Twilight on the Road Home

Part One

by G. Lawrence

A young woman is rescued from brutal kidnappers

This is a much darker story than I usually publish but I feel the brave heroine is worth the effort, even if her decisions become controversial. The novel features heartless criminals, indifferent government agencies, and lawyers. As with my other works, the overall themes are affirming (do not expect the bad guys to win in the end), but there is also brutality in some segments. Readers will also find romance and humor. For the rest, if a psychological study of post-traumatic stress with ironic social commentary and an offbeat love story aren't what you're looking for, it's best to search elsewhere. Readers who are easily triggered are especially discouraged. The novel is being told in six parts. All characters are over 18 years old.

* * * * * *

Chapter One

THE MISSING GIRL

"Did you see?" Buzz asked as they watched the midnight blue limousine disappear down the driveway.

"Yes. It's terrible," his mother said. "How could you have done such an awful thing?"

"I fantasized about it for years, and then Tommy offered the opportunity. It wasn't what I thought it would be."

"I should hope not," Martha said. Seventy-four years old, short and gray-haired, she was bent with disappointment. "If your friends knew that I know about that girl, they'd kill us both. You realize that, don't you?"

"They aren't my friends," her son replied, 55-years old, overweight, and balding.

"So, what are we going to do? Is the GPS working?"

Buzz took out his phone. The yellow signal showed movement going northwest.

"Yes, the tracker we put in her collar is active. We'll know where they've taken her if they don't go out of range."

"You didn't say anything about a video," Martha scolded. "Varoom made a record of you receiving her?"

"Yes, he and Powell documented it," Buzz admitted. "It's their way of making sure no one talks."

"If the FBI rescues her, they might trace it back to you," Martha worried.

"I promised to help her," Buzz said.

"We both promised. But you could go to prison for this. I might go to prison, too."

"Mom, she lived with us for a month. Helped you clean the house. She made breakfast for you. She kept her promise not to escape. And she promised not to tell Varoom we broke the rules."

"I know, I know. I feel sorry for her. But I don't want to see you arrested. Or me. We'd lose the house. We'd lose everything."

"What did Varoom mean about her shelf life expiring?" Buzz asked.

"We both know what he meant."

"I feel really bad about this."

"So do I, son," Martha replied.

* * * * * *

Martha needed to be distracted. The more she thought about what was going to happen to that poor girl, the worse she felt. But her son had to come first. And knowing what she did, and having failed to call the authorities, she could be held responsible, too.

The purchased girl had not spent her month at the Johnson estate locked in the storage room. On the second day, Buzz had come running in a panic. The slave he'd acquired from Tommy Varoom had used a dull knife to cut her wrist, and had tried to cut the other one. There was a lot of blood when Martha entered the back room. It had been stripped of furniture. Floormats had replaced the carpeting. It looked like a dungeon.

"My God, what is this? Who is she?" Martha exclaimed, finding a naked young woman chained to the wall. They lived in a big house off Fairlane Drive, the rear rooms used exclusively by her shy son. She had never imagined such a scene.

"I screwed up, Mom. I screwed up bad," Buzz said.

Martha raced for wet towels and a First Aid kit. The girl fought. Fought with a furious desperation. But she was weak. Martha saw the woman was terribly undernourished, bruised, and covered in ugly welts. There were steel cuffs on the wrists and ankles. She wore a black leather collar.

"Did you do this to her?" Martha asked.

"No, Mom. She came this way."

"Came this way?"

"I rented her. She's my slave."

"Slave? We need to call 911."

"We can't. She's not here because she wants to be. If we call the cops, I'll be arrested."

It took Martha a moment to understand what her son was saying, and then she slapped him across the face as hard as she could.

"Go to my room. Find my tranquilizers. We need to calm her down or we'll never stop this bleeding."

Buzz ran upstairs. Martha wrapped the wet towel around the girl's injured wrist. She was a pretty thing, despite the scars. About twenty years old, 5'4, with dark golden hair. Maybe ninety pounds. Probably a nice figure before she was starved. The girl didn't speak, but she grunted from the exertion. Her deep brown eyes, frantic at first, were now gritted with determination.

"Honey, calm down. I'm not going to hurt you," Martha urged. "Let's get you patched up and we'll figure this thing out."

By the time Buzz returned, the girl had run out of strength. She was crying. Martha made her swallow a pill.

"Did you bring her a nightgown?" Martha asked, looking around.

"No, Ma, I'm not allowed to let her wear anything. It's one of Tommy Varoom's rules."

"Tommy Varoom isn't here. Get her a nightgown, and slippers, and a robe. Do it now."

"Mom, you don't understand. Tommy--"

"Fucking do it!" his mother shouted.

An hour later, the girl was snugly dressed, sitting on a mattress with a cup of hot soup. Her wrists had been bandaged. Martha sat on the floor next to her. Buzz watched from the far corner.

"I'm so sorry about this," Martha said.

The young woman was looking at her but not responding.

"Don't you ever talk, honey?" Martha asked.

"I'm not allowed to, mistress. Not without permission," she replied.

"I am not your mistress. And my son is not your master. This is an awful, sick thing, and it needs to be fixed."

"It can't be fixed," the girl said without emotion.

"Tell me who you are. What's this all about?" Martha insisted. The girl looked across the room at Buzz.

"No, I won't tell you anything," she replied. Martha noticed the frightened glance.

"Buzzy, leave the room. Close the door and go upstairs," she ordered.

"Mom--" he started.

"Get out, son," Martha demanded. When the door closed, Martha moved closer. "Okay, we can talk now."

"It's dangerous."

"It's just you and me."

The girl ate more soup. It was good. She wasn't offering information.

"I'm not sure what to do," Martha said. "If Buzz raped you, he could be looking at years in prison."

The girl didn't react to that. Or much of anything. She just finished the soup and handed the bowl back to Martha.

"Thank you, mistress," she said. "May I have permission to sleep?"

"I need you to explain this. Are you a prostitute for this Tommy Varoom person?"

"Oh, God, no," she answered in shock.

"Then what happened?"

"Mistress, if I speak of it, bad things will happen."

"I need to understand this," Martha pressed.

"Ma'am, you'll be risking more than your son's freedom. You'll be risking everything."

"Tell me," Martha responded with a frown.

The woman sighed, as if resigned to an unfortunate situation.

"Tommy and I went on some dates. He was kind, and very handsome. Then one night, he asked me to meet him at the park. I got in his car and we went back to his big ranch house. We drank wine, and danced, and he took me into his bedroom. I warned him that I was still a virgin, but he was gentle with me. It was really nice. Just like I always imagined my first time would be.

"It got late, and I had classes the next morning. Art classes, at the junior college. He said we should take a shower. He soaped me, and washed my hair, and kissed my neck. I don't remember ever being so happy. When we got out, he stood me before the mirror and said to look. Look carefully, he said, because you're never going to see that girl again. I thought he meant because I wasn't a virgin anymore, but suddenly he bent my arms back and handcuffed me."

"Just like that?"

"It happened so fast. He turned me around, slapped my face, and pulled me into the hall. He wrapped a chain around my neck, threw me on the floor, and went in his bedroom. He came out wearing a black outfit. Tommy had become a completely different person. So mean, and angry. I apologized for whatever I'd done wrong and begged him to let me go. He took me downstairs to a room in his basement where a fat old man was waiting.

"An hour ago, she was a virgin, Tommy said. Finish breaking her in. Then he left me with the fat old man to be raped, and that's the way it's been ever since."

"How long ago was this?" Martha asked.

"What's the date?"

"July 4th."

"What year?"

"You don't know what year it is?"

Martha showed a calendar on her cell phone.

"Not as long as I thought," she said. "In October, it will be two years."

"How old were you?"

"I had just turned nineteen a month before."

"My God," Martha said, rocking back against the wall.

"I know you can't let me go. May I have a blanket?" she meekly asked. "One master let me have a blanket. It was such a blessing."

"One?"

"I've had ten masters. They can be very unkind."

"I saw your scars."

"Most of those are from the last one. Master #9. He almost put an expiration date on me."

"Should I ask what that means?"

"No."

"If I don't keep you locked up, will you promise not to escape?"

"If I try to run away, Tommy will find me. He has people everywhere. He has cameras everywhere. There's no escape."

* * * * * *

Thirty days later, the girl was gone, taken by three evil men, and the house felt empty. Martha finished cleaning the kitchen. The evening before, she and the girl had been making dinner. The young woman didn't eat very much, but she seemed to enjoy cooking for others. She had only lived in the house for a month, but Martha already missed her.

"I'm going upstairs," she called out.

The guest bedroom where their captive had been allowed to sleep was clean, the bed made. Martha remembered how grateful she had been. Saying how nice it was to sleep in something that wasn't a cage. Even having a nightgown had been special, though she resisted the idea at first, saying it was against Tommy's rules.

Martha remembered those last few days. Buzz had the idea of tracking the poor girl's departure with a GPS device, and then calling the police, but the girl said it wouldn't work. She'd be stripped, not wearing clothes or jewelry for the device to be hidden. Then Buzz thought of the brass collar, working for several hours in his workshop. It needed to be welded on so her captors could not easily remove it.

"Do you think this will work?" she had asked.

"When the police show up at Varoom's, he won't know how we tricked him," Martha said. "We'll call the tip in anonymously, so Buzz and I won't be implicated."

"It sounds too good to be true," she said.

"You can trust us, honey. Everything will work out, just like we promised," Martha assured her.

A day later, the girl was gone. Loaded in the trunk of a midnight blue limousine and driven away. And Martha had not called the police.

She decided to wash the sheets, pulling them off the bed, and felt something in the pillowcase. It was a letter addressed to Mrs. Johnson. Martha sat down to read it.

Dear Mrs. Johnson, I know you and Buzz were sincere in wanting to save me, but once you had time to think about it, you'd realize how dangerous that would be. I understand, and I forgive you. At least my last few weeks weren't awful. Always, X

Buzz heard his mother sobbing and rushed upstairs.

"I wasn't meant to find this for a few days," Martha said, handing him the letter.

"It might not be too late," Buzz suggested.

"You know what it means if we try?" Martha warned. "The police. The FBI. Tommy Varoom."

"Are you going to be able to live with this? I don't think I can."

"Get your phone. I'll get the car."

The signal was weak, at the edge of their range to the northwest. But it had stopped moving, giving them hope. They accelerated along the highway, approaching downtown Dallas, and then turning west. Eventually, they reached a secluded private lane. Walled estates lined the country road.

"Over there. That one," Buzz pointed. "It's Varoom's. I'm sure."

They stopped across the street. Martha took out her phone.

"Hello? Is this the FBI?" Martha asked.

"How may I direct your call?" the operator said after five minutes of recorded instructions.

"I want to report a kidnapping," Martha said.

"Who is calling?" the operator asked.

"That doesn't matter. I'm at 620 Harvest Road. I just saw a handcuffed woman being carried into a house. I recognize her from MissingPersons.com."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm positive. I was standing on the sidewalk only a few feet away. You need to hurry, she was crying and covered in blood."

"Just a minute, I'll consult with my supervisor," the operator said. "Can you hold the line?"

"Hurry! That girl's life is in danger!" Martha shouted.

"It will only be a few minutes," the operator replied.

"Buzzy," Martha whispered, covering her phone. "See if you can reach the Texas Rangers."

* * * * * *

Chapter Two

MANY TRIALS

Cat woke up in what seemed like a hospital, but she wasn't fooled. Varoom had often sought to raise her hopes, just so he could enjoy crushing her spirit. It was no coincidence that she was strapped to the bed, unable to escape.

There was an IV giving her fluids. A nice touch, adding to the illusion. A machine displayed vital signs. She tested the strength of the restraints, but found she had no energy. Her arms had bandages. Her body was hidden under a blanket.

At least I have a blanket, she thought.

A nurse walked in. That is, she looked like a nurse, though Cat knew it was one of Joey Powell's working girls playing a role.

"You're awake," the nurse said in surprise. She glanced at the monitor, checked a chart at the foot of the bed, and ran out.

Cat began to take in her surroundings. What appeared to be a window had a curtain over it. The walls were painted white. The medical equipment looked real. There was noise outside the door.

Why am I not dead? she wondered. She had no doubt Tommy Varoom's client, known as Death Addict, intended to kill her. And he was doing a steady job of it in Tommy's basement, using knives and scalpels, when she had passed out.

Cat discovered she wasn't in pain. At least, not much. Was one of the tubes a morphine drip? Since when did Tommy care what pain she was in? Could it be a dream? No, it didn't feel like a dream.

A tall older man pretending to be a doctor entered. He had a long white coat and a mane of silver hair. There was a stethoscope around his neck.

"It's good to see you awake. You had us worried. I'm Dr. Feldstein, your primary physician."

He waited for her to say something, but she wasn't going to be fooled. Slaves who spoke without permission were punished.

"Hello? Can you hear me?" the doctor asked. He could see her squinting brown eyes watching him. They appeared alert. "You should speak, if you can."

"Why are you doing this?" Cat answered.

"What do you mean?" Feldstein queried.

"I'm sick of your games. Do hear me, Tommy? I'm sick of your games!"

The doctor stepped back in surprise as the woman suddenly fought against the restraints, then he looked over his shoulder to see if someone was standing in the doorway.

"Miss, there's no one named Tommy here," Feldstein said. "Just me and my staff."

"And me," a sharply dressed woman said, entering boldly. "Miss Hollinger, where do you think you are?"

"You fucking know where we are, you goddamn bitch, and it's not going to work," Cat replied.

"She's delusional. I'll call Dr. Pollard," Feldstein said, reaching for the intercom.

"No, she's not delusional," the woman disagreed. She pulled up a chair, sitting close to the bed, and released the straps on Cat's arms. The woman didn't look like one of Powell's girls. She was middle-aged with carefully coiffed auburn hair, an expensive burgundy business suit, and an aggressive gaze in her deep green eyes.

"I am Special Agent Barbara Powers, Federal Bureau of Investigation. And you are in Dallas County General Hospital. You've been here for two days. You were admitted in serious condition, but your status is stable now."

Cat just stared. Was she really supposed to believe that? She had to admit, it was good acting. The lady really did come across as a Fed. Her dark business suit looked professional, her short hair carefully styled. She had a gold badge clipped to her belt. Powers saw the disbelief and smiled.

"Not so easily convinced?" Powers asked.

"I'm not playing your game," Cat responded, closing her eyes. But she peeked when Powers turned on a television set mounted on the wall.

"Here it comes," Feldstein said, watching a cable news report.

"They repeat it every fifteen minutes. How could we miss?" Powers said, turning up the volume. Cat was too curious not to watch.

"Here are the latest reports on the high-end Texas trafficking ring broken up by the FBI and Dallas Police Department," the TV reporter said. "There have now been fifteen arrests, including philanthropist Thomas Varoom, Joseph Powell of Dallas, and Jake 'Creepy' Manners of Fort Worth."

Their photos appeared on the screen. Cat caught her breath, her small hands clenching into fists. The bedside monitors showed her heart beating faster.

"Following evidence discovered during a raid on the Varoom compound, the bodies of six women are suspected buried in Diablo Mountain graves. Arrests include many prominent businessmen, among them banking magnate Gratton Leafman, mining king Walter Manson, and oil mogul Jacob Little. All are being investigated in the kidnapping of young women, and the alleged murders associated with Thomas Varoom's organization, informally known as The Club."

More photos appeared. Cat recognized several of them, though she had never heard any of their names.

"Convinced?" Powers asked.

"It could still be a trick," Cat replied.

Powers went to the door, waving her hand. "Everybody, come in here for a moment. Everybody."

A group of nurses entered the room, followed by doctors. People who looked like patients. Two men were dressed as Texas Rangers, and another as a Dallas policeman. There were at least twenty people, and more trying to look in.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let me present Miss Catherine Hollinger, the courageous woman who brought down The Club," Powers introduced.

When Powers applauded, the crowd applauded, too. After a moment, nurses herded the mob back out. All except the tallest of the Texas Rangers, a middle-aged black man with a shaved head.

"Well?" Powers said, returning to her chair.

"It can't be true," Cat said, her eyes filling with tears. Her hands were shaking. She wished she had water.

"It's true, honey. You're free, and with your help, we're going to put every one of those bastards in prison forever," Powers said.

"Some of them are headed for death row," the Texas Ranger added.

"Miss Hollinger, let me introduce Captain Harmon Kendrick of the Texas Rangers. He and I were the first ones into Varoom's basement where you were being held."

"What happened to that death addict person?" Cat asked.

Kendrick looked at Powers, who nodded permission.

"You don't ever have to worry about that son of a bitch again, miss," Kendrick said, tapping his holstered sidearm. "When he threatened you with that knife, I blew his brains out."

Cat smiled. It was the first time she'd smiled in months.

"Thank you, Captain," she said, resting back on the pillows.

"I know you're still weak. Can you talk a little?" Powers asked.

"Am I allowed to?" Cat replied.

"Allowed?" Powers said.

"I'm sorry, you'll need to excuse me. I've been living under different rules for a long time."

"We want to know all about it. For the record, if that's all right?" Powers said, taking out a digital recorder.

"I don't know any names, except Tommy and Joey. No one ever gave me names. They were all sir or master."

"We're still trying to access Varoom's records," Powers said. "We know there are hundreds of photos, videos, and ledgers, but we've only gotten bits and pieces so far. His password protection is sophisticated."

"We've raided several of his clients' dungeons. Was it really as bad as it looks?" Kendrick asked.

"Define bad," Cat requested. Kendrick shifted uncomfortably.

"It looks like this Club was involved in more than BDSM and prostitution. We're suspecting torture and murder as well," Kendrick explained.

"Prostitution? You think I'm a prostitute?" Cat said.

"Not making judgements," Kendrick replied.

"I am not a prostitute! I was--"

Cat stopped, looking around. The panic returned.

"This is a trick! I knew it! You almost had me fooled," she shouted, trying to slide down while pulling the blanket up. She heard Powers and Kendrick conferring. Kendrick left and closed the door. Powers peeked under the blanket.

"Catherine, this isn't a trick," Powers softly assured her.

"It's death to speak of it. You're going to kill me anyway, why are you doing this?"

"Death to speak of what?"

"You know."

"I need you to say it."

"The kidnapping."

"Then you were kidnapped?"

"What the fuck do you think happened?"

"Please, try to stay calm. Not all of the women involved in Varoom's activities were kidnapped, but we suspect some were. Your testimony is going to be very important."

"Testify about what? I've spent the last two years in cages. I didn't even know what year it is until a few weeks ago."

"When Mrs. Johnson told you?"

"What do you know about Mrs. Johnson?"

"She was the one who called the FBI, and we know you were held prisoner in her house. She and her son have been arrested."

"Mrs. Johnson helped me."

"She committed serious crimes. She allowed Varoom to take you back to his ranch, where you were hung up in chains in his basement and almost murdered. Another hour and we would have been too late."

"She's a nice lady," Cat insisted.

"We might be able to do something for her. How much can you tell us about your experiences? Can you describe the men? Can you describe where you were held?"

"I can describe them all," Cat confirmed.

* * * * * *

Cat remained in the hospital with police officers guarding her door. From time to time, she'd overhear voices saying, "She's an important state witness," and "Be alert, powerful men don't want her to testify."

A conference center was set up across from Cat's room, allowing interested agencies to interview her while coordinating their activities.

"What's her prognosis?" Dallas District Attorney Rhonda Pennington asked, an impressive woman with high ambitions.

"The cuts are healing well," Dr. Feldstein reported. "It's taking time to get the circulation restored in her wrists and ankles. There's a lot of long-term damage that needs to be addressed."

"Can she testify?" FBI Chief Raymond Stack asked, a gruff older man in a tired brown suit and overgrown mustache.

"She's been giving her story digitally," Special Agent Powers replied, showing him her tablet. "A dozen hours so far. Pretty grim stuff."

"A lot of it's hard to believe," Captain Kendrick said, his Texas Ranger hat on the table before him.

"What's hard to believe?" Pennington asked.

"Over the twenty-two months of her captivity, the abuse Catherine suffered was extensive," Agent Powers explained. "Yet her memories appear clear. A good defense lawyer will accuse her of making it all up."

"I hope that's not the case. There's no doubt something traumatic happened to her," Dr. Feldstein said.

"We're finding supporting evidence," Chief Stack insisted, an FBI file on the table in front of him. "Buzzard and Martha Johnson confirmed part of her story."

"And we have Knox's dead body, with a scalpel in his hand, lying on a dungeon floor in Hollinger's blood," Agent Powers added. "Varoom hasn't been able to explain that away. If we can break the passwords on his computer, we think there's a lot more."

"Our detectives are on it," D.A. Pennington assured him, her brow bent in a determined frown.

"You Texas boys need to let us handle that. This is a Federal case, after all," Stack replied.

"The murders were committed here. The assaults were committed here. It's where the ring operated. This is our jurisdiction," Pennington disagreed.

"You don't have the resources," Stack criticized.

"And you Feds don't have the balls to put these murderous perverts on death row," Pennington replied. "In Texas, we know how to deal with their kind."

Stack opened a folder containing photos of two dozen suspects, spreading them out on the table. Each was stapled to a list of possible charges.

"We've got better evidence on some of these rich fucks than others," Stack said. "How about we keep Varoom and Powell, and you take some of these others?" He pushed photos of several suspects toward Pennington.

"Varoom and Powell are the big dogs. We're not giving them to you," Captain Kendrick objected, looking insulted. He had, after all, made the initial arrests.

"We're guessing there's at least six dead women buried in the Diablo Mountains, and maybe as many as fifteen," Pennington said, shuffling through more photos. "We keep Varoom and Powell, and we're taking these other sick creeps, too."

"That's too many," Stack said, trying to take several photos back. Pennington put her hand on them.

"It's not too many. We can fast-track these cases," Pennington said. "No delays by their crooked lawyers like you Feds put up with."

"We're fast-tracking them, too," Stack said. "The Attorney General has given her approval. Give us Cummings, Little, Rollins, and Manson. We'll let you have Manners in exchange."

"We'll keep Manners, and I want Manson, too. He's one of the worst," Pennington said, keeping some photos and shoving others back. "You can have Cummings, Rollins, and the Johnsons."

"We don't want the Johnsons. They're small fry," Stack protested.

"The people of Texas expect us to do our jobs," Pennington pressed.

"You realize this is only the beginning, don't you?" Stack lectured. "When we crack Varoom's codes, the list is going to grow. We could be looking at thirty or forty cases."

"And we'll be ready. Governor Franklin has authorized a task force, and she has the justice office fully mobilized," Pennington said. "Dr. Feldstein, what about our star witness? Mentally stable? The nurses tell me she's a little out there."

"Miss Hollinger was only rescued five days ago," Dr. Feldstein said. "She's going to require extensive therapy. The PTSD is entrenched."

"We'll get her counselling. Eventually," Chief Stack said. "For now, we don't want to take the edge off her testimony."

"What are you saying? She's not getting treatment?" Captain Kendrick asked.

"If the defense attorneys learn Catherine is under psychiatric care, they can challenge her mental state. Maybe get her testimony thrown out," Agent Powers warned. "There will be time for counseling later."

"Barb is right," Stack agreed. "The whole country is watching. We can't afford to screw this up. The Attorney General calls every day for updates."

"For Varoom's computer, there's a company in Los Angeles. Marbury & Benson," Pennington said. "They claim an ability to crack any code."

"It's an expensive process. The FBI can do it cheaper," Stack objected.

"The private sector often does it better and quicker," Pennington insisted. "I'm giving M & B a shot. We can finish divvying up these suspects when we know who did what."

As the conference concluded, Stack pulled Powers into the hall.

"Barbara, I need to ask," the FBI chief requested. "These recordings Hollinger is making. They're so detailed. It does raise questions."

"Only a theory, Ray," Powers replied.

"Okay, give me your theory."

"Catherine was an aspiring art student. I think she sees images in her mind of what happened to her and then describes what she sees."

"Could she draw any of this? It would make for powerful exhibits."

"I can't ask her to do that. She's already having nightmares."

"The Bureau will follow your lead, but tread carefully. This case could make or break your career."

"Don't worry, boss. I've got this," Powers assured him.

* * * * * *

By week two, more interviewers were in Cat's hospital room. Mostly junior assistants from the district attorney's office. The questions weren't always nice.

"How many boyfriends have you had?" Assistant D.A. Mayling Kang asked.

"Have you ever had an abortion?" another nuisance inquired. Assistant D.A. Arnold Capps. Cat suspected he wasn't a very good lawyer, always taking his lead from Kang.

"I didn't date much in high school, or after, and I've never been pregnant," Cat impatiently replied.

"Why such bad grades in school?" Kang inquired.

"They weren't bad. I had a C+ average," Cat said. The lawyers rolled their eyes.

"What was the problem? Bad memory? Reading disorder?" Kang said.

"Drugs?" Capps persisted. Cat took a deep breath.

"My mother... My adopted mother died when I was young. Dad brought me from Fresno to Dallas when I was sixteen, and then he got sick. Cancer. I missed a lot of school taking care of him. I didn't have time for dating. I missed my prom when he went into cardiac arrest. Excuse me if my Dad was more important than algebra."

"He left you money?" Kang asked.

"Dad died right after I graduated from Parkland High. After all the medical and funeral expenses were paid, I had $34,000 leftover. I still had $32,000 in the bank when Tommy Varoom tortured me for my passwords and stole my money. And my car. And had Joey Powell clean out my apartment. Are you getting any of my money back?"

"That's not our department," Capps said. "What were you doing when you were supposedly kidnapped?"

Cat frowned. It wasn't the first time the D.A.'s office had doubted her.

"I was working at Michelle's Stationary on 4th Street. I was in charge of the art supplies."

"And you met Thomas Varoom at Gus's Coffee Shop at the end of September?" Kang asked.

"Yes, just after starting junior college. I wasn't hanging out on street corners looking for johns."

"Some say you were. Varoom is known as a high-class pimp," Capps said.

"That wasn't known to me," Cat protested.

"Are you sure? It seems to me you must have--" Capps pressed.

"That will be enough!" a loud voice shouted.

The lawyers turned to see Texas Ranger Harmon Kendrick standing in the doorway, one hand holding a grocery bag, the other clenched in a fist.

"You assholes are getting out of Miss Hollinger's room right now," Kendrick growled. "And in case you pinheads haven't heard, Marbury & Benson cracked Tommy Varoom's passcodes this morning. Everything Catherine's been saying is 100% true. Everything. Your bosses are preparing thirty more indictments. And the FBI just dug up six bodies in the Diablo Mountains, so you better get your scrawny asses moving."

The lawyers gathered their notes and started for the door. As they passed, Kendrick suddenly grabbed Capps by the scruff of his neck, dragged him to Cat's bed, and bent him over.

"You owe this woman an apology," Kendrick said. "It better be good."

"Miss Hollinger, I'm sorry if I was overly zealous. I meant no harm," Capps said. Kendrick let him go and turned toward Kang.

"I'm sorry, too," she said, running into the hall. Kendrick took a chair next to Cat's bed.

"Got rid of those motherfuckers, didn't we?" Kendrick said with a friendly grin.

"Thank you, Captain. It was getting difficult," Cat confessed.

"You're looking better. Getting a little color in those cheeks."

"I just lay here all day long doing nothing. Except when people are asking me questions. It feels strange."

"I need to apologize," Kendrick said. "I wasn't always sure what really happened to you, and now that I know, it makes me sick."

"What could they have learned?"

"That arrogant dumb-fuck Varoom saved everything. Appointment books. Receipts. Photos. Videos he used to blackmail clients. They back up everything you've said. And hint that you haven't even told the whole story yet. Have you?"

"It was very awful, sir," Cat said, lowering her head.

"You need to call me Harm. All my friends do. I've got something for you."

He put the bag on the bed, taking out a stack of graphic novels. "I hear you like art. Thought you might like these. It must get boring talking into that damn recorder the FBI gave you."

There were a dozen magazines filled with amazing artwork. Fantasy stories, westerns, and romances. Some of the artists used the charcoal style that Cat liked most.

"These are wonderful. Thank you, Harm. Please call me Cat."

"The docs say you're making progress. Another few days, you won't have to stay in this damn hospital anymore."

"Where will I go? I don't have any money."

"You're going into protective custody. We've arranged something real nice for you. And the next dickheads who come here asking questions are going to treat you with respect. Or they'll find trouble from me."

"Are you really the one who shot Death Addict?"

"I sure was."

"Blew his brains out? All over Tommy's basement?"

"Sure did."

Cat straightened up and made herself comfortable. Kendrick thought she'd be shocked. What he saw was an eager smile.

"Tell me all about it," Cat urged.

* * * * * *

Dr. Feldstein arrived late in the afternoon, chasing everyone from Cat's room. And then he drew up a chair.

"The tests are in. There is mostly good news, but I'm afraid there's bad news, too."

"What's the bad news?" Cat asked.

"Let's start with the good news. Your circulation is returning. Keep doing the exercises and you should regain 95% to 100% flexibility. Your liver is good. Kidneys are functioning a bit low but acceptable. Heart, EEG, and blood pressure are nearing normal. Your long-term prognosis is excellent."

"And the bad news?"

"Did you ever want to have children?"

"Of course. It's been my dream," Cat said.

"I'm afraid... I'm afraid that's not going to be possible. The scarring is too extensive."

"No babies? Ever?"

"I'm truly sorry. It doesn't mean you can never be a mother. Adoption is a loving alternative. You, yourself were adopted, so you know it's true."

Cat said nothing. It was too much to take in all at one time.

"Thank you, doctor," she finally said. "I need to be alone now."

Dr. Feldstein left, closing the door. Cat cried until the next morning.

* * * * * *

The hospital had done what they could. Cat was escorted out under heavy guard. A gaggling mob of reporters on the sidewalk shouted questions.

"Hollinger! Were you and Tommy Varoom lovers?" one asked.

"Are you a victim or a prostitute?" another demanded.

"Or both?" a third shouted.

They were pushing and shoving. Yelling. Cat had never seen such a commotion, nor imagined herself the center of it. Had she not been surrounded by large burly men, she would have taken off in a panic.

Special FBI Agent Powers got Cat into a black SUV and they drove off, heading for the Charlton Hotel in the heart of the city.

"Are you okay?" Powers asked, giving Cat a bottle of water.

"I don't know," she replied. "Why are they mad at me?"

"They're not mad, just looking for a story. Don't pay them any attention."

Cat gazed out the window as the city went by. It was the first time she'd been outdoors in a long time. The streets, and buildings, and people didn't look any different. And yet nothing looked the same.

Security at the hotel was heavy. Guards had already arrived at the location, keeping strangers away from their witness. Texas Rangers filled the elevator with Cat standing in the middle.

Cat was impressed with the 18th floor. The blue carpeting was thick. Paintings in gold frames hung on the walls. It had a lobby with benches. They walked down to the end of the corridor, Cat moving stiffly.

"Can you be comfortable here?" Powers asked, throwing the door open.

It was an executive suite. Cat saw a kitchen, dining area, and a bar. A big TV set. Sofas and chairs. She poked her head into the bedroom, seeing a king-size bed. And blankets.

"It looks like heaven," she answered with a sigh.

"We scrounged clothes for you," Powers said, putting a suitcase on the bed. "We'll get you a new suit for the trials."

"Did you ever find my money? The money that Tommy stole? Or my books?"

"Haven't had time."

"I'd like to get my car back."

"I'm afraid it broke down a month after Powell stole it. It's a scrap pile now."

"The transmission wasn't that bad," Cat recalled.

"We'll try to raise some money for you," Powers offered. "In the meantime, we have agents guarding you 24/7. You don't need to worry."

"Does that mean I can't go out?"

"You should wait a few weeks, until the media attention dies down," Powers said. "Have you seen this view?"

Powers stood at a large window overlooking the Trinity River. The parks were busy with summer crowds having picnics and playing baseball.

"At least I have water," Cat said, joining her.

"Water?" Powers asked.

"Some of the masters made me beg for water. I could go without food. Being without water is hard."

"The recordings you're making are valuable for background, but we need a court stenographer up here to take notarized statements. And the prosecutors will want their people here, too. If it's too much, let me know."

"I'll be glad when this is over."

"It's going to last a few months. You need to steel yourself for some nasty questions."

"What do you mean?"

"You were horrifically exploited by a group of very powerful men," Powers warned. "They aren't going to prison without a fight."

"I wish Captain Kendrick had shot all of them," Cat said.

"That would have made my job simpler."

"Can I borrow a few dollars and go to the bar downstairs?" Cat asked.

"Special occasion?"

"My birthday was August 6th. I can drink legally now."

"Twenty-one? Congratulations."

"Oh, wait. Goddamn it. I don't have a driver's license," Cat said.

"The FBI can vouch for you," Powers promised.

If Cat expected privacy in her skyscraper retreat, she was quickly disillusioned. Over the next few weeks, she was interviewed every day. Rhonda Pennington, the Dallas District Attorney, sat in on nearly all of them. Cat found the tall brunette cool, calculating, and ambitious. A strong woman.

"You've given us an amazing amount of material," Pennington complimented, sitting with Cat at the dining table. She had a lilting Dallas accent. "Fifteen hours of video interviews. Sixty-five hours of recordings. And so far, everything you've said is backed up by the physical evidence."

"From Tommy's ranch?"

"Varoom was saving videos to keep his clients from talking. And for blackmail. Not just you, but scores of other victims, too. Now he's trying to get the evidence thrown out of court by saying the search was illegal."

"I remember Tommy telling Mr. Johnson he had video of the exchange. I assumed he meant me."

"Yes, we found that one. It's proof Mr. Johnson procured you for illicit purposes."

"He wasn't so bad. He got upset when I cut my wrists."

"What? You did what?" Pennington said, her dark eyebrows going up.

Cat showed the scars. The one on the left wrist looked like a pale line. The right wrist looked like an old scratch.

"It was a dull knife. Cutting through the skin wasn't easy."

"You tried to kill yourself?"

"Oh, I would have done that dozens of times, if I'd been able. The masters never let me near a knife. I was nearly always caged, or handcuffed, or tied up. It was one of Tommy's rules."

"Varoom appears to have had different rules for different women. Which ones did he use for you?"

"A slave has no name. If she ever tells anyone the name she had, she will be buried in the mountains. The slave must not speak without permission. If she does, she will be punished. The slave may never mention how her condition came about. If she does, she will be buried in the mountains. A slave is nothing. A thing to be used. For a master to indulge the slave will result in repercussions for both of them."

"It sounds very harsh," Pennington sympathized. "From what we've learned, those particular rules were only applied to a small number of Varoom's victims. Do you know why?"

"No. None of that was ever described to me."

"Of the hundred women Varoom's Club ran, twelve were singled out for the type of abuse they gave you. So far, you're the only known survivor."

"I wasn't intended to survive. Tommy made that clear many times."

"But you endured for twenty-two months. None of the other women lasted longer than a year."

"I was at the edge many times. But one of the masters didn't like Tommy's rules. That caused problems, but it gave me hope at a time I desperately needed it. The Johnsons broke the rules completely. If Tommy had found out, he would have murdered them."

"Why didn't you escape the Johnsons when you had the chance?"

"It wasn't much of a chance. There was a wall around the property. And Tommy said his clients were always under observation. I wouldn't have gotten very far. But I had access to a steak knife in Mrs. Johnson's kitchen, and I didn't use it. That was a mistake."

"On Buzz? Or Martha?"

"What? Hurt them? Oh, no. I could never hurt anyone. I should have run to the bathroom, locked the door, and made deeper cuts in my wrists. Cuts so deep they couldn't stop the bleeding. It would have saved me from what happened after."

"But you're alive. Free," Powers insisted.

"No, it's just an illusion."

* * * * * *

Cat always had two police officers outside the hotel room door. More were in the lobby downstairs. Another watched the stairwells. Special Agent Powers used Cat's dining table for her office, writing reports on her laptop.

"It looks like they've finally sorted everything out," Powers announced, reading a string of emails.

"Who sorted what?" Cat asked. She was wearing pink pajamas, having no place to go. Powers always wore a nice business suit with a ruffled blouse.

"The FBI and Texas have been struggling for jurisdiction. With thirty-eight prosecutions in progress, there's a lot of competition."

"I don't understand," Cat said.

"What don't you understand?"

"They arrested those guys. They're guilty. From what Mrs. Pennington says, there's a pile of evidence. What does it matter which court convicts them?"

"Honey, the Federal government, the State of Texas, the County of Dallas, and the City of Dallas all have their own legal apparatus. And the prosecutors who win the biggest trials get promotions, and sometimes get elected to public office. They fight for the privilege of getting the best cases. Rhonda Pennington wants to run for mayor."

"Is this a joke? It's not funny."

"You didn't know any of this?"

"Why would I know? I've never even had a traffic ticket."

"Well, at one point the lawyers were swapping files back and forth like baseball cards, and after a lot of haggling, the different jurisdictions decided who gets what cases. Everyone will have access to the same evidence, and each will have representatives up here to prep you."

"Prep me? That's sounds kind of weird."

The next day, FBI Chief Stack was back with a team, surrounding Cat's dining table. Cat had been fitted in a new charcoal gray suit, a white scarf, and comfortable low-heel shoes, on the premise she'd be doing a lot of walking from courtroom to courtroom.

"We have a schedule," Stack said. "It's tight, but workable. Miss Hollinger has many busy days ahead. Now each of us here manages a different department, which they'd like to review before getting started."

"Different departments?" Cat asked.

"Barb and I will be reviewing your direct testimony," Stack said. "Agent Ingalls has copies of your transcripts. There are four hundred pages of them. Special Agent Upton has photographs of the defendants and the locations where you were held. You'll need to identify them in court."

"We'll be discussing your medical issues as well," Dr. Feldstein said, showing photos of her battered body recovered from Varoom's computer.

"The court will want to know how you received these bruises, abrasions, and welt marks. And the other injuries," Pennington said. "They're important for building our cases."

Cat thought the photos embarrassing but had learned not to say so. She was not supposed to question the evidence.

"How you dress and comport yourself is also important," Powers said. "You need to be steady and assured, but not arrogant or vindictive. Follow the prosecutor's lead. Don't answer more than you're asked, and don't let the defense lawyers rattle you. You have a truth, Cat. We've seen it. We've heard it. Just be true to that."

"And don't feel this is all on you," Chief Stack added. "Only eight of the cases involve you directly, backed by solid forensic evidence. In the other cases, you'll be a supporting witness. Most of the trials you won't be involved in at all."

"If we win the first two or three cases big, the other defendants will want to plead out," Pennington said. "Except the death penalty cases."

"Plead out?" Cat asked.

"Their lawyers will try to reach a settlement rather than risk a jury trial," Powers explained. "In those instances, you won't need to testify."

"That would be nice," Cat responded.

"I take it you're not excited about testifying?" Agent Lester asked, a youngster recently added to the team. Cat stared at him as if he was stupid.

"What?" Lester questioned, seeing the frowning faces.

"Really, Jack?" Agent Powers said. "Would you want to spend day after day on the witness stand describing how you were raped, beaten, tortured, and forced to submit to the most humiliating acts, while high-priced defense attorneys call you a liar and a whore?"

"Now that you mention it, that wouldn't appeal to me," Lester admitted.

* * * * * *

The first trials were scheduled for early September. It was time Cat needed to heal in her ivory tower imprisonment. The sensational front-page stories of sex and murder faded to occasional blurbs on legal maneuverings.

"This is the big day," Powers said, helping Cat adjust her collar. "Remember, we have overwhelming forensic evidence. We know it, and they know it. All you need to do is put a human face on their crimes."

Their entourage parked in the garage below the courthouse, but it was difficult to avoid the press as they stepped off the elevator. The jostling and shouting by aggressive reporters frightened Cat, though Captain Kendrick stayed at her elbow the entire time, and even shoved one rude jounalist aside.

District Attorney Pennington arrived in the crowded courtroom hallway, smartly dressed in a black suit and pearl necklace. State police kept the press away from her star witness.

"The whole country is watching. Are you nervous?" Pennington asked.

"Your lawyers have been prepping me," Cat replied.

"When the defense attorneys attack you, don't get flustered. Undermining your credibility is the only card they have to play, and it's a weak one."

"I won't get flustered. Not about this," Cat said.

"Your mind wanders sometimes. Are you okay?"

"I feel fine. During the day," Cat assured her.

The courtroom was hushed as the heavyset, gray-haired judge entered. There were twelve grim jurors sitting in the jury box. Three defendants and their lawyers sat at one table, the prosecution team at another. At least a hundred spectators filled the gallery watching. Cat was seated several rows back between two Texas Rangers. She recognized Tommy Varoom, Joey Powell, and Creepy Manners, all well-dressed and trying to look confident. From what she understood, the trial had been going on for several weeks.

"This court is now in session, Judge Jonathan Robertson Hall presiding," the bald bailiff announced.

"Your Honor, the State would now like to call Miss Catherine Hollinger to the stand," Pennington announced.

"Your Honor, the defense renews its objection to this witness," a lawyer said, jumping to his feet.

"On what basis, Mr. Glover?" the judge asked.

The defense lawyer was an older man, stout and energetic. He wore an expensive blue suit with a red tie. His curly black hair was thinning.

"The defense has stipulated that this witness was in the defendants' presence for brief periods of time. From her deposition, we know she has no direct knowledge of the alleged murders."

"Your Honor, this witness has first-hand knowledge of the methods by which the defendants' operated. Methods that have been observed in the disappearance, and eventual murder, of the nine women in question," Pennington asserted.

"The witness may testify," Judge Hall ruled.

Cat stood up and worked her way out to the aisle, approaching the witness box slowly. She avoided looking at the defendants' table, as she'd been coached. The courtroom was silent as the bailiff administered the oath.

"Your name for the record, please?" the bailiff asked.

"Catherine Jennifer Hollinger."

Pennington quickly came forward holding briefing notes.

"Thank you for appearing here today, Miss Hollinger. We know it must be difficult," Pennington started. "May you provide some background on your involvement with this case for the jury?"

"I first met Mr. Varoom at Gus's Coffee Shop two years ago this September," Cat said, briefly glancing towards him. "I was working at Michelle's Stationary on 4th Street and attending classes at Athena Junior College. After several dates, Mr. Varoom invited me to his home, where I was kidnapped and bartered as a sex slave until last July."

"The defense has claimed their women were prostitutes and paid for their services," Pennington said. Cat turned to look directly at the jury.

"I was never a prostitute. I was an art student. I had a job. A nice apartment. I hoped to be a teacher someday."

"Did you go with Mr. Varoom to his house willingly?"

"Yes, ma'am, I did. He was very handsome. And charming. On our dates, he was always the complete gentleman. I was so flattered that he'd take an interest in a girl like me. A salesclerk. Not even a full-time student."

"How old were you?"

"I had just turned nineteen two months before."

"For twenty-two months, your disappearance wasn't even known. Can you explain that?" Pennington asked.

"A few days after Mr. Varoom kidnapped me, he came to see me in his basement. I was being kept in a steel cage. Naked. And handcuffed. He knelt down with a big grin. I begged him to please let me go. He said he had news. He had used my cell phone to text a message to my boss, saying I had to quit my job and go home for a family emergency."

"Was there a family emergency?" Pennington clarified.

"I don't have any family. And he texted one of my co-workers, saying I was going back to Fresno and would never return."

"What happened next?"

"Mr. Varoom told me he had withdrawn all of the money from my bank account. $32,000. The money my father left me. He said Mr. Powell had a crew clean out my apartment. All my clothes, my books, my artwork, the furniture. Everything. All gone. And Mr. Powell had stolen my car. Then Tommy put my cell phone on the floor in front of me and smashed it with a hammer. He seemed very happy about it."

"So, the defendant cleaned out your bank account, told your employer you had left the state, stole your possessions, and effectively made you disappear?" Pennington pressed.

"Yes. He said, 'No one is even looking for you, you stupid bitch. I own you.' Then he dragged me out of the cage and raped me. He was laughing the whole time."

"Objection, Your Honor," Glover said. "Inflammatory and immaterial. This has no bearing on the case at hand."

"We're getting to that," Pennington said.

"Then get to it, Mrs. Pennington," Judge Hall instructed.

"Miss Hollinger, did the defendant tell you what future to expect?"

"Yes, ma'am. He said girls in my position have a shelf life, and that once I reached my expiration date, they'd bury me in the mountains with the other stupid bitches. The only question was how long my shelf life would be."

"Objection, Your Honor. Hearsay and immaterial," Glover protested.

"Sounds material to me. Overruled," the judge said.

"Anything else?" Pennington asked.

"He said they had clients who like to kill young women. Clients who pay a lot of money. He said the lucky girls die quickly. And that he didn't think I'd be one of the lucky ones."

"Thank you, Miss Hollinger. You are so brave," Pennington praised.

Glover stood up, looking thoughtful, and approached the witness box with thumbs tucked in his lapels. His Southern accent sounded practiced.

"You went to my client's home voluntarily?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"You knew he was wealthy, didn't you?"

"Yes, sir. He had nice clothes and drove an expensive car."

"Mr. Varoom has a well-earned reputation as a successful businessman. A philanthropist. A patron of the arts. He has intimate friendships with politicians and titans of industry. He is also known for his interest in high-end call girls. Were you hoping for a big payday?"

"I was a virgin, and Tommy was very nice. He'd always been respectful. Now that my father had died, and I no longer had the obligations of caring for him, I wanted my first time to be with someone special," Cat responded.

Glover backed off, sensing the reaction of the jury. The witness appeared sincere. And naïve. Questioning her character wasn't going well.

"Miss Hollinger, did you ever see my clients murder any women?"

"No, sir."

"Did you ever see any bodies?"

"No."

"Were you ever shown this mountain ravine where the bodies were supposedly buried?"

"I was not."

"So, you don't know if my clients actually arranged for anyone to be murdered?"

"No, sir. Only what Mr. Knox did to me," Cat answered.

"Objection, Your Honor. Unresponsive," Glover said.

"He opened the door," Pennington responded, jumping to her feet.

"You certainly did, Mr. Glover," Judge Hall said. "Miss Hollinger, you may finish answering the question."

"An hour before Mr. Knox was shot by a Texas Ranger, I had been hung up in Mr. Varoom's basement by my wrists. Mr. Knox said he had killed two women brought to him by Mr. Varoom, and that he had paid a lot of money for the privilege of killing me."

"No more questions," Glover said, retreating.

"Redirect, Your Honor?" Pennington requested, drawing a dirty glance from Glover. "Miss Hollinger, when Mr. Knox made this admission, what was he doing?"

"He was cutting me with knives," Cat responded. She stood up, showing the six-week-old scars on her arms, and lifted her jacket to show the scars on her ribs.

"Your Honor! Demonstrating facts not in evidence!" Glover objected.

"The State will introduce photographs and medical reports," Pennington promised. "We will prove these are the same injuries inflicted by Knox at the time and place in question. We also have autopsy reports for the bodies recovered in the mountain graves with corresponding injuries to the ones Miss Hollinger suffered."

"Objection overruled," Judge Hall agreed. "Mr. Glover, do you have more questions for this witness?"

"No, Your Honor," Glover said, returning to his table.

Powell and Manners looked unhappy with the proceedings, but Varoom was gloating. He stood up. The handsome forty-year-old was 6'2 and slim at 180 pounds. The dark blue Italian suit hung well on his broad shoulders.

"Your Honor, I have questions," Varoom said.

"Tom, don't," his attorney warned, reaching to pull him back.

"I have the right," Varoom insisted.

"Mr. Varoom, I advise you to heed your counsel's advice, but it is your right," Judge Hall agreed.

Varoom strode boldly to the witness box, getting closer than he should. Which didn't go over well with the jury. Cat leaned back, frightened but trying not to show it. Varoom still had the wavy black hair, intense eyes, and square jaw that made him so charismatic, moving with a natural assurance.

"We met at Gus's Coffee shop?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Where you saw me looking at you, and you smiled? Inviting me to come sit with you?"

"I was hoping you would."

"And after three dates, at expensive restaurants, you agreed to come back to my house? Intending to sleep with me?"

"I wasn't sure, but I was thinking about it."

"You were a virgin?"

"You would know."

"Do you think that was fair? Inviting yourself to a man's house, getting him excited, and then springing news like that on him," Varoom said, creeping forward.

"You could have said no," Cat replied.

"Who would say no to a sly piece like you?"

"I suppose that would depend on how much you were charging for me."

"Objection Your Honor! Nonresponsive!" Glover said, jumping up from his table. "Assumes facts not in evidence."

"Your client asked the question," Judge Hall said. "Objection overruled. And I advise you to watch yourself, Mr. Varoom. Step away from the witness."

Varoom moved back but continued to glare at Cat.

"Was it good? Your first time? With me?" he asked.

"It was wonderful, Tommy. I was the happiest girl in the world. For about half an hour. Right until you bent me over your bathroom sink, put handcuffs on me, and gave me to that dirty old man in your basement to be raped."

"I should have killed you when I had the chance," Varoom unwisely said, causing his lawyer to rush from the table.

"You did," Cat replied.

"You were nothing to me. You are nothing. Just a desperate little bitch who got what she deserved," Varoom shouted, charging the witness box.

The courtroom burst into chaos as Glover grabbed hold of Varoom's shoulders. Lawyers and police officers piled on to drag Varoom away. The bailiff moved to protect Cat, found ducking behind her chair. The judge pounded his gavel.

"Your Honor, my client is not himself," Glover said. "I ask that this testimony be stricken from the record."

"Not a chance, Mr. Glover," Judge Hall responded. Varoom was forced back to his table, getting angry frowns from his co-defendants.

"You're a fucking idiot," Manners whispered.

"Are you trying to bury us?" Powell grumbled.

"We're going down either way," Varoom said. "At least I put that bitch in her place."

Pennington came forward to help Cat back in her chair. She saw how flustered Cat was, breathing hard and shaking.

"Are you okay? Should we ask for a recess?" Pennington asked.

"No, let's get this over with," Cat replied.

"You're a brave young woman. Re-direct, Your Honor?"

"This should be interesting," the judge said.

"Catherine, has Thomas Varoom ever threatened to kill you before?"

"Yes."

"How often?"

"About forty or fifty times."

"How do you remember that?"

"Each time he gave me to a new client, he said that if I broke his rules, I'd be killed. He would repeat it several times to make sure I understood. He rented me to ten clients."

"And the last time, he sold you to Leonard Knox, aka Death Addict? To be killed?"

"Yes."

"So, we may assume that when Thomas Varoom threatens to kill a woman, he keeps his promise?"

"Your Honor, this entire line of questioning is out of order," Glover protested.

"I'll decide what's out of order here," Judge Hall said. "And I suggest you have a long talk with your client."

There were no more questions. The jury watched as Cat came down from the witness stand. A slender young woman with a delicate build. Her posture was modest. Her expression meek and wounded. Then they looked at the three brutes at the defense table, shaking their heads.

* * * * * *

"You did great today. Really great," Agent Powers said.

"I was scared," Cat replied.

"I would have been scared, too."

They were back on the 18th floor of the Charlton Hotel with armed guards outside the door. Powers fetched a glass of wine for Cat, keeping a soda for herself.

"Texas managed to keep the unholy trio for their state prosecution," Powers explained, sitting at the dining table. "They want those sons of bitches to get the death penalty. The FBI is getting most of the cases that didn't involve murder."

"It sounds complicated," Cat said, kicking off her shoes to curl up on the couch.

"I understand why you don't watch the news. It must be very distressing seeing your name and photos splashed all over. But there are important trials in progress other than this one. Some get media attention, others not so much. Even though Varoom is center stage, scores of other arrests were made."

"I hope I don't have to testify in all of them," Cat said, sipping her wine. It was relaxing.

"Most of these cases won't involve you. The first client, the one you call the dirty old man, died a few months ago. We have records of the ten men Varoom sold you to. Nine are in custody, and one is in the wind."

"In the wind?"

"We think he's in Bahrain or Qatar. We'll catch him eventually."

"Is Mr. Johnson one of the ten?"

"Yes."

"I feel bad for him."

"Cat, I don't think you should."

"His GPS device allowed you to raid Tommy's ranch. You captured all that evidence."

"Johnson may get some credit for that during sentencing," Powers said.

"What about Mrs. Johnson?"

"Honey, the Johnsons turned you over to Varoom at 6 a.m. Martha Johnson didn't call us until 5 p.m., and the compound wasn't raided until an hour later. During those twelve hours, you were assaulted and nearly cut to pieces by a homicidal maniac. You don't owe them gratitude for that."

"They didn't need to help me at all. If they said nothing, no one ever would have known. I'd be buried in the wilderness with those other women now."

"Varoom would have been caught eventually, and the records would have shown what Buzz Johnson did. He'd be looking at life in prison instead of ten years."

"What will I need to do in these other cases?"

"They'll be trying for plea bargains now. With luck, this may all be over by Thanksgiving."

"Thanksgiving?"

"It's still a holiday."

"Yes, I know. It's just hard to remember."

* * * * * *

Cat's schedule was so grueling she hardly had time to think. And when back at the Charlton, she was finding it hard to sleep. A bottle of Jack Daniel's helped. The nightmares were bad. Dr. Feldstein wrote her a prescription for sleeping pills.

The next trial was for Gratton Leafman. Master #1 to Cat, for she had never heard his name while in captivity. As the grizzled old defendant watched, she recounted her early weeks living in a cage being abused, threatened, and often humiliated for the amusement of her master. She spoke in general terms, careful of her language.

"Objection, Your Honor," Leafman's attorney finally said, a rotund New Yorker named Helman. "This testimony is all very vague. Teasing and spanking hardly rises to the level of depravity and torture."

"We can introduce the witness transcripts, Your Honor," Pennington said, holding up a thick folder.

"Transcripts that have been edited," Helman protested. The judge turned to Cat, attempting to be delicate.

"The court realizes discussing these events is painful and embarrassing," the judge said. "But the defense raises a valid point. Are you able to go into greater detail?"

"I can, Your Honor. How specific would you like me to be?" Cat said with big innocent eyes.

"The defense has demanded details. Be as specific as you can," the judge instructed. "As for you, Mr. Helman, this was your request. There will be no interruptions. I'll not have you harassing this witness. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Helman agreed.

"Watch this," Pennington gleefully whispered to her co-counsel, nudging him in the ribs with her elbow. "Helman's about to be the sorriest asshole in the world."

Mrs. Pennington was soon proven correct. Cat was no longer cautious with her vocabulary, describing every episode in the most graphic terms, often quoting the defendant's exact words. It went on for an hour and a half. Spectators in the gallery noticed she sometimes spoke as if very far away, and would then suddenly jump into the present, rendering extraordinary images of brutality as if it was happening in real time.

When her testimony finally concluded, everyone in the courtroom felt exhausted. But Pennington wasn't through. Knowing she had the jury in the palm of her hand, she showed photo after photo taken from Varoom's files of Cat's injuries, asking her each time to verify its authenticity. Many of the photos were heartbreaking.

Pennington concluded the day exhibiting evidence that at least two of the bodies found in the Diablo Mountains, women known to have been sent to Leafman by Varoom, showed the same patterns of injuries.

Two days later, Gratton Leafman was found guilty of multiple felonies, including two counts of first-degree murder. The prosecution asked for the death penalty.

With so many trials, Cat was testifying every day but Sunday. Sometimes twice a day. The prosecutors suspected she was burning out, but the steam engine of justice would not be delayed. Every night, cable news stations recapped the proceedings, speculated on their meanings, and made predictions for the next round. Photos of Catherine in her charcoal-gray suit were becoming iconic. The whole country was watching.

In the trial of Master #4, Cat testified that Jacob Little's treatment of her was based on fantasy novels he had read. Those whippings had been severe, in keeping with the books' characters. He had even dressed himself in colorful costumes with tall leather boots, a cutlass on his belt, and spoke in stilted English.

Master #2, Karl Cummings, enjoyed dragging her out of her cage and beating her for no reason, and then he'd rant for hours about the unfairness of life.

Walter Manson's trial was the worst. Facing the death penalty, Master #9's lawyer forced Cat to speak of everything that had happened, constantly badgering her over a two-day period. For confusing Cat was his client's only hope of salvation. It didn't work. Rather than shaking her testimony, Cat became ever more explicit. Some jurors broke down in tears.

It only took an hour for the jury to find him guilty.

* * * * * *

Cat and District Attorney Pennington returned to the Charlton Hotel, a police officer guarding the door as always, though there was less intensity now. The publicity surrounding the cases had raised Cat's profile enough to provide modest protection. The FBI doubted anyone would try to silence her at this point.

"I think the really worse cases are behind you now," Pennington said, pouring wine for both of them and joining Cat on the sofa. "Only a few more to go. No one expected you to hold up this well."

"You mean by drinking every night and taking pills so I can sleep?" Cat mentioned.

"Everyone deals with stress in their own way," Pennington said. "About the Yearling trial. We need to talk."

"What about it?" Cat asked.

"You know what we discussed. Despite your feelings, you can't offer any unsolicited testimony. About why you stayed there. Or how you felt about it. It would weaken the case, and put all of our other cases in jeopardy, too. We can't allow that."

"But he didn't--"

"No buts, Catherine. You will only answer the questions put to you. Don't elaborate. Offer nothing extra. You were taken to Yearling's house by Varoom, put in a cage, had sex without your consent, and taken away by Varoom. Isn't that true?"

"Yes."

"That's all the court needs to hear. Don't talk about the rest."

"But that feels dishonest," Cat objected. "Mr. Yearling didn't--"

"Jim Yearling did what he did. It was a crime. I realize you don't have the education or sophistication to understand such complicated issues. You need to trust me."

"He wasn't so bad," Cat said.

"I can see this is going to be a problem, so let me be clear," Pennington said, taking Cat's hands. "When you are on the witness stand, I order you not to talk about anything unless specifically asked. And even then, say as little as possible. My office hasn't lost one of these cases yet, and I'm not going to lose this one. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mrs. Pennington."

"Will you obey me?"

"Yes, I'll obey you," Cat agreed.

* * * * * *

After another high-profile trial, this time spelling a life sentence for Master #3, Cat was relieved to be back at the Charlton. It had been a long day. Special FBI Agent Powers sat at the bar finishing a vodka martini. Cat rested on the sofa in pajamas, a cold pack on her forehead.

"I need to thank you," Powers said. "The Bureau thinks I've done so well here, I'm being transferred to Washington. By Thanksgiving, I'll be playing in the big leagues."

"Captain Kendrick says Mrs. Pennington is going to run for mayor."

"She'll win, too," Powers predicted. "This case has given her a national profile."

"I should go to bed," Cat decided.

"How are you sleeping? Did your prescription get renewed?" Powers asked.

"There's still two refills left."

"I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Barb," Cat said, dragging off to the bedroom.

Powers let herself out a few minutes later, finding a police officer guarding the door.

"You won't be doing this much longer," Powers said. "Another week and the trials will be over. No more protective custody."

"What will happen to Miss Hollinger?" the officer asked.

"You know what? I don't believe we've thought that far ahead," Powers answered.

* * * * * *

Continued in part two, A Journey Ends.