I can't make a mistake now. Or the wire will rip through my head and make my brain scream and bleed.

My sister says she was raped. She came right over here and told me. It was a date, just the two of them. They had dinner together. Afterwards, he drove her to this spot outside of town. It's a restricted area. No Trespassing. So they could have a private talk. He kissed her. But when the kiss got hard, she pushed him away. He slapped her and made her cry. She felt bad, like she wasn't being fair. But then he came at her again, pulling up her skirt. She yelled, but nobody heard her. He dragged her out of the car and ripped her clothes. He raped her in the woods. Then he drove her to where she lives.

I interrogated her. When she cried, I waited for her to stop. I made her tell me her story again and again. I made her tell me backwards, to see if I could catch her in a lie. I asked her if she liked it, once she got into it. She screamed at me and called me all kinds of filthy names, but she had to sit there and listen to me. I had her handcuffed to the chair.

My sister doesn't live at home anymore. I didn't think she'd come back here just to tell me what she did, about what happened, but I guess she knew I'd find her anyway. I was suspicious. I wished I had a lie detector, like in the police station.

"You're a freak, Junior," she told me.

A sorry little freak. I wish I'd never told you."

When I said she had to tell me again, she started cursing. She has a nasty mouth, my sister. She always did.

Finally it was done. It took a long time, and she didn't smell so good. But she still had a nasty mouth.

"Well, what are you going to do now?"

When I told her I was going to ask him the same questions I asked her, she started cursing so loud I had to put a gag in her mouth.

I captured him easily. It was no problem–he didn't expect it, I guess. I took him down to the basement. It's all soundproofed down there, so you could practice with guns and not disturb the people next door.

I made him sit in a straight chair and then I locked his hands behind him with the handcuffs. At first he didn't want to answer my questions, but I showed him that I had to know the answers. I had to know them.

He said it was a date. She had asked him to take her to dinner, so they could talk. But it was hard to talk in the restaurant, so he took her out to that place, where they would have privacy.

She kissed him. Wiggled against him. Let him know she was ready. Then, when he almost got there, she started putting on a show, like she changed her mind. He said he'd had her a lot of times–sometimes she asks for it, sometimes she acts like she doesn't want it at all. But it always ends the same way. She's a bitch. A cock-teasing bitch. Slap her in the mouth, she starts to tell the truth, that's what he said. He said he'd have her again. If she was so angry, how come she hadn't called the cops?

I left him in the basement. I walked back upstairs very careful, so the wire wouldn't tear in my head. I told her to tell me the truth. The whole damn truth. She started crying again. So I asked her, was it true, that she'd had sex with him before? Plenty of times? She didn't say anything, so I slapped her hard across the mouth.

Then she told me the truth.

She admitted it. He had her lots and lots of times. And she wanted to call it off. So the last time, she asked him to dinner to tell him. And it was true, they couldn't talk about it in the restaurant. So they drove out to that spot.

When she told him it was finally over, that's when he got nasty. Hard and nasty.

A date was a rape. A rape was a date. Date rape. Rape date. I couldn't make the words rhyme.

The wire is burning in my head. I know the truth. I know the right thing to do.

I got the pistol out of the drawer. A Smith & Wesson .38 Special. Police Special. Regulation.

My sister was screaming at me when I walked out of the door. I could hear her screaming all the way downstairs. It doesn't matter if anyone hears her now.

It's hard what I have to do.

Everybody told the truth.

The wire is burning like a fuse. I have to do this first.

I'm going down to the basement to kill the rapist.

He's waiting down there for me.

My father.

Dead Game

I'm no good until I get hit the first time.

Tony says I'm a slow starter.

But once I get going, nothing can stop me.

I never quit. Never.

I looked across the ring. I'm fighting a black guy tonight. Bosco, I think his name is.

It doesn't matter what his name is.

This is the first time I saw him. They don't let me face the other guy at the weigh-ins anymore. Sometimes, I go after them right there. I have to save it for the fight.

He's a little bigger than me, but he's still inside the weight limit.

He's younger than me, too.

But I've been around a lot longer. You can see it on my face. And all over my body. Experience counts for a lot in these fights. You can't tell if a fighter's any good until he gets nailed the first time, that's what Tony says. Then you find out about his heart.

They say it's in my blood, fighting.

But I really only do it for Tony.

I love him.

He's been with me since I was real little. He gives me everything.

I train the old way. Special food. No sex before a fight.

They say that's why we started fighting. For sex. To have our pick of the bitches.

But I could have sex even if I didn't fight. I fight for Tony.

I work out all the time. Tony even built a special treadmill for me, to build up my endurance.

If you get tired in these fights, you lose.

I never get tired.

I watched the black guy across from me, waiting for the signal to start. I watched his eyes. He wasn't afraid.

They never are.

Down here, the purse is nothing…all the money comes from betting.

Tony always bets on me.

I'd never let him down.

I'd die first.

I'm not afraid of dying. It's just sleep. And you don't wake up.

I faced the black guy. Tony rubbed the back of my neck, getting it loose.

The crowd screamed.

We bumped once and the black guy came at me.

He was quicker than me. I took his first shot right in the chest. The fire exploded in me and I tried to tear his head off.

He went down, but he got right back up.

The referee separated us a couple of times when we locked together, but they never stop these fights.

It was a long time before I took him out.

Tony carried me out of the ring.

I couldn't see Tony, my eyes were torn.

The other guy hurt me real deep.

I was going to sleep.

I heard Tony crying.

I felt his hand on my head.

Patting my bloody fur for the last time.

Dialogue

Don't be afraid–I promise I won't hurt you. I'm sorry about tying you up, but I wouldn't want you to go away. I want you to listen. Will you listen to me? Just nod your head yes if you will.

Thank you. That's very nice. I'm sorry about the gag too, but we're real close to people here. See, if you look up…over there…see the windows' It's a basement, this apartment. If you look, you can see people's feet when they walk past.

Don't worry–they can't see in here. I got this stuff out of a catalog. You kind of paint it on the windows and it makes them one-way, like those trick mirrors? We can look out, but they can't look in.

But they're still very close, see? If you were to scream, then maybe somebody would come. And I wouldn't get to finish talking to you.

I'm sorry about that. I know…I say that a lot. But only when it's appropriate–it's not a compulsive habit or anything. I just am a polite person.