…Freely Take of the Fruit…

 “Hey!”

Debbie didn’t pay any attention to the shout.  That bite of the first apple was absolutely delicious, and the tree was simply bursting in the half-red, half-green fruits…she didn’t even think twice about pulling down another couple for her husband and daughter.

“Hey, you deaf fucker, leave my god damn apples alone!”  At the mention of the word “apples,” Debbie finally looked past the apple tree to the source of the shouts: a tall, blonde-haired woman in the yard next door, walking briskly towards her.

“Oh, hi!  We’re moving in today, and I saw one of the apples on the ground…these are delicious, what are they, Gala?”

The blonde stopped at the fence line, glaring.  “You want to know what kind of apples they are?  They’re my kind of apples.  Mine.  The agreement I had with your home’s prior owner still stands: if an apple falls on the ground, you may have it.  The apples on the tree belong to me.”

Debbie shrank back, then steadied herself.  “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.  I figured that, with the tree hanging over half of my yard, it only made sense….”

“Well you figured wrong, bitch.  Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be taking those from you now.”  She beckoned to Debbie’s hand holding the apples and snapped twice.

Debbie eased forward and handed the apples over the fence.  As the blonde walked away, Debbie heard her mutter, “Fucking cunt.”

“Jason?!?  You in here?”

“Yeah, I was just getting some boxes unpacked in the study.  What’s up?”  He walked out of the study wearing his normal t-shirt and sweats.

“Have you met the neighbors next door, with the big apple tree?”

“Oh, yeah, uh…I can’t remember his name, but her name was Jessica, if I remember right.”

Debbie thought, Of course he’d remember her name…blonde, large breasted.  Debbie looked self-consciously down at her own sub-A cups and felt even less happy.  “Do you know anything about them?”

He cocked his head like he always did when trying to remember something.  “Well, I know she’s a college professor….”

There he goes, remembering the woman again.  “A professor?  With the mouth on that woman, I would think some other line of work.”

Jason smiled with mischief.  “Oh, I wasn’t looking at her mouth.”  He got a good smack in the chest for that one.  “Her husband, I think, was some kind of shop keeper in town.  Why, what’s up?”

“Well, I was just pulling down an apple from that tree outside and she totally flipped out on me.  I…what is it?”

Jason’s head was cocked again.  “The real estate agent made some kind of statement to me about that tree…some….”  He sat down on a box and rubbed his chin for emphasis.  “Yeah, now I remember.  There was an arrangement between them and the old man that owned this place, Davis.  I thought the deal was, if an apple falls on the ground, we can have it, but otherwise, hands off.”

“Great, now you tell me!”  Debbie paced the room.  “She tried to bite my head off out there!”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, honey.  Probably just a misunderstanding that we’ll have to get over.”

“So, one thing I don’t get: if half the tree overhangs our side of the fence, how do they get the apples off that side of the tree?  I would think, if we can’t eat the apples, they can’t come onto the property!  Wouldn’t you think?”

“Hey, Deb, I’m just here to do some writing, that’s all.  If you want to go talk about the apples, you just go over and talk to her.”

The answer to one of Debbie’s questions was obvious the next morning.  Armed with a long pole ending in a clamp, Jessica stood on the sidewalk and, with a tug of a string was pulling down apples one by one. 

Debbie had awaken with the sunrise and, even with the limited baking resources they had (all of their food and such had been given to their next-door neighbors before the move), she had baked chocolate chip cookies.  Of course, Breea, her 16-year old daughter, had already devoured a couple, but there were still two-dozen that she had on a paper plate with colorful saran-wrap.

“Hello, Jessica? Is it?”  Debbie stepped forward, cautiously.  Jessica stopped plucking for a moment and looked at her with something Debbie regarded as contempt. 

“Yes, it is.”

Debbie kept approaching.  “I’m, uh, sorry about yesterday’s, uh, misunderstanding, and thought a peace offering would be in order.”  She was close enough and extended the plate.

Jessica looked down at the cookies then back up at Debbie.  “Why, thank you.  My husband and son will love them.  I, myself, don’t eat chocolate.”  The corners of her mouth barely twitched up to indicate a smirk.

“Oh, you have a son, how old is he?”

Jessica still regarded her with a cold stare.  “He’s thirteen.”  Just then, an apple fell from the tree, landing with a dull thud on the grass over Debbie’s right shoulder.  Both heads turned towards it, and when Debbie turned back, Jessica was glaring at her.  “Go ahead.  Go pick it up.  It’s yours.”  Debbie could tell from her demeanor that the conversation was over.  She felt so nervous, half-expecting Jessica to swing the apple-picker at her head, she kept looking back behind her.

Jessica just kept staring at her, like she was contemplating an insect mounted on a board with a needle.  Debbie picked up the apple and went inside.

Damn, that was a delicious apple!

During the course of the day, Jason was out working in the backyard, putting yard-tools into the shed, when he talked over the fence with Richie, Jessica’s husband.  The end result was a dinner invitation for that evening at Richie and Jessica’s.  When Jason told Debbie, her response was less than enthusiastic.

“Jason, I’m not sure I want to do this.  You haven’t seen the way she looks at me!  I truly think she hates me!”

Now came the doubting look.  “Look, let’s go over there tonight and make peace about this.  I can’t believe that two women are going to get upset about an apple tree.”

“It’s not about the apple tree.  Well, not really.  It’s just….”  She paused and thought about it.  How do I put my feelings into words?  Wait, that’s Jason’s job, I’m just a housewife.  “I’m just not comfortable around her.”

“Well, now that’s just tough, isn’t it?  We are going over there, and we’re going to have a good time.  You’ll see.”

Debbie scowled.  “There’s something wrong with a woman who won’t eat chocolate.”  Jason laughed, and Debbie couldn’t help but smile as he hugged her and went back to unpacking.

“Ah, welcome to the Mayville residence!  I am Richie, your host.  This beautiful blonde lady is my wife, Jessica, and this stout young man is my son, Nicholas.”  Richie was a big bear of a man, easily outweighing Jason by a hundred pounds, and he seemed a very friendly man by his actions and his booming voice.

Nicholas was a standard-issue thirteen-year old boy, wearing a suit and tie.  Without looking, Debbie did a mental inventory of the jeans and sweatshirt she was wearing, and realized how underdressed she, and her family, were.

Jason, ever the writer, responded, “We accept the gracious invitation to your home, and I am pleased to introduce my lovely wife, Debbie, my daughter Breea, and myself, Jason Stephens.  My apologies for the lack of decorum as far as our dress, but the move has us a bit out of sorts, clothes-wise.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.  You look fine.”  Jessica said; she was staring through Debbie, and it made her very uncomfortable.

There were handshakes all around, then they made their way inside.  The table was set like in a movie, with candles burning, tablecloth, all the food steaming and already in place.  A large roast beef, steamed vegetables, red potatoes, fresh baked bread.  And, of course, everything was on the finest china, and the silverware was shined to perfection.

Conversation around the table was normal “new neighbor” fare.  “So, what do you do for a living?”  “What’s this town really like?”  “Any good places for the kids to go?”  “Is it true there’s a haunted house around the block?”

Through it all, Jessica glared at Debbie, who continued looking at whomever was speaking, but her eyes always darted back to Jessica then quickly away.  Every time Jessica jabbed a piece of her food, Debbie could feel the tines of the fork in her back.

When the main courses were complete, Jessica rose and asked the table, “Did everybody leave room for desert?”

Richie put his fist up to his mouth, belched loudly and bellowed, “Now I do!” 

Nicholas giggled loudly at this, then turned to Breea and said, “My mom made some apple pie for desert!”

Jessica stopped walking, looked first at Nicholas then glared at Debbie again, and said, “No, Nicholas, we won’t be having apple pie.  I made a gelatin.”

“Oh mooooom!” he whined, “Why can’t we have the apple pie?”

Still glaring at Debbie, Jessica replied, “You can have some later.  But not now.”

In bed, Jason rolled over to Debbie and put a hand on her belly, rubbing in a slow circle.

“I can’t believe she did that.  Wasn’t that the rudest thing you’ve ever seen?”  Debbie was still in shock.

“Oh, Debbie, she probably didn’t make too big of a pie.  ‘Sides, that was a good Jello!  She’s got some serious fruit-and-Jello skills!”

“No, no, no, she was just flat-out being vindictive.  I swear to you, Jason, that woman’s evil, evil incarnate!”

Jason leaned up on one elbow.  “Deb, she’s a professor of Early Child Development at the college.  I think she just comes off as being a little gruff, that’s all.  You know how you women are, all competitive and stuff.”  He laid back down and moved his hand further south.

“Oh, I don’t think so.  I think…yeah, she’s Satan.  Or one of those devil women or something.”

“Succubae?”

“Yeah, succubae, whatever…hey, what are you doing?”  Jason now had his hand completely between her legs.  “Are you….”

She didn’t even finish the sentence.  In all honesty, it was the best sex she’d had in years.

The next night, Debbie woke up in the middle of the night with a craving.  A craving for apples.  And it was a gnawing craving.

Jason was still sawing logs, loudly, so she eased out of bed, put on her robe, and made her way downstairs.  In the front room, she could see a tight angle-shot of the tree, apples dangling, beckoning her to come closer.  The moonlight, a bit dim as it was a waning moon, shone brightly off a couple of the apples, twinkling like stars as the branches swayed a touch with the breeze.

Debbie pursed her lip, tightly.  Yes, it was wrong.  But, wasn’t it also wrong the way this woman was treating her?  I should do this just for the principal of the matter!

Quietly, ever so quietly, Debbie eased the lock on the door, pulled it open, then softly pushed the screen door (squeaks, always squeaks, have to get Jason to fix that ASAP) with a slight squeak, and was outside, pulling the robe in a little tighter to shield her from the chilling breeze.  She looked to the Mayville house, looking for any signs of life (light, you ninny, signs of light!).  Satisfied all were fast asleep, Debbie crept to the tree, the few leaves on the ground due to the early autumn faintly crunching with each step.  Her eyes played back and forth between the Mayville house and the apples, two of them just waiting to be plucked.

The first one she simply grabbed and tugged, pulling several branches downward that sprang back up when the apple came free.  A shower of crisp leaves fell around her; still, no lights in the house.  She held onto the branch of the other apple and tugged that one free with little effort, then crept back into the house.

Inside, she made her way towards the kitchen, planning to slice the apples with a knife.  Instead, she stopped, her desire for the apples overwhelming her.  She raised one apple to her mouth and bit, deeply, the tart-sweetness exploding in her mouth.  She tilted her head back with the taste, the emotion of that bite, delicately chewing the meat until it had become a thick liquid in her mouth, which she swallowed gladly.  The next bite was much faster, more efficient, and before she could believe it, the apple was devoured, eaten down to a stem, seeds and a paper-thin wrapping of apple around the seeds.  This she still sucked the flavor out of, before turning greedily towards the second apple.  She tore into this one like a shark, small bits of apple and juice flying about in a frenzy.  She sank her incisors through the skin and turned the apple in rapid circles, the fruit becoming a stream of ambrosia flowing down her throat.

This was the definition of ecstasy. 

When it was done, Debbie rested, still clutching both apple cores to her as if losing them would mean the loss of her life.  Apple juice and drool dripped heavily off her chin and onto her nightgown, her chest rising and falling with deep gasps and sighs.  Debbie realized with a shock that she was incredibly horny, her underwear soaked with a different kind of juice.

Her first thought was to go get more apples.

But then, she thought better, realizing the risk she had taken with, with, with that psychopath!  Instead, she went to the bathroom and cleaned herself up, then went into the bedroom.  Softly, she reached under the covers and undid the button on Jason’s boxers.  She began to manipulate him in a way she mastered during high school, when she had told all the boys, “No, I can’t do that…but I’ll show you what I can do.”  Then, as he stiffened, she mounted him.

In all honesty, it was the best sex he’d had in years.

“Cunt!”

Debbie rolled over slightly, barely opening her eyes.

“Cunt!  I know you can hear me!!!  Get your fuckin’ ass out here and face the news, cunt!”

Debbie woke completely up, hearing Jessica’s shouts from outside.  It was Tuesday.  Jason had woken early, said something to her about taking a bike ride into town (must be nice to be a writer), and that he would wake up Breea for school.  It was late morning, 9? 10?  She hadn’t set an alarm, as she was exhausted from the night, and all she had planned for the day was to unpack her ceramic angel collection to be placed atop the mantle.  But, she didn’t really need an alarm with the piercing shrieks coming from her front door.

“Oh, now come on, you flat-chested twat, face me.  Come on, now!  Cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt!”

Debbie put on her robe again (it still had small bits of apple on it that she brushed off as she ran downstairs) and opened the door.  On the opposite side of the screen, Jessica slammed a sheet of paper.  “Read this, cunt.  Read it!!!”

Shaken, Debbie looked at the paper.  In very plain lettering, she could see it was a contractual agreement, signed by the previous owner, stating that the only apples that could be eaten were the ones that fell into the yard.

At the very bottom of the page, there was another signature: that of Jason Stephens.

“I want my apples back now!!!”

“Who says I took any of your apples?”

“Oh, you think you’re smart?  You think you’re fucking smart, you god damn whore?  I know you took my apples.  I have a fucking Master’s degree, so I sure as hell am a lot smarter than you, you vulva.  I want them back now, before I go ape-shit on you!!!”

Debbie stood in complete indecision, then the words just slipped out:  “I ate them.”

Jessica’s eyes, became obscenely wide, and her lips quivered with hate.  “You…ate…them???  I’m going to rip your fucking eyes out…I’m gonna shove a bottle of Liquid Plumber in your ass then stick a plunger in that fish-shit twat of yours…oh, you are going to pay for this you…you…you stupid fuck.”  Jessica stormed down the sidewalk, turned, and walked to her front door.

Debbie closed the door, sat down, and gasped in fear.

When Jason got home, she told him the whole story, and he held her while she cried.

The next day, Debbie made her way to City Hall, where she planned to do some research.  No law truly governed their situation; since the base of the tree is on the Mayville side of the property line, it was their property.  However, whenever tree branches extend onto another’s property, the city government viewed it as a shared property barring the existence of a different agreement.  The sheet of paper, obviously thrust in front of Jason along with three-thousand other documents at the mortgage signing, was legal and binding.

While at City Hall, Debbie also wanted to look up the property records of both their house and the Mayvilles’.  They wouldn’t include the tree, but Debbie was curious nonetheless.

She became more curious when she found a notice stating that the property boundary was redrawn…in 1994.  This sparked a slight memory in Debbie’s head of something Jason had told her…something about the Mayvilles moving into the house back in 1994.  Why the redrawing 8 years ago?

In going through the records, there was a document stating that a four-foot error had been found, as the original bill of sale was predicated on a stone-wall that formed the boundary between the two properties; apparently, the original survey indicated that the property line was four feet to the west from its current position.

Which would have put the apple tree on Debbie’s side of the wall.

With joy, Debbie hugged the papers to her chest, then made her way to the copy machine. 

“See, it clearly says that the tree is ours.  Ours!” 

Jason was obviously not grasping the importance of this find.  “Debbie, it’s just a tree.  A tree, for God’s sake.  Just let it go!  You can buy apples down at the store…all kinds of apples…they even come in bags, for your enjoyment!”

“I don’t want those apples, I want my apples!”

“Well, forget it, you’re not getting those apples.  And I don’t want to hear any more of it!”

Debbie stewed all night, dwelling on the apples through dinner, all while helping Breea with her homework, and while lying awake in bed.  The thought kept going through her mind.

At 2am, she took action in the form of a shovel.  She was no longer concerned with being quiet; she put on jeans, a shirt and her work boots, then stomped into the front yard.

Four feet west of the stone wall that marked their property line, Debbie planted the shovel into the dirt and jumped on it, sinking down just barely an inch before landing on something hard.  She backed off, thought, then used the shovel to take the dirt up.  Just as she thought, under a thin layer of dirt was concrete.  The remains of a stone wall that had been knocked down and moved.

All to have the tree to herself.

“That bitch!”

Debbie looked up at the house; once again, no lights were on.  In the movies, one can always sense if somebody’s watching them; Debbie didn’t have that feeling now.  Then again, I didn’t have one the other night, either!  Regardless, she bit her lower lip lightly, sucked in a deep breathe, then trotted into the house, to the kitchen. 

By the light of the refrigerator, Debbie grabbed three eggs (she had done some grocery shopping, so she had two dozen in there), and walked back to the shelter of the apple tree.  She stood for an eternity, allowing her hatred of Jessica to build, and when it finally hit its climax, she brought back her right arm and sent an egg flying, wobbling end over end through the air to collide with the Mayville’s front door in a beautiful splash pattern.

Debbie felt so much freedom in that moment, she haphazardly threw the other two eggs; the second one struck the picturesque bay window that stretched the length of their family room with a loud “punk” that echoed down the block.  Debbie froze in terror, certain that lights would be coming on up and down the block, but none came.

Like a deer, Debbie turned and dashed back into the house, shutting and locking the door behind her.

When Debbie answered the door, Jessica was there, smiling broadly, as if Debbie was a long-lost sister that she was just reacquainted with.

“Debbie, good morning.  You wouldn’t happen to have any…eggs…I can borrow, would ya?”

Debbie felt her pulse jump from 70 to 150 in a snap, but she kept herself composed.  “Why, of course I would.  I always have eggs on hand.  How many do you need?”

Jessica’s smile bled away.  “Oh, I could use three.  That is, if you didn’t lose three last night?”

“Not at all.  Here, let me grab a few for you.”  With her spine straight as a steel rod, Debbie opened the refrigerator, pulled out three eggs, closed the door and brought them to Jessica, who had opened the screen door.  “Here you go.”

The “Jessica” smile came back, the cold, evil smile.  She held two eggs in her left hand, one in her right, and with a loud snap, she crushed that egg, the white and yellow dribbling onto the kitchen floor.  “Debbie, let me explain something here.  I do aerobics five days a week.”  She put another egg in her right hand and popped that one as well.  “I once ran the Boston Marathon.”  She put the last egg in her right hand, snap.  “If you think there’s anything stopping me from beating the shit out of your plump, out-of-shape, Precious Moments housewife ass, think again.  Let this be a warning.”  With a last flick of her wrist, sending a streamer of egg onto Debbie’s blouse, Jessica turned and walked away, the screen door slamming shut behind her.

Later that afternoon, there was a knock again at the door.  Debbie opened it cautiously, expecting Jessica.

Instead, it was Nicholas, Jessica’s son, with a look of extreme disinterest on his face.  “Hi, Nicholas, how are you?”

“Mrs. Stephens, I don’t know what weird game you and my mom are playing, but I just want to play my video games.”  With that, he turned and stepped to the side of the doorway, making his way back to his house.

Debbie opened the screen door and said, “Nicholas, what game….”  She was cut short by a water balloon bursting on the left side of her face, spraying its warm contents throughout the entryway.  She ducked back inside, but not before two more of the balloons slammed into the screen door, showering the house with what Debbie realized, based on the odor, was urine.

“Hey Debbie!”  She could now see Jessica, standing on in the street with her arms raised in victory, “I got plenty of that, too!”  She then ran down the sidewalk to her front walkway and back inside.

In disgust, Debbie used paper towels to clean up, then showered.

When Jason came home from his research trip into town that night, she told him about the urine balloons.

“Honey, I’ve talked with this woman.  She may be a bit gruff, maybe even rude, but urine bombs?  Come on.”

“Jason, it was yellow, it was warm, it smelled like urine….”

“And was probably just apple juice, or stale beer or something.  You’re making her out to be this, this evil woman, and I just don’t see it.”

“Jason: she pissed on me.”

“Well what do you want me to do?  I’m not getting involved in this tiff of yours!  This is between you and her.  You don’t see me and Richie fighting in the streets.  And may I remind you, this is a fight that started over an apple tree.”  He turned to make his way upstairs but stopped and said, over his shoulder, “I seriously think you need to grow up a little,” then made his way upstairs to bed.

Debbie’s next attack took four days of preparation.  Underneath her bathroom sink, in a cleaned out margarine bucket, Debbie collected her droppings.  On the norm, Debbie had one bowel movement a day; this held true, and after the four days, Debbie had enough to do what she needed.  All she needed was solitude for the morning; Jason had to do more research on Monday and Tuesday, so she knew that Monday would be her Preparation H Day (she really got a kick out of making that name up), and she would drop it off on Tuesday.

In a large mixing bowl, Debbie combined her feces, melted baking chocolate, cocoa mix, walnuts, and milk, mixing it with an electric mixer for over 20 minutes until it turned into what Debbie couldn’t help but think looked just like the liquid fudge one sees in a chocolate shop.

In a disposable foil casserole dish, she poured the mixture, and after chilling it (wrapped tightly in plastic), it took the form of, laughingly, fudge.  A few expert cuts of a knife, an old candy box, and voila, one box of walnut fudge, just waiting to be devoured.  She hid the box in a back kitchen cabinet until the next day.

When morning came, and the house was empty, Debbie began the next phase.  She watched as Jessica’s car pulled out of the garage and drove to what she assumed was aerobics, then sprinted downstairs, grabbed the “fudge,” dashed to the Mayvilles’ and left the box, gift-wrapped and tied with a big red bow around it, leaning up against their front door.  With even greater speed, Debbie made it back to her house and waited.

When Jessica came home three hours later, Debbie watched from Breea’s bedroom, which had the best view.  As planned, Jessica walked to the front door, saw and picked up the box.  Now, she’ll either look happy, or she’ll look suspicious, Debbie thought, believing she’d either think it was from her husband…or a trap. 

She did neither.  Instead, Jessica looked at Debbie’s house with what looked like…worry?  This was not at all what Debbie had expected.  Either way, there was no retaliation that day, and Debbie had to assume that Jessica had not opened the box.

Wednesday morning came; Jason had gone for another early morning bike ride, Breea was at school.

And just what is that beeping?  And whose voices are those in my front yard?

Debbie looked out her window and saw one of the largest dump trucks she’d ever seen, the beeping being its backup warning…as it was backing up into her front yard.

She thought for a moment.  Had Jason ordered anything and not told me?  She couldn’t come up with anything, but felt her heart stop in horror at what she saw happening.

The dump truck was tilting its back up, and its entire payload was spilling into her front yard.  It was very clearly manure.

Debbie ran downstairs, not concerned with the fact she was clad only in her nightgown, and threw open the door, running outside.  “Stop!  Stop!!!”

It was already too late: the truck had even pulled forward to complete its drop.  She ran up to a burly man in a flannel shirt and shook his arm to get his attention over the sound of the diesel engine.

“Oh, Mrs. Stephens, we thought you’se gonna be gone!  If we’se known you’se gonna be here, we’d knocked on the door.”

“What is this?  Did my husband order this?”

The big guy stared at her blankly.  “I don’t understand.”

“Who ordered this…that’s manure, right?”

“Yeah, 3 tons steer, 3 tons rabbit, best mix we got.  Got a work order here,” he pulled out an invoice, “Showing Mrs. Debbie Stephens ordered this yestaday, paid $250 cash for it.  See, dere it is right dere.”  He actually showed Debbie “her own” signature, which clearly wasn’t.  Jessica had signed the name, putting a big smiley face at the end of the signature.

“Listen, you have to take this back.”

He stared at her blankly again.  “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t want it.  I changed my mind.”

He blinked, twice.  “Ma’am, as you kin see, we ain’t got no bulldozer here.  And my men ain’t sittin here with a coupla shovels, scoopin’ up all this shit.  My boss cut you a deal so he could move all this shit; you want it moved again, call im.”  He turned and walked away, and as he climbed into the cab of the truck, Debbie could here one of his men say, “I thought she was supposed to have some big jugs?”

As Debbie turned to go inside, she saw Jessica standing behind her screen door, laughing hysterically. 

When she got to the door, Debbie saw the box of fudge, opened and uneaten, on her doorstep; she’d stepped in it while running out the door and hadn’t even noticed.

Debbie found that patience truly was a virtue, as it took over a week for her next plan to really reach fruition.  Jessica had discovered newfound attention from the men of town.

In both of the town’s newspapers, three men’s magazines, and seventeen Internet websites, “Jessica Mayville” had posted ads, revealing her home address, phone number, employment, and the fact that she liked “doing anything to please a man.”

“Please come between the hours of 10am and 4pm, when my husband’s not home.”

The procession of men to the door was nonstop, and ranged the gamut from 90-year old perverts (one man actually rolled up in an electric wheelchair and had to turn away when he couldn’t circumnavigate the front steps) to a group of high-school kids who were roughly chased away (it helped that “Jessica Mayville” was making frequent visits to football and basketball chatrooms). 

Through it all, Debbie laughed and smiled.

The next day, Thursday, Debbie was thinking, planning carefully her next step.  It didn’t dawn on her that Jason’s bike ride had extended well into the afternoon, something that had never happened before.

When he came home, he was visibly agitated, nervous about something.  Debbie began asking the usual, prying questions, but all he would say is, “No, everything’s fine, I just got sidetracked.”  As far as what he was sidetracked by, Jason was very non-committal, and retreated to the upstairs shower to wash up.

After a few minutes, she became curious, and headed up to continue asking the questions.  Through the glass shower door, Debbie could see the glowing red streaks of scratches down his back: nail marks.

As calmly as possible, Debbie shouted over the shower, “Jason, what did you do in town?”

He hung his head low, turned off the shower and stood, naked, back to her.  “Debbie, for the past two weeks, I haven’t been doing research in town.”  He stopped talking.  Debbie covered her mouth in horror and ran downstairs, the tears already brimming in her eyes.

At the base of the stairs, Debbie could see that Jessica was standing outside the screen door.  Smiling.

“Hi, Debbie, is Jason home?”

Debbie choked back a sob and said, “Yes, he’s in the shower.  Why?”

“Oh, I just wanted to thank him.  He’s a real stallion.  Oh, and I thought you might like this!”  She pulled the door open and tossed an apple to Debbie, turned, then walked away, laughing the whole time.

As Debbie turned away from the door, her tears already drying, sadness turning to rage, Jason walked to the bottom step, towel around his waist.  “She told you, didn’t she?”

“Don’t talk to me…you make me sick.”  Debbie dropped the apple in the trash and walked away.

Jessica always taught her classes on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, so Debbie knew she had all day to do whatever she wanted.  The first thing she wanted to do was to pick up young Nicholas Mayville from school.

When he walked into the school’s office, his look went from curious to baffled.  “Mrs. Stephens?”

“Hi, Nick, your mom asked me to pick you up and take you home.  She said something about not being able to pick you up today due to a meeting, and the only way I could do it is if I pulled you out of school early.  Is that okay with you?”  She flashed him a quick wink, and the smile broadening his face was all the answer she needed.  He dashed after her and jumped in the passenger seat of her Saturn.

“So, Nick, what do you like to do for fun?”

“Fun?  Whaddya mean?”

“You know, riding your bike, playing football, you know.”

“Oh, yeah, I like riding my bike.  I kinda like football, but I’d rather play the video game.”

Debbie laughed.  “So, let me ask you a question, and I want you to be honest with me: does your daddy have any magazines around the house?”

“Like, Sports Illustrated?”

“No, like, magazines you’re not allowed to read.”

The blush was all the answer she really needed.  “Well, I’m not even supposed to know about ‘em…I don’t even think ma knows about ‘em…he keeps them in a box in his closet.  He wrote on the box, ‘Sports Stuff’.”

She laughed again, flashing him a little smile.  “So, how often are you looking at these magazines?”

He looked down, ashamed.  “I really shouldn’t be talking about this.”

“Hey, Nick, it’s me, Debbie!  You can trust me.  It’ll be our little secret.”

He smiled, embarrassed, then told her, “Some nights my parents go out on the town and leave me alone for the night.  I look at them…a little.”

She smiled back at him again.  “Do you ever…you know…do anything else while reading the magazines?”

His eyes opened wide, and he stammered, “No! I just look at the magazines!  I don’t do anything.”

“Nick, relax: I do the same thing.  All the time.”  His eyes grew wider.  “It’s just…different, for a woman.  Tell you what, before you go home for the day….”

Saturday morning.  This time, Jessica slammed a spiral notebook against the screen door.  “You see this, you whore, what’s this all about?”

The page of the spiral notebook was covered in writing, the same thing just in different variations: “Nick + Debbie”.  Sometimes, he still referred to her as Mrs. Stephens.

Debbie pushed open the screen and took the notebook from her.  Flipping through the pages revealed that over ¾ of the book was filled with these statements, as well as hearts with arrows through them, and even one page with “Mr. Nick Stephens” written from end to end, every line and even the margins.

“Hmm, I would say your little boy has a crush on me, wouldn’t you say?”

Jessica’s face contorted with rage.  “He spent all last night writing in this book.  I thought he was doing schoolwork early, but no, he was doing this…this…this!!!”

“Well, that’s odd, but, I guess I have still got a little bit of the charm left in me.”

“And he was masturbating before, but this, this is different!  He’s trying to set a record!  There’s so much cum on his sheets, they’re fucking crunchy!  What the hell?!?  And then I find out he left school early yesterday, without my authorization, and the school says his aunt came and picked him up?”  She edged closer, aggressively.  “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Debbie smiled.  “Well, yes, I did pick him up.  As far as the masturbation’s concerned, well, you ain’t seen nothing yet!  You should’ve been here yesterday…ooops, I’ve said too much!”

Jessica’s jaw dropped.  “You…didn’t.”

“Oh, I didn’t do anything at all!  That just wouldn’t be right, now would it?”

Jessica’s eyes blazed.  “You…fucking…cumrag.  You have crossed the line, you’ve crossed the fucking line!  You want war?  I got your fucking war, assfuck, I will bring it on, I will bring it on.”

With that, she stalked next door.

“A Saturday night alone, without Breea around, eh?  How’d we stumble onto this luck?”

“Jason, I’m still not talking to you.  I am still so disgusted by you and what you did.”

“Debbie, I understand you’re upset.  I deserve everything you’re doing right now.  It’s just, if Breea’s not around, and won’t be back ‘til late, shouldn’t we, at least, talk?”

“Jason, I still can’t understand how you could do something like that.”

“Deb, I was just at the coffee shop in town one morning, relaxing.  She came up to me….”

“Don’t…don’t.  I don’t want to know.  I don’t want any details.  I just want to be alone right now, ‘kay?”  With that, she walked upstairs, took a long bath, and went to bed.  Jason slept on the couch, as he’d done the previous two nights.

The next morning, Jason went on another bike ride.  He steered a large circle around Jessica, who was picking apples with the long pole again; she flashed him a brilliant smile that Debbie could see from the kitchen window.  Debbie was drinking coffee, and Breea was seated at the table drinking orange juice.

“Mom, are you and dad okay?”

“We’re having a real hard time with things right now…with the move, that’s all.  We’ll be alright.”

“Good, I was getting scared, ya know?”  They sat in silence a moment, sipping.

“How was the party last night?  You fitting in with all the local kids?”

Breea smiled nervously.  “Mom, I got something to tell you.  The people I went out with, well, they weren’t the local kids.”

Debbie could feel her face burning.  “What?”

“They were college kids, a few girls I bumped into at the mall.”

Debbie released a cleansing sigh of relief.  “Breea, you know what I’ve told you about college kids, they….”

“Drink, smoke pot, I know, but I haven’t really latched onto any of the high school crowd yet.  Besides, you know I’m smart enough not to get into that.”

“I know you are.  You’re a smart kid.”  Debbie reached over the table and brushed a hair out of Breea’s eyes.  “So, then, how was it?  Meet any boys there?”

Breea looked down for a few moments.  “Yeah, there were some boys, none I was really interested in.”  She inhaled deeply, then said, “Mom, have you ever been really confused?”

Debbie’s nervousness set in again.  “Confused?  About what?”

“Well, last night, at the party, Mrs. Mayville showed up.”

“What?!?”

“Yeah, some of the girls there said she shows up to the college parties every once in a while.”

“And?!?”

“Well, mom,” she cleared her throat, “Have you ever kissed a girl before?”

What happened next, Debbie felt no control over.  There was a knife block on the kitchen counter, and Debbie picked up the large butcher’s knife, running out the screen door.  In a full sprint, she charged at Jessica, who turned and faced her, an expectant look turning to one of hatred.

When Debbie got within range, Jessica swung the pole, knocking Debbie on the side of the head and throwing her to the ground.  Bright, sparkly lights blinded Debbie for a moment, but shaking her head cleared things.  She sprang back up and kept running, the knife held blade-down in her right hand.  Again, Jessica swung, catching Debbie in the right side, knocking her sprawling again.

When Debbie rose this time, Jessica was already swinging again, but this time, Debbie caught the pole with her left arm and latched on, sliding up the length of the pole to her target.  Jessica’s face had a look of shock at the first stab, then contorted in pain as the knife came down again and again, Debbie’s shrieks of rage turning into squeals of delight with each strike.  She couldn’t count the number of stabs she made (trial transcripts would set it at 83 wounds).

When Jessica’s mangled body lay on the ground, unmoving, Debbie stepped over to the tree, plucked an apple, and bit into it, delighting in the ecstasy.