raise My daughter," the right way?  "How is that an
overcompensation?"

   "It isn't, however I was referring to her." She glanced away, "Well, the
inappropriate way she sees you."

   Like the questions she asked, "She loves me." I shrugged.

   "She said In Love, you saw her face, she considers you her lover."

   "I haven't the foggiest where she gets these ideas from." Probably that
damned school, they won't let me teach her myself, they say I'm not
qualified, but I can get the lesson plans off of newsgroups now, and nobody
is better qualified to teach My daughter than I.

   "Relax," my brow loosened a little, so I looked up, stubbing out the
butt.

   "I am calm." Stop saying that!

   "The first thing we need to address is how you're abusing Christian."

   "I'm not," and I quote, "Abusing Ian."

   "You almost struck him, in the face right in front of me, and 5 cop
cars. And caused an accident losing control of the car.  You have to see
this is a serious problem."

   "Boys need discipline."

   "That's not Discipline, it's child abuse, and it's causing his
behavioral problems."

   "Well, I don't know what these Behavioral Problems you keep talking
about are, but I haven't heard a damned thing from any of the teachers."

   "No, because he doesn't act out.  He doesn't act, he ignores everything,
and withdraws into his shell, because you conditioned him to be a victim.
The boys know, and bully him for it.  He can't fight back, he just freezes
up, and lets them abuse them any way they like.  Just like he lets you, for
fear of setting you off."

   "Look, bitch, talking to me 'likeat' is really starting to piss me off."

   "Because you're a bully, and you're raised your son to be bullied by
other bullies."

   "I will not,"

   "Calm down, now."

   "No!" She didn't make it through the door, "Get out!" but ducked the ash
tray, "Get the fuck out of my house!" I slammed the other open, but she
backed down the hall.  "This is my house, and I will Not be accused by some
Children's Services Bitch with delusions of grandure!" She laughed, but I
cut her off at the dining room.  She fled past the sideboard, and ducked
the gravy boat.  Never liked the damned thing, but now I had a full
thanksgiving set.

   "They're gone." I stopped.  She held the doorknob, to the front hall,
right by the door, and my tremmors came back, "Now if you so much as
scratch me, you will never see them again." She stood up, straightened, but
still out of reach.  I could still throw it, across the table.  or maybe
push it back to pin her in the doorway.  Not sure why it was locked, but I
had her cornered, she knew it, and this feigned bravado was just to cover
up her fear.  "So, put the knife down, Now.  Before you ruin all our
lives."

   I dropped it, "Hh?" I don't faint.  I never fainted in my entire
goddamned life.  I remember back in the day, when women would swoon at the
drop of a hat, but you notice you never see that any more?  She kicked it
away to spin and clatter on the floorboards to the corner, and I found
myself on the floor.

   She's a coward, a yellow bellied poltroon, she fights with words cause
she can't fight with action.

   Yeah?  Well she just kicked your ass with those words.

   "Is there somewhere you can lay down?" She helped me up, "Uhn!" Damn
near broke my ankle, so I kicked off my heels.  "Come on," she helped me
down on the couch, "Looks like you're going into shock," pulled the afghan
down from the back, and tucked me in.  "I'll be right back," she ran in the
kitchen, came back with water and a wet cloth for my head.  I slipped the
back of my hand off my brow.  "Hh!' she took the half empty glass from my
shaking hands.

   Mother.  {FF NS.  MC, with a Psychological note: This is a while ago, so
terms like Gaslighting weren't even in common usage at the time, much less
with Social Workers who probably aren't qualified to diagnose anyone with
anything.  However, this is also in the days of Poster Diagnoses, where
school Councilors looked around the office, said "You have, ADD." And their
eyes stopped on a Poster provided by the makers of Ritalin.  If you go in
for a checkup today, you will probably find a poster of the Spine, or Knee,
provided by the makers of Oxycontin.  This isn't about that, but should
tell you why certain characters use antiquated diagnoses like
Manic-Depressive, and fixate on certain disorders.}

   "So, do you think that's it?" They went out, but Ian knew to watch out
for his sister.

   "Homosexuality?  I don't know, children are too young to decide that,
however sexual abuse can confuse them."

   "So, her father made her hate men, sexually." Good an excuse as any.

   "No, if it affected her behaviour, it would present more as a Conduct
Disorder.  She would behave much worse, but not attempt sexual play with
her siblings."

   "What kind of behaviour?"

   "Oppositional/Defiant.  Ironically, she's too well behaved for that to
be the cause."

   She sat down at the table, so I sat across from her.  "Is that her
records?"

   "No, it's Chris's."

   "He prefers Ian."

   "No," she shook her head, "He hates it.  'Tina too."

   "No they don't, they call eachother that, all the time, you think I
don't know my own children?"

   "I believe you neglect Ian."

   "Then what's that have to do with Tina's behavior?"

   "Nothing, I'm here because of Ian."

   "Do you think his father molested him?"

   "No, I think he suspects that you molest her, and he's covering for
you."

   "What!" Vase, "How DARE!" missed, "You?  Get out of my house," She made
it to the door, but I stopped by the side board.  Displaying the full
Holiday set, right down to the gravy boat.  She ducked, I always hated that
goddamned thing, anyway.

   And a set of silverware.  "They're gone." She stopped.  Cowered.  "And
if you so much as scratch me the police will be here before they get back."
My hands shook, "Now, calm down.  Put the knife down." I felt cold, and the
room spun.  "Come on," she put it on the table, "You may be going into
shock, is there some place you can lie down?" I gasped.  "Here," she took
the afghan off the back of the settie.  "Take a deep breath, I know it's a
shock, but don't do anything to ruin all our lives.

   It felt like a heart attack, though!  Not that I ever, had one.  But I
imagine that it must feel like that.  I heard water, then she came back,
"Here," she gave me a glass, and put a damp cloth over my brow.  "He said
you're lesbians.  Both of you, have you any idea what would make him think
that?"

   "Well," I thought, "I certainly haven't molested my daughter, but he may
have seen me, with another woman.  I'm not married, it was just a fling, it
didn't last because I'm not a homosexual."

   "However, you were open minded enough to experiment."

   "Huh!" I remembered, "I did it, to get back at him.  He cheated on me,
with her, so.  I guess I wasn't thinking, but I thought fair's fair."

   "So this was back," she thought, "Before you moved?" She opened the
folder and checked.  "From Minnesota."

   I nodded, relaxed.  "Did it come up in the divorce?"

   "Oh, we weren't married."

   "Why not?"

   "I don't know, he didn't want to pay for a big expensive ring, or the
wedding.  So, when we eloped, I didn't have to change my name back,
either." She frowned, a lot.

   "So, you separated.  You said you moved here to get away from him."

   "He had a temper, and with the baby."

   "Cristina," she nodded, "Why did you name her Christina?"

   "I don't know, I always liked that name.  If they both like the name
Chris, then isn't that confusing?"

   "I think it's a joke.  They don't call themselves Chris, so it's not
confusing, but is that why you named your firstborn Christian?"

   "Well, his father said it was a good christian name!" She didn't laugh,
or even smile.

   "No, you always liked the Name Christina." So, if it's a boy, we'll name
him Christian.  "You didn't name them after anyone?"

   "Well, not like Jesus." That would be blasphemous.  "I guess, I knew a
Christina, growing up."

   "Were you friends?" I nodded, "Best friends?" Sure.  "More than
friends?"

   "I told you, I am not homosexual."

   She came back, with a chair from the dining room.  "Are you
comfortable?" I shrugged my arms out of the Afghan.

   "I feel a little hot." Good, She threw it back, and sat down, "Now,
since it appears to be a central cause, and you where there, I'd like you
to think back to when you caught them playing naked together.  Relax," I
let the cloth settle back on my brow, "I'm not here to judge you, we're
just trying to get to the root of the problem.  Now, was it here, or back
in Minnesota?"

   "No, it was this year.  Or last year, over the winter break, but I don't
remember if it was before new years."

   "Good, now where where you?"

   "Back in the office."

   "Good, and why did you go to his room?"

   "I heard them."

   "Playing?"

   "Laughing, I wasn't busy, so I went to see what they're up to."

   "Good, all right, then you saw them naked."

   "They weren't naked, he had his pants down."

   "But she was naked."

   "I suppose, I chased her right out."

   "Yes, but she leave any clothes behind?"

   "I don't know, I didn't look?"

   "Was he aroused?"

   "I don't know," I looked at her, "I didn't look."

   "All right," she put her hands up, "It made you angry."

   "Well of course, I caught him exposing himself to my;"

   "Jealous?"

   "Of course not, she's my daughter!"

   "Yes, of course, but." She stuck out her pinky, "She went to his room,"
held it back.  "Naked," 2, 3, "and Made him pull his pants down, did she
know you're in the next room?"

   "How should I know that?"

   She stood up, picked up the chair, and carried it back.  "Calm down,"
she sat down, between the dining room door, and the hall.  "Now, relax.  I
know this is hard, but try not to react with Anger, it's how your Denial
works." She held up her hand, "And don't tell me 'I'm not in Denial'."

   "That isn't what I was going to say."

   "Fine," she sighed, "Lie to me, I can tell, but lying to yourself is bad
for your children." Or, they wouldn't be flashing eachother in their rooms.
"Huh!  All right, so do you have any idea why she would want to make you
jealous?"

   "My Christina," I sat up at least, "She's very bright, but she's not
like that."

   "However, the one time she awkwardly tried to seduce her brother, then
stopped, she almost went out of her way to get caught."

   "Huh," I looked down, "No." Shook it, but, "I can't imagine why she
would do that."

   "Me either, which is why I had to talk to you about it, to find out. 
Now, I can't in good conscience leave them here, tonight, together, because
todays trauma could cause something unpredictable."

   "Like what?"

   "I don't know, but cases like these, nothing good."

   "What do you know about cases like these?"

   "From the ones I've seen?  They usually produce some sort of psychopath.
However, you can still help by Thinking about it.  Not the same excuses
you've been thinking over and over, those are to cover something up, but if
anyone can understand it, it's you.  You just have to stop lying to
yourself.  Now," she checked her watch, "I'm going to have to leave soon,
if I'm going to find them both placement tonight.  The other option is the
Shelter, and neither of them want that."

   Christine {Ff NS.  Md Ince Mnem}

   "Christina, do you prefer 'Tina?"

   "I hate it," she shook her curls, "How about Christine?"

   "All right," she left her hands folded in her lap.

   "Now, you know everything you tell me is confidential.  That means;"

   "Nothing I say will leave this room," she nodded, "Chris told me."

   "All right, now I'd like to discuss, how you leaned to play naked, with
your brother."

   "Mom." She nodded.  Honestly.  She rolled her eyes, "Well, not with my
brother.  She didn't know about that, but she said when I was older, I
would be old enough to get a boyfriend, and a husband."

   "You mean then a husband?"

   "And a boyfriend, she told me my husband doesn't need to know about
him."

   "So secrets," seemed to be a big thing.  "She told you not to tell
anyone about, telling you this?"

   She shook her head, "She showed me."

   "What did she show you?"

   "Everything, how to give a blowjob, and a handjob.  How to get turned
on, and wet so it doesn't hurt."

   "She used," how to put this, "With visual aids?"

   She shrugged, "She got her toys out."

   "Sex toys."

   She nodded, "Mhm?  Dildos, and vibrators." She giggled, "She has a
strapon!" I must have looked horrified, "She didn't put it on or anything,
she pushed it back in the box, and got out the stickydick."

   "What's that?"

   "It's like a dildo, but it really looks like a dick.  It's got balls and
everything, and a suction cup, so you can stick it to a table."

   "So she could show you how to, masturbate it, and suck it."

   Nodding, "Then she fucked it, and showed me how to play with yourself."

   I nodded, "None of this is, upsetting you," or triggering?

   "No, I like it.  She doesn't do it with me as much.  She just uses the
strapon on her boyfriends."

   "She didn't remarry?"

   She shook her curls, "She doesn't like husbands.  She hates men, really.
Just likes to fuck them."

   "Did she have you watch?"

   "Goodness no!" she gasped, then giggled, "She tries to hide it, but we
know what she's doing."

   "But she never touched you?"

   "Well, I already told you she licked out my ass."

   I thought, that was.  No, I totally surpressed that image.  "How, no. 
Why, how, did she explain that, or talk you into it?"

   "She said that guys like it, for when I get a boyfriend, or to find a
man who loves that.  Huh!  It was over a few conversations, mind you.  And
she doesn't never say the same thing."

   "Because she's lying." She nodded, "Huh, she is full of excuses. 
There's some she believes, those she fits into her denial, the delusion
that lets her sleep at night, and gives her emotional feedback, which is
why she does it."

   She just nodded.

   "You'll understand it some day, I'm sure."

   "Huh!" she rolled her eyes, "She's my mom, I've known her all my life.
And I read her stories, you seen any of the smut she writes?"

   "She shared some of her fantasies." She's more open, if not any more
honest that face-to-face.

   "That's how she does it.  She tells stories, make them sound real good
to turn you on, and doesn't really separate reality from fantasy very
well."

   "Okay, let's get back to what she did to you.  Are you saying she still
molests you?"

   "Well, not since you got us out of there.  I'm surprised she didn't kill
you, and plant rose bushes over your body." She gardens too, keeps busy to
distract herself.  "But now, she just checks me."

   "For what?'

   "She says she's seeing how I've grown, and checks my cherry to make sure
I'm not sexually active."

   "You aren't."

   "I play sex.  I'm 9, probably shouldn't do all the stuff I do, but I
mostly just play with Christian, because he needs it, and I don't want to
molest any other children."

   "Do you think you would?"

   "No," she shook her head, seriously.  "I don't have any friends.  They
tease me, call me weirdo, but I avoid it.  Because I know, my mother raised
me to be a child molestor."

   "And you know it's wrong."

   "I don't know what's right, she never taught me that, but I know they're
children.  They're not ready for that adult stuff, and I don't want to do
any of that stuff."

   "Then what do you do with Ian?"

   "I'm his mother." HUH!  "He doesn't have one, or she doesn't treat him
like one.  He can't get it up, but he likes it.  He likes it up the butt.
She was right about that, boys like that, or at least he does, and I like
it too."

   "What, exactly?"

   "Well, if you're going to make me say it, sucking ass, and fingering
him. He likes it, and it makes him stop crying.  He begs me to, and cries
until I do it anyway.  I don't know why, I didn't think about it, I just
started doing it, and I can't stop." She cried.  I was actually a little
surprised, and appalled, but I never saw so much emotion come out of that
scary little surpressed psychopath she raised.  "No," she pushed me back.
"That won't help," so I sat down.  "Huh!  just let me deal with it.  Snh! I
don't, I can't let you hold me, and lie to me, it just makes it hurt worse.
Huh!" Wiping her eyes, "I don't even, really think I like it.  That doesn't
stop me, but it doesn't even turn me on.  I don't know if I can be turned
on, sexually now."

   "Well you're young." She nodded, a picture of sadness.  Her shoulders
went down, when typically she sits so straight, and upright.  "Most of the
molestation victims I've work with at your age, have a chance to deal with
your abuse, before you're old enough to start a more healthy, and adult
love life.  But, I'm going to have to keep you apart, now.  You
understand."

   "Um," she looked around, "Could you get me out of that shelter?"

   "Why?"

   "It's all girls, and.  I'm afraid, I'm scared for them."

   "Afraid of what you might do?"

   "I'm already thinking about it.  Too much, not all the time, but more,
and more, and I can't sleep.  With them, in that dorm.  Hhhuh." Her hands
start shaking, so she clasps them together in her lap.  "I'm.  It's not
safe for them, with me in there at night."

   ;

   Mother Love {FF NS FB}

   "Relax, get comfortable.  Now, to better understand the cause of your
problems, I'd like you to think back to your first sexual experiences. 
Now, in the story you wrote about your husband, you said that you're
molested by another girl in the creche?"

   "Well, I'll call her Evette, if that's all right?  She's a lesbian now,"

   "And you find that, distasteful?  I can see it in your face, let's push
your fears about being homosexual asside for the moment, was she older than
you?  This Evette."

   "Yes, she left.  The creche, when she started bleeding.  She showed me
first, and then she went to speak with our teacher, but before that, we. 
Played, sex games.  Like Doctor, first, since she was the only one allowed
to see us naked, she showed me what she had in her underpants, and had me
show her mine.  I never, looked down there before, they wouldn't let us
have mirrors, for vanity.  Just like my name is Marion, because naming me
Mary would be Hubris."

   "Or Evette instead of Eve."

   "Exactly, but then she said we could play husband, and wife, and try to
figure out what husbands do with their wives, that we weren't supposed to
know about."

   "Who played the husband?'

   "We took turns, I don't remember who got to play him the first time."

   "That's good," leaning in.  Put her elbows on her knees, "I had thought,
one possibility, though it's not a rigid diagnosis, yet.  Do you sometimes,
feel like a man?"

   "I can't imagine what that would feel like."

   "Or a boy, trapped in a woman's body?"

   Think about it, "Like a, transexual?  I thought that was for men."

   "Yes, however, it goes both ways.  A common theme I picked up on in your
fantasies is role reversal.  Playing the man's role, and feminizing the
victims." I sigh, close my eyes.  I'm starting to hate that word, but she
waits, patiently.  "And typically homosexual acts, like sodomy with a
strapon, and analingus."

   "I never wrote about that."

   "No, but you thought about it.  I heard about it, from your daughter."

   "Then where did she hear about it?"

   "From you, while you're molesting her."

   I sat up, "I didn't," couldn't even say it, "I could never, do something
like that to her!"

   "She told me about it, I taped some of the sessions if you want to hear
them."

   "No!"

   "She cried."

   "What?" She never cries.

   She nodded, "I know.  I swear, she teared up, and cried.  I couldn't
believe it when I saw it."

   "She's lying."

   "No, you're lying to yourself, I didn't know that you're this deep in
denial, do you black out, or do you think you just bury the memory?"

   "Snh?" Wipe my eyes, "I don't know?" I just found out, I.  Im. 
"Whmhmhmhmhm!"

   "I'm gonna take a break anyway," she walked over to my desk.  "You
mind?" I looked up, waved my hand for her to take a cigarette.  "I didn't
know you smoked."

   "I quit."

   "You can smoke in here."

   "I need the fresh air."

   She tried to light it on the back pork, with matches, they kept going
out.  "Hh," I held one for her, "Thanks."

   "Huh," I leaned back, in the shade from the awning, barely covering my
face from the low afternoon sun.  An airplane flew over behind us, I closed
my eyes, and smelled her cigarette.  Waiting, she'd never finish it, but
the word 'Denial' kept flashing through my head.  'Victims,'

   I'm a child molestor, "Good," I molested my daughter.

   "Good," I said, my fingertip, slipping out, still a virgin.  "Hhhuhuh.
You gonna finish that?" I looked down, over half left, flipped it between
my fingers back to my thumbnail, and lifted it to the center of my lips. 
{B.  Singer, she holds and smokes them exactly like Kaisa Soza.} "Pb,
Snhhhhhhhh."

   "Flashing back?"

   "I don't remember the, feeling.  Anything."

   "You probably weren't feeling anything.  You blacked out, psychotic
seizure.  You probably weren't even aware of what you're doing.  'Mommy
went away'," My daughter?  "You're pure Id in that state, you're capable of
anything."

   "Freud?" Veinnese, just like Hitler.  "Why are you being so nice to me?"
I almost killed her, twice?

   "How do you mean?"

   "I just don't understand," She's not going away, I can't chase her away
with a knife, and I really did, go full on "Psycho," {Hitchcock} mommy
dearest on her, and she's still here.  I never, even believed in that kind
of loyalty.

   "I like to think I'm a nice person." She opened one of the doors, "It's
hot," I looked down, flicked a long ash off with my thumbnail.  "And you
need to think a moment." I nodded, took another puff.  "Pb."

   I put it out, and waved the smoke away for no reason, before I went back
in.  "Get comfortable," she said, so unbuttoned off my vest, and took out a
couple buttons in my blouse for good measure.  "H." She just waited,
patiently down the hall in my office.  Still sitting by the doorway, the
open side.  The children gone, so nobody to hear us talking.

   I grabbed some ice from the kitchen, dropped in in the bucket, and a
couple cubes in a highball glass.

   "I don't believe in violence, as a solution to violence.  Even violent
thoughts and feelings tend to escalate, and I believe you surpressed your
feelings.  To the subconscious, so that you can maintain your perceived
control over your thoughts."

   "Mhm?" I pursed my lips, and tapped the filter of another cigarette on
the lid of the box.

   "You mind?" she got up, walked to the bar.  I shook my head, "Got any
rum, or tequila?" She bent, then crouched down over her heels to look in
the bottom of the cabinet.  Held the doors, around her knees.  Set a bag of
Crown Royal on the top, and a bottle of Canada Dry in the ice bucket. 
"Whisky girl,' she rubbed her chin, "Eh?" Pulled the old Jim Beam from the
back.  "You have any coke?"

   "RC, in the Fridge," Ian likes it, in the morning.  I don't neglect him,
do I?  How do you neglect someone in a blackout?"

   She answered from the hall, "You don't," she put her hand up, coming
through the door, and walking back to the bar.  PSH!  "It's a Blinder, you
put up to focus your attention on your favorite.  Emotional Neglect, while
giving all the affection to Christina.  Good Girl/Bad boy," She turned by
the door, and sat down.  "Hh, it's your gender roles," she shrugged, "As
you taught them to your progeny."

   "Can you Fix me an RC/CR?" She looked back.  Crown Royal, Royal Crown.
"2 fingers in an Old Fashioned glass, and top it off with the Cola." Finish
my dry rye on the rocks.

   "Ice?"

   "I have some," Sip, and drop in cubes as I make room for them.

   "So, why'd you move to KC?" making conversation.

   "Kah!" That didn't last long.  "For work.  The main hub is, well we're
only 2 hundred miles east of the geographic center of the US."

   "I thought you telecommuted."

   "I do, but I also have to go in to the office, periodically.  For
meetings, and the like, and it also cuts about half the lag."

   "Lag?" She's not familiar with computers.

   "Yes, transmission takes time, whether it's mail, phone lines, or
sattellite.  So, the entire logistic system works better the less
hysteresis in the system, and the central hub is the point where it's least
retarded."

   She nodded.  "Have you given it any thought?"

   I set down my drink, but she, knows when I need a break, and when I'm
slipping back into denial.  "Hh!" I nodded, and stubbed out in my ashtray.
It held up better than the gravy boat, which broke off it,s base, but will
never hold gravy any more.

   "I believe the most pressing issue is the irrational fits of Violence."
Oh good, let's talk about that.

   "You know what causes them?"

   "Nobody knows what causes them, but we are narrowing down your Trigger
set.  That's the stimulus, and situation that tends to set you off so you
can't control yourself."

   "And you don't know why you don't remember them?"

   "Okay, Freud was wrong, about a lot of things, but modern psychiatrists
still understand a more progressive form of the Conscious.  The
Subconscious, tends to be unique.  So, for examples when Sigmund talked
about Symbols, like the phallus, castration angziety, and regressing to the
anal stage of development, what he was really doing is subconsciously
expressing his own hangups in his own symbol set."

   I nodded, I had Freud, right there on the shelf.  Red them in German,
Neitzsche as well.

   "So, before we can interpret dreams, fantasies, and subconscious
motivations, we have to understand your Subconscious, which seems to be
largely symbolic."

   "And the key is the symbol set." I got it, "It's encoded, so the
Conscious mind can't understand it?" Like machine language, and Command
Line.

   "Right, so as far as Violent Triggers, you appear to react to Fear with
Anger, and Violent Rage is a response to Disobedience."

   "Okay, you said Situations, too?"

   "Yes, you can, possibly learn to control your urges by avoiding
situations, which trigger you to offend."

   "Like what?"

   "It depends on which behaviors we're talking about, but your sexual
abuse seems to be directed preferrentially to your daughter."

   "Hh," I tried to cover it, by picking up my glass, but my hand shook,
and the ice rattled before I could bring it to my lips.

   "That's another kind of trigger.  Flashing back to repressed memories,
from your blackouts."

   I swallowed half watered down whiskey, and cola, and crunched the ice in
my molars.

   "The memories are going to start coming back now, I'd expect nightmares
as well, but I want you to keep in mind that they will not be wholly
accurate.  Where possible, I will correlate with you, witnesses, but for
the time being, try to write out, what you can remember, when you can." She
checked the clock, "I should be heading out."

   "You have other cases?"

   "I'm, on leave.  I had a bit of a meltdown myself, recently, and that's
causing troubles at home.' She will not talk about her family.  Which I can
understand, why she doesn't trust me now.  I'm not sure I trust me now.

   "Sam?" She turned back in the hall, shifted her bag on her shoulder. 
"Do you think I am, subconsciously, homosexual?"

   "Hh," she came back, "No, homosexuality is a choice."

   "You said that, but I know it isn't."

   "Might as well get this debate out of the way," she pulled the strap
over her hair, and set id down by her chair.

   "Nature/Nurture?  Okay, to justify my position, first let me say that I
grew up in a closed experiment in sexual repression."

   She nodded, "Go on." Accepting my premise.

   "Now, I don't believe, (Opinion) that being forced to live with girls,
and any contact with boys made me transexual."

   "So you believe that?"

   I held up my finger, "You have a point, you may be right about me
wearing the pants in my family, but we're going to the root cause of
behaviours, right?  Now, at any given time there was a dozen to a score of
girls living in that dorm.  I left there when I was 7, or 8, and in that
time, only 2 girls had any sexual activity."

   "That you know of,"

   "I was there, one of that particular lesbian couple, and the other girls
didn't tell on us.  i will just assume that if any of the others felt any
sexual feelings or curiosity for girls, they would have asked us about it."

   "All right, i can accept that, albeit culturally non sequitor anecdotal
evidence."

   "All right, what evidence do you have that it's a learned, behavior, or
conscious choice to live as a homosexual?"

   "Hh, just every psychiatrist since Freude,"

   "Who was wrong, and in a sociopolitical system founded by Slavers that
Started with the principal that "All Men are Created Equal"."

   "H, all right.  You've given me a lot to think about, but i really must
get home before the kids do."

   But, she admitted she had children.  I had thought she'd scheduled these
daily visits because of my work schedule, but I had a lot less house work
with it so empty, and I'm finally over the lonelyness.  And overcome by
fear of what I was.  No, not becoming, but always was and only becoming
aware of."

   And horny, I finished getting undressed to go up and pull out the bed.
Get out mister sticky for the headboard, and licking his ass liberally so
it will stick to the headboard.  "Where you drunk, for most of your
blackouts?" I don't rmember, but she said "It's easier to remember in the
same state of mind you're in at the time."

   "Hh!" So, I got out my portable, and flipped up the screen to start a
new document.  {I'll spare you the Command prompt, but she programs, in
BASIC.  Or writes, drunk, riding a 6" 'Realistic' dildo suction cupped to
her headboard.}

   'Tina {F/g Ince Mole.}

   "Momma went away.  That's what I thought, I don't remember the first
time, but as I grew up, I realized.  That wasn't momma, she was gone. 
She'd come back, and she was just like the same momma, but then.  She'd
look at me, and I knew.  Momma was gone.  Like this.  Nothing, no
expression.  Wave your hand in front of her eyes, and she'd look.  She
could move, get up, walk around, but.  It's not like, she was someone else.
There's nobody there, she doesn't say anything.  She just, huh!  Well, she
touched me.  It was kind of scary, and I cried, but then momma came back,
and held me, and told me it was all right.  Then, huh.  She went away, and
touched me.  Again, not right away, I don't mean she turned on, and off,
over and over, but sometimes.  I learned, the best thing is to just play
along, or she gets real mad, and scary.  You know, loud, yelling, throwing
things.  She gets likeat.  Oop, sorry.  That way.

   The first time?  Huh, well I remember, playing naked, with Ian.  He was
my big brother, but he never really played with me.  He had balls, and
trucks and stuff, and I had dolls.  Momma told me, he was.  Well, I guess
possessed is the word.  She never said it, but the stuff she told me. 
About his father, and the sickness he had, I heard about devils in sunday
school, and it took me years to put it together, but I think she really
believed he was possessed, by his father's sin.  Lust.  All boys are full
of lust, and you mustn't do anything to attract it.  It sounded a lot like
her.  Well, not her but the way she gets when mommy goes away.  I knew,
what she did was wrong, but.  Huh, if I didn't, she got violent, and scary.



   But, one day momma was working down in the office, and Ian was playing
by himself in his room, so I thought I'd try a test, so see.  I hate dolls,
always did, not like I wanted to play with trucks, or whatever, but with
somebody.  Who could talk, and, do something.  New, and interesting, huh! I
lived with Ian, all the time, but the way she kept us apart, I guess it
was, new, and interesting.  So, I did the worst thing.  I knew what causes
lust, seeing me naked, she told me.  So, I took my clothes off, and went
down to see what would happen.  He looked way, so I pulled his pants down,
and it looked so funny, I couldn't help laughing.  Too loud, because momma
came in, beat the tar out of Ian, and by the time she got me upstairs, she
was gone.  But, at least I had someone to play with.

   Ironic, maybe I wouldn't have thought of that, if she let us have a TV,
or any friends.  Well, I guess, that's when I started playing naked, with
Ian.  It's really the only way we could play, or we wanted to, together. 
Mommy, and daddy, we didn't know, what daddys did.  We never had one, or
ian don't remember his.  She gets a sitter, and goes out.  On a date, we
can tell cause she gets out her slutty clothes, and her makeup.  perfume to
smell real pretty, but she never brought one home.  A man, she just got
dropped off, drunk, her clothes and hair all fucked up, then she was back
to the same old mom, with a headache in the morning.  I don't know, about
once a month?  Yeah, I guess you're right, she does seem to do it when
she's on the rag.  I like you, I can talk to you, and you're a good
listener.

   Hm?  Oh, well like I said, we didn't really know what a daddy did.  I
mean, before Ian found the stories.  His daddy's stories, he could read
better, and such, but before that.  Well, I just showed him how to touch
me. The way she did, when momma went away.  I didn't play with myself yet,
why I must've been 6, or 7?  Tooth fairy time, you know.  Not, that.  We
every got a visit from the tooth fairy.  We heard about it, from the other
kids at school.  But anyway, he touched me, and i sucked his nipples, but
his dinkle.  He couldn't get it up.  In the stories, his daddy could always
get it up.  It was the biggest thing, and people were scared when they saw
it, but it was a long time before Ian could, do, any of that.  I tried
sucking on it, and everything, but really we mostly just kissed, and he
touched me while I sucked his nipples.  He likes that.  Oh, you know, my
privates?  I swiped one of your pamphlets, uhm.  Let's see, that one, on
sex ed?  Mhm?  Well okay, huh!  Let me see it, I don't have the whole
diagram memorized, but he holds my labia open, and like rubs his middle
finger in the middle.  Not in the top, that hurts.  The, uhm.  Cli'to'rus?
Yeah, it hurts when you touch that, so he stayed away from that, but if I
suck on his fingers too, then he can even get his pinky in, my.  Va'gin'al
opening, without busting my cher, uh.  Hymen."

   Sam {FF...  Also, a lot more.  A lot a lot.  No spoilers.}

   CLK!  I stopped the tape, and she sighed, relaxed.  This isn't hypnosis,
she does this, all by herself.  I was only now beginning to realize how to
trigger it, and why.

   "Love at first sight?" She scoffed, "Phft!  Fairy tails, I thought until
I saw her.  Held her in my arms, and to my breast.  I knew, even before she
was born she was my daughter.  She would be beautiful, and she would love
me.  Always." She took a breath, slow, but shallow, as if asleep.  "Maybe
it's my imagination, but she smiled at me, wide, and toothless, then
winked." Her Id state, she normally covered up with her imaginary friend.
The Pirate, Morion.  The rage to cover up the feelings she's ashamed of,
fear, weakness, lust.  Everything she buried so long, so she could
function. When she's herself, until she goes away.  She finally heard it,
from her daughter, and was beginning to accept that Morion isn't a
protector.  She's a monster.  {Trying to keep the psychiatric assides to a
minimum, but again.  She hasn't the foggiest clue just what the fuck she's
talking about.  Try to keep that in mind.}

   "Mh," her open eyes drooped, fluttered.  "It still feels like a dream,
before that a Nightmare, with Ian's father." She covered for him, a lot.  I
had to get into His fantasies to discover a homophobic sadist, that's his
dungeon downstairs.  "I don't remember the birth at all, Ian's.  He hurt
me, it was so painful, but the second time, the doctors said I had a
seizure.  Their excuse, for giving me drugs against my wishes.  Signed all
the forms, and they still shot me up.  Hhuhuhuhuh!" She held her arms,
rubbed them a little.  This isn't a trance, she can move, she's just
remembering, not thinking about it.  Enough to lie, this is the truth, as
much as she remembers it accurately.  The problem is her Id chewed on it
for decades.  "What did she call it, post-partum psychosis?" I nodded, that
was me, but she wasn't talking to me.  Or anyone, was she, telling Morion?

   "Mhm?"

   "I guess that's what happened," she shrugged, "And that's what made me a
psychopath.  Now, I remember her looking up at me.  From my breast, the
broken one, she could somehow suckle, but Ian could not.  Ever since it was
damaged, when his father beat me for throwing him out." She covered it,
protectively at first, then groped it obscenely, but her expression didn't
change.  No expression, nothing.  What did she call it?  Oh yes: BSOD, the
Blue Screen of Death.  Or, a Guru Meditation, whatever that is.  System
Crash, reboot completely, return to Start: 1...

   "The strange, tingle in my breast?" she shook her head, slowly, mouth
open, then her teeth snapped shut.  "That didn't happen, with Ian.  She, I
could, feel her.  Voice in my head." She blinked, "But that's insane." She
was back.  "Hhhuh!" Now she rubbed her arms, vigorously.  "What did you
do?"

   "Nothing," I put my hands up, "That was all you, I didn't hypnotize you,
you know I can't, you don't trust me enough."

   "You," her face twisted, "You raped me!" She grabbed my wrists.

   I relaxed, let her shake me.  "I'm sorry." She stopped.  "Hhh," willing,
she could, do anything to me, right now.  I deserved it, I knew it, and she
at least owed me that, but she stopped.  "Mari?" I blinked.  "Morion?" I
twisted my arms out of her hands.

   She stood there.  "Huh!" Eyes looking up, at nothing.  Through the wall
over my head.

   "Come on," I took her hands, "Let's set you down." She nodded,
expressionless.  I suspected, told myself that fighting back just makes it
worse, but that's not it.  I gave in, I let her.  Just like her daughter,
and that seems to be the key to her violence.  If you don't fight back, She
doesn't know what to do.  Morion, which leaves the rest of her Id free, to
come out.

   "You remember, Morion?"

   "I don't remember her name.  Just, the Spanish family.  They came, to
stay with us."

   "Spanish Bruderhoffen?"

   "Yes." Still no expression, "For Christmas, they spoke Spanish, I
couldn't understand them, but they brought toys.  Dolls, I never saw dolls
before." Her eyes, sparkled?  With the memory, I blinked, and shook my
head, "Feliz, Navidad.  It was, like a puppet show.  They told us a story,
with the dolls.  A princess in a beautiful dress, a rat, and a Soldier.  I
don't know if he was a prince, or charming, I could not understand what
they said, but he pulled out his sword, and he killed the rat."

   "The Nutcracker," I recognized the story.  She knows it too, has her own
copy next to The Man in the Iron Mask.  She's still learning to separate
fantasies from memories.

   "No, the soldier.  Then, The End.  My mother picked me up, and took me
away.  To change me, and feed me, but I looked back over her shoulder." She
raised her hand, reached out, in the memory.  "He was so beautiful, with
his strange golden head.  Like the crescent of the moon, with a circle in
between."

   "The Morion," she nodded.

   "I did not know what it was called, for years, but he wore a Morion."
She sighed, "Still shining in the candle-light, until she closed the door,
and unbuttoned her dress, to feed me."

   "But, the Bruderhof, raised you in Creche?"

   "Huh?" She blinked, shook her head.  "I can't believe I can remember
that far!"

   "You can't," welcome back, "Repressed memories are unreliable, decades
after the fact, because of the way the Id edits them, into an internally
consistent delusion." Like memories of past lives...  "Huh, the best way to
break that cycle, is to see the inconsistencies that proves them false."

   "But, no.  No, we were raised in Creche, but I knew my mother.  Who my
brothers are, they didn't keep us away from our families.  I know I called
it a Prison, but after Mass, we went to our mothers.  That's how I learned
to sew, and knit, and our family history.  Back to the Hutterites when they
came over, it was very important.  Especially for choosing a husband, she
told me who I could not marry, without inbreeding."

   "So, you had Christmas with your family?" She nodded, "And Spaniards
came to visit, from where?  I know there's no Spanish Brotherhood,"

   "Paraguay?  I don't know, I was too young.  If they told me I don't
remember, and I didn't know Spanish back then.  But they were there, for
Christmas.  I remember it so well."

   "Okay," never mind, "Let's get back to Christina." Wow, she just went
away.  At the mention of the name, just like she said.  'Momma went
away...'

   "She, huh.  I know, every child molester ever probably said she came
onto me, but it wasn't like that.  I flashed back, crying, but he calmed
me. Soothed me, told me it will be all right.  I'm here, and I love you."

   "Who?"

   "Christina."

   I could see the love in her eyes, softening.  Almost an expression, but
just in her eyes, even the brows were still slack.

   "At the Creche."

   "No, in the nursery."

   "Your daughter.  She talked to you?"

   "No, she was nursing.  It wasn't words, that's just how she made me
feel. Safe, she, protected me."

   "Like Morion."

   "Yes?" She blinked, "She, is Morion?"

   "Of course not," I shook my head, "it was probably either a
hallucination, or different memories getting mixed together with fantasies,
and besides, this was before you made up that character, in college?" For
playing D&D.

   "No," she looked.  Marion, she was back.  "I lied, about that." Looked
down, sighed, "I knew, you would never believe me."

   "About what?"

   "Morion.  She's always been here." She tapped her temple.  "She wasn't
my imaginary friend.  When i was a little girl.  Huh!  It was, almost like,
i was her's."

   "That doesn't make sense."

   "But I remember.  Pori, the smell of our family shack, the burning nets,
the creak of the rigging, and." She held her arm.  "My arm, breaking.  My
first love."

   "The Marquis de la Troi?"

   "Nohoho," she chuckled, "That was in the game, his real name was
Zograph. I'm not sure how he spelled it, I was illiterate back then."

   "Morion?"

   "Mhm?  Who did you think you're talking to?"

   "Marion?"

   She shook her head.  "Marion, never existed.  She's a front, a character
I made up to fit in this time."

   "So, you're a time traveler." As soon as you think you've gotten past
the delusion, it reasserts itself.

   "No, well, yes.  Technically we all are, one second per second." She
shrugged, "I'm immortal."

   "Right," she's Indiana Jones, I guess with some Connor McCleod thrown
in.

   "Huh, toldja she wouldn't believe me."

   "Was that Marion?" She nodded.

   "She has a mind of her own, but I was born, on Antekithra, we moved to
Pori when I was very young, and Mari majored in History to account for my
firsthand experience of the Rennaissance.  I'm sorry about all the retcons
from the D&D campaign, but I am not a Character, I am a memory.  Of the
first, the Matriarch, Euphra.  Pori, I guess.  We didn't have a last name."

   "Like Eaphrot?"

   "Or Oprah, it's a very old name.  Older than Greece, which was largely
gone by the time I was born."

   "Then, why haven't I heard, anything about the Pirate Morion?  Hang on,
let me talk to Marion real quick, she's the historian, she supposedly ruled
the seven seas, tortured Torquemada to fucking death, and became the first
Conquestadora, then how come there's nothing about her, in all of history?"
At some point, you have to break the delusion, hopefully without triggering
another seizure of violence.

   "Hh, well.  I had thought, that because of Christianity.  Now, I can't
be so sure."

   "A coverup."

   "Yes, you realize, she was a threat to early Christandom, as they spread
out from Byzanteon."

   "The western roman Empire," I did some homework.

   "No, the City.  Before it was Constantinople, then Istanbul, it was
founded as the Greek city Byzanteon.  Then the Christians came, converted
Rome, and renamed it."

   "Yeah, but that was like, in the 5th century?  AD?"

   "Of course, no Christians Before Christ, but that would be," she looked
up, "Mid 7th century, I believe."

   "Yes, but you're 'born' in the 15th?"

   "Huh.  Yes, but.  I was shown, basically the hystery of Greece,
including Byzantium by.  A, well.  For lack of a better word, a Demon. 
That's how I became Immortal, he, made me.  Well, he changed me," she
rubbed her belly, down to push her fingertip through her shirt.  "My
omphalae, the reason they're so sensitive is because they have nerve
endings.  It hurts like hell when they cut them, but that's how I, Morion
di Pori pass down from mother to daughter.  I have been in my family, why
for over 500 hundred years now." She looks up, counting, "35 generations,
counting Christina."

   "Who is also Morion?"



   "Noh, well, not yet.  The mantle, the helmet at one point until it was
lost.  Over the side, in my," she has to look it up, "Sixth generation, but
only the Memories are passed down at birth.  Ian has them too, but without
the, Demon."

   "Okay, let's talk about this," delusion, "Demon.  Does he have a name?"

   "He didn't when I met him, or he possessed me.  The Immortal Strangler,
I thought of him as Basiatus."

   "Is that Greek?"

   She nodded, "The kisser.  He breathed himself into me, mouth to mouth.
Strangled me first."

   "When?"

   "The rape of Pori.  That happened, not like it was in the game.  I,
played brave, but in real life, I was kidnapped, and gangraped as a sex
slave.

   That's why, we hid in the Puritans.  I'm dormant, until I am awoken by
violence, sex, or pregnancy.  And often combinations of the three, I don't
know why, Marion was so twisted, this time.  Why I don't remember her
mother, except, that, Monster.  Huh!  Alia, she said her name was Alia, and
when I was with my DM, she kept giggling, telling me all the Dune
references.  I still don't understand that part, but puritans avoid all
these things.  In childhood so that I don't ruin them before they're to
young.  What did you call it, Covert Incest?  Well, they aren't "Gifted."
My memories aren't a Gift, they're a curse.  They make my children into
molestors, torturers, and killers.  So, I hide until they're ready.  Well,
that and we're persecuted for being what we are.  When people evolve, the
old don't just give in, and make room for the new.  They fight, to the last
man.  So, that's why I hide, with puritans.  To avoid Genocide.

   They weren't Tuscan, that was a pun from my boyfriend at the time.  The
first game was in Star Wars, and that Morion was from Tatooine.  Huh, she
was raised, by Tusken raiders." She rolled her eyes.  "They were Greeks, or
ethically Greek from Morea.  They spoke Ottoman, but I don't believe there
were any real Turks.  Maybe the first Captain, who was rather ill, and did
retire to pass it down to his second.  A lot was changed in the game,
because it was His game, but when he possessed me again, that's how I knew
what was going on immediately."

   "Your boyfriend, possessed you?" Recurring delusion, Puritan fears.

   "Huh, I really don't expect you to believe, any of this, but yes. 
Apparently, Basiatus is still around, still fucking with peoples lives, and
he created another.  Demon, ess I guess.  A succubus, instead of possessing
me in a breath, he gave me her sexually, the first time.  Well, he raped
me. I let him, and to be honest I wanted it, but it doesn't make it any
less rape." And that conflict probably caused a relapse of her childhood
Morion and Possession fears.  Puritans.

   "So," back track a little, "How did Morion get out of sex slavery?"

   "The first mate, my first love.  He took me as his own, and when he
inherited the ship, he made me his wife.  Minana, most of my aunts, and
sisters were already sold.  In Alexandria, I believe."

   "And the men?"

   "Killed, when they burned the boats in the inlet of Pori.  There never
was, even a beach there.  The sea was a little lower, so you could land at
high tide, but we basically lived in housboats, moored to the rocks of the
cliff-face.  All that was changed in the game, before I took it over."

   So, that explains it.  Multiple personality, which she was finally
starting to integrate with Marion, and Morion.  They could talk to
eachother, instead of Morion taking over, violently, or her mindless Id
blacking her out to molest her children.  She just, kept herself busy.  In
the back of her mind, fantasizing, and making this history to explain where
she came from.  The Puritan beliefs she surpressed just came through in her
fear of demons, the devils, then another female one to explain her lust for
sick perverted men.  And the "Corruptor," her boyfriend.  Too smart to
write his fantasies down, but using Role Play to give her an escape.  From
her loveless abusive husband to seduce her.  Then explore the violent
Disciplinarian fantasies to rape her all over.  A proven victim, very
attractive to that kind of sociopath.
   ;