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From: Rachael Ross <rache18us@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Death of a Family (rache18us@yahoo.com) F/M, M/F, F/f, castration, necro, snuff, nc
Date: Wed, 21 May 2003 05:10:07 -0400
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Disclaimer: Originally a 3 part serialized tale of woe, one of the
first stories I wrote and actually posted someplace. Not for kids and
not intended for resale to anyone for any price. There are a lot of
supposedly "bad things" going on in this story - But I guess it
depends on your viewpoint. I like it.

Wrritten in seattle in 2000 or maybe late 1999

---------------------------------------------------

Death of a Family  (complete)

Fiction by Rachael


Part I.	Trooper Hayes

Trooper Hayes with the Montana State Police pulled her car to the side
of the road. It was single vehicle accident and she'd already radioed
her location. She would check the scene and then make another report
for whatever assistance she was going to need.

The van had gone off the road, hit the loose gravel on the shoulder
and presumable rolled down the relatively steep embankment at least
twice before hitting an old thick pine tree. It was quite a mess, she
had to be careful climbing down to get a closer look, but from a dozen
feet above and 30 feet away it didn't look good for whoever was there.

She called out, once...twice...the third time, as she skittered
halfway down she heard a voice answering. It wasn't from the van; the
voice came from a few yards to her right. Hayes angled that way and
quickly spotted a middle-aged man lying in some brush.

"Ohhhh....Help....Help me!" He called out in a weak voice when he
heard footsteps getting closer. "I...I'm here....I think I broke
something."

Hayes made her way towards him and saw that he had dozens of small
cuts and bruises on his face and arms, but aside from that he didn't
look too bad. Probably a concussion, maybe internal injuries.

Hayes knelt beside him, looking him over carefully. "Are you injured?
Can you tell me your name, sir? I'm State Trooper Angela Hayes, I'm
going to help you." 

"Bob...Uh...Robert Ross....My wife...My daughter....Are they...are
they ok?"

"I don't know Mr. Ross....I haven't seen them....Listen to me...You
stay with me ok?" Hayes opened the small medical kit she'd brought
with her and took out a small bag of quick-ice, she broke it and felt
the chemicals inside mixing, soon it would be almost freezing. Hayes
put it on Bob's head and told him to hold it there while she went to
see about his wife and daughter.

At the remains of the van Hayes found Mrs. Ross almost immediately.
Her head had been neatly severed. She was still buckled into the front
passenger seat, covered with blood. Hayes had never seen anyone
decapitated before and she looked away quickly, she hadn't seen the
head itself. Lodged between Maggie Ross's broken legs.

The van was sitting on its side. Luckily the fuel tank hadn't
ruptured, but unluckily the side that was down had the sliding door.
Hayes tried to open the door at the rear but it was jammed tight, the
window unbroken. She used her flashlight to peer into the shadows
inside and saw the body of a teen girl sprawled and twisted around the
seats inside. The trooper turned her face away and smashed the window
with the heavy butt of her flashlight and called to the girl inside
but there was no response. Hayes crawled through the shattered window,
cutting her hand slightly on a piece of the broken glass that littered
the interior.

"Are you ok? Can you here me?" Hayes touched the girl's leg, shaking
gently and got a slight moan in response. She shined the flashlight
over the body and saw there was some blood and the girl must surely
have more than a few broken bones. Hayes decided not to try and move
the girl, she would get help and the medics to do it the right way. As
far as she could tell the girl wasn't going to die in the next few
minutes, but you never knew. She checked her again, just to be sure
that there was no obvious life threatening wounds and found none.

Hayes radioed her report that there were 3 victims, one deceased two
others with serious injuries. Help was on the way, but it was 90
minutes for the medics from Bozeman another trooper and the local
sheriff would be closer, about 30 minutes. That was plenty of time
Hayes thought, for her to do a little investigating.

Robert Ross was feeling a little better, he still had a massive
headache and a bad case of whiplash though. Hayes sat on her heels
beside him as he nursed his head. "Your daughter is alive, Mr. Ross."
She began.

"Rache? Thank God!...Maggie? Did you find...Is my wife...Is she...?"
he knew the answer from the troopers face without her saying a word.
"Oh, no...Please...She can't...She can't be!"

Hayes put her arm on the man's shoulder, trying to comfort him even as
she knew the answer to her next question. "Mr. Hayes, have you been
drinking sir?"

"Wh...what?"

"I'm required by law to investigate, Mr. Ross....How much did you
drink today sir?"

The man looked confused, guilty. "What do you mean? My wife is dead
dammit! And you're going to ask me if I had a beer for lunch? Fuck
you! Where's the ambulance? Where's my daughter? I thought you were
here to help us!"

"Yes sir," Hayes replied calmly. "That is exactly why I'm here. The
ambulance will be here in about an hour and a half, but I have to
know....How much did you drink and how long ago?"

"I....I don't remember...Just a few drinks...I...maybe a couple hours
I don't remember."

Hayes produced her breath wand and Ross resigned to blowing into it.
"1.6% Mr. Ross, that's not a couple drinks a couple hours ago sir.
That's double the legal limit. I found the bottle of bourbon sir. Tell
me truth, your wife is dead because you were drinking isn't she?"

She gave Ross a minute to digest that. "Your daughter may be dying Mr.
Ross....Because you were drinking."

Tears filled the man's eyes, "yes....Yes.....I was drinking all the
way....I'm so sorry....so so sorry...Maggie..." With that Bob Ross
broke down completely, suddenly weeping uncontrollably. 

Hayes stood up and looked down at him with undisguised contempt. "You
stupid bastard." Hayes kicked him suddenly, as hard as possible in the
ribs so that he fell over, hands clutching his body.

"Why is it...?" KICK!! 

"That every bastard...?" KICK!!

"Who kills his family...?" KICK!!

"Gets tossed with only a fuckin'...? KICK!!

"SCRATCH??" KICK!!

Hayes was screaming at him, kicking him with her polished leather
boots, adding painful exclamation points to her anger. She kicked him
in the head as he lay there, writhing in pain and weeping, crying for
her to stop. But Trooper Hayes wasn't done yet. She returned to the
van and was back a moment later.

She kicked him in the head. "Look at me shithead!" 

Ross looked up, blood was flowing from a cut Hayes' boot had opened
over his eye. He couldn't tell what she was holding, "Wh...What...?"
Ross wiped at the blood and tears in his eyes.

"It's your bottle, asshole. It didn't survive either!" Hayes held up
the broken neck of Ross' bottle of bourbon. "get on your feet
bastard." Hayes grabbed him by the collar and hauled Ross up to his
shaky feet, half dragging him back to the wreckage of his van and his
family.

Ross looked at his wife's headless body and tried to pull away, to
look in another direction as he let out a cry of anguish. But Hayes
held him by the back of the neck, her smaller body pumped with
adrenalin and anger. He couldn't fight her and he looked again at what
he'd done to his wife.

Hayes let him go and he stood there staring, running away all but
forgotten now. he was someplace else and Hayes thought it was time to
bring him back. She stood in front of him and giving every ounce of
grace and strength she possessed kicked Bob Ross in the balls. He
collapsed like a sack of beans and Hayes got on top of him, pulling
his hands away from his suddenly injured crotch. She punched his balls
once, twice, easily keeping his flailing arms at bay. He stopped
struggling, making retching sounds and only trying to curl into a
fetus ball.

Hayes kept Ross on his back, undoing his belt and trousers. She pulled
them down as well as his underwear, exposing his flaccid cock and
balls. She was kneeling on his thighs and she considered handcuffing
him, but he wasn't in any shape to stop her she saw. She slapped his
face lightly until he focused on her. He was still struggling to
breathe and she punched him again on his cock and balls.

"Pay attention Mr. Ross. This is what happens to men I catch drinking,
driving, and killing their families." She used the broken bottle to
sever Bob Ross from his testicles, cutting a jagged bloody line from
the base of his penis to his anus. The little jewels fell out and she
took them in her hand, not bothering to cut the tubes or blood vessels
connecting them to his body. She yanked them off, squeezing them in
her fist and watching as Bob's face contorted with pain.

He was bleeding freely from the wound and Hayes pulled up his
underwear and pants, zipping him up and redoing his belt. She dragged
his now unconscious form over to the driver's side of the van where it
lay face down and pushed him through the shattered windshield so that
he was face down with his legs sticking out. Hayes spread his legs,
looking at the spreading crimson stain on his crotch. She smiled and
stabbed the broken end of the bottle repeatedly against his pelvis
until it had shredded his pants and shorts and she left it embedded in
the place where his balls used to hang.

She washed herself up as best she could and used dried brush to rake
the ground where she had found Ross. Not that anyone would look
closely, the blood on her uniform she could put down to investigating
and the scene would be dirtied quite a bit just trying to save these
people. Angela Hayes smiled to herself as she slipped her two prizes
into a plastic evidence bag and locked it in her glove compartment
before going back down to check on the lone survivor of this tragedy.


Part II.	George Askins

George was a lucky man, he knew it and reminded himself every day.
"Yessir George, you're a lucky man." he said under his breath as he
watched his two boys load Maggie Ross into his white Station wagon. He
had 2, the black one was for funerals, mortuary business. This one,
the white one, was for county business. Right now Maggie was county
business and George was the County Medical Examiner as well as the
only mortician in a 150-mile radius. It meant that business was
usually slow, but when it wasn't he did all right by himself.

But business wasn't on George's mind. His practiced eye of 20+ years
in the business had taught him to look beneath the superficial and see
what was underneath. Maggie Ross, 35 white married mother and
homemaker was a very attractive woman. Even without her head. George
smoked a Marlboro with Sheriff Cotter while they watched the two EMTs
from Bozeman work the only survivor, Rachael Ross into their
ambulance. She was a looker too and George sighed again, "Well, maybe
not amazingly lucky."

"What was that George?" The Sheriff looked over at the lanky
middle-aged man beside him. "I guess amazing woulda been if her folks
were still alive. Helluva thing."

"Yeah, helluva. Wife got it clean though, guess they had a new mirror
for the hallway huh? Pretty dumb not wrapping it proper and putting it
safe."

"Hell George, you surprised? All the idiots we scraped up the last 10
years? I thought I seen everything but this one takes the cake."

"I wish that Trooper hadn't moved Daddy though, woulda made the
write-up a lot easier knowing exactly what his position was when that
bottle broke off in his ass."

"Helluva. Get me the autopsy on Daddy soon as you can, I feel like
those bitches from MADD are gonna want my badge after this one.
Helena's thinkin the same, I already got the word. Might as well be
prepared." The Sheriff snuffed his butt with his boot and went to see
how his deputy was doing with the reports. Yep helluva for everybody.

Once inside the Askins Funeral Home, which happened to double
unadvertised as the County Coroner's Office, George put Bob Ross in
the freezer. Sheriff Cotter and Helena could wait til morning, he
thought to himself, Maggie Ross definitely could not.

The fact that she had been decapitated was very fortunate and
exciting. He sent his boys home for the night, one would drop off a
small sample of Maggie's blood for analysis, couldn't be too careful.
George clucked his tongue softly at the thought and locked himself
inside with Maggie. He called her that, speaking aloud to himself
softly. George turned on the stereo, not the heavy, heavenly
depressing Bach he piped in for expectant mourners. George started
with Strauss, a light waltz to get him in the mood. As if he needed
it.

He stripped Maggie quickly and efficiently, cutting away her clothes
and her bra and panties. He was careful, delicate as he came in
contact with her skin. He talked to her, telling her how beautiful she
truly was. How no one had ever seen her like this, not her mother, not
her husband. Even when looking in the mirror he imagined she had never
seen herself so innocent and unguarded. She could hide nothing from
him. Every secret revealed as he examined her, then slowly washed her
inch by inch.

George saw the small stretch marks just inside her hips and pictured
the beautiful woman frowning and fretting over the slight
imperfections. He saw the small mole, just outside her anus and he
touched it reverently with his gloved fingers. George could see how
she'd trimmed her light pubic hair and nicked herself under her left
arm when she'd shaved that morning. It took hours to do it properly,
washing her first with gentle soap and water, then with a slightly
astringent agent to remove dead cell tissue and give her pale skin a
lustrous sheen. He needed to let her rest overnight while rigor mortis
set in and then finally passed. George rolled her into the cooler,
next to her almost forgotten husband and kissed her goodnight before
setting her head down in it's proper place. He turned off the light
and went home.

The next day he did the blood work on Rob, sending samples to the
little lab at the county hospital for analysis. He started in on the
paperwork, he had no idea where the bodies would end up, probably
Billings since that was where the family was apparently from. Long way
from home, he thought. The Sheriff had the thankless job of finding
next of kin. "Yessir George, you're a lucky man." he said aloud for
the first, but probably not the last time that day. He'd check on
Maggie after lunch. Blood results had come back and were sitting on
his desk, nothing strange there. She should be ready for some special
treatment, he'd take care of her. George had a lot of respect for his
fellow morticians, but it would never do his reputation harm to ensure
that everything he could do was done and done right.

George rolled Maggie out of the cooler into the embalming room. It
wasn't a necessary procedure, in fact it was really just a money maker
and George was getting paid by the state on salary for this job, so he
didn't plan on having to do it. Just another needless act forced on
someone who should be enjoying her final rest, was his opinion. It was
also his opinion that Maggie would not object if he gave her a
different kind of procedure, one that sat much more comfortably on his
conscience than cutting up the poor woman.

George slipped out of his suit and into a pair of coveralls, they were
worn and comfortable and had some kind of rubber coating that made it
damn near impossible to get them dirty. He decided against gloves,
they really weren't necessary now, he was clean and so she. George
smiled and picked up Maggie's severed head. The eyes were dull, a dark
blue seemingly clouded somehow. George thought they must have been
very lovely when she was alive. "Time for a massage, Maggie. Just sit
right here and watch, it will be fine." George said as he placed
Maggie on an empty table. It was strange having her body in front of
him and her eyes following his every move from over his shoulder, but
he didn't mind. This was no business for silly nilly's, no sir.

He opened a gallon can of dermatology cream, basically hand lotion and
began massaging the dead woman's stiff joints, moving her arms,
fingers and feet and toes, listening to the soft cracks and creaks.
This was George's favorite part and he always took his time. He worked
his strong delicate fingers incessantly, digging into the flesh of his
patient, working muscles loose much as a real masseuse might do for a
live customer. 

George worked the extremities first, then moved his hands up Maggie's
cold thighs, trying to impart his warmth through his kneading fingers.
He dipped his hands together, palms facing away and stroked the
insides of her thighs. Maggie's legs were parted slightly and he
forced them open until he could see the dark folds of her sex.

"Mmmmm...Maggie, you don't mind if I give you something extra do you?"
George looked over his shoulder at Maggie's sweet face. No, she didn't
mind. George dipped his fingers into the cream again and began rubbing
Maggie's sex in a gentle circle, then up and down along her opening,
then back to a circle. The cream turned into a slippery wetness and
George slowly worked his fingers deeper inside Maggie's vagina. He
used one finger first, then two, finally three, sliding them easily in
and out of her slick tunnel. George considered using a catheter to
empty her bladder, but decided it would be ok. Her body had voided at
the moment of death and he's cleaned her very well. No, George
thought, no reason to go there.

With great reluctance George left her sex and worked his hands across
and around her flat tummy and up to her wonderful breasts. He spent a
great deal of time and cream getting them exactly right, glistening
under the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights, but lovely just the
same. He flicked his thumbs across her large, dark nipples wondering
how they might have felt in life. He thought for moment that he might
bend his mouth to them and taste her wonderful flesh, but George
Askins was a man of restraint. He knew there would be time enough
later.

He finished with her front and rolled Maggie over so he could complete
his massage. George paid particular attention to Maggie's butt,
squeezing it gently and enjoying the firm roundness. He slid his hands
between her cheeks, his slippery fingers probing inside. he used his
middle finger, twisting it as he used his other hand to keep her open
to his loving gaze. "Oh yes Maggie, you're quite a woman. very nice,
lovely....George, you're a lucky man by God!"

By the time he had finished George's manhood ached painfully in his
coveralls. He washed his hands and stepped out of them, naked and
wishing he'd brought a pair of slippers into the lab. The floor was
cold! But George wasn't concerned for long, he was used to it and
complaining never helped anyway, did it? George looked at Maggie's
body covered with an aromatic sheen. He stroked his penis absently,
undecided about what he wanted to do with her first. Well, second, he
chuckled. George went to the shelf and pulled down the Polaroid camera
he kept for taking pictures during autopsy. he would need to remember
Maggie for a long long time to come, girls like her didn't just fall
out of the sky. No sir.

George took half a dozen pictures, concentrating mostly on full body
shots without the head and a close-up of her breasts and another of
her sex. He took several pictures of her head alone and then placed
Maggie's head in its proper place, the wound on her neck not hidden at
all. Then George grinned and took one of Maggie's head between her
legs, her mouth pressed to her own vagina. He didn't think she'd mind.
But it would be better of the mouth were open, he thought. He used a
scalpel to carefully sever two strands of muscle so that her jaw
dropped free and her tongue lolled out. He took another picture,
actually inserting the tip between Maggie's thin labia. Then one last
picture of Maggie's severed head mouthing his hard penis. He took the
picture and set the camera down, picking her head up with both hands.
he knew what he wanted first; a little head, George laughed.

He leaned back against the table and moved Maggie's dead mouth up and
down his rigid cock. Her tongue extended felt slightly dry and rough
on the bottom of his penis, but soon precum was leaking out the tip
and George made sure he coated her tongue with it. He wished he were a
little longer; it would have been interesting to see the head poking
out through her severed esophagus, he thought. He watched her body
laying several feet away while he slowly fucked her mouth. Then
looking down and seeing only her beautiful head in his hands was all
George needed. He erupted quickly, his semen filling Maggie's mouth
and throat and even leaking through the bottom. George held his cock
deep in her mouth, enjoying it until he was finally finished. He set
Maggie's head down carefully on a towel.

George reached for his camera. "Say cheese Maggie!" he took a picture
of the dead woman's face, his sperm slowly leaking from her slack
mouth, biting her semen covered tongue. George imagined all the other
things he was going to do with Maggie Ross before the day was out. So
many holes, he thought, so little time. His cock jerked and George
smiled. "You're a lucky man! yes sir!"


Part III.		Nurse Johnson

The angel of mercy moved quietly through the night. She'd spent 40
minutes in the hospital chapel, seeking direction from God and praying
for the hearts and souls of her precious wards. Now she pinned her
starched white cap into place so that it rested perfectly atop her
coarse black hair, a startling contrast. Her eyes also were black,
deep wells of ink that refused to soften with her smile that was often
generous and kind. She'd practiced her smile many times, getting it
just right. The angel smoothed her crisp white uniform, and tugged her
ivory nylons into place, so that the seam ran perfectly from heel to
mid-thigh along the back of her legs. She frowned at the small Red
Cross pin on her lapel, giving it a slight turn so that it was
correctly upright. She didn't like to wear it. She checked herself
once more in the full-length mirror fixed to the wall of the nurses
changing room. Her not-quite-but-almost black skin and dazzling white
uniform left no room for unnecessary details. Distractions that led to
misunderstanding. For Nurse Johnson there was only black and white and
that she understood completely.

Nurse Johnson had worked in several hospitals over her 10-year career.
She was born to it, gifted with caring for people in distress. Her
work was always excellent, her performance reports invariably generous
with praise. But she had a secret, as all angels do. While caring for
the ill was a noble endeavor and filled her with pride (for which
she'd asked the Lord's forgiveness more than once) she knew also that
there were times when a person needed something else. When healing was
not possible. She had known from the first that she was charged above
all to end suffering and sometimes that meant doing the unthinkable.
Always she'd prayed for guidance, it was not after all her will that
someone should die, just as it was not her decision who would live. At
first she had looked for outward signs, physical things to show her
the way. A burning bush, a pillar of flame but she'd known how foolish
that had been. The signs she was given were inside, in her heart and
conscience. God did indeed speak with her, but it wasn't until she'd
closed her eyes and ears to distractions that she'd heard his gentle
voice.

He was telling her now to visit the young woman in B ward, room B316.
Nurse Johnson didn't know who the girl was; her normal post was in A
ward. But no one would comment if she paid the girl a visit. A nurse
of her talent and experience was welcome anywhere in the hospital. She
would go during her supper break to ensure she didn't disrupt the
steady measured pace of hospital routine. Nurse Johnson sang softly to
herself as she made rounds, checking the patients who had come to rely
on her brilliant smile as much as her gentle touch.

------------------------------

Ross, Rachael Katherine: 18, female, Caucasian, recently orphaned in
the tragic automobile accident which had claimed the lives of her
father and mother. No, that's not correct is it? Nurse Johnson looked
over the chart with a critical eye. Only minor children can be
orphaned, she was an adult by law. But Nurse Johnson relented,
forgiving the handwritten mistake in the patient summary. She looked
so young, the nurse thought, orphaned was the correct choice of words
in reality.

Rachael had not been seriously injured in the accident. At least
physically, she'd healed quickly over the last 6 weeks and should have
returned to her home. Her now empty home. And perhaps that explained
more than anything why the girl was still here. A form of catatonia,
brain activity appeared close to normal, and her body responded
clinically to external stimuli. But she was incapable of independent
movement. She did not speak or move except for the slow rise and fall
of her chest and the occasional blinking of her eyelids. If someone
pulled her by the hand she would rise from her bed. She would walk
slowly as long as she had someone's hand to hold. She would catch
small objects tossed gently to her, but nothing beyond that. It was
not unheard of, but not common by any mean. There were many unknowns
in the human mind, secrets that God would keep to Himself and it was
not Nurse Johnson's place to understand. Nor did she think was it
proper to keep young Ross, Rachael K. as a test subject, hoping that
she would just 'snap out of it' one day and rejoin the living. Nurse
Johnson understood why God had led her to this room. It was by far a
sad thing to see and there was no doubt the girl was suffering
silently as much as any patient in the hospital. But unlike most there
was no relief, no drug to give her a moment's surcease from the pain
of seeing her parents die.

The room, Nurse Johnson saw, was typical. There were some flowers and
a few stuffed animals. Presumably brought in by staff and volunteers
in an effort to give the rather dull furnishings some cheer. But it
only made Nurse Johnson realize all the more that for this girl the
trappings of happiness were wasted. She had other needs that were
plain to anyone who could see clearly. Nurse Johnson picked up a small
blue teddy bear and saw it had a winding key in the back, she turned
it quickly so that it made a soft clicking sound and when she let go
the saccharin strains of 'Lulla-bye' strained to fill the room.

Nurse Johnson closed the door quietly behind her. She would return
tomorrow, her normal day off and spend more time with the girl. She
was so fragile, so lovely and innocent. Yes, Nurse Johnson thought,
she would be doing God's work. 

--------------------------------------------

The following evening Nurse Johnson slipped into the hospital
unnoticed. Not such a difficult task if you were familiar with the
building and the people who worked there. Schedules were kept by
necessity and Nurse Johnson had done this before, after all. Rachael's
chart indicated that evening checks were made hourly. She did not
require monitoring, her body was functioning perfectly. She was no
longer fed intravenously, she remembered how to swallow soft food,
albeit slowly and was able to drink, although at times it could be a
messy experience. In the nursing station she would be referred to as
the perfect patient, but in Nurse Johnson's opinion the perfect
patient was one who went home to her family.

Nurse Johnson watched carefully through the large convex mirror placed
near a corner to prevent accidents. She could see the oddly deformed
shape of the night nurse making her rounds. The chief of the ward, a
senior nurse, would be at the nurse's station doing her endless
paperwork. Rachael's room was at the end; almost but not quite out of
sight from the station. Hospitals tend to place patients in relative
proximity by their needs. Rachael didn't need very much, so it was
just a matter of waiting until the rounds were finished. Nurse Johnson
slipped easily inside the dim room. She checked her watch, 50 minutes
she told herself, no longer. It would be plenty of time to do God's
work.

Rachael was sleeping peacefully to all outward appearances, but it was
really impossible to know. She slept with her eyes open, blinking only
when her body acted in a programmed reflex to irritation. Nurse
Johnson sat beside the bed in the hard plastic chair provided for the
girl's non-existent visitors. She reached a soft hand to Rachael's
forehead; the nurses here were taking good care of her. She'd been
recently bathed and her hair had been brushed to a dull sheen of
auburn and it was spread out on her pillow like a tarnished halo. The
girl's eyes stared at point seemingly fixed someplace beyond the
ceiling, it was slightly disconcerting but Nurse Johnson didn't mind.
Perhaps, she thought, they were fixed on Heaven. She hoped so.
Rachael's eyes were not dull, however, Nurse Johnson moved the small
reading lamp attached by an adjustable arm to the wall. She shined the
light on Rachael's face and watched the eyes dilate. Nurse Johnson
thought Rachael was probably awake; she would talk to the girl in any
case. They would pray together, Nurse Johnson had brought her bible
and now she opened it.

----------------------------------------

Rachael was awake. Trapped in the van, never able to escape that
terrible moment. Sometimes people would be in the van with her. They
would talk to her, feed her. Sometimes they would unbuckle her seat
belt and take her for a walk, but only through the ruinous interior of
the van. Sometimes she knew the people with her, she would recognize
them and try to speak. But no voice would emerge, her lips would move
but the sound was the roaring sound of twisting metal and breaking
glass. Now she saw a black woman, dressed completely in white. Rachael
listened as the woman spoke to her, reading to her from the bible.
Rachael was thankful that she had something to think about, the words
were comforting not so much in content, but as a link with another
person. Another place she had once known. 

But the line between sleep and wakefulness for Rachael was so thin as
to be invisible. For her everything was a dream and so she slipped
easily into a safe place, carried by the gentle voice in her ears.
Rachael was with her boy friend again, the last intimate moments she
could remember replayed with exaggerated emotion. The van was still
there, still surrounding her like a violent cocoon, but now Greg was
beside her. He held her closely and his hands roamed Rachael's body,
exciting her as only he could. His lips were warm against hers and
Rachael opened her mouth to his tongue, tasting that which was
uniquely him. In his arms she felt protected and could close her eyes
to her surroundings, almost forgetting where they were. She had
promised herself to him and in her dream it was time to fulfill the
desire they both shared. Rachael could feel him, his hands on her
breasts and his hot breath in her ear. It was a familiar sensation and
she welcomed it with every part of her being.

--------------------------------------

Nurse Johnson had finished her prayer and was reading from the New
Testament when she noticed something odd. Rachael had been dressed in
a nightgown, not the standard hospital gown. This wasn't unusual for a
patient like her; familiar things were often used in the hopes of
speeding recovery. But what attracted Nurse Johnson's attention was
Rachael's breasts, the blanket covering her only to her midriff. It
took Nurse Johnson a moment to realize what was wrong; Rachael's
nipples were hard. Her face was flushed with a color that had not been
there a few minutes before. The black nurse set her Bible down and
touched the girl's forehead. Warm, but not feverish. Rachael's
breathing also had changed. It was not the slow deep breaths of
resting, they were slightly faster, sharper as if...As if, yes Nurse
Johnson realized, the girl was having a dream. Something sexual,
exciting her. It was only natural, she supposed, Rachael was 18 and
her body was fine. Even more so it was likely some parts of her mind
was working fine as well.

Nurse Johnson had never been with a man. She'd devoted her life first
to her God, then to school and her career. She had no need of such
distractions, but she was also a woman. And she had felt many times
the passions being played out in the sleeping girl's mind. It was not
a bad thing, she understood, it was a part of nature. A part of God's
nature. And so it was that Nurse Johnson did not criticize the girl,
nor judge her for her feelings, expressed only in the smallest ways.
The woman considered for a moment and then gingerly reached out a
delicate hand to touch Rachael's breast. She cupped it and felt the
warmth there, the life trapped in isolation. She squeezed the girl's
body, pressing her thumb against the hard nipple through the thin
fabric. Rachael made no sound, no movement and Nurse Johnson made her
decision. God had brought her here for a reason, that much was clear.
But it was possible that He had two reasons, that he had wanted Nurse
Johnson to discover something as well.

The black woman carefully rolled the blanket down Rachael's still
body. Yes, she could smell the girl. A sweet Ivory Soap scent and
underneath, something else. The subtle tangible sensation of desire.
Nurse Johnson sat on the edge of the bed and slid her hands underneath
Rachael's nightgown, feeling the soft smoothness of her thighs. She
touched the heat of the girl's bare sex; Rachael had no need of
panties after all. The feeling surprised Nurse Johnson; she'd seen and
touched a hundred such girls. But this time it was different, this
time she was not performing her job. She was doing something else,
something for herself. And for Rachael too, she believed, the girl
would almost certainly enjoy this. It would be a final act of love
before her suffering ended, before the angel of mercy granted her
wish.

----------------------------------------------

Rachael suddenly felt a touch; Greg was with her, yes. His hand was on
her breast, squeezing her gently and her nipple burned as she felt his
thumb press against it. She cradled his head in her arms, feeling his
urgent kisses on her neck and shoulder. He was undressing her, lying
her bare to his gaze and touch. She gasped and felt a small chill run
across her spine as the cool air surrounded her warm flesh. His hand
was moving, across her thigh, upward, teasing her, torturing her by
degrees. When she felt hi hand finally touching the mound of her sex
it was as if a fire had been lit in her belly. She wanted him more
than ever, she needed him to be with her and love her. To protect her
from the loneliness of that van where she was jailed.

--------------------------------------------

Nurse Johnson slipped her fingers along Rachael's wetness, feeling the
heat and the easy way her sex parted, inviting her to probe deeper.
She bent to take Rachael's breast in her mouth; the pale white of the
girl's skin delighted the older woman. Yes, she thought as she took
Rachael's nipple between her lips, black and white. Everything is
clear. Nurse Johnson suckled gently, sometimes taking only the nipple,
sometimes as much of the tender girl as possible between her lips. Her
long delicate fingers massaged Rachael's labia, pinching and playing
with the folds of flesh as they filled with blood. The younger girl's
clitoris also, becoming hard like an odd shaped pebble, pressed
against Nurse Johnson's gently moving palm. Nurse Johnson lifted her
mouth and moved it to the other breast, tracing a thin wet line with
her tongue across the soft valley between them. She watched Rachael's
face, it was flushed, red with the energy of being loved and Nurse
Johnson wanted to kiss her very much.

Rachael's soft lips parted and Nurse Johnson slipped her tongue across
and between them. It was not a deep kiss, only soft and tender. She
had pulled her hand away from the girl's sex and now she fondled the
girl's small firm breasts as they kissed. Nurse Johnson felt light
headed, and her own body was desperately warm. She did not understand
completely what she was doing, only that it was necessary. For both of
them.

Nurse Johnson moved so that her mouth was kissing slowly down
Rachael's body. Touching her through the thin cotton nightgown. Her
lips reached the top of Rachael's sex and she licked carefully, slowly
in a lazy circle around the top and down the side, in the soft crease
of skin between thigh and sex. She smelled the passion rising from
Rachael and saw the wetness leaking from her. Nurse Johnson moved her
lips to the opening and kissed the delicate folds. She touched her
tongue to the girl's clitoris, teasing it with the tip, running in a
small circle around it and over it. She took it between her lips and
sucked gently, squeezing it softly as she used a finger to penetrate
Rachael's vagina. The smooth hard ridges inside the girl excited Nurse
Johnson further, she twisted her finger slightly, crooking it and
stroking inside. She was rewarded with a small flood of juice,
Rachael's body moved slightly; in reflex to the orgasm she was
experiencing. Her vaginal walls contracted, gripping and releasing
Nurse Johnson's finger even as she moved it slowly in and out.

------------------------------------------------

Rachael's orgasm surrounded her, like lightning striking through a
cloudless sky it surprised her. Greg's mouth was kissing, probing
deeply into her most private place, bringing her to new heights. She
tried to move her hips, to urge him on. She needed it harder, deeper,
to be pierced by him and know finally the joy of being joined with
someone in love. The stillness that was her world became a cacophony
of brilliant sound and colors, the imaginations of a mind desperate
for human touch and experience. Greg was moving with her, sliding his
body along hers. He was so warm, burning against her belly, her
breasts. She felt his hardness entering her, opening the depths of her
being for his gentle, unrelenting thrusts. She worked to meet him,
willing her body to embrace his union and swallow him complete. She
wanted to throw herself to the pleasure, to lift her head and scream
with ecstasy, but she dared not. The seatbelt was still in place, the
roaring pain threatening release if she'd dared break the spell by
giving voice to her dream. She remained still, letting her lover move
her as he wanted, giving her pleasure and in that act finding pleasure
himself. For Rachael it was an eternity of pleasure bound by a memory
she fought to keep away. 

--------------------------------------------------

The black nurse was kneeling on Rachael's chest, careful not to put
too much weight on the girl. It was time she knew. Her own sex was wet
and aching but she would not relieve herself, not yet. This new
discovery had confused her for a moment; she'd almost forgotten the
true purpose she was here. Nurse Johnson's body was bathed in sweat,
flushed with an excitement she couldn't deny. She looked down at
Rachael, still gazing unseeing into heaven. She'd at least had a
moment's earthly pleasure, perhaps a dream to keep her safe in that
prison of her own construct. Nurse Johnson kissed the girl one more
time tenderly, as a mother might a child who was sleeping soundly. She
pulled the pillow out from under Rachael's head, disappointed that her
hair, so carefully arranged had become confused and tangled. Nurse
Johnson placed the pillow over Rachael's face, pressing gently but
firmly with both hands over the girl's nose and mouth. Silently Nurse
Johnson began to pray.

--------------------------------------------------

Rachael felt Greg once more kissing her. Softly, their lovemaking
done. He was going to take her away, he said, someplace safe. Rachael
watched as he unbuckled her seat belt, and taking his hand she stood
up. The cavernous interior was filled with broken glass and the
shadows of twisted metal created monsters on the floor and walls. She
was frightened, it was becoming dark. Greg's hand slipped out of hers
and she stood alone, suddenly terrified. She couldn't move. It was
impossible. The sound of her own heartbeat filled her ears, she
couldn't breathe. She was blind and afraid to stretch out her arms in
case something might be waiting, something that would take her where
she didn't want to go. The pleasure she'd felt a moment before had
been washed away by fear, the fear which held her captive. Rachael
opened her mouth to scream and the sound of death filled her ears. The
memory of being showered with broken glass, being thrown against one
side of the van and then suddenly bouncing off the other. The memory
of seeing her mother turn around to say something and being suddenly
silenced by a slice of broken glass rushing through her neck. Rachael
saw her father thrown out, his door opening and then slamming closed
as it met the hard earth. She'd never seen him again and she wept as
the thought flooded through her. 

And then, as if in the center of a tornado she saw a faint ray of
light. She took a stumbling step and then another, trying to reach it.
Her heart was pounding in fear and she couldn't breath. Her lungs
labored and felt hot inside her chest. She felt suffocated, as if the
memories themselves were clamped around her neck, choking her, killing
her. She moved closer to the light and watched as it grew brighter,
obscuring everything else around her. She lifted her arms wide, as if
to embrace it and welcomed the sudden warmth as it found her,
surrounded her. Rachael felt the terrible fingers of sorrow grow weak,
loosening their grip on her throat and finally falling away as she was
carried higher and higher into the brilliance. 

-------------------------------------------------------

Nurse Johnson lifted the pillow after 5 minutes. She was surprised to
find she was weeping; she'd not done that before. She looked on
Rachael's pretty face, pale and finally at peace. Her eyes had closed
by themselves and Nurse Johnson kissed each of them softly. She
replaced the pillow, lifting Rachael and spreading her hair in a
silken halo. She arranged the girl's nightgown and pulled the blanket
up to her breasts. Nurse Johnson picked up the blue teddy bear,
winding it softly and setting it down in the suddenly very empty room.
She picked up her bible and closed the door quietly behind her.


The end.
Rache18us@hotmail.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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