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************************ WARNING ************************
********************************************************* * The following
text contains written descriptions of * * sexual acts between adults,
children and adults with * * children.  If it is illegal for you to read
acts of * * this nature, or if you are under age, please stop * * reading
right now.  * * * * This story is a work of fiction.  Any similarities to *
* actual people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.* * * * (c)
2003-2005, Kenn Ghannon.  All rights reserved.  * * Any republication or
retransmission of this document, * * severally or collectively, without the
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   Chapter 0: Prologue

   I'm not very good at being a brother.  I can admit that; at least, to
myself.

   I don't think I was always like this.  I remember after Jamie was first
born I was attentive and protective.  I played with her, letting her grab
on my finger and tug on my hair.  I tickled her until she laughed.  I can
even remember her little toothless smile.  I was everything a good brother
should be.

   Jamie was something of a surprise.  My parents had not been expecting to
have more than one child.  They had me when they were young; my mother was
22 and my father 24 and I was pretty much all they wanted, I think.  So, it
was something of a shock for them when my mother got pregnant when I was
11.

   In hindsight, it was a little funny.  I didn't really know what was
going on at the time until they told me I was going to have a little
brother or sister.  I remember wondering what all of the running around was
for, changing my mom's office into a nursery, painting, new furniture.  It
was strange, I knew something was up but I was almost afraid to ask what it
was.

   So, I ended up having a brand new little sister when I was 12.  At
first, I was a little rotten, I know.  I wasn't the sole focus of my
parents love anymore and I guess I got a little surly and bratty.  Still,
when I saw her my heart filled with love.  She'd look at you with those
beautiful green eyes - eyes of a quiet ocean, my dad used to call them -
and there'd be such a look of devotion and trust that you could almost feel
your heart break just to look in them.  I remember I used to lose myself in
her eyes and the world around me would just evaporate.  Then, she'd smile
and it was like the sun suddenly appearing from behind a rain cloud.  It's
difficult to explain, really.  Life would be just fine, and then she'd
smile and you'd wonder how the very air around you could suddenly get so
bright.  I couldn't believe how much I could love someone that I had just
met.

   Life was like that for me for a long time.  'You are her older brother,'
my father once told me.  'You are her guardian, her playmate, the one
she'll come to when she needs help.  You must always be there for her. 
When she falls, you must pick her up.  When she cries, you must dry her
tears.  And when she's ready to give up, you must carry her on your
shoulders.' I suppose my father was something of a poet but his words
struck such a chord in me that I've never forgotten them.  They just helped
to underscore how special and wonderful Jamie was.

   So, I spent nearly every free moment I had with Jamie.  I rocked her
when she was fussy.  I played with her when she was melancholy.  I sang to
her, though God above knows I can't carry a tune, when she cried.  I read
to her when she was tired and wanted to go to sleep.  When I turned 16 and
she was 4, I was even allowed to baby-sit for her the occasional time my
parents went out.  I guess they could see that I cared enough for her that
I would never let any harm come her way.

   It's funny; almost ironic because, in a strange way, it was babysitting
that started all of this.

   It was the summer of my graduation.  I was only thinking of school,
really.  I had received a four year academic scholarship to UCLA.  Which,
to me, was surprising.  I never really studied.  I never really tried to do
well.  I just had a knack, I think, for remembering the important things in
my classes.  I guess I owe Jamie at least a small part of the credit, too.
Spending most of my time with her meant I had much less time to go out and
get in trouble.

   Not that I was a recluse, mind you.  I dated some, though not much. 
Girls just really weren't that interested in a quasi-nerd who was the
perpetual third-string running back of the high school football team.

   It didn't really matter to me, though I can be honest and say that it
hurt sometimes.  I just spent time with Jamie and somehow my pain and fears
just seemed to evaporate.  I guess it was kind of magical, in a strange
way.

   Spending time thinking about my impending move across the country,
though, didn't stop me from realizing that something was wrong with my
parents.  I think they were having a bit of a rough time in their marriage.
They never really let me see them arguing, but it doesn't take a rocket
scientist to know when things aren't quite right.  Like I said, Jamie was a
surprise and it took mom and dad a bit of time to adjust.

   Maybe too long.  They decided to take a vacation; just the two of them.
Jamie was six and I was 18, getting ready to start college in the fall so
it really wasn't a big deal to have me watch her.  And it certainly wasn't
anything new.  Like I said, I spent more time with Jamie than I did with my
friends.

   Mom and Dad took a romantic train excursion through Canada and Alaska. I
happened to find the brochure on the kitchen table one day, and I have to
admit that I was impressed.  It showed pictures of majestic mountains
tinged with snow and a quaint little train riding along rails around the
mountain.  I was sure that if anything could re-kindle their flame, this
was it.

   I truly hope that it did.  I hope that they somehow re-affirmed their
love on that train.  They never made it back.

   The train crash was on all the news; usually as one of the top three
stories.  Mom and Dad's picture were there, one of only two couples from
Illinois to be on the train.

   I have to admit that I don't remember much about the next few days.  I
took care of Jamie almost mechanically, though I know in my heart that I
didn't fool her.  She was a perceptive six-year old and knew that something
was wrong.  For one thing, there were the reporters constantly ringing on
the door.  The phone calls kept coming until I simply left the phone off
the hook.  I can only hope that I hid most of it from her.

   Of course, there were no relatives to call us.  Both Mom and Dad were
the only children in their respective families and the last of my
grandparents had died when I was but 8.  I remember a kindly old woman,
with lines in her face but I don't know if I really remember her or if I'm
just remembering the photos that mom would sometimes take out of the album.

   So, the next few weeks were frenetic.  The police came by several times,
a state social services caseworker in tow.  They checked on me, checked on
Jamie, and checked on the house.  I assume it was legal, though I was still
in shock and can't even remember their faces.  I guess I passed whatever
criteria they were looking for because they left Jamie with me.

   I guess it was lucky that my mom and dad had evidently updated their
will recently, naming me as Jamie's guardian if anything should happen to
them.  There really was no one to challenge it, though I seem to recall a
long interview with the social services caseworker.  Evidently a few weeks
later a judge agreed and granted me custody of my sister.  Looking back, I
don't really remember much about the process though I still have the signed
papers filed away.  I used to look at them occasionally to get some
perspective.

   As the summer drew to a close and I had my scholarship at UCLA looming,
I knew that it was time for some decisions.  So, I called my parents'
lawyer and made an appointment.  I needed someone to advise me, and I knew
that he was a friend of theirs - though not very close.  I needed to
understand my options, what I needed to do to provide the best life for
myself but more importantly, for Jamie.

   My parents had left us with a little money.  They're insurance, savings,
some stocks and bonds left my sister and I with about a million dollars
between us after the mortgage was paid off.  I know that a million dollars
seems like a large sum of money, but I was smart enough to know better.  It
certainly wouldn't last our entire lives.  I was the adult now...the only
adult we had.  I had to be responsible.

   Mr.  Graves, my parents' lawyer, gave me several options, none of them
particularly good.  I remember spending most of a weekend locked in
thought, trying to move the pieces of our lives into some semblance of a
cohesive picture.  It wasn't easy.  I guess being an adult never is.  I had
to make some very tough, very scary decisions.  After a while, though, I
finally knew what I had to do.

   To my shame, I sent Jamie away even though she was only 6.  I put her in
boarding school.  I thought it was the 'adult' thing to do.  I really
wasn't qualified to raise a child and I knew it.  Unfortunately, I can't
tell if the decision was because I felt it was the best thing for her or if
it was the best thing for me...and sometimes, many times, that keeps me
awake at night.

   The Fairmount Academy for Young Women in Vermont had counselors on staff
to help her deal with the loss of our parents.  I justified it to myself,
saying that I would see her on holidays and over the summer.  I kept
telling myself that it was just for a year or two, just long enough to
figure out what I needed to do with my life.  I argued with myself until I
had nothing left to argue with.  In my mind, I told myself it was the right
decision.

   I thought it was a good plan.

   I didn't go to college.  I joined the Navy.  My thought was that I
needed to make money to support us.  The million or so dollars my parents
had left us really wasn't much, and boarding school was very expensive.  I
had to make enough to cover all of the mounting costs that being an adult
set upon me.  I hired a money manager to invest the money and Mr.  Graves
to watch over everything.

   I went for pilot training and it turned out that I was really good at
it. Really good.  I wasn't 'Top Gun', but I was perhaps the 4th or 5th best
pilot in my year.  Even better, I liked it.  There is a feeling of freedom
when you are soaring high over the Earth.  A feeling that nothing can
possibly touch you.  It is serenity and happiness and peace all at once and
it allowed me to forget, if only for a time.

   Jamie stayed in school.  I very rarely saw her though I did manage to
make it for Christmas that year.  She was quieter than I remember though
she hugged me and clung to me.  I cried, but I still thought I was doing
the right thing.  She was learning.  Adding and subtracting.  Writing. 
Social Studies.  When I left, she begged me not to leave her.  To take her
with me.  I knew it was impossible.  I told her that I would come back to
see her soon, very soon.

   I lied to her.  Shamelessly.

   When her first year was up and summer time came I was deployed in the
Mediterranean on an aircraft carrier.  I drew money from our inheritance
and kept her there for summer school, sure that I would be able to see her
soon.  Maybe even get stationed state side and take her out of boarding
school.

   I lied to myself.  Shamelessly.

   I'm ashamed to say that the years went on like that.  We shared some
letters, not very often.  We always had the perfunctory 'I love you' at the
end, though I'm not sure she even knew what it meant.  I did, and I truly
meant what I wrote and with each letter it got harder to lie to her.  I
think that's why the letters got further and further apart.  Guilt ripped
at me with every envelope.

   When my four years were up, I lucked into a deal to start my own charter
plane service in Florida.  It wasn't much, just one plane and it meant
investing a large part of my dwindling inheritance, but it was the start. I
had found something I enjoyed and I was good at it.  With a little hard
work, I could really make something of myself.

   I didn't take Jamie out of school.  The letters I received from her and
the staff always said how well she was doing.  She had a 4.0 GPA and seemed
to be very happy there though I'm not sure if that's truly what I thought
or rather what I wanted to believe.  Besides, I was going to be busy
growing my new business; better to pull her out of school after I was a
little more settled.  No matter that she cried every time I visited and
begged me to take her home.

   Flash forward 5 more years.  I was doing really well.  Phenomenal, you
might say.  My one plane had now become 5, including a medium jet I used to
chauffeur the wealthy.  I was making very good money, enough to purchase a
home on the ocean, have several pilots and attendants and even my own
mechanic staff, albeit very small.  I was doing well and loving life.

   Then I received the letter.  It had been a long time since I had
received one.

   It was from Jamie and it broke my heart.  The school had an opportunity,
along with the neighboring boys' academy, for some students to spend the
summer traveling in South America - Brazil, Columbia, Venezuela.  The only
problem was a matter of chaperones.  They needed two, at least one man and
one woman, to chaperone the 20 girls and 7 boys who would be going.  They
had found a woman to chaperone but they could not find a man.

   Jamie had volunteered me.  She signed the letter "It's the very least
you can do".

   I wept in shame.  I knew, in that moment, that I had failed my father.

   I called the school and agreed to do it.  Furthermore, I told them I
would gladly take them myself on a charter plane.  The school was willing
to go via commercial air, but I eventually talked them into it.  It was,
perhaps, the biggest mistake I've ever made.  And that is saying something.