Listening to Jack
Part 29
Emily was having the weirdest dream.
She was in Oz, and she was Dorothy, skipping down the yellow brick road … if Dorothy was blonde, had fantastically huge tits that bounced and heaved with every skip, and was totally naked except for a pair of ruby slippers. But Emily—as Dorothy—continued to skip down the road, until she met the Scarecrow. A Scarecrow, anyway. One dressed all in violet rags, and who had a face remarkably like her brother Jack.
Emily/Dorothy smiled at the Scarecrow. The Scarecrow smiled back. And then, the Scarecrow delicately pulled Emily/Dorothy’s long tresses of blonde hair off, unscrewed the top of her head, and removed her brain.
Emily/Dorothy giggled. It didn’t hurt.
The Tin Man was also suddenly standing there as well, his metal body covered in rusty orange. He also had a face remarkably like Jack’s. Again, Emily/Dorothy smiled at the Tin Man. The Tin Man smiled back.
And then, the Tin Man reached out, gently squeezing one of Emily/Dorothy’s boobs. Emily/Dorothy giggled again. His tin hand made her whole body tingle, in such a good, naughty way. The Tin Man turned her boob, unscrewing it off her body. When it fell off, the Tin Man removed her heart.
Courage.
Emily/Dorothy stood in the middle of the yellow brick road, looking around. The Scarecrow was gone, as was the Tin Man. Leaning against a wooden fence along the side of the road was the Cowardly Lion. He wore a sapphire collar around his neck, and he held the end of his tail in one paw, casually twirling it around. He had a face remarkably like Mr. Hill’s.
Courage, Emily, said the Cowardly Lion. It’s all you have left.
And that was when
pound pound pound pound pound
the pounding started.
pound pound pound pound pound
“Come out, come out now you GODDAMN PIECE OF SHIT!!!!”
POUND POUND POUND POUND POUND
“I’M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU, YOU LITTLE FUCKING ASSHOLE!!!!”
POUND POUND POUND POUND POUND
Bleary-eyed and naked, Emily woke up. She didn’t know where she was for a moment, until she realized that she was on Jack’s bed in the basement again, of course, and her head had been resting on Samantha’s soft, bare inner thigh. Lifting her head a bit, Emily could see that in turn Samantha’s lustrous mane of long blonde hair had been similarly resting on the bare inner thigh of her mother Chelsea.
The voice that had woken her up was loud, but muffled. Judging from that, and from the dull pounding noise that for once—mercifully—was not coming from inside her skull, but from somewhere upstairs …
… wait. Hang on.
That wasn’t really all that good, either.
EMERGENCY PROTOCOL RED SECURITY PROTOCOL EMERGENCY
Emily sat up. Her head whirled around, looking for Jack, except he was nowhere to be seen. Which was super, super weird—he never left the basement in the mornings, especially not a morning after he’d enjoyed a rather intense, torrid and crazy foursome with Samantha, his own sexy sister, and his own sexy mother, Even for Jack—and for the three insatiable women he’d spent all night fucking in such deliciously depraved ways—it’d been a long, crazy, sweaty, decadent evening of filthy, shameless sex. Jack usually slept in after nights like that …
… but this morning, he hadn’t.
He was gone. Nowhere to be seen
Quickly, Emily hopped out of the bed, putting on the emergency outfit that Jack always left for her in the closet by the stairs—jeans, sweatshirt, tennis sneakers, a rubber band for a fast ponytail. Basically, the sort of ordinary, boring outfit she’d typically worn to school in what seemed like a lifetime ago, even if it was actually only weeks before. Being actually dressed for once at home felt really, really weird, but it didn’t stop
EMERGENCY PROTOCOL RED SECURITY PROTOCOL EMERGENCY
ENGAGE
Emily from immediately bounding up the stairs, and racing through the kitchen and the living room to the front door. Right as she reached the door, she was greeted by an even louder—and angrier—pounding on the door, and even louder bellowed threats.
“COME OUT HERE, YOU WEASELLY LITTLE PIECE OF SHIT!! COME OUT AND FACE ME LIKE A MAN!!!”
“Em?” came a quavering voice from upstairs. It was Todd. God, not now, Emily thought irritably. “Em, shit what’s happening? I don’t know … shit, what, um, what should we—”
orange
“Stay upstairs, Todd, in your room,” Emily snapped. “I’ll take care of this.”
The loud slamming of a bedroom door upstairs told Emily that Todd probably heard her.
Emily peeked through the security peephole in the front door. Standing on their front porch was an older, muscular guy, probably in his late forties or early fifties wearing a polo shirt and jean with cowboy boots. His dark greasy hair was a rumpled mess, like he’d just crawled out of bed, except the stubble on his tanned face and the dark rings under his eyes told Emily that he probably hadn’t slept that night, maybe not even in days.
The guy was also holding a loaded nine-millimeter handgun.
Surprisingly,
orange
Emily wasn’t particularly scared. “Really?” she muttered, peeking again through the peephole. She knew exactly what
RED SECURITY PROTOCOL SEQUENCE ELEVEN SEVEN THREE ENGAGED
to do. With a sigh, she unlocked the door, and opened it.
“Hey, Mr. Grant,” Emily said, even as the older man suddenly pointed the business end of the gun right in her face with a shaking hand. “Uh, what can I do for you?”
“FUCK YOU, YOU COCKSUCKING …” The gun wavered just a few feet away from Emily’s nose. Emily didn’t blink. She just scowled instead, staring coldly at the sight of Kimmy Grant’s disheveled, angry dad, Chase Grant. Slowly, he lowered the gun, but only a little.
Well, actually, you got the cocksucking part right, Emily thought, but she chose not to actually say that. Instead, she stood her ground. “What are you doing here, Mr. Grant?” she asked. “Do you know what time it is? And … that? Really? You’re going to shoot me? For what?”
“I … shit, Emily, you’re Kimmy’s … shit,” Chase mumbled, his voice momentarily dropping from a roar to a dull whisper. The furious, angry look on his face had started to melt away, replaced instead with slightly bewildered confusion. “This wasn’t how this was supposed to, um … shit.” He rubbed the side of his head with the heel of his free hand, looking utterly lost and confused. Emily wrinkled her nose, smelling the whiskey fumes wafting off of Mr. Grant. She thought they might be strong enough to peel the paint off the front of her house.
“Put the gun away,” Emily said quietly. “Go home.” She folded her arms across her ample chest, still standing defiantly in the doorway. “We can pretend this never happened. But if you don’t go right now
orange
you will really regret it. I promise. Understand?”
“I …” The gun moved unsteadily to and fro in Chase’s trembling hand. “I … no, I don’t. I don’t understand at all.” He winced and closed his eyes, as though he’d suddenly gotten a migraine, or someone had flashed an incredibly bright light in front of him. “Everything’s so weird lately. Since … fuck, I … I don’t know.”
The barrel of the gun crept back up towards Emily’s face, pointing right between her eyes. Emily’s lip curled in disdain.
“It’s just … the lights, you know?” Chase asked. “I see them, all the time. I hear this whispering, too, it’s like static, though. I can’t really hear what the whispers say. And they tell me things, and then I want to do something, and then … I’m doing something else. And those things … they’re always bad. Wrong. Even if they feel good sometimes. So good, though. Really good.” Abruptly, he smacked himself in the side of his head with his free hand, and then glowered at Emily. “And it hurts. All the time. Do you understand?”
“Ummm …” Emily frowned. “Yes,” she said hesitantly, “yes, I think I—”
orange
“—no, I don’t,” Emily snapped. “You need to leave.”
“Your brother,” Chase said. He took a small step closer to Emily. “Take me to him. Now.”
“Chase, honestly, what in God’s name do you think you’re doing?”
Turning her head, Emily saw her mother Chelsea standing there, with Samantha at her side. Both were also dressed now, Samantha in khaki shorts and a Princeton sweatshirt, Chelsea in a rather smart white silk blouse and a navy-blue pencil skirt. Emily had almost forgotten how good her mother looked fully clothed. Apart from a brief glimpse of her at the pep rally the other day, Emily was pretty sure she’d only seen her sexy mother either wearing slutty lingerie or simply nothing at all for the past six weeks, maybe more. Well, that, or just wearing a dog collar and a leash, which seemed to be Todd’s new thing.
“There’s absolutely no need to make a scene like this, Chase,” Chelsea continued calmly. “You said you’re looking for my son? Which one? Do you mean Jack, or Todd?”
“Jack,” Chase said through clenched teeth. The pistol moved from Emily’s face to Chelsea’s. “Your son Jack’s been fu … been with my wife Jess lately. A lot. Too much. And, uh, my daughter Kimmy too, I guess.” A somewhat guilty expression came to Chase’s face as he mentioned Kimmy. Emily couldn’t tell if that was because his daughter was something of an afterthought, or maybe because of the shenanigans he’d gotten up to with her at the car wash.
Right … the video, Emily thought suddenly. Mmmm, that was so hot …
“Oh, I expect he has,” Chelsea replied pleasantly. “Jack’s naughty sometimes like that. But what can you do? Boys will be boys, after all. Especially handsome, charming boys like my sexy Jack.” She laughed, and gave a little roll of her eyes. “I understand completely why Jess probably couldn’t help herself.”
Chase stared at Chelsea in puzzled disbelief. “What did you just say?” he said uncertainly. “Are … are you kidding me?” His eyes narrowed angrily, and he took another step closer, this time to Chelsea. He put the barrel of the pistol to Chelsea’s forehead.
Chelsea didn’t move. She didn’t blink. Neither
orange
did Emily, or Samantha.
“Relax,” Chelsea continued. She seemed completely indifferent to the pistol being lightly pressed against her face. “This is a total misunderstanding, I’m sure. I’m just getting my phone out, so relax, and don’t do anything silly. I’m going to text Jack, and tell him to come over here, so we can straighten this all out. I promise. Understand?”
“I …” Chase looked like he wanted to say something, except he couldn’t. It was like the words were caught in his throat, unable to escape. Emily wasn’t surprised. Not anymore. She
violet
remembered now.
Mr. Grant had, after all, been sitting in the bleachers at the pep rally the other night.
“… y-yes,” Chase managed to stammer, in a weak, oddly strained voice. “I, I uh-understa—”
Chase, however, did not get to finish whatever he was trying to say. There was a loud crackling sound, and then Chase’s whole body twitched and convulsed wildly, his eyes rolling back in his skull until only the whites showed. Crumpling to the ground, he flopped on the lawn like a fish out of water for a few moments before he finally fell still. The gun, fell harmlessly out of his limp hand, falling into a bed of flowers.
Behind Chase’s spasming, unconscious body stood a police officer, taser in one hand, a walkie talkie in the other. To Emily’s surprise, the police officer also had a small, chrome-and-black device nestled inside his ear. It had violet and … white lights? The color surprised Emily more than the device itself. Huh. I wonder what white—
violet
—oh, it’s not really that important …
Emily also could now see that a patrol car was parked a few houses away. “Situation is under control,” the police officer said into the walkie-talkie. “Requesting backup for securing suspect.” He looked up towards the doorway, and to the three women standing there. “You ladies okay?”
“Yes,” Chelsea said. “We’re fine. Thank you.”
Emily nodded. Samantha did as well.
“Wow,” a voice said, from behind the three women standing in the doorway. “Hell of a way to start the morning, huh?”
Jack was suddenly there, standing behind Emily and his mother, right next to Samantha. He wore a simple brown bathroom, loosely tied shut, his hair rumpled in a bedhead mess. He held a steaming mug of coffee with his other hand. Taking a sip of his coffee, he waved agreeably at the officer, who was kneeling down next to Mr. Grant, handcuffing the unconscious man’s wrists behind his back.
“Are you okay, Jack?” Chelsea said worriedly. “Oh my gosh, Jack, if something had happened to you, if that—“
“Oh, I’m fine, Mom,” Jack said pleasantly. He took another sip of his coffee, and with his other hand gave his mother’s ass a slow, teasing squeeze through the fabric of her skirt, making her squirm and giggle. “You and Emily did just fine. Samantha, you did too. I knew you all would.”
Emily blushed. Gee, Jack’s so nice to me, she thought happily. He always is …
“All right,” the police officer said, as he finished securing Mr. Grant, “I’m going to need to know exactly what was happening here. Because I have to say, this is mighty darn peculiar.” He glanced down at Mr. Grant. “That’s Chase Grant, right? The sportscaster?”
“Mmm-hmm,” Chelsea replied. “Indeed it is.”
“Well, then,” the officer said, “I’m going to have to get a full statement from you.” He briefly turned his attention to Samantha and Emily, and to Jack. “You kids should probably go back inside while I—”
“No, you’ll listen to me,” Jack said, interrupting. “I’ll tell you exactly what you need to know. Understand?”
The officer gave Jack a look of surprise. He started to say something, then stopped himself, looking confused for a moment. He stared down dully at his boots … and then finally looked back up at Jack, nodding.
“Yes,” he said. “I understand, Jack.”
“Good. This is what happened, officer,” Jack said quite matter-of-factly. “Mr. Chase Grant came over to our house while high on crystal meth. You found drugs in his car, and at his home. He will test positive for them. Understand?”
“Yes,” the policeman said pleasantly. “I understand, Jack.”
“Good,” Jack said. “So, Mr. Grant started to have drug-induced hallucinations and some rather delusional fantasies that his sexy wife Jessica was having an affair … with me. An innocent teenager.” Jack grinned. “Understandable, but completely misguided. Completely. Understand?”
The policeman chuckled. “It is funny,” he agreed. “And understandable. But misguided, I understand.”
“Good,” Jack said. “So, you’ll bring Mr. Grant to the police station. When you come back here in a little bit to take all of our official statements, and to search and impound Mr Grant’s car, you’ll find an automatic rifle in the trunk, and a sufficient amount of crystal meth to warrant felony drug possession charges. Understand?”
“Yes,” the policeman said pleasantly. “I understand, Jack.”
“And when Mr. Grant is questioned at the station,” Jack continued, “he … well, he should confess to everything.” Absently, Jack scratched the back of his neck. “I’ll have to review his coding protocols to be sure … need to add in some ‘do no harm’ Three Laws of Robotics shit to the male obedience subroutines … would’ve thought that was implied, but guess not … hmmm … I wonder …”
The police officer smiled and stared blankly at Jack, not saying a word.
As did Jack’s mom Chelsea. And Samantha. And Emily.
“Sorry,” Jack said, shaking his head. “Side tangent there. Anyway, Mr. Grant should confess and be cooperative. If he isn’t, he’s lying, and no one should believe a word he says. Not one word. Understand?”
“Not a word,” the police officer said cheerfully. He grabbed Chase’s arm, pulling the unconscious man’s limp body up off the ground. “Come on, let’s get you squared away. I need to get these nice people’s statements.”
Emily watched curiously as the policeman dragged
EMERGENCY PROTOCOL RED SECURITY RESOLUTION COMPLETE
DISENGAGE
Mr. Grant away, back to his patrol car.
Emily suddenly noticed that she could see the tip of Jack’s dick—okay, a few inches more that the tip—hanging out of the folds of his robe. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that Samantha had definitely noticed, too. And she could also tell that Samantha was thinking
violet
exactly what she was thinking—namely, that they both really, really wanted to drop to their knees right then and there, and double team Jack with a super-sloppy, super-nasty blowjob, but
violet
suspend standard alpha subroutine
epsilon security subroutine engaged
it suddenly occurred to Emily—and maybe, just maybe, to Samantha, too—that whatever kind of conditioning that Mr. Grant had gotten maybe didn’t work quite right. And if it wasn’t working right for Mr. Grant, maybe it wasn’t working perfectly for the nice police officer, either.
Better to be safe than sorry.
epsilon security subroutine complete
The blowjob—and Jack’s big, hard, yummy dick—could wait.
violet
Not too long, though.
Like, a couple of minutes, tops.
“So, um, Jack, where is Kimmy?” Emily asked awkwardly. She twisted her hands together, fidgeting, not knowing quite else what to do. She felt awfully confused for some reason. “I, um, haven’t seen her since the pep rally. No one has.”
“Not sure,” Jack replied, shrugging indifferently. “Who gives a shit? She’s not important.” “However …”
Casually, Jack took his phone out of the pocket of his robe. His thumb swiped across the screen a few times, and he turned away, heading back towards the kitchen.
“Hi, Mrs. Grant … yes, I meant Jess,” Emily heard Jack say. “I’m good, thanks … say, would you mind coming over? If you’re not too—”
A very brief pause.
“I thought you’d say that,” Jack said with a laugh. “Say, remember that video I wanted you—us—to make? Could you wear one of the outfits you usually wear during the morning news? That blue silk blouse, maybe, with the gray skirt? And the heels? And could you put on the super slutty black lace lingerie you told me about under that? Don’t forget the stockings. I thought we could—”
A longer pause. But Emily was pretty sure she could hear naughty, excited giggling coming out of Jack’s phone.
“I thought you’d say that, too,” Jack said, as a smirk spread across his face.