And so it begins...reader discretion is advised.

All of the children gathered in the living room – even Lincoln – when Mom came home. He hugged himself and couldn't bring himself to look into anyone's eyes. Lynn felt so bad for him that she sat next to him and put her arm around his shoulder. He initially stiffened, but eventually relaxed when he realized she wasn't going to hurt him. Lynn was certain she caught her mother giving her a dirty look, but she couldn't be entirely sure, because when she looked up, Rita looked away.

"He's doing okay," Mom explained. She was sitting on the coffee table, Lilly in her lap. Lynn's mind flashed back to what she saw in the living room earlier that afternoon, and she got the sudden urge to snatch the baby away. "But they aren't sure how...how he's going to recover. He might have brain damage."

The horror of her words sank slowly into her children. Lincoln trembled, and Lynn drew him closer. I'm here for you, she thought. Then, her eyes fell on her mother, and she added: I won't let anything happen to you.

"Can we see him?" Leni asked. Her voice was very small and fragile.

"Not yet," Rita said. "He's still in the ICU. They wouldn't even let me see him. Hopefully they'll let us visit after a couple days..."

No one was much in the mood for dinner that evening, so when Mom got up, they all drifted to their own rooms. Lynn walked with Lincoln, her arm still around him. When they came to his door, they stopped.

"Do you...want me to hang out for a little while?" Lynn asked, loath to leave her brother alone.

Lincoln shook his head. "No. I-I want to be alone."

Lynn took a deep breath. A part of her wanted to shove him into the room, follow after, and shut the door behind them. They could play a video game or read one of his dumb comics or just sit in silence...as long as she could see him and know that he was safe from that psycho bitch.

Instead, she nodded. "Alright." She waited until he was in his room before going to hers, where she sat on her bed. Should she tell the others? Yeah, now wasn't the time, but was there ever a time for something like this?

She didn't know. Could she be overreacting? What exactly did she see, anyway? Their mother kissing Lincoln? When she was in one of her moods, she doted on him. She went waaaay overboard, but it's not like she was raping him or anything, right? She would never do anything like that.

Lynn thought back to that afternoon, when she found her ball stabbed to death in the backyard. If she could do that...

But it was a ball! Just a ball!

Mom stabbing her ball for absolutely no reason was pretty bad (why? why'd she do it?), but there's a big difference between that and actually hurting someone.

She didn't know. She just didn't. She wished her father was here. She would take her suspicions to him and he would know what to do. She felt so alone in that moment that she could have cried.

For a long time, she divided her time between sitting and going to the door, where she would poke her head into the hall and glance at Lincoln's door. A crack of light shone underneath. At one point, she went to it and listened. She didn't hear anything, which she took to be a good sign. If...something was happening...there would be noise.

Lucy rolled over and went to sleep at 9:30. The sounds from Luna and Luan's room ceased just before 10. Usually Saturday nights ended late at the Loud house, but today, after what happened to Dad, no one had the heart (or energy) to stay up. Lynn herself was exhausted, drained by the emotions she had been feeling all day, but she was afraid to fall asleep. She had to stay awake...just in case. Nature is a hard thing to fight, though, and by 10:45, her eyelids were starting to droop and her mind started to get fuzzy. She slapped herself, splashed cold water from the bathroom sink into her face, and even did a couple dozen push-ups to get her blood pumping, but within minutes, the shadow of sleep would fall over her.

Coffee. That's what she needed.

Downstairs, the lights were on but the living room was empty. Lynn paused on the bottom step and looked around, seeing no one. She listened, but heard nothing. She took a deep breath and shook her head. She was paranoid. A light being left on was something that happened almost every day. Nothing sinister about it.

She crossed the carpet on socked feet and entered the kitchen, which was pooled with shadows. She snapped on the light and crossed to the pantry, where she opened the door and scanned the shelves. There was a jar of instant Folgers some...there it was, next to a family sized box of rice. She reached up, standing on her tippy-toes, and grabbed it. She shut the door and turned, her heart blasting in her throat when her mother grabbed her by the front of her shirt and slammed her against the door. The jar fell from Lynn's hands and shattered on the floor.

"You little fucking bitch," Mom growled, her eyes narrowed to predatory slits and her lips drawn back from her teeth in an ugly sneer. Lynn's tiny body froze up, any fight she may have had draining instantly away as stark terror speared her heart. "You think you can take him away from me? You think you can suck his dick and I'll just let it happen?"

Lynn swallowed, feeling like a mouse staring up into the hungry eyes of a hawk. "Wha-What?" She hated how small and frail her voice sounded; she hate how small and frail she felt.

Mom leaned in. "I know what you and Lincoln are doing..."

Lynn's eyes widened "Mom, no, I swear we're not..."

"Don't lie to your mother, you little slut!" She drew her hand back and slapped Lynn across the face: Lynn cried out as she fell to her knees, tears welling in her eyes. Before she could react or even think, her mother snatched a handful of her hair and dragged her back to her feet: She yelped at the pain.

Mom drew back her hand and hit Lynn again, and again, and again, each blow exploding painfully across Lynn's face. "Mom, stop, please!" she cried, tears running down her cheeks.

"You ugly, stupid, smelly bitch." Mom grunted with each slap. Lynn's face stung.

When she'd had enough, Mom shoved her down, and Lynn landed in a heap on the floor; she gave into her tears and sobbed, her small frame shaking. She was no longer tough or brave or strong; she was a frightened little girl quivering and hurt.

"This has gone on long enough," Mom said, crossing to a drawer and pulling it open. She brought out a knife. "I'm putting a stop to it."

Lynn looked up and saw her mother approaching through watery eyes, her heart clutching in fear. The vision was blurry, and it wasn't until her mother was almost on top of her that she saw the knife. She cried harder and tried to scoot across the floor, her feeble attempts to beg for her life coming out as a breathless blubber, but her mother brought her fist around in a deadly arch and smashed her in the side of the head: Scarlet pain filled her skull, and she toppled over.

"You're a dirty, disgusting little girl, Lynn," Mom said as she mounted her, caging her body between her knees. "And dirty, disgusting little girls die."

"Mama, please!" Lynn wept, putting her arms up defensively. "Please don't hurt me, please, please don't hurt me!"

"You should have thought about that before," Mom said.

"Please!"

Flashing, Mom brought her fist down on Lynn's face once, twice, three times: Stars exploded across Lynn's field of vision as she felt her nose shatter. The last blow knocked her nearly over the edge into unconsciousness, and violent panic filled her. She lifted one heavy arm, but her mother pushed it aside and pressed the tip of the knife against her heart.

"Please," Lynn wailed hysterically, "don't kill me, Mom! Don't kill me! Please, mommy! Stop! I don't want to die, please! Please!"

Rita flashed a vicious smile and jammed the knife into Lynn's chest; the little girl cried out as the blade pierced her heart.

The world started to go gray as cold swept over her. The last thing she saw before she died was the twisted visage of her mother, a gruesome parody of the face that once tucked her in, cleaned her cuts, and sang to her in her earliest memories.

When she was done, Rita calmly washed the knife and put it in the drying rack. She crossed to the pantry, stepping over her daughter's body, and got the broom and dust pan: She swept up the coffee powder and glass shards, then dumped them into the trash. Next, she picked Lynn up and carried her into the basement: Even as dead weight she was light.

Downstairs, Rita dropped the corpse in front of the boiler, long since disconnected and disused, and opened the door. She picked Lynn back up and tried to stuff her inside, but she wouldn't fit. Sighing angrily, she sat her daughter down and went off in search of a handsaw. She didn't find one, but she did find a sledgehammer.

She hefted it over Lynn's body and brought it down on the teen's right leg: She heard a satisfying crunch as bones broke. She did it again, this time to the left leg. She tossed the hammer aside, picked Lynn up, and pushed her in, her legs flopping limply. Done, she shut the door and latched it.

Back in the kitchen, she used a towel to clean up most of the blood, wringing it out in the sink a half dozen times, then mopped. When all evidence of the crime had been erased, she turned out the light and went upstairs, her steps light and buoyant. Having that horrible little cunt out of the way was liberating; she had not been this happy since the day Lincoln was born.

In her room, she stripped naked and shoved her bloodstained clothes into a trash bag, which she tied off and tossed in a corner. She padded to the bathroom on bare feet, snapped the light on, and started the shower. When the water was hot and steam filled the small space, she climbed in, the spray titillating her skin.

Rita washed slowly and methodically, starting with her hair and working her way down to her sex and beyond. She wanted to be fresh and clean for Lincoln. She paid special attention to the sensitive spot between her thighs, rubbing it lazily with her loofa and biting her bottom lip as the flames of desire kindled in her stomach. She braced one arm against the wall and thrusted her hips against the loofa until it was coated with her juice: The whole time she pretended it was Lincoln's face.

She washed between her legs again, then cut the water and got out. She toweled off, brushed her hair, and then painted her finger-and-toenails, sitting naked on the bed. It was so roomy with Lynn gone. And since Lincoln was so small, there would still be a lot of space after she moved him in.

When her nails were dry, she got up, went to the closet, and opened it. At the very end of the rod, hidden behind a raincoat, was a sheer white nightie that she occasionally wore for Lynn. She slipped it on and looked at herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door. Her full breasts and her Y-shaped sex were clearly visible. She briefly considered slipping on the matching bra and panties set, but decided against it: She was hot and it wouldn't take her long to get her son inside of her...who needs extra fabric?

She applied perfume and just a touch of lipstick. She smiled at herself in the mirror. She was fine. She checked the clock on the night stand. It was 1:15am. The house was silent. Ten children slept in peace, one slept in death.

It was time.

She took a deep breath.

It was finally time for her to go to her Lincoln and claim him. She was giddy, but also just a touch nervous. She had wanted this for so long.

How long would she last? She could see herself cumming (and cumming hard) the moment he entered her. Women don't prematurely ejaculate (for lack of a better term) very often, but it happened. Once, after not getting any for over a month because she and Lynn were away at different colleges, she slept with a guy whose name she couldn't remember, and all it took was literally one thrust for her to tumble over the edge. That was the first time she cheated on Lynn, but it was not the last. Before they moved to Royal Woods, she fucked their mailman, and Lynn's best friend, and the next door neighbor, and Lynn's second cousin Bob...she let him put it in her ass, something she never let Lynn do, no matter how much he begged.

But she would let Lincoln do it.

She would even let him cum in her ass.

With another deep breath, she got up and went to her man.

Lynn has quickly become one of my favorite characters to write...so this chapter wasn't exactly easy. The next one, believe it or not, was even harder.