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Cramer's house again, he got out of the car and came around to help Amy out. She smiled as he offered his hand to her and once she was out, he went around to get her bag out of the trunk. They walked up to the front door and Amy, remembering his rule about doors, waited patiently for him to open it. "Come in slut," he said, as he closed the door behind her. "Follow me upstairs and I'll show you your room." "Yes Sir," she said, following him up the stairs obediently. He took her to the spare guestroom and put her suitcase on the bed. "This will be your room while you are here. But you will be sleeping with me most nights. This will be where you can keep your clothes and where you will go when you are sent to your room. In fact, this corner will be the corner that you will most likely be spending some 'reflection' time!" he said. "Yes Sir. I hope I won't be too much trouble," she said meekly. "Oh I am sure you will, slut. But that's ok, I am prepared for it," he said. Amy didn't like. ‘I don’t want to be the one to tell you this man, this just isn’t fair.’ He did eventually tell me. I don’t really remember much after that. I remember feeling like a trap door had just opened up beneath my feet, and I was falling, and falling fast. Feeling like I was suffocating and unable to breathe. I recall losing my breakfast in a failed attempt to reach the toilet. Everything else was just a blur. ** Becky was dead. Driving home in that storm the evening before, she had apparently come around a curve near her home and lost control of her car. Not a lot, just enough to fishtail a bit and clip the blade of the snow plow traveling in the opposite direction, which caused her car to spin around and crash into a telephone pole. The blessing, so the authorities claimed, was that it was over in a second. Painless. Maybe driving too fast, trying to get home in time to get the call from her daughter. Maybe a particularly slick part of the road. Who knows? Who cares at the point? All I.
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