"Oh but she's a delicate thing," Mother Firefly tsked over the near- comatose girl. "Baby, help me clean her up."

They sponged Stacy clean and put a tank top, jeans and a flannel shirt on her. Baby for once was solicitous and concerned, and tried to get her to respond. "I know how you feel, darlin," soothed Mother, humming off and on. "You remind me o' how I was before I came here, alone and afraid." The pair of women had put her to bed when Otis came looking for her, causing her to shriek and thrash. He stepped back, confusion and (could it be?) hurt on his angular face. Then he stepped forward and slapped her hard across the face.

She went very still and white, her golden eyes focusing on him. "You'd best get a grip," he said coldly, but he bent down and planted his own full lips on hers. He left and headed up to his own room, mumbling to himself. For the next few hours the redhead lay motionless, until vivacious Baby came back in to see her.

"Hey, lemme show you my present!," said Baby in her high-pitched voice. Tugging on her arm, the tall, slim blonde dragged her to one of the back rooms. Opening the door, she was confronted with the site of a rawboned young man with auburn hair chained to the wall, unconscious. Her heart dropped to her feet. "T-tom?," she breathed. Her brother..how?

Baby had bounded forward to press herself against the lad, and luckily didn't hear. Stacy clapped a hand over her mouth, a scream trying to force itself out her throat. She dashed from the room, feeling physically ill. Her over-traumatized mind reached down deep for a last reserve buried inside her, and steeled herself for what must come next. She went to Otis, having raided RJ's liquor cabinet and had a wild romp, herself staying relatively sober as she plied him with booze and sex. After he had passed out, she waited for the rest of the Firefly family to go to sleep. Slipping out of bed she donned her clothes again and crept as silently as she could to the stranger's room, hoping he was still alive. She couldn't believe what she'd done to him, his clothes and skin cut pretty badly. He stirred as she came closer to him, opening his working eye and twitching. He was alive! For the moment.

"Shhh," she went, her round cheeked face full of pity. "I'll remove the gag, and don't make a sound or we're both death." She doubted he was inclined to trust her, but she's the only option the man has. Undoing the gag, he gulped many deep breaths, regarding her with a chilly stare. "What's your name?," she asked very softly.

"Jim," he rasped, unsure of what was going on.

"I'm Stacy," she went on. "I'm going to let you loose, but I want you to stay here until I get my brother. If you do anything, they will kill you. Slow. Then--," she hesitated. What exactly was she going to do? Leave with them, she supposed. She really didn't belong here, and the guys would need her help besides. "Then we'll all leave together," she finished, working his bonds free.

Stacy tiptoed down the hall to the room her brother was being held in, easing herself in. She looked at Tom, noticing blood on his head and bruises on his face. Holding back sobs she nudged him, whispering "Tom. Tom?" He groaned and rolled his head, eyes finally fluttering open. He beheld his beloved long- lost sister, tanned and strong-looking. She was different from the bubbly chunky college girl he remembered, wearing a haunted look as well. She reached up to touch his face when he jerked.

"Stacy? Your hand!," he saw the stump of her ring finger, unevenly healed. "Dear Lord, what have they done to you?"

"Never you mind," she replied, aware she sounded a bit like Mother Firefly. "We're getting outta here." She produced a set of keys and went to work on Tom's shackles.

With the two gentlemen on either side of her she guided them through the maze of the house, stumbling at times. Stacy's breathing was loud she thought, when her scalp began to crawl. Somebody was behind them.

"WHERE THE HELL DO YE THINK YER GOIN??," roared Otis, staggering toward them.

Whirling, she saw a naked, trashed Otis completely enraged coming down the hall, butcher knife in hand. Jim being drained stumbled to the floor, covered in blood. All color was leached from the girl's face, unsure of what to do next. The ghost-man engaged Tom, shouting obscenities and attempting to stab him. As he got a good look at Tom, it fell into place. "You're her brother," he said drunkenly, "No wonder you look alike. Get back here!," he snarled, brandishing the blade again. Tom was larger and broad-shouldered, but he was a product of a soft life as Stacy had been, and Otis possessed incredible strength for his size. Tom wrested the weapon from Otis's grip and was going to stab him with it when Stacy exclaimed "NO!" She got between the two, glaring at her tormentor/lover.

"Traitor! Bitch!," he growled, grappling with her. They shoved each other back and forth, his sinewy form making her body remember the pleasure they shared before. She had never pitted her strength against his, and was surprised at both their ferocity. "Get out!," Stacy called to her brother. "Get Jim and yourself out! Go!" "Stacy!," Tom sobbed, gathering the wounded vigilante and starting for the exit.

With preternatural strength he yanked at her left arm. "OWWWWwwwww!," she cried as her arm came out of its socket, dangling limp. She kneed him in the side and felt a couple ribs give away, then tried to run. He caught her by her hair and slammed her against the wall. "I'll make you squeal," Otis slurred, bending her over and tearing at her pants. He entered her while she was holding her damaged arm and she yelped as he used her. She didn't know what else to do but let him do as he would, afraid her arm would be useless now and that her life was forfeit. After a what seemed a lifetime of pain and torment he shuddered in climax, thrusting the last few times inside her. Clutching her hair, her pants still around her ankles, he dragged her to one of the holding rooms and locked the door. Stacy piteously cried herself to sleep, huddled in a corner.

The next morning she opened her eyes, then opened her mouth and vomited profusely, surprised that she was sick. With her good arm she pulled her jeans up and fastened them, discovering that her arm was still painfully out of its socket. Wiping the last few tears from her face, she tried the door and found it open. Peeking out, she saw no one in the hallway so took a few halting steps. Nothing. She went farther--still nothing. Was this a trick?

In the upstairs living room she came upon Rufus Jr. filing some knife blades and listening to the radio--"Sweet Home Alabama" by Lynyrd Skynyrd was playing. The dark-skinned behemoth looked up as she entered the room, dark eyes roaming over her disheveled appearance.

"RJ," she said nicely. "I need you to do something for me."

His expression was a question.

"I need you to pull on my arm to put it back in it's socket."

He cocked his head toward her, baffled by the request. "Come here," she told him, and he got up and went close to her. "Take my arm, and when I say go, pull real hard." He grasped her arm, and she shouted "Go!" when he yanked, she twisted and she felt her arm settle back into place. It hurt and felt good at the same time. She was thoroughly satisfied when she looked up and saw RJ smiling sweetly at her. " Oooh, no," she protested. "You get that idea outta your head now. I'll fuckin work in the garden, plantation, whatever the hell that thing is. You just stay off me." RJ's face dropped. She went to the bathroom and threw up again. Oh man, what's wrong with me, she thought, and hoped her brother and Jim had gotten away. RJ poked his head in the bathroom, snickering, "Hope ye had a good reunion last night, missy. Baby will have control over brother dear from now on," he said, obviously relishing it.

She hung her head after he'd gone but no tears came this time. Who was she, what was she anymore? What should she do now?

She was relieved after RJ departed, leaving her alone. How much more can I take?

"Darlin, you really did a number on me," chuckled a familiar voice. She turned and saw Otis in the doorway of the bathroom, bare from the waist up. His whole right side of his ribcage was bruised and swollen, stark against his pasty skin.

Rubbing her throbbing shoulder, she returned, "I could say the same about you." But they both knew she referred to the sexual assault of the night before. His well-formed upper lip sneered at her, making her breath come in deep, labored gasps as her fury rose. "Why do you keep doing these things to me? Why do you want me around? Why?!," she demanded to know. Otis said nothing but merely raised a slim-fingered, pale hand and stroked her reddish hair. This caused her to shudder in frustation, vowing, "If you ever try to force me again, I will kill you. I don't care what it takes but I will make you scream your whore of a mama's name then I will kill you." Glaring up at him.

She expected his unpredictable wrath but recieved snickering. "That's the spirit! You are one o' us," he said. "That steel under all that whimperin n' blubber, I brought it out. You can thank me fer that, Stacy. You're my greatest work, darlin. But the greatest is still to come," he spoke, laying his other hand on her belly.

"Otis? Otis B. Driftwood, I need to tawk to yeww," called Mother Firefly from downstairs, obviously looking for him. The clack of her high heels could be heard as she went to and fro.

"Awright, awright, Jesus!" Agitated he was gone in a second, leaving the horror of the his meaning to seep into Stacy's bones. She couldn't be pregnant, could she? She'd miscarried Rick's baby and was told she'd never have any children.

"Aaagh, God!," she screamed to no one, beating the old sink with her good arm. "I can't do this anymore! It's too much! God help me," she wept, expecting none to hear. She heard moaning from the room adjacent to the bathroom and she stopped to listen. Swallowing, she crept out the bathroom and peeked next door. Sure enough, it was her brother tied to a chair and gagged. Baby had used him pretty badly, if the state of his clothes and the multiple gashes were any indication. She rushed to him, yanking the gag out of his mouth and trying to keep down the lump in her throat.

"I think Jim got away," he croaked, the man's youthful face crusted with blood. "I shouldn't have left you."

"Oh, Tom," she wiped his face with her shirt. "You could hear, couldn't you? What you must think of me," then she finally burst into tears.

"You think I blame you for anything?," Tom rasped. "Did you ever think that this may be the only way you'd have a child? There's a reason for everything, Stace." He knew how hard the miscarriage was on her and how much she wanted to have children someday. She started tugging at his bonds when RJ and Baby burst into the room, wielding ropes and revolvers.

"Time to go!," announced the blonde.

"Wha-? Where you taking him?," asked Stacy.

"He's havin the pleasure of meetin Dr. Satan," she replied with glee, her childish laugh ringing out.

--More to come soon! Thanks!--