An adventurous young woman faces dangerous enemies

24-year-old Tracy Anders' best friend has been using blackmail to compel her to ever more difficult missions, while other players have gotten involved. This second-to-last episode is by far the darkest of the series featuring violent criminals, kidnapping, guns, and blood. Readers unprepared for a darker storyline are advised to skip this episode. The concluding chapter is much lighter. There is nudity but no sex. All characters are over 18 years old.

* * * * * * * *

Chapter Seven

Miranda Makes her Move

Despite my pretend fearlessness, I was awfully scared. Now that open war had been declared with Donna, there was no telling what she might do. I would have torn her collar off my neck if I'd known a way to unlock it. After walking home from the Racoon Diner, where she had ordered me to walk in nude and order lemon croissants, I took a long bath and refused to answer my phone that kept ringing. There was a knock on my door.

"Ryan?" I said in surprise, wearing only my bathrobe. He pushed his way in.

"I heard what happened. At the Racoon. What were you thinking?" he demanded. He was mad. Not so much at me. He realized something bad was going down.

"She forced me to go in there like that, and I decided to fight back," I explained.

"Naked? In a crowded restaurant? In front of all those people?"

"It wasn't fun," I confessed.

"There are stories going around, none of them good," he said.

"I don't care about that now. Can you sit with me without getting in trouble with your police friends?"

I sat him on the couch, brought him a beer from the refrigerator, and curled up next to him under a blanket, my head against his chest. He felt so good. When he put his arm around me, I purred in satisfaction.

"What is prison like?" I quietly asked, not even looking at him. "I know it will be hard. How hard?"

"You shouldn't be worrying about that. Not yet," he said, squeezing a little tighter.

"I need to think about it. Donna will be taking me down now. Nothing can stop her. I'm just hoping she'll make a mistake and go down with me. Miranda, too. I don't know exactly what she's up to, but she has a gang. Four or five of them. Whatever they are doing must be illegal."

"I can tell you suspect something," Ryan prodded.

"I think it's a black-market operation, stolen bags and furs, with a secret. Donna could help Miranda there, Poppin's Department Store has warehouses all over the city."

"Donna can't be as powerful as you fear. She's just one person," Ryan said. "An assistant manager for a furniture outlet. She's not a billionaire or dot-com company."

I was softly whimpering. He didn't understand. Or was it I who didn't understand? It was so hard to sort out. All I knew was, at the moment, I was in the arms of a handsome man I really liked, and it wasn't going to last much longer.

There was pounding on my door. Donna had a key but the deadbolt was keeping her out.

"Open the door! Goddamn it, you fucking bitch, open the goddamn door!" she shouted.

"You've got to hide," I said, jumping up. "The bedroom. Go out the back window."

"I'm not leaving you alone with her," Ryan replied.

"She can't find us together," I insisted.

Ryan looked around my apartment, went to the toolbox under the sink, and took out a chisel.

"Delay her for just a minute," he said.

As I went to the door pretending to fidget with the deadbolt, I saw Ryan use the chisel to gouge out a peep hole in the hall closet door. It had a view of the living room.

"Let me in!" Donna yelled.

"Stop pushing on the door. I can't get the lock open," I lied. Another blow had the hole Ryan wanted. He ducked in the closet and pulled the door shut. I freed the deadbolt.

"It's about time," Donna said, pushing so hard that I fell back on the couch. "What the hell did you think you were doing?"

She was out of breath, her hair a mess. The eyes were wild, scrunching in outrage. Had she been drinking?

"I don't know what you mean?" I innocently replied.

"That crap at Racoon's. About us being lovers, and calling me mistress, and making you walk around naked! It's all over my social media. My personal websites. Mr. Washington from the store called to ask what's going on. You've ruined my reputation!"

"I'm not sure how much I remember," I answered. "Everyone was looking at me. People we know. Hank and Bobby. Amanda and Juanita. Mrs. Templeton. I got hysterical and started babbling. When Hank asked questions, I melted down and told the truth."

"The truth?"

"You want me as your lover. You've said so. You make me call you mistress. You make me walk around naked. I guess it all just started pouring out. But I never said you're blackmailing me, or faked evidence that I'm a whore and a thief."

"Get in the middle of the room here, and strip. Strip naked and get on your knees, you goddamn bitch," she ordered in a cold rage.

I quickly obeyed, shedding my robe and kneeling before her in submission. All 5'4 of me, my thick golden-brown hair nearly to my shoulders. My pert breasts were on full display, a flat belly growing thinner every day. There was the small patch of fur that I refused to wax, not wanting the public to see more than necessary. My deep brown eyes gazed down in fear. Or what Donna thought was fear. I knew Ryan could see everything, but I couldn't afford to be shy. She grabbed my hair, forcing me to look up.

"I'm working on damage control. Don't think you've won anything. I'm planning another mission for you. One you're not going to like."

"Will you take me to your bed first? You've always wanted to," I shyly requested. "You can still make love to me before having me arrested."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? Being the one in control. Allowing me in your bed instead of crawling into mine. It's not going to be that easy. Not nearly that easy. You won't escape my next trap. You'll finally get arrested, and then I'll get you out on bail. And while you're awaiting trial, that's when you'll come begging. At my mercy. I'll teach you what to expect from those prison women."

"Please, Donna, you're frightening me," I sniveled.

"Be at my house Friday after work, we have plans to make," she replied. "And you may as well quit your job. You won't be going back on Monday. Miranda is scared now. Scared you know too much. She's making sure all of the stolen purses and jewelry are traced back to you."

"But you know I didn't do any of that," I protested.

"Of course you did. The proof I have against you is insurmountable. Don't ever forget that. Now you are going to stay naked the rest of the night. Don't try to cheat. If you do, I'll make you go into the office tomorrow without your clothes."

"I will obey, mistress," I complied, putting my forehead to the floor. Donna stomped out, not bothering to close the front door.

Ryan emerged from the closet not knowing what to say. He shut the door. I lifted my head but remained on my knees. Tears filled my eyes, but I wasn't crying, just very sad.

"She was my friend once. My very best friend," I said. "Is this my fault? Did I do this to her?"

"Let's get you dressed," he offered, reaching out.

"No, you heard her. I need to stay naked."

"She's not here. She's gone," Ryan said.

"This must make you uncomfortable. I'm so sorry for that. Maybe you should go?"

"What are you going to do? You won't ... do anything dangerous, will you?"

"I don't know. I don't know anything anymore."

"I'm not leaving this apartment until I know you're safe."

"Even if I stay naked?"

"Even if you stay naked. What was that about getting in her bed?"

"If was a bluff. I knew Donna would never let me set the terms. Her ego won't permit it."

"You play dangerous games," Ryan warned.

"Will you hold me? I know we can't do anything. I'm a suspect, so it would hurt your career. Is it wrong if you just hold me? Like it will be for the last time?"

Ryan scooped me up and carried me into the bedroom. I was tucked under the covers. He fetched a glass of wine for me, kicked off his shoes, and laid down. His arm wrapped around my shoulders.

"There is nothing wrong with me holding you," he whispered. "And it won't be for the last time."

* * * * * *

I reported to Donna's house after work on Friday, entering through the service porch, locking my clothes in the toolbox as she demanded, and went to kneel in her living room. I had not quit my job, having a streak of stubborn optimism. Donna and Miranda were there, thick as thieves.

"There's the little slut," Miranda said, stomping toward me. It looked like she was going to hit me.

"Don't touch her," Donna objected. "She's my property, not yours."

"She's gotten too big for her britches," Miranda complained. "Look at the trouble she's caused you. It's drawing heat on my organization."

"The problem is being taken care of," Donna replied.

"She's going to rat me out," Miranda feared.

"What can she say? She doesn't know how your operation works. Or who works for you. Or how the surveillance tapes were doctored. It's her word against yours, and soon her word will mean nothing."

Miranda didn't look happy. Donna was firm.

"We need to finish this one way or another," Miranda said, storming out the front door.

"She doesn't seem to like you very much," Donna dryly remarked.

"My feelings about her are a bit stronger, mistress," I responded, making her smile. "Are you really helping her? The woman who stole from Neiman Marcus and framed me?"

"No, I'm not helping her. Just offering storage space at market prices. Which has nothing to do with us. I'm still doing damage control thanks to your little stunt."

"I asked you how I was going to explain going into Racoon's naked, and you said you didn't care," I complained. "You always make these rules, and when you lose, you bitch, whine, and complain. I am so sick of you."

Donna looked stunned. I had never spoken to her like that before. It threw her off her game.

"You will stay here tonight," she eventually said, going toward the door. "Eat what you want. Drink what you want. Raid my wine cellar. It might be your last chance."

After Donna left, I went to the bar, finding a glass of expensive red wine. I remembered the old days, when Donna's parents were still alive. We'd sit around the kitchen table talking about our day, the classes we were taking. The boys we were meeting. Her folks had been really nice. I missed them.

In a melancholy mood, I looked for the old scrapbooks in the bedroom closet. Two were Donna's family photos, and the third showed our college days. Vacations. Donna's wedding, for the marriage that only lasted a month. No wonder she was angry all the time.

Oddly, Donna had inserted several 8x10 color pictures from our first photoshoot at Poppins Department Store, and a shot of me on the street corner in my hooker outfit. They weren't the worst of the worst, just me posing in my lingerie with the three mannequins, and one with Loretta and her girls. I looked so naïve. So wide-eyed and innocent. No wonder Donna was laughing behind my back the whole time.

I picked up the photo album, sadly flipping pages of old memories, and noticed something. My heart stopped. It was Donna's father on the golf course at his country club. A dapper man with a gracious smile. Weren't those the same pants we'd used on the store dummies when taking the incriminating photos? I looked at the 8x10 images, and then back at the album. Yes, they were the same pants. The ones Donna claimed she burned.

I frantically looked for more pages, and there they were. More pants. The same shoes. Donna's mother dressed in a harlot costume for a Halloween party. The same costume Donna had me wearing on Madison and First Street. The props Donna and I had used for the fake sex photos were in the book! I was having trouble breathing. Was this proof? Proof of what? I didn't know, but it had to mean something.

I spent an hour studying every page. What could I do with them? My phone was locked in the service porch box, so I couldn't send any images. By the time I got my phone back, if I ever did, Donna would know something was up. I decided on a risky but necessary plan. Not sure how long Donna would be gone, I wrote a quick handwritten note, put it in the scrapbook, and put the scrapbook in a cardboard box. Then I used Donna's office account to call for a Fed Ex emergency pickup.

Though it felt like hours, it was only twenty minutes. I sat on the porch with my box, naked, waiting for the delivery driver. If Donna got home first--no, I couldn't think like that. This had to work. The truck finally pulled up. The man was pleasantly surprised to find his unclothed customer anxiously waiting for him, just like in the ENF videos on the internet. I signed the receipt and watched the box go away.

It might be too late for me, I realized. Donna's final plan was only days away, but the scrapbook would prove what I'd said about the photographs being fake. And if that was true, maybe someone would believe me about the rest of it. I imagined the box being opened at the police station, and my note starting, "Dear Detective Sutherland--"

* * * * * *

Events came to a head with Miranda in a way I should have expected. And had anything gone according to her plan, it would have been the end of my story. For some reason, she believed I knew a lot more about her illegal activities than I did, for all I had were guesses.

Ryan asked me out on a real date. Of a sort. I was still a person of interest, but as long as he didn't discuss the case, it was okay. I could discuss the case all I wanted, but I didn't know anything. After the wine and appetizers, he stopped asking so many questions. Had he finally realized I was a pawn and not a foot soldier? I didn't care either way. He was wonderful company, with gentle eyes, a pleasant demeanor, and a soft laugh. I wanted to take him home to my bed, though it was impossible. I couldn't be sure what he was thinking. Ryan could be hard to read.

My handsome date was dressed in his usual casual brown suit. I had opted for a mildly revealing summer dress showing a fair amount of cleavage, but nothing inappropriate. Just to make sure he knew my interest. The tight Tartan skirt hugged my round hips. I laughed at all his jokes, even when they made no sense. He had stopped asking about the black collar Donna made me wear.

Halfway through the main course, shrimp and noodles in marinara sauce, a skinny waiter came to our table.

"There is a phone call for you in the back," he whispered. "A Miss Donna."

Oh, great, I thought. And here everything was going so well. "Excuse me for just a moment," I said, putting my napkin down.

I followed the waiter to the rear of the restaurant, through the busy kitchen, down a service corridor, and soon found myself in the alley. The door slammed behind me and locked. There was a large black car, two tough looking men, and Miranda dressed in her slutty best.

"We need to talk," Miranda ordered. A rear door was opened for me.

"What's this all about?" I asked. "They said Donna called."

"I'll ask the questions," Miranda said, pointing.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," I answered.

"I think you are," she insisted, waving the two men forward. I turned to run, but one of them was quicker. An arm went around my waist and a hand over my mouth as I tried to scream.

"Let's get out of here," Miranda said, getting behind the steering wheel. The thug holding me got in the back seat. His buddy closed the door before sitting in front with Miranda. The car made a slow departure from the alley.

"Seeing that insurance guy again?" Miranda asked. "What's his deal?"

"He guarantees property deposits in case the buyer backs out," I said once the thug took his hand off my mouth. He didn't smell very good. "He's been hitting on me for weeks, so I thought I'd throw him a bone."

"Throw him a bone or get boned?" Miranda said, making the men laugh.

"What's this all about? Where is Donna?" I questioned.

"Planning another of her stupid games," Miranda answered. "She doesn't know that I'm on to her. I'm on to both of you."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I really don't," I protested, starting to go from scared to really scared.

"We'll find out what you know. I can promise that. Now take off your clothes." I looked at the two thugs. These were the last guys in the entire world I'd want to be naked with.

"You don't need me to do that," I protested.

"Donna says you're more compliant when you're naked. And tonight, you are going to be very compliant."

"Please, let's find another way to do this," I begged.

"Carl, strip her. Be as rough as you need to be," Miranda instructed.

It didn't take more urging. Not wanting to get hurt, I meekly cooperated. Carl was quick to get my shoes and unbutton my blouse, yanking it off me. The skirt went next. I hoped to keep my panties and bra. He took out a switchblade and cut them off. I bent over, trying to cover myself. At least the lighting wasn't good. Carl twisted my arms behind me and I felt handcuffs go on. He chuckled as the click-click insured I was helpless. Hell, I thought, don't any of these fuckers believe in rope?

"What the hell?" Carl said, running his fingers through my hair. It took a moment for me to realize he had found my hidden handcuff key, yanking the hairpin out and some of my hair with it. He showed the key to Miranda.

"You are quite the minx, aren't you?" Miranda complimented. "This must be how you escaped the Ferris wheel. Well, you won't be escaping this time. Ready to tell me what I want to know?"

"I don't know what you want to know," I replied.

"Don't give me that bullshit. I know Donna tells you everything, so let me show you the lay of the land," Miranda said with grim pleasure. The rear window next to me was rolled down.

"Now?" Carl asked.

"Now," Miranda permitted. With an evil smirk, Carl threw my clothes out into the street. All I could do was watch them flutter away.

"No bugging devices on you now," Miranda laughed, looking at my nude body in the rearview mirror.

The car got on the freeway heading toward the ocean. "This isn't the way to Donna's house," I said.

"We're going to a warehouse I'm leasing. You'll love it. I'll hang your scrawny naked ass from a rafter and torment you until you tell me everything," Miranda boasted. "We'll start with Carl's firehose. Nothing like a blast of freezing cold water to get someone's adrenalin going. Then we'll see how hooking you up to a battery does. If those don't work, I have other methods."

"But I don't know anything!" I shouted.

"That won't make this any less fun," Miranda replied.

The car got off the freeway in a bad part of the city. Not far from the sleezy bar where I was almost gang raped. Were these guys in the bar that night? I didn't recognize them.

"Are you going to kill me?" I asked, now seeing that as a real possibility.

"You are too valuable for that," Carl whispered, pawing my thighs. Miranda looked in the mirror.

"Carl! Get your fucking hands off the merchandise," she called out. The other thug, still nameless, tried to look back at me, but I was behind his seat.

"No reason we can't break her in," Carl protested, getting frisky with my tits.

"The cartel isn't going to pay top dollar after you traumatize her with your greasy fingers. This is about money. Try to get that through your fucking head."

We traveled on. The busy boulevard had plenty of cars, only being 8 o'clock. I had to do something. Try something. Even if it failed. And I saw one chance, a Hail Mary if ever there was one.

"What is Donna going to say about this?" I asked, stalling for time.

"Not much she can say. I have as much dirt on her as she has on me," Miranda answered. "She may be warehousing some of my product, but I have an organization. All she has is a stupid slut toy."

"A warehouse? The green one behind Poppin's?"

"See what I mean? You know more than you should," she said, the threat clear.

I was looking for my best opportunity. Miranda neglected to roll up the car window after throwing my clothes out. Carl had not strapped me down with the seatbelt, which would have kept me helpless. He was probably hoping my vulnerable naked body would end up in his pervert lap. I waited for my moment. Holding my breath.

The car halted at a red light, two vehicles in front of us, another behind. There were stores, a gas station, and a garden shop. Just as the light changed and we started rolling forward, I pushed up to my knees, put my back on the window frame, and used both legs against Carl's shoulder as a springboard to launch myself out of the car! The backward somersault to the asphalt hurt, especially as I couldn't use my hands to break my landing. What Miranda planned for me would hurt a lot worse. Ignoring the pain, I did what I do best. Got up and ran!

The nursery was about to close, and a gate was still open. I sprinted past a startled old man into the yard. I never considered asking for help, assuming Miranda's thugs were armed. What would an old man do against two guns?

I heard a car door open, and soon footsteps were coming my way. Heavy shoes. Probably not Carl. The other one. The fat guy. I considered hiding, and did pause for a moment to catch my breath. My knees and elbows were bleeding from the fall. One eye didn't want to open. I could taste blood in my mouth. I glanced around for a strategy. How could I get out? Obvious. The way I came in. I circled around the edge of the lot, sneaking near the main building under the portico, hiding behind potted plants, wheelbarrows, and stacks of fertilizer. Looking for my adversary.

I saw him. He was near the middle of the yard trying to use his cell phone as a flashlight. A hulking giant in a trench coat. Where was Carl? If he was waiting at the entrance, I was in trouble. Would he hurt the old man? I hoped that wouldn't happen on account of me. Then I had another worry. Donna's collar had a tracking device. Did Miranda have access to it? Could she find me using GPS? I had to keep moving. In a desperate effort, I slid along the corner of the building, saw the gate, and looked out. The old man was only a few feet away, keeping his back to me.

"You must be the one they're looking for," he whispered.

"I'm afraid so," I answered, still trying to breathe.

"They have guns."

I nodded. There wasn't much to say about that.

"I might be able to get you inside," he suggested, looking toward the store's front door.

"No, I'd be trapped," I rejected. "Do you know where the other one is? The tall one?"

"Off to the left somewhere. Probably trying to look over the fence. If you go right, they might not see you."

"Thank you, sir," I said, creeping forward.

"I'm calling the police."

"Don't let them see you. Wait until I'm gone."

He glanced back, doing a doubletake. "Girl, you are hurt. Where do you think you're going?"

"Away from here," I replied, and then I took off. The handcuffs made running awkward. Fortunately, my boobs weren't so big as to excessively jiggle. That could get uncomfortable real fast. Heavy street traffic kept the sidewalk lit up.

Once again out in the open, I ran west toward the ocean. I knew the beachfront and thought there might be places to hide. Maybe diving into the surf would interfere with the tracking collar. Probably not, I'd showered wearing it dozens of times, but there was nothing to lose. Then I saw a car stopped up ahead that looked like Miranda's. Maybe, maybe not. I turned to see a large man wearing an overcoat in hot pursuit and turned into the first alley I could find, knowing full well what happens to naked young women in dark alleys. There was no choice. It was filled with trash, rats, and two drunks.

"Who's there?" one of the drunks called out. The passageway was dark enough that it was hard to see. But there was one light that I needed to pass under. A dirty yellow lightbulb behind a closed donut shop. The scavengers stopped digging through the garbage to look, and both saw me. All too clearly.

"This is our alley. Get out of here! We don't want no naked girls here!" the second drunk shouted.

I was shocked. In the two months I'd been doing this, it was the first time a man didn't want to ogle my body. It was kind of insulting, but there was no time to argue. They were loud enough to draw attention in my direction. My pursuers may think I would try to hide, so I decided to keep going, emerging on another large street.

Something caused me to stumble, I don't know what, landing on my shoulder against a lamppost. It was hard to get back up. I was getting tired. Everything ached. I paused on my knees, almost willing to give up. And then I sucked an extra breath and got going again, heading for the intersection. An elderly couple were preparing to cross the street at the crosswalk. I dashed past them against the red light, flowing hair trailing behind me.

"Get off the street!" I called back. "And call the cops!"

I don't know if they heard me. I continued down the block, finding the shops closed, until reaching a convenience store on the corner. The parking lot was brightly lit. I made a sharp turn and ran in, hoping I hadn't been spotted, and disappeared down the center aisle to crouch near the refrigerated milk. I badly needed to catch my breath, if only for a minute. If the clerk saw me, he wasn't reacting.

There was no activity at first. Mirrors mounted on the walls allowed me to see the front door. And then I realized if I could see them, they could see me. I laid down flat on the dirty floor, trying to peek out. I really couldn't see anything but shoe prints and grime. Didn't the clerk know how to use a mop? There was a deep voice.

"Where is she?" an angry man demanded.

"Who?" the shopkeeper said in an Indian accent.

"The girl! The naked girl!"

I got a glimpse in the mirror. It was the unnamed man, and he was holding a pistol. He wasn't alone.

"Watch him, I'll check the storage room," Carl said. Apparently, it never occurred to them that I was lying in plain view if they had only walked a few feet down the aisle. I crept up near the front windows, looking for a way to run back out the way I came in. Would one of them shoot me in the back? If they wanted to, there was nothing I could do to stop them. Better shot than caught. And then there was another voice. A woman.

"Police officer," she announced in a determined growl. "Drop your weapon and get on the floor!"

The command was followed by silence. And then a gunshot. I got up far enough to see the policewoman had been hit, probably by Carl coming out of the storage room. She was on her back near the door, fumbling for her radio. Carl walked to the center of the store pointing his gun down at her.

I couldn't sit there and do nothing. The officer was probably there to help me. And now she might die. With no plan at all, I scrambled forward, ran down the aisle, and knelt on the floor between Carl and his victim, using my naked body as a human shield. Was I scared? I nearly peed myself right there in the store in front of everybody, but I wouldn't cower. I looked up at Carl, staring. Daring him to shoot.

"Leave her alone. It's me you want," I said in a weak voice, trembling so badly it hardly sounded like words at all. Carl raised the gun, aiming at my chest. I straightened my shoulders, arched up on my quivering knees, and closed my eyes. I probably should have said a prayer but couldn't think of one. Suddenly, the police officer yanked me backward, pushing me down on the floor while covering me with her body. When I looked up again, half a dozen police cars were screeching into the parking lot, lights blinking and sirens blaring. Carl and the other guy ran out the back door.

I turned my attention to the policewoman. The bullet had struck her armored vest. Painful but not fatal. She was starting to sit up, staring at me with big blue eyes.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Me? Am I okay?" she said, looking amazed. "Honey, are you handcuffed? Naked and handcuffed?"

"It happens to me a lot."

Several cops rushed into the store: guns drawn.

"That way! That way!" the clerk shouted, pointing. "They went out the back!"

More cops were going around the sides of the building. Fanning out. Yelling orders. One knelt next to the policewoman, checking her vest. It was chaos. And my opportunity to escape. I tried to jump up but stumbled into the potato chip rack instead. Dozens of bags spilled on the floor. I finally managed to find my feet, trying to gather my bearings. Turning in circles. The clerk was staring at me. I realized I wasn't just naked but covered in blood. It couldn't be helped.

"Sorry," I mumbled. Two surprised police officers coming through the door stopped when they saw me, so startled that they didn't react. I lowered my head and charged.

"Honey, don't run!" the policewoman called, letting the other officer help her up.

But I couldn't stay. I had to run as terror took over. The terror of being trapped in Miranda's car. Her thugs. The gun that had been pointed at my heart. The noise, the cops, the swirling lights. I bumped into both officers, slipped between two cars, and was suddenly out in the evening traffic. Cars were screeching to a halt. Horns were honked. Someone shouted something. I couldn't see any of it. I was running blind, barely able to breathe. Wanting to scream.

It was dizzying. The headlights. Police sirens. Startled people on the sidewalk. I went back out into traffic not even looking, nearly getting hit again. My legs were giving out. My oxygen was gone. I was back up on the sidewalk almost smashing into a plate glass window. Where to go? Where to go?

There was an alley. The same alley? Dark and foreboding, but not to me. Nothing mattered but escape. I bumped into something. No, someone. In a shaggy coat, smelling of cheap liquor. I staggered into a brick wall and went down. Loud noises were everywhere. Shouting. More sirens, and then flashing lights. Red, yellow. Red, yellow. I tried to get up, kicking my legs frantically. And then two arms were pressing me down. Pinning me to the ground. I tried to scream again as everything faded away into a zone of gray.

* * * * * *

To be continued in the final chapter

The conclusion is a much lighter episode, bringing the series full circle