Rag Doll Ch. 05

I couldn't really blame her; all she really knew of me was that I wasn't Rick, but that I was Robert Davies Junior, son of my father, the man who'd threatened to sell her and had beaten and battered her mother repeatedly, sowing the seeds of her death. All the "little brother" business had just been banter, she'd been scared of me the whole time, afraid I was the kind of man my father was. It horrified me to think that someone would or could expect that from me; I'd never carried out a violent deed in my life.

But there was no escaping that one fact; I was the son of a man who'd done those things as a matter of course, because it was part of his nature. Shari didn't know how much of him was lurking inside me, and so she had every reason in the world to be afraid of me. And now I understood; all the touchy-feelie had been to show me that she and Yasmin were no threat, and to defuse and deflect me, just in case I was readying myself to go off.

I opened the door and slid out, to lean against the icy metal of the car body; I felt sick; sick that someone could be that afraid of me, sick with the knowledge of what she thought I was, and finally I believed what she and Rick had told me last night; the fear in her eyes right now, fear of me, was all the confirmation I needed. What kind of monster did she think I was, and more to the point, how right was she?

I tried to think straight, but all I could see was the fear in her eyes when she looked at me; she saw me as some kind of monster, how could I possibly convince her I wasn't? Short answer; I couldn't, because one day my ground-in, rubbed through the fabric nature was going to undo me, and take everyone with me...

"Bobby...?" a soft voice startled me out of my reverie, and I turned to see Shari standing a few paces away, just out of reach, I noted; probably a wise move from her point of view.

"Bobby, can we talk?" she asked me apprehensively, and I shrugged, still preoccupied with my own moment of self-realisation.

"Sure, if you think there's anything to say," I managed. "I know how you must see me, I just got it; I wish you were wrong, but I think you're probably right about me; I'm not Rick, I'm probably too much like our father to change, there's too much inside me that's bent the wrong way, my father saw to that; everything he couldn't put into Nicky, or Rick, he shoehorned into me, until all that's left is someone who can only make the same choices he did. I have to leave, I can never be part of your family, and you really don't want to be part of mine. Keep the house; it belongs to all his children, I suppose, so it's as much yours as it is mine, I'll get my stuff and be gone. You don't need to know where, just forget me, you'll be safer if you do."

Shari stared at me with eyes like saucers.

"Don't go, Bobby, please. I was scared of you, but I'm not now, just very worried about you; you almost fell last night, but we caught you; if you go away who's going to be there to catch you next time? Your place is with your family, with us. You've convinced yourself that you're the bad seed, the one that's going to turn into a carbon copy of your father one day, but if you can think like that it shows you know the difference between right and wrong. Robert Davies was a violent psychopath, but you're Bobby, scared, isolated, lonely and alone, but still just Bobby, not some axe-wielding lunatic, and you're not Robert Davies, murderer and amoral sociopath. Be part of your family, Bobby, we need you, and you need us."

She stepped closer, coming within reach of me, but not tense and frightened now, concern and kindness in her eyes.

"Bobby, please don't go; I'm sorry for thinking what I did, but I had to know; Ricky told us how angry and bitter you were, he was sure you'd have let it go, or at least was capable of hearing the truth and be ready to accept your family, but I had to find out for myself; I've had to be the strong one for Yasmin, I was her only protection for so long, but she's been frightened all her life, and she needs her brothers, both of them, to stand over her and step in front of her. And so do I, Bobby. I've been scared as long as she has, but I couldn't let her know that; I had to be the strong one for both of us, but now I need my brothers too, I want so much to feel safe too...!"

She reached out hesitantly and stroked my cheek, her touch almost seeming to burn me, her fingers still trembling. I admired her bravery; she'd been frightened of me, literally quaking in her boots, and yet she'd still decoyed me away from her younger sister, making herself a target should I turn out to be what she most afraid of. Her courage more than anything was what drove me to finally believe in her, her resolute bravery in facing me alone even though she was sure I would turn on her.

I'd never come across anything like that, and it shamed and humbled me that I'd never been called on to show that kind of inner steel, that I didn't even know how. I had nothing and no-one to defend like that, had never even had any reason to feel like that, but now, now I felt it for my sister, knowing somehow that when I needed it, she would defend me like that if I let her; and right now that's just what I wanted...

I reached up and took her hand as gently as I could, and kissed the back of it. Shari smiled, blinking the tears out of her eyes, and an abstract part of me wondered at how the tiny droplets glinted and sparkled in her long, sooty eyelashes even as I began at last to connect, really connect, with my (slightly) older half-sister. Shari came closer, and finally hugged me; there was no artifice or testing this time, all she was doing was hugging her brother and welcoming him back. I held her close, enjoying the feel of her, understanding at last what being part of a family, a real family, could mean.

After what seemed like an eternity, Shari pulled away to look up at me, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands as she smiled.

"So, Bobby, are you coming shopping with your big sister?"

I smiled back, surprised at how easily it came after the talk we'd just had, but her quick gesture as she brushed an errant lock of hair out of my eyes told me she wasn't afraid of me or what I might do; now she believed in me the way I believed in her.

We spent most of the morning buying basic crockery, silverware, a new kettle, and a complete set of saucepans; I only had a couple, and they were old and battered, but more than adequate to heat soup or baked beans.

When we got back to the house, Rick had tinkered with the boiler and managed to turn the heating back on, and the place was warm for the first time since the end of summer; at first I was inclined to protest; how did he expect me to pay for it? Then Shari caught my eye and I subsided; of course, we could afford to heat the place now...

Rick and Yasmin had been busy, clearing the rooms ready for the arrival of the furniture on Sunday, although clearing really meant picking up the random litter of two years of neglect, the kind of detritus that accumulates when a place lies empty for so long, and giving the place a good dusting.

We'd stopped off at the local fried chicken place and bought a bucket of chicken and sides, again, something I never realistically expected to eat anytime soon, and we had an impromptu picnic sitting on the newly-swept floor of what had been the sitting room when we'd had something in there to sit on.

Once again I noticed Rick and Yasmin's closeness, the way he picked out for her the pieces he thought she'd like, or picked the juiciest pieces from his own portion and gave them to her, split his French fries with her, and teasingly spooned Coleslaw salad into her upturned mouth, laughing as he dabbed her chin where some of the mayonnaise had dripped.

I noticed they sat close together, cross-legged on the floor, with their hips touching, seeming more like boyfriend and girlfriend than brother and sister. Shari seemed not to notice; her attention seemed to be concentrated on drawing me out, chattering about London, about working with her mother and Rick over the last two years or so, asking me about my job, girls, probing, but done skilfully.

When I told her I'd never had a girlfriend, nor kissed a girl, she seemed taken aback, given my age. When I confessed that she was actually the first girl I'd ever had a conversation with, she looked sad, her hand immediately coming up to cup my chin then stroke my cheek.

"We'll have to see about changing that, won't we, Bobby," she smiled, her eyes appraising me as I blushed in embarrassment.

We spent the rest of the day cleaning and dusting, the girls exploring the house as we worked our way from room to room. They were fascinated, and not a little saddened, that I'd lived alone in this empty, echoing barn for almost two years. I'd done what little maintenance I was capable of, mainly checking the windows were tight, the attics were dry, and the roof wasn't leaking, but for the most part I'd done nothing except close all the doors and lock most of the shutters to prevent the sun fading the fine Burmese teak floorboards, something my father had been almost fixated about.

All the downstairs doors had fairly new locks, courtesy of Nicky, who'd been forced to replace them all one summer, so the house was as secure as I could make it. My own room used to be a lady's dressing room back when the house was built in the early nineteenth century, an adjunct to one of the bedroom suites, and I used it because it was right in the middle of the house and only had a small window, so draughts were minimal, and it was small enough to keep warm fairly easily. The main bedrooms were huge, draughty caverns, with tall windows and high ceilings, not the kind of place I relished spending a cold winter night in.

As we worked from room to room, I once again noticed Rick and Yasmin; something about their behaviour didn't seem quite right, not a usual brother/sister thing, but with my limited knowledge of how things worked or were supposed to be, I couldn't put my finger on it, or understand the things they weren't saying, but they were definitely acting 'off', but not in a hostile way at all; quite the opposite, in fact, and that just made no sense...

What I could see, however, and understand quite clearly, was the two of them almost completely wrapped-up in each other, and I began to resent that; why should he have something that was so far out of my ken, but which he could be so at ease with. Shari eventually noticed my building resentment, and pulled me unobtrusively to one side to talk to me.

"Let it go Bobby; Yaz needs Ricky, he's good for her, and she needs him; he was her big brother before you came along, just give her time; she'll soon be able to be as close to you as she is to Ricky. It's good to see her trusting someone other than me, please don't do anything to hurt that, Bobby, please?"

I hung my head in abashed shame at that; she was my younger sister, he was my younger brother, if they were close it must be a good thing; at least they had each other, Hell they probably needed each other right now, all these changes must have taken their toll on both of them, and here I was, letting my father do my thinking and resenting for me all over again.

I looked at Shari in apology, and she smiled as she smoothed my hair back out of my eye.

"Don't take it to heart, Bobby," she murmured, "I felt exactly the same when I first realised just how they were so close, but I soon realised she needed him just as much as she needed me, but in a different way. She'll soon think of you the same way. She already admires you tremendously, you know, Bobby."

I must have looked more than a little sceptical, as Shari smiled at me and smoothed my hair back once again.

"Oh yes, Bobby; you lived here all alone in this great, empty, creepy place, working your heart out for a pittance, struggling to keep a roof over your head, and succeeding, eking out a living by eating barely enough to keep yourself alive, no-one to care for you or care about you, lonely and alone, but never giving up or giving in; oh yes, she admires you, her brave, handsome, hard-working big brother! So do I, Bobby, you're kind of special, did you know that?""

I smiled in embarrassment at that, and Shari grinned back at me, again flipping that pesky lock of hair out of my eye.

"I need a haircut!" I grinned, glad of the opportunity to change the subject.

"No, don't do that, I like doing this..." she smiled, once more sleeking my hair back into place, making me smile once again.

"You really should smile more, Bobby," she said seriously, "You really are gorgeous when you smile, much better looking than Ricky!"

Gorgeous? I'd been called a few things in my life, especially by school kids as I shovelled up the filth out of the gutters and off the pavements, but 'gorgeous' wasn't one of them, and I could feel my cheeks burning as I flushed. Shari reached over and patted my knee.

"Maybe after tomorrow you'll have more to smile about, eh? Don't worry Bobby, things have a way of working themselves out, you'll see; until then, you have me, and Ricky, and Yasmin. She'll start talking to you soon, she knows you've changed, she just has a little more to be wary of, so give her time."

My ears pricked up at that, and my curiosity was piqued. What was she wary of? I had to know.

"Shari, what do you mean, why is she more wary? I know you both had to watch what my father did, what happened to her that made it so different?"

Shari leaned in and whispered in my ear, and what she told me nearly made me vomit as the full sick impact of it burned into my brain; my father had tried to rape her, he'd actually tried to rape his own youngest daughter while he was drunk, to 'break her in' as he put it, so his friends could enjoy her, and it was only through sheer luck she'd managed to get away. Shari had gotten her away from him, and the pair of them had had to hide from him until he'd eventually passed out. How could he do that? Truly he was a psychopath, or a sociopath, or a fucking demon, or something equally non-human, because no normal man would even contemplate that, let alone threaten it, and to try to do that to his own daughter...

Shari nodded at the pair of them as they sparred and laughed together, oblivious to our conversation.

"Now do you understand why she needs Ricky? He's her safe place, her safety and protection, things she needed to feel just as he came along. You'll come to mean that to her too, I promise; like I said, she likes and admires you, she just has to learn how to trust you, just as she did with Ricky."

I let it go; Yaz wasn't snubbing me, she had serious trust issues, and I couldn't blame her one iota, not after what I'd just heard. It occurred to me that I'd have to work to gain her trust; Shari would have to help me there. I grinned as I heard myself finally admitting that I needed the help of another person; perhaps I really was changing after all!

When we decided to go to bed, Rick and I walked the girls to their room, ensuring they knew where our rooms were in case they needed us at all, and nothing would do but that I must check all their windows again thoroughly, just to make sure they were fully secure; after what I'd heard earlier, all kinds of protective instincts were bubbling up inside me, and that puzzled me, but in a good way.

I realised that I was beginning to care about someone else other than myself, and it didn't help that Shari's face intruded into my thoughts increasingly often; as I lay in bed that night, every time I paused to think about what we'd discussed, my thoughts wandered to images of her face, her eyes, her lips, the way she tossed her hair back over her shoulder, and the scent of her, that light, flowery fragrance that trailed her everywhere. It confused me that I couldn't shake the increasingly intrusive images of her from my thoughts, nor did I want to. I eventually fell asleep in the wee hours, too exhausted to think about her any longer.

The following day was organised chaos as the huge moving vans arrived early from London and disgorged all of the stuff Yaz and Shari had put into storage; beds, carpets and rugs, dressers, chairs, tables, wardrobes, couches, and armchairs, as well as crates of bed linens, blankets, quilts, curtains, the contents of what must have been a substantial house poured out of the vans, and the movers lugged it all around according to some pre-conceived plan that Shari and Yasmin had.

Rick and I made ourselves useful, but the real taskmaster was Shari, and she was obviously enjoying herself immensely as she directed the burly movers to put the furniture where she'd decided it was supposed to be. At last, by the end of the day, we had a furnished house again, and the place was looking almost as it had before everything was confiscated. There was enough to equip every bedroom with a bed, a dresser, a full set of bed linens, a rug, and a wardrobe, and the movers even took away the battered old beds Ricky and I were using when they put the new ones in our rooms. I'd elected to retain my little dressing room bedroom; it suited me and I was comfortable in there. The girls decided to unpack all their clothes and re-populate the wardrobes another day; we were exhausted, so after an order-in pizza dinner, we made for our respective bedrooms.

I was awakened in the early hours by Shari. I came awake as soon as she lightly tapped my shoulder, noting in passing that she was wearing just a short tee-shirt and light sleep shorts. Even in the dim light from my old lamp, her legs were flawless, long and perfect, and seriously distracting.

"Bobby, Yaz is missing, I can't find her anywhere. I woke up and she was gone, Bobby, help me find her, please, I don't where to start looking in this place, it's still so confusing in the dark!"

Of course I jumped out of bed to help, how could I not? I knew this place intimately; I knew I'd find her in double quick time, always supposing she was still in the house.

I picked up a torch and led the way; most of the light bulbs had blown over time and been scavenged from around the house, and we'd not replaced them yet, so most of the house was in complete darkness. With Shari holding my arm we began at the top of the house, opening door after door, flashing the beam around inside, then going on to the next.

There were a lot of rooms, spread over 3 floors; the family who'd originally built this place way back when must have been very wealthy, and had created a series of suites, presumably one for each member of the family and a guest suite, so there were six bedroom suites, as well as the attic rooms, which had originally been servant's quarters. Each bedroom had a private bathroom and a dressing room; as we searched from room to room, all I could think was it must have been hell for the servants to turn down and clean every day.

Finally we came to the first floor above the ground level, and started at the back of the house, where Rick had his bedroom. As we approached his room I could see soft golden light around his door, which I thought was odd; it was the middle of the night, so all should have been in darkness. As we approached the door we heard voices; Yaz and Rick, talking softly. I was about to knock when Shari put her hand on my arm and motioned me to silence; she appeared to be listening intently, then gasped softly and pressed closer to the door. As she touched the door it swung open silently just a couple of inches, but it was enough to see the occupants clearly.

At first I couldn't make sense of what I was seeing, then suddenly it all swam into focus.

Yaz was on her knees, naked, her body bathed in the golden light of half a dozen flickering candles. Rick was lying on his back, and Yaz was sliding her lips over his thick erect penis, fondling his scrotum as she avidly sucked his cock. Rick in turn had his hand between her thighs, rubbing her and making her moan around the cock she had in her mouth. As I watched, they came to some sort of mutual agreement, and Yaz pulled him out of her mouth, smiling and sighing as Rick pulled her closer to dip his head down and suck her erect nipples. From their familiarity with each other's bodies, their murmured words and fond caresses, I knew this wasn't the first time they'd done this, and as Rick sucked her nipples, Yaz sat astride him, holding his face between her two hands,