Wholesome County: Part One

Parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven

Chapter One: Welcome Home

Coming back to Wholesome County after so many years in the city didn't give Monica the sense of homecoming and nostalgia she believed it would. It was more a sense of foreboding, like a storm was just over the horizon and ready to break. What it was that caused the feeling she couldn't really say.

It wasn't the countryside or the fields. Those were a small comfort, their vast openness like being free after the concrete cage of skyscrapers and city blocks. Just looking up and seeing blue sky, instead of towering buildings, was a relief.

The city rat race hadn't been all bad, of course. She'd gained professional experience, grown out of her small-town naivety, and met incredible people. The most incredible was her girlfriend, Kimiko, who was only a couple months behind in making the move here, too.

The foreboding, she thought as she drove, was from the lack of communication with her mother and sister. Monica hadn't so much moved from Wholesome County as she'd fled. There'd been too much strangeness, too many dark coincidences in the aftermath of that Mayoral campaign so long ago. To this day, she still couldn't believe the deaths of her father and several of his supporters had been natural. Six men in the prime of their life didn't suffer heart failure within days of one another, while their political rival rose to power.

Despite that reality, the town's authorities hadn't lifted a finger to investigate further. Monica, eighteen at the time, had neither the power nor the knowledge to do anything about it herself. Things had changed, though.

In the years since leaving, Monica now had friends, like her legal partner, Henry, and his wife, Catarina. She understood law now, and though she and Henry specialized in divorce and domestic disputes, she wasn't ignorant of other areas of practice. Coming home, establishing a firm here with Henry, wasn't just about branching out on her own. Monica was determined to find out the truth.

Before her personal investigation could begin, however, there was an old home to go to. There was family to see, and the additional foreboding stemmed from that. She hadn't spoken to her mother or her sister since leaving. In truth, she was still disgusted by her mother's lack of outrage at the very man who had (allegedly) been involved in her father's death. It had been the final straw that had pushed young Monica into fleeing town.

Her mother, Amanda, still lived in the home Monica had been raised in. Just pulling into the long drive felt like betraying her father's memory. The first signs of change were unexpected. Along the drive, discarded in the grass, were children's toys.

Monica stopped the car and winced. Perhaps her mother and sister had moved. Of course, she hadn't spoken to them. It was stupid to assume they'd stayed in the same house. Maybe this was a mistake. Still, she had to find out.

The house itself wasn't much changed, though it had certainly fallen into disrepair. That never would have happened if her father was alive. He'd taken pride in the place. Even a spot chipped paint was covered within days.

The screen door creaked when she opened it and knocked on the thick inner door. Through it, she could hear the sounds of childish music coming from the living room TV. Again, she wondered if she'd made a mistake.

When the door opened, the woman inside was both her mother and not her mother. Monica stood stunned, taking the woman in. Her mother also stood silent, looking her over with a baffled expression.

Amanda had been a fairly stereotypical, southern black church lady. She never wore a skirt that didn't cover her ankles, and high-necked tops that hid her large breasts had been the norm. Her dark hair had been in an ever-present bun. This woman, however, was the furthest thing from that remember image.

The first and most obvious sign of change was her belly, which bulged with her pregnancy. On her feet were a set of bubblegum pink platform heels. The once long, heavy skirt had been replaced with a pink vinyl miniskirt, so short that it was apparent she wore it without panties. Where her high-necked, stuffy top had been, now she wore a matching pink lingerie top that was nearly transparent. She was braless beneath it, as evidenced by her stiff, protruding nipples. Her hair, she wore in a set of pigtails, and her face was caked in heavy makeup.

She smacked a piece of gum as she looked Monica up and down and said, "So, you came the fuck back. What a surprise. Didn't get yourself a good white daddy in the big city?"

"Mom?" Monica squeaked.

"Sure as shit, honey. The fuck you expect to happen, dressed like that? You ain't gonna land a white daddy dressing like some fancy lawyer. The fuck's wrong with you, girl? Hell, you better come in and let Mama beat some damn sense into your silly tits."

She held the door open for Monica, who couldn't make her legs move. Monica did, however, crane her neck just inside the door. From her viewpoint, she saw three small children sitting in the living room, watching the TV.

"You go deaf in the city?" her mother said. "I said come in!"

Monica stepped inside, her eyes wide and mouth open as she blurted, "What happened to you? Whose kids are these?"

"Girl, these is White Daddy's kids. Well, mine and White Daddy's kids. Pumped them into my cunt with his big old dick, just like God intended."

White Daddy? Monica, utterly shocked, couldn't process that. She did, however, manage to ask, "Where is Grace?"

"Grace!" Amanda shouted, loud enough to make Monica grit her teeth.

The sound of heavy footsteps fell on the stairs, and it seemed a long time before the creaking of the steps stopped and Grace appeared.

"Monica!" Grace cried and waddled toward her sister, arms outstretched for an embrace.

Monica took a step back in horror. Her sister, only months away from nineteen, was as pregnant as her mother. She was barely clothed, sporting tight leather booty shorts and a tube top. Grace managed to get her hands around Monica, squeezing her awkwardly before their mother gave the girl a swat on the head.

"Girl, where's Mama's kiss? You know White Daddy's rules!"

"Sorry, Mama," Grace said, turned to her mother, and pushed her tongue into the older woman's mouth.

Monica's stomach heaved. She was going to be sick. Choking down bile, she slowly backed out of the door. This drew Grace and Amanda's attention.

"Where you going?" Grace asked. "You just got here, and you ain't even met White Daddy! He'll be home real soon, and he can give you a present just like mine!"

She rubbed her pregnant belly. It was too much. Just like she'd done years ago, Monica stumbled off the porch and ran, getting back into her car. She drove through the grass, tearing down the drive without a glance in the rearview.

She choked back tears, her breathing chaotic as she rocketed down the country road for several minutes. When her stomach heaved again, she had to pull over in an empty field. She barely got the door open before she vomited on the ground.

With her head between her legs, she got her panic under control. Her foreboding had been right. Not just right. It had been infinitely worse than she ever imagined. Those people were not her family. They were complete strangers, degenerates. How had it happened?

Settling back in the seat, she dialed Henry at their new office.

"Monica?" came the steady, deep voice.

"Henry! I… Oh, fuck. Henry, I just saw my mom and Grace."

"That bad, huh?"

"Henry, they're not… them. They're not the same!"

Henry sighed into the phone, saying, "It's been a lot of years."

"No. You don't understand. It's not them. They're different, like all those people were different… back then. Only worse. Henry, I don't know if I can do this."

Henry was silent a moment before he said, "I'll start looking into it. Listen, why don't you drive back to the city until Kimiko's ready to come. Seriously. Cat and I have the house in order, and I can finish up the office myself. We knew this was going to be tough on you, seeing them again."

"Tough? Henry, I can handle tough. This isn't tough. They did something to them."

"Okay. I hear you. I believe you. Let me look into it. We still have that Miles case to finish up on before we close the book in the city. I think you can handle that and come back here over the weekend. What do you say?"

Monica looked back up the road. It was a four-hour drive back to the city.

"You're sure?" she asked.

"Positive. Look, if we're going to get to the truth of what happened, I need you solid. I get that it's your mom and sister. Eyes on the prize, partner. Justice needs to be served."

"Alright," Monica relented. "I'll call you when I get back to the city."

"Do that."

She hung up the phone, pulled the car onto the road, and barreled back in the other direction.