*Author's Note: All persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
**Author's note: This is not a stroke story. (Actually, I don't think any of my stories qualify as a 'stroke' story.) It deals with Father/daughter incest, cuckolding, and the reaction to these abominations.
Chapter 1
Ed Baggett sighed heavily as he dressed for the dreaded day ahead. It had been twenty six years since he had last seen Mickey Bernard and hoped he would never have to see him again.
But the Louisiana Department of Corrections as well as the Louisiana Department of Health and Human Services, in their finite wisdom, was actually considering releasing Mickey Bernard.
It was a four hour and forty minute drive from Bender Louisiana to Paulton, Louisiana, where Mickey Bernard was a guest of the North Louisiana Wellness Center.
Ed wondered when it had gone from being a nut house to a wellness center. Basically, it was a holding cell for the criminally insane. And Mickey Bernard fit the profile of the criminally insane.
He had murdered Jonathon Baggett, Ed's father, and Kay Baggett, Ed's sister, as well as Linda McCabe, Jonathon's 'friend.'
Ed smirked; even twenty six years later, he had a hard time admitting that Linda and his father had been much more than friends. Jonathon had left Beverly Baggett, Ed's mother, for Linda.
"Be careful," Daphne Baggett murmured from their warm bed.
"Sure you don't want to come?" Ed joked. "There'll be absolutely nothing to do and nothing to see and you'll be bored out of your mind, I promise. Sure you don't want to come?"
"Oh, gee, I'd love to," Daphne lied. "But what would TeddiAnn do without me?"
"Go to school, then call us and tell us she's going over to Sophia's house and eating dinner there and is it okay if she spends the night because it's Friday night and they can go straight from there to dance class and Miss Nicole and Mr. Fred say its okay and please?" Ed said.
"Yep, probably," Daphne agreed, but did not budge from the bed.
Ed moved a hank of her long red hair out of the way and kissed her forehead softly.
"Love you," he said.
"Love you too, coffee breath," she said.
"Room to talk, morning breath," he said and softly kissed her lips.
"Be careful," Daphne urged.
"You too," he said.
On the long drive, that took him through small town after small town, Ed had little to do but to think. His main thought was the same thought he'd had twenty six years earlier.
"Why?" Ed even said it out loud. "Why did you kill my baby sister? And my dad?"
The fifty two year old man stopped at a small diner that promised they had the 'best chili in Stepping Stone, Louisiana.'
Ed ate a small bowl of 'the best chili in Stepping Stone' and a grilled cheese sandwich, along with a glass of flat cola. He wondered just how bad the second best chili in Stepping Stone had to be to lose to this bowl of chili.
A pharmacy a tenth of a mile later sold Ed a pack of antacid tablets and a can of cola.
"Bye now; y'all come back, hear?" the woman behind the counter intoned.
"Hope it's not for another twenty six years," Ed thought as he chewed three of the tablets and swished the soda around in his mouth.
An hour later, Ed pulled up to the building that housed forty seven of the criminally insane. The Building was a gleaming stainless steel and glass building and looked quite out of place in the thicket of woods. On either side of the facility were turkey farmers. As he approached the gate, Ed couldn't help but think that his ten year old daughter, TeddiAnn would have loved to see all the turkeys running around, calling to each other.
The guard checked his name carefully, typed something into an electronic pad and had Ed sign with the electronic pen, then surveyed the grounds with a practiced eye before throwing the switch, opening the gate.
"Have a nice day, sir," the guard said as Ed drove into the compound.
"Uh huh," Ed said.
****
To Mickey Bernard, it was just another day. Another day of waking up in the sparse room. Of sitting up and putting his feet on the cold floor, then going over to the hole in the floor and relieving himself.
Prayers followed, and then he would sit and wait. Breakfast usually came an hour later, shoved through the slot at the bottom of the door.
Scrambled eggs, made from powdered egg, dry toast, two slices, and milk made from powdered milk, some watery juice and a mealy apple.
If it was Thursday, he would meet with Dr. Steven, no last name given, for an hour. If it was Monday, Wednesday, or Friday, he would go out into the yard for an hour, and listen to the non-stop cackling of the damned turkeys.
Then he would return to his room and sit.
"Bernard, coming in," he heard one man call out.
"Okay," Mickey responded.
"Against the wall, Bernard, kiss it," the man said and Mickey heard the door click as a switch was thrown.
"Shower and a shave, Bernard," one man said.
The other man stood back, hand resting firmly on his stun gun.
"Oh?" Mickey said, but no answer was forthcoming.
He blinked; the razor he was given was brand new, the can of shaving foam was full; the soap was still in its wrapper.
"Clean clothes, one of the men said, pointing to the coveralls hanging on the rack. "Put your old ones in the basket, hear?"
After he shaved his stubble clean and showered, he dressed in the coveralls. He smirked to himself; the new pair did not smell any better than the ones heed stuffed into the basket. They still smelled of the industrial cleaner the Center used to wash the clothing, the bedding, the floors and the walls.
"Come on," one of the men barked impatiently and Mickey was led back to his cell.
He sat and sat and waited. To Mickey, this was the hardest part; the sitting and the waiting. The sounds, he had learned long ago how to tune them out. The smells were all masked by the industrial cleaner. There was nothing to look at; just pale gray cinderblock walls.
Lunch, a bologna sandwich with a slice of processed cheese, more powdered milk, a small amount of stale potato chips and another mealy apple was shoved into his cell. Mickey ate the sandwich slowly, chewing each bite twenty times, ten chews on the left side of his mouth, ten times on the right side. He did not look at the food; he had not liked bologna when he had arrived at the Wellness Center twenty four years ago, and still did not like it. He did not like sour cream and onion flavored potato chips twenty nine years ago, and still did not like it. He had not liked powdered milk then, and still did not like it.
"Bernard, coming in," he heard and was genuinely confused.
Okay," Mickey called, facing the wall away from the door.
His hands were cuffed behind him, and then his legs were shackled. He wanted to ask; he was sure it was not Thursday, and even if it was Thursday, he still had a few more hours before it was time to meet with Dr. Steven. But he did not ask, knowing he would get no answer.
"Come on," the man said and Mickey followed him.
They went down a corridor, and then another, then the man stepped to the side and indicated a door.
There were five people in the room; three men in ill-fitting suits, Dr. Steven, and a fifth man that Mickey knew he should know, but could not place.
Dr. Steven said a few words, then the man in the ill-fitting brown suit said a few words, then the man in the ill-fitting blue suit said something. Mickey just tuned them out; they sounded too much like the man in the room four doors down; always talking about his business empire he was going to build when he got out.
"Mr. Baggett?" he heard someone say and the man that seemed familiar to Mickey sat up a little straighter.
Baggett. As in Jonathon Baggett. As in Kay Baggett.
Mickey swiveled his head and looked at the man.
"Yes?" he heard the deep voice ask.
"Would you like to add anything?" the man in the ill-fitting own suit asked.
"No, not really, I mean, y'all pretty much covered it," Ed said. "What he did took a lot of planning; wasn't like it was accidental and y'all already said he's real smart so he knew what he was doing and how to do it."
Ed turned and looked at Mickey for the first time since Mickey entered the room.
"Something I would like to know, though, is 'Why?'" Ed asked Mickey directly. "Why'd you do it?"
"Why'd I do what?" Mickey asked, confused.
"Kill my little sister; fuck! She was only nineteen! Why'd you kill my dad? What'd he ever do to you?" Ed bellowed, startled by his own anger.
Mickey wrinkled his brow, concentrating.
"I'll tell you, best as I know," Mickey finally said. "Remember, though, a lot of this is just what your sister and your dad told me so it might not be totally right."
Chapter 2
Robin Baggett smirked as she let Frank Jennings in. Her father hated the loud, arrogant twenty years old, especially hated that Frank did not work for him so he had no control over the man.
"Ready?" Frank asked, smirking in self-confidence.
"Oh yeah!" the pretty blonde laughed joyously. "I was born ready!"
"Come on, then," Frank said, marching down the hall toward Jonathon Baggett's office.
"Hey, old man!" Frank flippantly greeted Jonathon.
"Yes?" Jonathon asked, looking up from his Wall Street Journal.
"Listen, me and Robin? We um, we planning on getting married, hear?" Frank smirked.
"I don't think so," Jonathon said easily, putting his paper down and smirking at the youth.
Frank's eyes flashed in anger; he had expected anger, raised voices, even violence. This calm refusal had not occurred to him.
"There is no way in hell I would let my daughter marry a loser like you," Jonathon continued, getting to his feet. "But, you may go now; thank you for stopping by."
"Fuck you, old man!" Frank bellowed. "Why don't you suck my dick, huh?"
Kay gasped as she peeked into his father's study. She couldn't believe anyone would dare talk to her father like that... He owned the mattress factory, the primary source of employment and income in their small town. The crawfish ponds and farms had all gone bankrupt, unable to compete with the farms of Breaux Bridge and Butte La Rose and Henderson.
"I don't work for you; you can't tell me what to do," Frank said, thrusting his chest out defiantly.
"That is true," Jonathon agreed mildly.
"But," Jonathon continued, sitting on the edge of his desk and smirking at his daughter. "Fred Jennings, your father does. Freddy Junior, your older brother does."
Robin paled as she watched the entire swagger being stripped away from her boyfriend.
The main reason she had picked Frank was because he did not work for her father and said he was not afraid of her father.
"And your younger brother, Rickey?" Jonathon Baggett went on. "Such a fine young man; too bad he's retarded. But let me tell you; that boy comes in every morning with your dad, doesn't even need to be told what to do; just goes and grabs his broom and his dustpan and starts sweeping up the scraps."
Robin felt like throwing up; she could see Frank melting right before her eyes.
"Called him into my office two days ago; he was almost crying, thought he might have done something wrong," Jonathon continued. "Did start crying when I gave him a ten cent an hour raise."
"Yes sir," Frank mumbled.
"Now, what you think would happen if I called him into my office and told him, gosh, I'm real sorry, but because your brother said 'fuck you' to me I'm going to have to let you go?" Jonathon said, getting to his feet and closing the door that Frank and Robin had barded though a moment earlier.
Kay watched from the crack in the second set of doors.
