Joanne took advantage of the break in her long day of patients to call her sister, Selma, to check on how she was doing.

She winced as her sister described her afternoon. The crying, the napping from exhaustion, the lack of appetite for healthy food and the cravings for carbs and sweets were an old story. Selma had fought the demon of obesity all her life, but with the loss of her job last year, her strength evaporated, leaving her a hollow wisp of the sister Joanne knew.

Thank God she’s not a drinker.

Joanne was the older of the twins, by a mere ten minutes, but you’d think they came from different parents. Whereas she was a healthy five foot four and, well, a little bit soft and “full” in spots, on the other hand, Selma was built more like a balloon, almost as round as she was tall. Every year, another thirty pounds puffed up her five foot two inch body to the point that now she had trouble walking through doors. Even on flat pavement she waddled, her thighs preventing the normal forward movement of her legs.

That was before the trouble.

Between sniffles, Selma pleaded, “What am I going to do?”

“Did you take your medicine?” A sigh greeted her ear.

“Yeah, I took ‘em. I think. It’s all so fuzzy these days. I tell ya, sis, I don’t know what I’m gonna do!”

Joanne frowned as she waited out a new flood of crying. Looking back, she recalled that up till about a couple years ago, her sister seemed fairly normal. Oh, she was heavy, yes, but she smiled, she laughed, and she had lots of friends.

And then she met that son of a bitch. At first, the whole family cheered in the hope that at last Selma had found a special someone, perhaps someone who could give her a reason to take better care of herself. And she did! In just three months, fifty pounds seemed have just fallen off her, as Selma tried her very best to make herself more attractive for her new man. But she was still afraid to introduce him to everyone, for fear he would not like them and leave her.

Fate had a different plan. All Joanne could remember was the call from her hysterical twin, the rush to her apartment, and the bloody scene. Red swatches were all over the small living room and on the floor lay her sister, her dress splattered in dark red. On the floor lay a telltale, red-coated kitchen carving knife.

At first, Joanne thought her sibling had tried to take her own life, but between sobs and crying, she managed to get out of her that she had a fight, a horrible fight with that bastard. He had raped her!

Joanne called 911 and held her hysterical sister in her arms till the fire department guys came and took her to the hospital.

Over the next few days, Selma stopped talking completely. Every time someone pressed her for what happened, she would shake, her eyes would water up, and her mouth would let out a wail.

Gradually, with much hugging and pleading over the next year, Joanne was able to learn that Selma and her man had indeed fought. He had struck her several times before he lost control and stripped her panties off and raped her. She had struggled to get to the kitchen where she yanked a carving knife out of its wooden block. Flaying her arms madly, she had managed to cut him and he retreated. Only when she saw him run out the front door, holding his bloodied hand and allowing the spring door to slam on his way to his car, had Selma dropped the knife and slumped to the living room carpet.

In the next few months, Selma turned into a different woman. She hardly left her apartment. Naturally, she lost her job when she failed to show up and that just depressed her more, for Selma was not a resourceful woman and had little to fall back on.

Joanne and their parents managed to put together enough money to keep Selma’s apartment for her and brought food. There wasn’t enough room for her to move in with any of them. Joanne lived with her boyfriend at his place and their parent’s small bungalow on the third floor was out of reach for the heavy girl. Selma never was good with stairs.

In the past year, she had put back on all the weight--and then another hundred pounds. But at least she was talking, although never about “that”, as she called the ugly scene.

Her hair was a mess these days and Joanne was the only one whom she would trust to trim it. She wore moo moo dresses over knee high nylons and those poor battered shoes.

“I’m out of food,” said Selma into Joanne’s ear.

With that, Joanne snapped back out of her reverie. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you fix yourself up and come over to the office? We’ll get a bite at Polly’s, okay? Then we can stop at the grocery store on the way home.” She knew that Selma loved the way they fixed pies at Polly’s Bakery and Cafe. That seemed to interest her sister and shortly thereafter, Joanne put the phone down.

Libby, their receptionist, came round the corner and asked, “Do you have time for one more?”

Joanne took a deep breath and sighed. It had been a long day with a dozen patients, but with the increased cost of maintaining Selma’s apartment and food bill, she needed as much as she could earn. She looked at the wall clock. Six forty-five. They weren’t supposed to take anybody this late, since the house rule was that no woman be left alone with a patient after hours and today they were closing at seven.

“I’ll call my boyfriend,” added Libby, “and see if he can delay picking me up.”

With that, Joanne nodded and went into her small treatment room to change the sheets for her new massage therapy patient. Her business had grown substantially after that newspaper article touted her as the best therapist to go to if you had overly tight muscles.

It turned out that Mr. Stanwick was in a wheelchair, and at first, she wondered how he was going to be able to get up on her high table. But one advantage of using a wheelchair was strong arms, he said, and sure enough, when she left him alone for a couple minutes and then opened the sliding door, there he laid, belly down and without his shirt. On his left arm was a larger than life replica of the Marine Corp seal beautifully etched in multiple colors.

She applied the oil and began work on his back. He cried out when she pressed her trained fingers on the small of his back. The knot of his muscles there was the worst she had ever seen, almost like a baseball under his skin.

Over the next fifteen minutes, she had to apply her elbows to the baseball, enduring his cries of pain. Gradually that ball of muscle loosened as she heard his tale. For the one thing about being a massage therapist was the requirement that she listen to whatever her patients wanted to talk about.

It turned out he had been in a wheelchair for only a few months. About two years earlier, he had severed key nerves in his hand and wrist at the shop and had to stop working. Workers’ compensation paid the medical bills but his whole life had been focused on his skill with his hands. He bragged about killing three guys in Iraq and how he was trained to kill with his bare hands. But not anymore. His left hand hung loose.

He told her how he had developed this pain in his back and how it got worse and worse as the months went by to the point where he couldn’t even walk.

Dave, one of the two chiropractors, tapped on the door. “I have to go soon. Are you gonna to be all right?”

“Yes, Libby is staying late for me,” she yelled through the closed door.

Dave seemed to accept that and walked off.

When she asked her patient if he had gone to a doctor to see what was wrong, he cut her short. He distrusted doctors and hospitals. His brother had died after a so-called ‘simple’ surgery on his back and now there was no way he’d go near one of those quacks. When walking became so difficult, he started using his brother’s wheelchair.

Joanne sensed he had a lot of anger inside and didn’t want to make him tense up, so she stopped talking and concentrated on that damned knot in his back. It was just beginning to soften. He was quiet for a long time, except for the occasional groan, as she pressed down as hard as she could.

Then he volunteered he wanted to hurt this ‘bitch’. “If I ever find her, I’ll kill her, I swear!”

“Why would you want to do such a horrible thing?”

“Because that bitch cut my hand! She ruined my life. I can’t work anymore. If I get my one good hand on her, I’ll break her neck!”

With that, Joanne froze. She had never had a violent patient before. One by one, the pieces began to form a clear picture in her head. This was Selma’s marine! This was the man who had raped her sister. Anger grew in her and overcame fear. She focused her feelings into her hands. He let out yells as she pressed down hard--real hard--again and again.

So you want to hurt my sister, eh? Well, we’ll see about that. In her anger and focus on that muscle, she lost track of time until she heard a knock on the door.

Libby’s voice came through. “Your sister’s here and so is Carl. I gotta go, okay?”

She looked up at the small clock on her bookcase. My God! She had worked on this guy for almost an hour. But the knot was gone at last.

Joanne straightened up. “Torture is over!” She slid the door open a crack and said to Libby, “Okay. We’re done here.” After closing the door, she opened the canister and took out a hot, wet towel and carefully placed it over his back, her hands shaking as she realized she was alone with this bruiser. Her sister would be of little help if she needed it.

“Take your time getting dressed,” she added as she left the room and closed the sliding door. Then she rushed to the front office.

Selma sat in one of the large upholstered chairs in the waiting area, her eyes closed. Selma’s hair was a total mess, hanging down over half her face. As usual these, she wore no makeup. Even in the new dress Joanne had purchased for her last week, she looked like hell. So puffed up were her cheeks and neck that she hardly looked like the old Selma that Joanne had grown up with.

A glance at the remote control lying on the coffee table revealed that her sister had the lumbar vibrator on. Joanne had tried that many times herself and found the effect very soothing.

But now was not the right time for a vibration session in that chair. She needed her sister up and alert. She grabbed the remote and pressed the power switch.

Selma’s eyes opened. “What did you do that for?”

“Get up on your feet!” When Selma failed to move, Joanne waved her fingers. “Come on, come on! I need you up!”

Selma let out an obviously reluctant sigh and started the arduous chore of getting out of the deep seat.

Joanne rushed down the hall and peeked around the corner to see if her patient was out of the room yet. Then she realized he might take more time than most patients because he would have to get fully dressed and back into his wheelchair.

She had to get rid of this guy quick. Then it donned on her that if he saw Selma he might go berserk, so she rushed back to the lobby. There was no place to hide anyone, let alone a 300 pound woman. And if Selma were to go outside, where would she hide? And what would Joanne do with that bastard alone in the office with her?

She heard the sliding door slam open on her treatment room around the corner down the hall. Her nerves on edge, she uttered, “Jesus!” She looked around frantically for any idea of what to do. Putting her hand around Selma’s soft arm, she pulled her toward one corner of the reception area. “Go stand over there and be QUIET!”

“Why? What’s up?”

Joanne leaned closer to her sister’s ear and whispered, “Your boyfriend’s here.”

With that Selma froze in place, her eyes opened wide and, her lip quivered.

Frantic now, Joanne got behind Selma and pushed her toward the corner of the room, hoping the son of a bitch would not turn the corner first. When she had her sister placed out of direct sight of anyone passing by, she put her finger to her lips and shushed.

A noise from the other direction alerted her and she turned her head to see Stanwick turn the corner and walk slowly in the hallway, tears streaming down his face, his eyes focused on her.

Breathing heavy now, Joanne put her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream as she stared transfixed with paralysis at the approaching man. He made his way a step at a time in her direction, obviously in pain.

The man’s turned and his eyes shifted to Selma. He stopped walking and stared at her while Joanne heard her sister’s heavy breathing. He continued staring at Selma. “You look familiar.” His right hand rose slowly.

Joanne glanced toward Selma and placed herself in front of her sister. Thinking fast now, she sputtered out, “Ah, you don’t know her. You see, she’s lost a lot of weight. She used to be over six hundred pounds. And now look at her!” With a quivering voice, she continued, “Our treatment seems to be working on her. Isn’t it marvelous?” She studied his face, hoping he would buy her lie. She trembled as he silently stood there, studying Selma.

Joanne turned her head to see that her sister’s eyes were wide open and her mouth as quivering. If he heard her voice, he might recognize her. Please stay quiet.

Joanne returned her gaze to Stanwick.

He squinted at Selma and nodded slowly. “I thought I knew you, but you must be a different person.”

Joanne swallowed hard, waiting for his next words. She looked down at his hands. His left one hung uselessly while his right hand pulled one arm of his wheelchair behind him.

He smiled. “Your treatment worked on me, too! Look! I can walk! It’s wonderful. I don’t know how to thank you.”

Joanne didn’t want him there any longer than necessary, so she blurted, “Today’s your lucky day! We don’t charge for the first treatment.” She wet her lips as she stared at his frown. Was he buying it?

He just looked at her.

“Ah, you can go now,” she lied. “I have to go back and tell doctor to close up.”

Mr. Stanwick nodded. “Thank you.” He continued on toward the front door.

Joanne turned to see her sister step aside. That’s when Joanne realized the door was locked. She would have to go in front of him to unlock it and would be dangerously close to that powerful right hand. But she had to.

She got around him, turned the latch, and quickly backed away from him. She glanced at her sister whose chest rose and fell with huge gasps of breath, her eyes frozen on the man.

Slowly, Mr. Stanwick opened the door and made his way out.

Joanne rushed up to the chair. “Here, let me help you!” She pushed the chair through the door and quickly pulled it closer. The damned automatic door closer resisted her pulling and she tugged at it frantically as it gradually allowed the glass door to swing.

She looked up to see him staring back at her. Their eyes locked and she wondered if he could see her fear. Probably. He was a Marine. Would he grab the door?

When the door was only a few inches from the latch, Stanwick shouted, “It’s her! I knew it!” His eyes narrowed with hate as he reached for the handle.

Joanne pulled harder but his hand caught the edge of the door.

She pulled as hard as she could, but the door slowly moved out from her. Desperately, she planted her foot on the door sill edge and leaned back, straining as hard as she could.

The door still kept moving outward.

She stared into those hate filled eyes and knew she faced rape and possible murder. “Selma!” she called out.

She glanced quickly over her shoulder and saw her sister bent over an open drawer. “Selma!”

Her sister didn’t respond.

The door was almost half open. She was loosing ground to the man’s terrific strength. She leaned back and pulled as hard as she could.

But the door kept opening. Stanwick pulled himself through the opening and Joanne let go, not wanting to be close to him. She backed away, torn between the urge to protect her sister and the urge to flee the danger, as she stood frozen.

He entered the office area, his eyes burning with anger as he glared at her. “You’re a bitch too! Tricking me with your lies!” He lashed out with his right hand, grabbed her wrist, and yanked her toward him.

She panicked and screamed.

A horribly loud noise startled her. His grip still tight on her aching wrist, he stopped pulling.

She saw a large hole in his face under his left eye. Behind him, blood splattered all over the glass door. His fingers loosened on her and he fell.

Stunned, Joanne didn’t know what to do for a moment as she stared down at her attacker. She turned to see how her sister was.

And saw her holding a gun out in front of her with both hands, her eyes wide open in terror.

Then Joanne remembered the gun that Dave had placed in the office in case of emergency. Selma had seen it because that was the day she had come in after normal hours for a treatment.

Her sister’s arms relaxed and she let the gun fall, her eyes still focused on the fallen man. Her eyes had turned to a squint and her lips were pursed. She wasn’t shaking.