EXTRACT FOR
Caged Sisters
(Paul Moore)

Chapter One



	Angela sat on the sofa watching television with an empty ice cream carton between her thighs and tears running down her cheeks.

	Only six months earlier, Angela had been a sophomore in college. She had been in her dorm room, studying late on a cold winter night. When the phone rang, she had been expecting a call from her boy friend, Brad, making salacious suggestions that would send her to bed giggling and more than a little aroused. The call might have been from Terry, her younger sister. Terry had been moody lately, still mooning over some adolescent Lothario who had abandoned her when she refused to let him have his way with her. The sisters had always been close, and missed each other more than either would admit. Terry had been calling often; needing Angela's hard headed practicality to temper her romantic giddiness.

	She didn't recognize the man's voice.

	"Angela?"

	"Yes." She turned the radio down to hear him better.

	"This is Mr. Thatcher, your parents' neighbor."

	"He is arranging a surprise party," was her first thought, "their twenty fifth anniversary is at the end of the month."

	"There has been an accident," he said.

	As he stammered out the tragic news, Angela felt her world coming apart around her. Her parents' car had slipped on the ice and drifted into the path of a tractor-trailer. Her father had died instantly, her mother on the way to the hospital.

	She had packed hastily and hugged her roommate goodbye. They made empty promises to stay in touch. She called Brad, and he made equally empty promises to be there for her. She drove all night, dry eyed, still unable to believe the truth until she reached the house and opened the door. It was the sight of Terry, sobbing in Dad's favorite chair, which finally made it real.

	  During the dreary business of settling the estate, Angela discovered that her father had cashed in his life insurance and taken out a second mortgage to pay for her college education. Funeral expenses consumed her tuition fund. She had faced it all bravely at the time, dropping out of school, finding work, and trying to help Terry cope with their loss. 

	Terry and Angela were very different in temperament and appearance. Angela had been the brave tomboy, the tree climber, a girl who would rather play football in the rain than dance. She was dark haired and long of limb with a quick mind and a sharp tongue.

	Terry was petite and feminine. A pretty blond who enjoyed male attention. Even before their parents' death, Angela had taken it upon herself to protect her sister, defending her against playground bullies when they were children and predatory adolescents in their teens.

	So it was only natural that Angela assumed her late mother's role in the household, counting pennies, holding on, and worrying. Terry behaved like a rebellious child, sleeping late, avoiding housework, and whining.    	

	In spite of Angela's best efforts, their troubles only seemed to multiply. Unable to keep up the mortgage payments, she had been forced to sell the house, and the equity had been barely enough to pay their moving expenses when Angela received an unexpected job offer in another state.

	Terry had tried to do her part, finding work in a fast food place, and hiding her dismay at being forced to exchange her comfortable middle class existence, her high school, and all her friends for an uncertain future of hard work and poverty. The burden had festered in her heart, of course, the unfairness of it all, and Angela had often become the target of her resentment. 

	On top of all that, Angela was unemployed again. The position that had excited her only a month earlier, personal assistant to the Springdale County Planner, had quickly deteriorated into the job from hell. It hadn't taken her long to discover that the local government was corrupt to the core. When it came to anything from zoning permits to construction contracts, cronyism and graft had counted more than fairness or merit. It had been all that she could do to keep her mouth shut as she watched those around her swindle the taxpayers with a handshake and a wink. She had reproached herself for cowardice, even as she reminded herself that discretion was the better part of valor. She could tough it out, she told herself. Then the sexual harassment began. 

	At first, it had seemed no more than innocent flirtation when Mr. Rawlings (call me Peejay!) put a hand on her shoulder to congratulate her for work well done, or held her gaze a bit too long while her gave her directions.  At first, she actually found herself attracted to his country charm and roaring self-confidence. Then she became uncomfortably aware that his otherwise handsome face was twisted somehow, like the face of a schoolyard bully who has never been forced to account. His stock dropped dramatically when she found out that his second wife was the same age as his daughter. Ignoring his advances had only encouraged him. Soon, he was patting her rear and hinting that she could enjoy a bright future if she "loosened up a little".