Twilight on the Road Home

Part Two

by G. Lawrence

Catherine discovers the limits of celebrity

As mentioned in the opening to Part One, this is a darker story than I usually offer. Sensitive readers should proceed with caution. There are ruthless criminals, indifferent government agencies, and lawyers. I post this because I think the brave heroine's story is worthwhile. All characters are over 18 years old.

Recap: After twenty-two months as a kidnap victim of a high-end trafficking ring, Catherine Hollinger was rescued and has been testifying against powerful men in Dallas courtrooms.

* * * * * *

Chapter Three

A JOURNEY ENDS

"The case of the People of Texas v. James Yearling is called to order," a trim female bailiff announced. "Judge Cassandra Owens presiding."

Cat saw the judge was a graceful black lady with curly white hair and long robes. The courtroom was smaller than the other venues, with fewer spectators. A good-looking man in his early-30s sat at the defense table wearing an expensive brown suit. Sitting next to him was a sixtyish gray-bearded lawyer with bifocal glasses. A leggy redheaded attorney came to join them. She looked to be in her late-30s, trim and wearing a conservative blue suit. There was a calmness about them.

The prosecution had new lawyers, Pennington remaining with the last of the death penalty cases. She'd been replaced by a 20-something young man and a 20-something young woman, both suitably but not expensively dressed. Cat watched from several rows back, wearing the same charcoal gray outfit as before. A Texas Ranger was with her. Her FBI guardians had disappeared days before.

"Linda Suzuki and Darrel Markman for the State, Your Honor," the young lawyer announced, her long black hair tied back.

"Grayson Judson and Ashley Wilkerson for the defense," the gray-bearded attorney said, briefly rising from his chair.

Their client turned to look at the gallery, seeing Cat, and started to get up. He had deep blue eyes, dark blond hair, and a muscular build. His lawyer pulled him down, intently whispering instructions. The defendant looked at Cat again, appearing frustrated. Cat glanced away, unable to bear his gaze.

"The jury has been waiting two days to be seated," Judge Owens said, playing with her gavel. "I understand there is a plea agreement on the table?"

"We're sorry, Your Honor," Judson said. "We were unable to come to terms."

"In that case, we will proceed. Bailiff, please bring in the jury."

Twelve men and women took their seats, perhaps disappointed that they hadn't landed a bigger spectacle. James Yearling was wealthy, to be sure, but he wasn't famous. The State's young attorney addressed the court.

"Your Honor," Suzuki began, "we will show the defendant held three women prisoner in his residence at different times for the purpose of committing battery and rape. These women deserve justice."

Ashley Wilkerson rose for the defense. Cat thought her a very confident woman with an elegant style.

"Your Honor, the defense will show that two of the women in question, Jasmine Labell and Starlight Muñoz, were only in the defendant's home briefly, and that they were paid for their services. Their accusations did not even emerge until after Mr. Yearling's arrest and the publicity that followed."

"And the third woman?" the judge asked.

"Our client asserts that he believed she was also being paid for her services, though now that he has better information, he realizes this wasn't the case. He seeks leniency for the misunderstanding."

"The young woman in question is Catherine Hollinger!" Suzuki blurted. "She was held in your client's home for three months! A captive viciously--"

"Ms. Suzuki, you will address the court, and the State will have a chance to present their case," Judge Owens said, pounding her gavel.

Cat breathed a sigh of relief. At least she wasn't going to be accused of being a prostitute, like other lawyers had. Maybe this trial wouldn't be too bad? A moment later, Special Agent Powers came to sit with her.

"Hello, Barb," Cat said in surprise, shifting over to make room.

"Are you scheduled to testify today?" Powers asked.

"Not until tomorrow. This isn't a Federal case, is it?"

"No, Yearling wasn't one of Varoom's regulars, so we let Pennington have it."

"Do you have any cases left?"

"Just one. All the rest have made deals."

"I'm so glad it's almost over. Thank you for helping me so much," Cat said.

"I'd be happier if you were eating better. Did you get any sleep last night?"

"Not much."

"The nightmares again?"

"Yes," Cat confessed.

"There are counselors who can help you with the stress. Did you contact the hotline? Or the women's center?"

"Not yet. It's hard to move around while being followed by dozens of police officers."

"There are only two of them now, and once your testimony is finished, you won't need to worry about protective custody anymore. We're pretty sure you'll be safe."

"That's good."

The first witness was called to the stand. Despite a nice dress and a trip to the salon, she still looked like a working girl. Suzuki walked her through well-rehearsed testimony.

"Yeah, that's him over there," Labell said, pointing at the defendant. "He had me come to his place. A real fancy house. Two stories. Had a spa. Then he tied me up and raped me. Raped me hard. And he hit me when I said to stop. Hit me hard. I almost lost a tooth."

"You're sure it's the same man? James Yearling?" Suzuki asked.

"Yeah, it's him. Raping motherfucker," Labell answered.

"Miss Labell, you will watch your language," Judge Owens warned.

"No more questions," Suzuki said, returning to her table. Ashley stood up, pausing as if contemplating, and sauntered forward.

"Miss Labell, how long were you at my client's residence?"

"Three days. Felt like a lifetime. Tied up. Beaten like a dog."

"Did you see a doctor?"

"Got no use for doctors."

"These dates. April 8th to April 10th of last year?" Ashley casually inquired.

"Yep."

"Held prisoner?"

"Sure was."

"Couldn't leave?"

"Tied up like a pig."

"But on April 9th, weren't you with your brother at the Texas Rangers opening day baseball game? Did you escape captivity, and then return?"

"Like I told those reporters, it's a mistake. I wasn't at no game."

"Your Honor, may I enter defense exhibit one? This is a photograph of Miss Labell, and her brother, taken by stadium cameras in their seats on the day in question."

"Ain't me," Labell protested. "Wearing them big sunglasses and that hat, it could be anybody."

"Interesting you should say that," Wilkerson responded. "Though the State has claimed the image is too grainy for identification, we found a photographic expert in Houston that shows this."

Wilkerson displayed a close-up of the woman in the stands, and then pointed. "Miss Labell, isn't that the same tattoo there that you have? Below your left ear?"

Labell leaned forward, saw the tattoo, and put her hand over her neck.

"Coincidence," she claimed.

"The photograph may be entered into evidence," the judge permitted.

"Thank you, Your Honor," Wilkerson continued. "Miss Labell, were you an employee of the so-called Club that's been in the news lately?"

"No, never worked for them. Not ever."

"Then how did Mr. Yearling pay you?"

"Paid cash. And not enough," Labell replied. "That is ... What I mean to say is ..."

"We know what you meant," Wilkerson said. "No more questions, Your Honor."

The rest of the morning was used presenting forensic evidence, which showed there was a financial connection between James Yearling and Thomas Varoom. Yearling was in real estate. Varoom liked using his illicit profits to buy leveraged properties. Another witness was called. She was a tall stringy cowgirl with long legs and high black boots.

"We appreciate your time, Ms. Muñoz," Markman said, taking over for the State. He seemed a bright young lawyer. Eager. A nice blue suit.

"You can call me Starlight," she replied.

"All right. Starlight. Can you tell the jury about your ordeal with the defendant?"

"It was rotten. I went there for a date, and he started hitting me right off the bat. Then he raped me. A bunch of times. I was sore for weeks. And he wanted to tie me up. With handcuffs. But I said no way, pervert. You ain't no cop to be puttin' my ass in those." Starlight looked to the jury, nodding her head. Cat noticed she was chewing gum.

"Did he say anything to make you fear for your life?" Markman asked. "If you didn't cooperate?"

"He sure did. Said he'd kill me if I didn't suck his ... Well, said I'd better take care of him, so I did. It was disgusting."

"How did you escape?"

"Waited 'til he was sleepin', and then snuck out. He never even heard me go."

"Did Thomas Varoom arrange for this rendezvous?"

"Yeah, that motherfucker said it would be a quick in and out. No harm, no foul. And then all this other crap happened."

"Thank you, Starlight. You're very brave," Markman said.

"Damn straight I am," she agreed, nodding at the jury.

Ashley got up for the cross-examination, but Judson took the lead, walking with hands clasped behind his back. The older man with white hair provided a solemn element. He took his time, making eye-contact with the jury before asking his questions.

"This is indeed a harrowing tale, Ms. Muñoz. Or may I call you Starlight?"

"Starlight do fine. That's what the reporter guys are calling me."

"The date of this attack. November of last year? The 3rd and 4th? At his residence in Oak Park?"

"Damn straight. And you ain't trickin' me like that last stupid bitch. I weren't at no ball game."

"Mr. Yearling was."

"How's that?"

"My client was at the Broncos game in Colorado on November 4th. Would you like to amend your testimony?"

"Can't remember the exact dates. Maybe just the 3rd. Or the 2nd and 3rd. But it all happened just like I said. I got Uber receipts to prove it."

"Yes, it appears you do. How much did Thomas Varoom reimburse you for your time?"

"What do you mean?"

"The FBI has all of Varoom's records. I'd like you to confirm how much they paid you for your services."

"$800."

"For two days? That's cheap."

"Are you calling me a cheap whore?" Starlight asked.

"Of course not," Judson replied. "Let me ask, if Varoom paid you for this unfortunate transaction gone wrong, how come they have no record of it?"

"What? You said there is a record."

"No, I asked how much they paid you. I never said there was a record," Judson said.

"It was off the books. I was doing them a favor."

"I understand. That was very generous of you. Did Varoom pay your medical bills?"

"Weren't none. I'm tougher than that. Ask anyone."

"I hope that doesn't become necessary," Judson said, dismissing her from the stand. "I see that Miss Catherine Hollinger is in attendance. May she be called to testify today and save the court time?"

"Miss Hollinger, are you prepared to testify?" Judge Owens asked.

Cat looked surprised. She wished she'd gotten more sleep. Agent Powers was about to intervene, but Cat waved her back.

"Yes, Your Honor," Cat said, going through the gallery's swinging doors to the witness stand. Her gray suit wasn't as sharp as she wanted, expecting to have an extra day to mend it. After she was sworn in, Suzuki resumed questioning.

"Thank you for coming today. We know you've been busy," she began. "Are you familiar with the defendant?"

"Yes, ma'am," Cat said. Suzuki waited for her to elaborate, then had to continue.

"We understand you were sold to Mr. Yearling for sexual exploitation, being under his control from January 2nd to April 1st of this year?"

"That is true."

"Were you paid for these services?"

"No, I was not paid."

"We don't wish to be indelicate, but were you raped?"

"Define rape," Cat requested.

"Did he have sex with you without your consent?" Suzuki clarified.

"Yes."

"We've heard the other testimony here today. Were you beaten? Forced to perform sex acts by threats of violence?"

"Those are two questions," Cat said.

"Okay. Were you beaten?" Suzuki asked.

"No."

"But you performed sex acts under threat of violence?"

"Submitted to sex acts."

"What threats did the defendant make?"

"He did not make threats."

"But you said--"

"If I didn't satisfy Mr. Yearling's desires, Tommy Varoom would have hurt me."

Suzuki went back to her table, quietly conferring with her co-counsel. She appeared tentative.

"The defendant has claimed he thought you were a paid employee, and that what he did wasn't rape. Is that true?" she asked.

"I can't answer that," Cat replied.

"What can you tell us?"

"That I was taken to Mr. Yearling's residence by Thomas Varoom for Mr. Yearling's pleasure."

"How did you leave his captivity?" Suzuki inquired.

"On the day of my scheduled pick-up, while Tommy Varoom and Joseph Powell were in another room with Mr. Yearling, Jake Manners put me in a metal trunk and locked it."

"And Mr. Yearling did nothing to stop this?"

"No."

"Thank you, Miss Hollinger. Thank you very much. No further questions, Your Honor," Suzuki said. The defense attorneys consulted before Mr. Judson got up.

"It sounds like a terrible story, Miss Hollinger," Judson suggested.

"I don't recommend it," Cat answered.

"Are you sure you weren't reimbursed in some manner?" Judson asked.

"Grayson!" Yearling shouted, jumping up from the defense table. Everyone turned to see him shaking his head. Judson went back to confer with his client before resuming the cross-examination.

"I'm sorry, Miss Hollinger. No one here is implying you're a paid sex worker. Please accept my sincere apology," Judson said.

"Yes, sir," Cat answered.

"To be clear, you were kidnaped by Varoom and his Club?"

"Yes, sir."

"They leased you, or rented you, to their clients?"

"They did."

"Did you ever tell my client the appalling situation you were in? That you were there involuntarily?"

"No."

"Then how could he have known?"

"It was his responsibility to know. I was a slave, forbidden to explain. I didn't want Tommy Varoom to kill me. Not then. That came later."

Cat looked at Yearling with an empty expression, noticing the stunned look on the young man's face. Did he really not know what happened to her? Later? Under Manson's control?

"Is there a chance he might not have known?" Judson pressed.

Cat continued studying the defendant. Everyone in the courtroom saw she was struggling with a difficult decision.

"I'm afraid not, sir," Cat finally answered.

"Will you excuse us if we argue differently?" Judson asked.

"That's your job, isn't it?" Cat replied.

Judson started back to his table, paused, and slowly returned to the witness box, leaning against the railing. He had a calm, comforting manner about him that put Cat at ease.

"Miss Hollinger, during your time with my client, did you form any impressions of his character?"

"Objection," Suzuki said. "The witness's impression of the defendant is irrelevant."

"The question goes to the defendant's state of mind, Your Honor," Judson said. "Who better to know that than Miss Hollinger?"

"I'll allow it," Judge Owens ruled.

"Shall I repeat the question?" Judson asked.

"I understand the question," Cat said.

She sat quietly for a moment, her eyes growing moist. She tried to wipe them with her sleeve, but it only smeared her make-up. Judson handed her a handkerchief.

"Take your time," Judson said. Cat looked at Yearling, struggling for composure. A good-looking man staring at her with a pained expression. She noticed the jury watching her. The courtroom was silent.

"Initially, I did not know Mr. Yearling's name when I was in his custody. He was master, or sir. I did not consider him a bad man. Not like so many others. He never hurt me, and I'm very thankful for that. But he made a terrible mistake."

"No more questions, Your Honor," Judson said.

"No more?" Cat said, looking to the judge, and then the defendant's table.

"The defense has no more questions for this witness," Judson repeated.

Cat stood up, looking surprised. And unhappy. When Judson took his seat, the bailiff helped her down from the stand. Her legs seemed weak.

"Mr. Markman? Ms. Suzuki? Will you be requiring anything more from this witness?" Judge Owens asked.

"No, Your Honor," Suzuki said.

Cat was glad it was over, but troubled as well. As she passed the defense table, she paused, staring at the defendant. There was no anger in her expression, merely sadness. It seemed like Yearling wanted to say something but was restrained by his attorney.

"You have bad lawyers," Cat said, looking only at him.

Then she ran up the aisle into the hall, dashing past the Texas Ranger so fast he scrambled to catch her.

* * * * * *

The final trial started three days later. Martha Johnson was charged with accessory to kidnapping. Her son was charged with second-degree kidnapping and third-degree rape. Both could result in serious prison sentences.

Unlike so many other cases involving Varoom, there were no strings of victims. No extensive ledgers of payments and transfers. Buzz had only contracted for one woman, to his everlasting regret. And now he was being called to answer.

Surprisingly to Cat, it was the same courtroom and the same judge who had tried James Yearling. She'd heard Yearling had been acquitted on some charges, but found guilty in her case. Speculation was he'd be sentenced to as little as ten years, or as much as twenty-five. She hoped he wouldn't get a severe sentence.

Cat was placed in the front row behind the prosecution table. She only had one police officer guarding her. A rookie. Special Agent Barbara Powers was busy wrapping up local cases before her transfer to Washington. Cat hadn't seen Rhonda Pennington in weeks, except on TV, announcing her candidacy for mayor.

"This court will come to order," the lady bailiff called as Judge Owens took her seat on the high bench. The defendants were led out from a back room looking haggard. The bailiff summoned the jury.

"Darrell Markman for the State," he said, now minus Suzuki.

"Charles Tieman for the defense," a very young man said. Cat could hardly believe it. He was only a few years older than her, skinny as a rail, with a head full of curly chestnut hair. He had an educated accent, which made him sound smart.

"Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the State will show that from July 3rd to July 24th of this year, these defendants held a young woman captive in their home. That Mr. Johnson raped this young woman on two occasions, and that they turned their victim over to members of the infamous Club, where she suffered grievous physical injuries and was nearly murdered."

As Markman sat, happy with his opening, Tieman quickly stood to address the jury.

"Hello, ladies and gentlemen. Friends call me Charley," the defense attorney said. "My clients do not, in full, deny the charges against them. They did hold Catherine Hollinger in their home, but they plead extenuating circumstances and seek your understanding of those circumstances."

Markman called Texas Ranger Harmon Kendrick to the stand. Cat hadn't seen him in weeks, since her protective detail was downscaled. He was still looking fearsome in his brown uniform and cowboy hat.

"Captain Kendrick, were you an integral part of this investigation?" Markman asked.

"Indeed, I was. Acting on a tip, the Texas Rangers, in cooperation with the FBI, conducted a raid on the Varoom compound on July 24th. After a violent struggle with the three men now known as The Club, an FBI agent and I discovered a dungeon below the estate."

"And what was in this dungeon?" Markman asked.

"A young woman, stripped bare, was hanging by her wrists in chains, covered in blood, while a sick fuck ... excuse my language, Your Honor, while an unidentified suspect was threatening to cut her throat with a scalpel."

"What action did you take?"

"I shot the goddamn son of a bitch through the forehead."

"Do you know the identity of the young woman?"

"Yes, sir. It was Miss Catherine Hollinger, that courageous young woman sitting right over there," Kendrick said, pointing her out.

"We understand a great deal of evidence concerning Varoom's activities was discovered during this rescue operation. Did you find anything pertaining to the defendants?"

"Yes. We discovered that until that morning, the victim had been at the home of Mr. Buzzard Johnson and his mother, Martha Johnson. And that she been there since early July under a contract with Thomas Varoom. A contract that provided for her use as a sex slave. Further investigation revealed the anonymous tip leading to Varoom's estate was called in by Martha Johnson."

"What did the Texas Rangers and FBI conclude from all this?" Markman inquired.

"That Miss Hollinger had been taken to the Johnson residence against her will, held prisoner for three weeks, and then returned to Varoom and his henchmen for further abuse."

"Thank you, Captain. Mr. Tieman?"

Charley stood up, thoughtfully scratching his thin beard. He studied Kendrick, looked the jury over, and turned to glance at Cat. He noticed her sitting up straight, at the edge of her seat, her large brown eyes filled with hesitant emotions.

"Captain, we've all heard the horror stories of The Club's victims. How they beat women. Tortured them. Kept them in cages. Is there evidence that Miss Hollinger was beaten by the Johnsons? Tortured? Was she kept in a cage?"

"I have no personal knowledge of her circumstances," Kendrick responded.

"But you spoke with Miss Hollinger at length, did you not? And the defendants? Did their stories match up?"

"They did."

"What did they say?"

"Objection, Your Honor. Hearsay," Markman protested.

"Objection overruled. The witness may answer," Judge Owens replied.

"Miss Hollinger claimed she was not physically abused while in the Johnsons' custody. She spent the first night chained to a wall, the second night in a back room with a locked door. The remainder of the time she had the freedom of the house."

"Freedom of the house?" Charley pressed.

"Freedom is a poor choice of words. She had a bedroom and was allowed to move around the house, but she was not permitted to leave the premises or call the police."

"Was she assaulted during this period?"

"She was not. That came later."

"Please, Captain, I need you to keep your answers specific to my questions," Charley gently insisted. Kendrick nodded, but he had made his point.

The next witness was a doctor from the emergency room at Dallas County General Hospital, describing Cat's injuries on admittance. Along with graphic photos. The jury squirmed at the bloody slices and lash marks inflicted by Leonard Knox. Cat was dismayed to have the pictures shown in open court. The defense asked no questions.

A forensic accountant testified next, referencing the records seized from Thomas Varoom. They showed that Varoom and Buzzard Johnson had negotiated an agreement for the delivery of a slave for his personal use, along with stringent conditions. The jury turned angry eyes at Buzz as they heard how Cat was to be kept prisoner.

A final witness was an FBI tech specialist. She showed video of Cat being delivered to the Johnson residence in a footlocker, handcuffed, naked, looking terribly thin, and covered with horrid welt marks. Another video, taken twenty-two days later, showed the same three men retrieving their property, not quite so thin, but just as miserable.

"Your Honor, in a rare event, the State's last witness is Martha Johnson, one of the defendants. She is testifying at her own request," Markman announced.

"Has the defendant been granted immunity? Or a plea bargain?" Judge Owens questioned.

"No, Your Honor. Nothing has been offered," Markman said.

Martha took the stand looking older than her seventy-four years. She wore a modest blue dress, her gray hair up in a bun. She put on her wire-frame eyeglasses.

"Mrs. Johnson, do you understand your rights?" Judge Owens asked. "Do you realize anything you say may be held against you?"

"Yes, Your Honor. Mr. Tieman has strongly advised against this, but I must say what I must say."

"You may proceed, Mrs. Markman," the judge granted.

"Mrs. Johnson, we understand that you had no prior knowledge of your son's arrangement with Thomas Varoom. May you explain how your involvement evolved?"

Martha turned to the jury, looked at Cat, and then back to the jury.

"This has been an awful thing. For everybody," Martha began. "It was the 4th of July. Buzz and I had plans later to see fireworks in the park. We have a big house on Roxbury. He generally lives in the back, where his office and man cave are. I like the living room and kitchen. Well, that morning, Buzz came running in a panic, calling for me to come. I'd never been more shocked in my whole life."

"By the woman he bought?" Markman asked.

"By the woman who had cut her wrists," Martha answered. "There was a lot of blood, and she was fighting like hell to stop Buzz from helping her. But she was too weak." The jury turned to look at Cat sitting in the gallery. She lowered her head, not willing to look up.

"I wrapped wet towels around her wrists. She hadn't been wearing any clothes, so I had Buzz get her a nightgown. She was crying hysterically. I made her take a tranquilizer. A couple of tranquilizers. I wanted to call 911, and then Buzz told me why I couldn't. About Varoom, and his thugs. That he'd had sex with her. I was so disappointed in that boy. I still am."

She looked at Buzz sitting at the defense table. At fifty-five, he couldn't be described as a boy, except by his mother.

"I decided to take care of her until we decided what to do, and that was my crime. I should have called the police right then and there. I saw she'd been seriously abused, but not by Buzz. The injuries were older. I'm a retired nurse, so I knew what to do.

"When the child calmed down, we had a talk. Well, it wasn't much of a talk, she hardly said a word. Wouldn't tell me her name, or how she got there. Nothing about her past. I explained that we were in a pickle with this Club thing, but if she'd be good, we'd figure it out."

"What did you expect to figure out, Mrs. Johnson?" Markman said.

"I don't rightly know. I was scared. Buzz was scared. The little girl was scared. We were all scared. Buzz said Tommy Varoom would hurt us for breaking his rules. The girl said it would be worse than that. She said Varoom would kill us. Over the next few weeks, she mostly stayed in the upstairs bedroom, but sometimes she'd come down to help me cook, or straighten the house. We watched TV together. One night, she laid down with her head in my lap and went to sleep. She was just the sweetest thing."

Martha started crying, pausing as she dug for a tissue in her pocket.

"Time was running out, and we still didn't know what to do. Then Buzz came up with an idea. He'd make a collar for the girl, out of brass, with a GPS device inside. He'd weld it on so it couldn't be removed too easy. Then when Varoom came to take her, we'd track where she was and call the police. That way, we wouldn't be implicated, and Varoom wouldn't know what we'd done. It seemed like a good idea."

"What did your victim think?" Markman asked.

"She hadn't spoken in a few days, and I didn't press her. When Varoom and his disgusting pigs came to get her, I watched from my bedroom window. Buzz showed me the GPS was working. All we had to do was make a phone call, but then we started thinking. We might get caught. We might go to prison. Could we really take that chance?"

Martha stood up, looking at Cat. Tears were running down her cheeks.

"We promised to protect you, and we betrayed you. I am so sorry, dear. I am so, so sorry. When I see pictures of what those monsters did to you, I know I'll never forgive myself. It was all my fault."

Cat jumped from her seat and rushed to the witness box. Martha came down and they embraced in the middle of the courtroom. They were clinging to each other, sobbing. Cat was whispering forgiveness.

The courtroom remained still. Mesmerized. Finally, the judge motioned to the attorneys. Markman drew Cat away. Charley guided Martha back to the witness box.

"I guess I'm just here to say, I take responsibility for what I did," Martha said to the jury. "Do what you need to me. I deserve it. But try to go easy on my son. He's had a lonely life taking care of his mother. Never married. Never had a girlfriend. He did a stupid thing, and he tried hard to make amends. The missy is alive now because of him. She's free, because of him."

Martha returned to the defense table. To Markman's displeasure, Cat moved to the seat immediately behind her, close enough to touch hands and whisper. She didn't show such warmth toward Buzz.

"Your Honor, I think we see the situation here," Charley said, approaching the bench. "Isn't there an agreement to be found?"

"Mr. Markman?" Judge Owens summoned.

"There has to be some jailtime, Your Honor," Markman said. "Despite their later good intentions, Miss Hollinger was brutally injured due to the defendants' actions. And their inactions."

"The court will entertain a plea," Judge Owens said. "Have a sit down and bring me your decision in the morning. In the meantime, this court is adjourned."

Bailiffs came to take Martha and Buzz away. Both knew they wouldn't be going home anytime soon.

"You take care of yourself, darling," Martha said, giving Cat a last hug. "Try to eat better. Get some sleep."

"I'll try," Cat promised.

* * * * * *

"This was an experience," Cat said, packing her traveling bag.

"The Bureau feels you no longer require protective custody," Agent Powers said, helping with Cat's socks and underwear.

"Have you gotten my money back from Tommy yet? The money he stole from me."

"You may need to file a civil suit for that," Powers said.

"The reporters say he's headed for death row. How does anyone on death row get sued?"

"The county has a counselling service that can give you advice. In the meantime, we raised a donation for you."

Powers handed her an envelope with a check for $1500.

"Thank you. Now I just need to cash it without any identification."

"The DMV still hasn't replaced your driver's license?"

"They say I need ID to get an ID, and I don't have one. I don't have anything. Tommy took everything from me."

"I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, maybe this will help," Powers said. She reached into her purse and found $50.

"Thank you. Someday I'll pay you back," Cat said.

"Do you know where you'll be staying? Will you be with friends?" Barb asked.

"When I figure it out, I'll leave a message on your service," Cat replied.

"At least the press should leave you alone now. They've moved on. Earthquakes. Mass shootings. Celebrity divorces."

"That's comforting," Cat sighed.

Powers received an urgent call and said goodbye, rushing out the door. Cat roamed around the luxury suite one last time, gathering soap, toothpaste, and other personal essentials. There were two bottles of wine left in the bar, and some food in the kitchen. She took as much as she could carry.

At checkout time, Cat rode the elevator down to the lobby and emerged on McKinney Avenue. It was a cold November day, and she had no clue what to do next.

* * * * * *

Chapter Four

LAWYERS IN THE WOODWORK

"Miss Hollinger?" the man in a rumpled blue suit inquired.

"Who's asking?" Cat replied.

"Jesse Paranay, Paranay and Paranay, Attorneys at Law," he said, handing her a business card. "I haven't been able to reach you by phone."

"I don't own a phone," Cat responded.

They were standing outside the Long Branch Motel in Southeast Dallas where Cat rented a room by the week.

"You aren't easy to find," Paranay said.

"That's been a problem for a long time."

"I've come to speak about your lawsuit."

"Who's suing me?" she asked, pausing on the sidewalk. Cars went by. Stragglers wandered past. A tent housed a homeless person across the street.

"No, no one is suing you. You are doing the suing."

"Who am I suing?"

"Thomas Varoom, Walter Manson, the estate of Leonard Knox, James Yearling, and every other perpetrator who abused you during your captivity. Thanks to the FBI, we've got slam-dunk cases. We just need to start filing them."

"We?"

"Paranay and Paranay will be your lawyers. Usually we specialize in personal injury, but for you, we're willing to make an exception."

"That's very generous."

"Not at all. Where can we sit down to sign the papers?"

"I need to think on this," she said, stepping into the motel entrance.

"You don't need to think," the eager lawyer protested.

"Yes, I do. After two years of living in cages, I need the practice."

"How about if we prove our worth? Get you a meeting?"

"A meeting with who?" Cat warily asked.

"Jimmy Yearling."

"Mr. Yearling is doing a ten-year prison sentence."

"His lawyers aren't, and he's still worth fifty million dollars."

"And you think he'll give the fifty million to me?"

"Not all of it," Paranay answered.

"I'd rather not," Cat said.

She was carrying a small bag of groceries, and it was a cold November day. Her coat wasn't the best. When she turned to go inside, Paranay grabbed her arm.

"Please. You need this, and so do we," he begged. Cat pulled away.

"Leave a message for me at the desk," she replied.

The lawyer continued pestering her but Cat had no patience for it. She climbed the narrow staircase to her second-floor rooms, using the old-fashioned key.

There weren't many groceries in the bag. A quart of milk. Loaf of wheat bread. Beans and rice. A carrot. The front room had a small refrigerator and a microwave, which she was grateful for. Two wood crates, found in the alley, were acting as her pantry, much of it scavenged from dumpsters. Another crate was being used for her coffee table, the old one being broken. There was a tattered sofa and a padded chair, but Cat preferred to sit on the floor, using frayed cushions. A pile of magazines retrieved from an alley gave her something to read, though she mostly looked at the pictures.

After putting the food away, she went into the tiny bedroom to hang her coat in the closet. The closet door had a tendency to come open, making it necessary to keep it latched. She laid down on the lumpy bed, staring at the water-stained ceiling.

She spent a lot of time staring at the ceiling. The nightmares were getting worse. During the trials, with everyone telling her how important her testimony was, she'd managed to stay busy. Now all she had was time.

Still no work, she thought. Not only were jobs scarce, but what could she do? Unable to sleep at night, she grabbed a few hours during the day. Not a good schedule for a retail worker with no recent job experience.

She tried not to let money worry her, but the donation from the FBI wasn't going to last much longer. At least she had enough to buy a bottle of Southern Comfort. The whiskey helped keep her warm on cold nights.

The motel window overlooked the railroad tracks. She'd heard of hobos jumping on freight trains to visit far off lands, but doubted that was a good idea. She had never quite gotten her strength back.

She would have watched TV, if she had one. She did have a few paperback books from the Salvation Army. Was it time to finally read Wuthering Heights? She had been meaning to for years. But she didn't have the energy, so she drank instead.

* * * * * *

The rain was cold as she walked along Malcom X Boulevard, passing the cemeteries. She entered one, finding a gravestone covered in leaves from a willow tree. Lawrence K. Hollinger, Husband and Father, the epitaph read.

He's been gone more than two years now, she thought. Mother has been gone nine. She knelt in the damp grass to say a prayer for her adoptive parents and moved on.

She saw a help-wanted sign in an eatery window. The diner looked clean, a throwback to another time. The food smelled good.

"What position are you looking for?" Cat asked the harried manager. The husky black woman, getting ready for the lunch rush, gave Cat the once over.

"Dishwasher, honey."

"I can wash dishes," Cat said.

"Not in this neighborhood."

"Why?"

"Sorry, honey, no one is hiring pretty young white girls to wash dishes around here. It would be asking for trouble."

Cat wanted to argue but didn't see the point. She went back out, trying to stay near the buildings and not get wet.

The next day, on another rainy morning, Cat found herself all the way down at the end of South Fork. A help wanted sign drew her into a shabby nightclub. It was a glitzy establishment, with flashing lights and garish posters of showgirls. There was a stage with a runway, tables, and about sixty chairs.

"We're not open yet," a broad-chested bartender with Popeye arms said.

"I'm looking for work," she answered, moving toward the bar.

"We've got plenty of dancers," the big man said. He wore a black vest over his long-sleeve white shirt. According to the nametag, he was Gus Berlow, the manager. By his red cheeks, Cat guessed he drank as much as she did.

"I can bus tables. Clean the kitchen. Or the bathrooms," Cat offered.

"We have mobbed-up unions for that. Sorry," Gus said. But then he looked up. "Hey, wait. Aren't you Catherine Hollinger?"

"I was," she replied, turning to leave.

"Don't run off. Let me take a look at you."

He ran around the end of the bar, drawing her under bright lights below the stage.

"Not bad. I could make money off of you," he decided.

"How should I be taking that?" Cat asked.

"Dancing. You'd be dancing."

"I don't understand."

"This is a gentleman's club. The girls dance. Minimum wage plus tips. Sometimes adds up to $400 a night."

"What would I need to do? Just dance?"

"While taking off your clothes."

"Oh," Cat said, taking a step back. "How much of my clothes?"

"All of them. This is a classy joint. Strip down and let me see you."

Cat noticed a janitor and a dishwasher watching them.

"I can't take off my clothes."

"Promoting you would cost money. I can't buy a pig in a poke."

"I'm not a pig." Cat objected.

"It's just an expression. Your name would draw a crowd, but I need to know what my customers would be paying for. Make sure you're worth it."

"Thank you for the opportunity, sir. I'll need to think about it," Cat said, heading for the door. She was stopped.

"I'll guarantee $500 a night. And pay for your costumes," he offered.

"Please step out of my way, sir," Cat insisted.

A moment later, she was back on the sidewalk. A cold wind blew through. She looked up at the building's neon sign. A gentleman's club. She'd had enough of those. Besides, she thought, I'm a terrible dancer.

* * * * * *

It had been another fruitless day of job hunting when she finally returned to the Long Branch soaked to the skin. The water in her shower wasn't hot, but warm was better than nothing. She rolled up in a thick blanket, her favorite thing to do, and sat next to the wall heater while drinking Southern Comfort. She'd need another bottle soon. There was a knock on the door. She answered it wearing a long t-shirt and socks.

"You have a message," the grouchy building manager said, handing her a note. An old bald man in coveralls.

"Thanks, Mike," Cat said, rushing back to cuddle next to her wall heater.

It was from the lawyer. Paranay. He had set up a sit-down with Jim Yearling's attorney regarding her lawsuit.

I may as well go, she thought. Maybe they'll buy me lunch.

The nightmare was bad that night. The kitten dream again. Master #4 thought it a wonderful joke, but he was doing a life sentence now, so maybe the joke wasn't so funny. She woke up on the floor with a cut on her forehead, having hit the nightstand going down. It needed a bandage.

Cat only had one good outfit, the charcoal gray suit she'd worn throughout the trials. It was still in decent condition. Maybe a little frayed along the hem. She added a white scarf from the dollar store and made sure her ankle-length boots were dry before going out.

The DART went downtown where she found the towering office building on First Street. The law firm was located high above the city. She rode the elevator up alone, wondering if she should turnaround and go home. The 50th floor lobby was glistening with white marble.

"Catherine? Catherine Hollinger?" a young man said in surprise.

It was the skinny curly-haired lawyer she'd watched several weeks before, nicely dressed in a dark brown suit and red tie. He gave her a big smile.

"You're Mr. Tieman. You represented Martha Johnson."

"Call me Charley. How have you been?"

"How is Martha?"

"Doing well. With good behavior, she'll be out in four months. Mr. Johnson will be out in two years, thanks to you."

"That's great. What are you doing here? Do you work here?"

"Me? Up here with the giants? No, I'm visiting my boyfriend. My practice is down on 4th Street with the common folk. What are you doing here?"

"Hoping someone will buy me lunch."

"I will if they won't. Drop by my office when you have time."

"That would be nice, but I don't get up this way much."

"Where are you living?"

"The Long Branch."

Charley stepped back to take a better look. He hadn't seen it before, but now it was obvious. He gave her his card.

"If you need anything, anything at all, please let me know," he offered.

"Thanks, Charley," she replied. "Where do I find Judson, Taylor, and Wilkerson?"

"They occupy this whole floor," Charley said. "But the main desk is right down there."

Cat walked where Charly pointed, finding Jesse Paranay in the hall.

"I was getting nervous you wouldn't show," Paranay said, still wearing a rumpled blue suit. He held a folder but no briefcase.

"I'm on time," Cat replied.

"The receptionist knows I'm here," Paranay said, leading her through the glass doors.

The décor was fancy, with stylish modern artworks and terracotta sculptures. The floors were thickly carpeted. Only a few people were waiting for their appointments, all expensively dressed.

"Coffee!" Cat shouted, rushing to the coffee bar.

Paranay was talking to her about something, but she wasn't paying attention. All she saw were roast brews with real sugar and real milk. She was tempted to fill her purse but knew it would be uncouth.

"Mr. Paranay? Mr. Judson will see you now," the executive secretary summoned from the elaborate reception desk.

Cat followed Paranay down a wide hallway to a walnut-paneled conference room. Big windows overlooked the city. Three lawyers and a stenographer waited for them. Cat recognized Grayson Judson and Ashley Wilkerson from the trial where they had defended James Yearling. The third lawyer she hadn't seen before. He was a lanky young man in his late-20s with sandy blond hair and inquisitive brown eyes. He had a friendly demeanor.

"Welcome, Miss Hollinger," Judson greeted, rising to shake her hand. "May we get you anything?"

The distinguished senior lawyer still had his trimmed gray beard, soft blue eyes, and wire rim glasses. He looked grandfatherly.

"No," Paranay said.

"A sandwich," Cat corrected. Judson sent a quick text.

"You remember my partner, Ashley Wilkerson?" Judson said. "And this youngster is our associate, Russell Hartley."

Ashley remained the elegant, late-30s professional Cat recalled from that day in the courtroom, with dark auburn hair and a light red business suit. Russell was rakishly handsome.

"You can call me Russ, Miss Hollinger," he said, pulling out a chair for her.

"Cat," Cat said, settling in. She still had the coffee cup, savoring every sip. Paranay sat next to her, opening his folder.

"We're here to--" Paranay started.

"Let's not hurry," Judson said, holding up his hand. "Miss Hollinger--"

"Cat," Cat interrupted.

"Cat. Our client, Jim Yearling, wishes to thank you for your testimony at his trial," Judson said.

"He was found guilty," Cat said in surprise.

"Jim could have been looking at twenty-five years to life, like Varoom's more prominent clients," Judson explained. "It wouldn't have taken much from you to make that happen. By hedging your testimony, it made a big difference."

"He wasn't so bad as the others," Cat explained.

"In what respect?" Russ asked, getting a frown from the senior partners. Cat wondered if they really wanted to know.

"Mr. Yearling didn't beat me, or torture me, or play sick mind games," Cat answered. "And he let me have a blanket."

"A blanket?" Russ questioned.

"When you've slept on stone floors for a year, chained hand and foot, butt-naked and cold, you can't imagine what a blessing a blanket can be."

That stopped the conversation. Cat wasn't making accusations or complaining. Or feeling sorry for herself. She was just stating a fact.

"Nevertheless, Yearling needs to pay for what he did to my client," Paranay said. "He needs to pay big. Millions. We're going to get compensation for the raping and brutality my client suffered."

"She just said Jim wasn't brutal," Ashley pointed out.

"Miss Hollinger suffered grievous injury. She needs to be compensated," Paranay insisted. Cat glanced at him, looking irritated.

"What do you think? Cat?" Judson asked.

"Were you able to find a sandwich for me?" she answered.

A moment later, a secretary entered with a tray of sandwiches and fresh fruit. Cat selected tuna and tomato on rye bread, trying not to embarrass herself by chowing it down. No one else was eating.

"If you'd like to take some home with you, we can get you a bag," Ashley offered.

"That would be wonderful. Thank you," Cat gratefully said.

"We're open to discussion," Judson offered. "Though our client will not be exploited, and there can be no admission of guilt."

"A non-disclosure agreement is going to cost you. Cost you big," Paranay said. "If we go to trial, my client will rip Yearling a new one. Miss Hollinger has access to media interviews. She can write a book."

Cat did not appear to react well to that, putting the sandwich down and fumbling for a napkin. Paranay wasn't paying attention, but others were.

"We certainly would not wish to incur such bad publicity," Judson said. "Are you suggesting a figure?"

Paranay slid the folder across the table, grinning.

"A hundred million dollars?" Russ said. "You want a hundred million dollars?"

"He can afford it," Paranay replied.

"You aren't starting off well, Mr. Paranay," Judson warned with an impatient frown.

"We're negotiating from a position of strength. We know it, and you know it. Your big office doesn't intimidate me."

"We'll need to consider your demands, of course. And consult with Mr. Yearling," Judson said, pushing the document back. "In the meantime, is there anything we can do for you?"

"You can--" Paranay started.

"No thank you, sir," Cat interrupted, standing up. "You've been very gracious. May I use your restroom?"

"This way," Ashley said, taking her down the hallway. The women's room was very clean and polished. Cat needed to make adjustments to her personal needs in the stall, then sought to fix her make-up in the giant mirror.

"May I ask a delicate question?" Ashley requested.

"I don't have many secrets. Not anymore," Cat agreed.

"All that time you were a hostage. Did the men use protection? Were you ever--"

"How come I never got pregnant?"

"Yes."

"During my time in captivity, the masters were very rough with me. After I was rescued by the FBI, their doctor said I'll never be able to have children. There's too much damage."

"Oh my God. I'm so sorry," Ashley said, hands pressed over her mouth.

"It makes me sad," Cat admitted.

As they emerged from the restroom, Russ was waiting outside.

"We'll catch up, Ash," he said, keeping Cat back. Cat looked curious. He seemed a pleasant young man, and good-looking. There was a nice, easy way about him.

"You know my friend? Charley Tieman?"

"I've met him a few times," she answered.

"He's talked about you. He was really moved by what you did for Martha Johnson. He cried."

"I'm glad she was able to get a light sentence. It worried me a lot."

"After what she did? After what her son did?"

"They were afraid," Cat said with a shiver. "I know what it's like to be scared."

"We followed your court appearances. We all did. It was necessary for preparing Yearling's case. I want to say how brave I think you are."

"Everybody said I needed to stay strong. If I didn't, Tommy and his clients would get away with killing those women. I did my best."

"With my firm representing Mr. Yearling, and you having your own representation, we can't formally meet outside of work. But if you and Charley had dinner, and I just happened to be nearby, we could talk. Not about the case. Other things."

"I'm not dating anyone. At the moment," Cat hinted.

"I'm gay," Russ replied.

"That figures."

"Charley and I are a couple. We share a condo in Lake View."

"That must be nice."

"What do you think? Maybe get together for dinner?"

"That sounds great, but I don't get out much these days," Cat discouraged.

"Charley really likes you."

"I thought Charley is gay, too?"

"He doesn't like you that way. He just likes you. You really impressed him."

"That doesn't happen very often," Cat said, going back to the conference room.

She found Judson and Paranay sitting off to the side. Judson looked relaxed. Amused. Paranay was intent. Frowning. Being tough. Cat went to the 50th floor window, where Ashley joined her.

"You can touch the sky from up here," Cat said, daring to feel the glass. It was a cold but clear day. The rain had finally moved on. It looked like the entire world lay before them.

"Never seen Dallas from a tall building before?" Ashley asked.

"Never seen any city this high up. I was born in Sacramento, but after the Hollingers adopted me, I grew up in Fresno. I'd only been living in Texas a few years when I was kidnapped. Most of that time was spent taking care of Dad."

"I read that your birth parents died?"

"A drunk driver crashed into them on the freeway. They say I was in the backseat, but I was too young to remember."

"Your adopted mother?"

"Cancer. I was twelve."

"You haven't had much luck, have you?"

"What I don't understand is all those men. Like Mr. Yearling. They had money. Success. Fine homes. Some had wives and children. And they threw it all away, just so they could torment a poor orphaned nothing like me. It doesn't make sense."

Ashley noticed Cat rubbing her hands together. Trembling. Cat put her mittens on.

"Honey, are you all right?" Ashley inquired.

"I'll be fine."

"Mr. Judson will get you some sort of settlement, if we can agree on terms. It's our responsibility to protect Jim Yearling's interests."

"I'm not worried about that," Cat dismissed.

"I had my secretary pack up the food for you."

"Thank you, that's very nice."

"Where are you staying?" Ashley inquired.

"South of downtown."

Ashley didn't press her. The lawyers returned to the table.

"Okay then, let's summarize the situation," Judson said. "Miss Hollinger wants a hundred million dollars, and her dazzling attorney is willing to play hardball to get it."

"Very hardball," Paranay said.

They looked at Cat, sitting quietly. She was clutching a cloth bag with the firm's logo on it. Every once in a while, she glanced inside, smelling the contents.

"Well, Mr. Paranay, you've given us a lot to think about," Judson said. "This has been a very insightful meeting. Thank you for coming."

"Aren't you going to make a counteroffer?" Paranay asked.

"We'll be considering our options," Judson said, shaking his hand. He smiled at Cat. Ashley helped her out of the chair, feeling skinny bones underneath the shabby coat.

"It was nice meeting you," Russ said, daring to give Cat a light hug. He noticed the thin bones, too.

"Thank you for lunch," Cat said, rushing for the elevator.

"When should I expect to hear from you?" Paranay asked.

"In time," Judson responded.

Paranay met Cat in the hall. He offered to carry the bag, but she hung on with both hands. They rode the elevator down together, walking through the grand lobby out to the busy sidewalk. The DART station was only a block away.

"That went great, didn't it?" Paranay said.

"You and I don't have any sort of agreement, do we?"

"Not yet. I wanted to prove what I can do," Paranay replied.

"That's good," Cat said. "You're fired."

* * * * * *

Cat stopped at the drug store on her way back to the Long Branch. Though some said it was a bad neighborhood, she hadn't had any trouble. Often recognized from the trials, she got an occasional wide-eyed stare or rude remark, but no one bothered her.

"I'm here to get my prescription. I finally have my driver's license," Cat said at the pharmacy window, sliding the prescription through. The pharmacist went in the back, returning a moment later.

"Let me explain these," she said, showing the instructions.

"That's okay," Cat said, reaching for the bottle.

"This is a strong sedative," the pharmacist warned. "Only take one before you go to sleep. Don't take them with alcohol."

"Yes, ma'am," Cat acknowledged.

The walk to her motel only took twenty minutes. Though the street was dirty and congested, Cat didn't care. She was happy, gripping the bag of sandwiches and sleeping pills. She bought tacos from a street vendor. She listened to an old black man playing a banjo on the corner, gave him a dollar, paused, and then gave him another dollar, stuffing it in the jar. She stopped at the graveyard again to visit her father's tombstone. There were other tombstones, too.

Beloved Wife and Mother.

Beloved Sister.

Blessed Daughter. We miss you.

Cat refused to cry, walking the last few blocks and up the stairs to her room. She had to fumble with the key, refusing to put the bag down for even a moment.

The room was cold, as always. She turned up the wall heater to full, got out of the uncomfortable suit, and wrapped herself in a blanket. The law firm grocery bag had extras in it. A fruit bowl. A bottle of white wine. She sat on the floor drinking the wine and eating strawberries. Then she took out the pills.

There were twenty of them. She laid them out, counting each one. Arranging them in patterns. When the wine was gone, she found the Southern Comfort. She ate a sandwich, and then the fruit.

As the evening grew late, she felt full. And drunk. She poked around her bedroom, finding a small cardboard box in the nightstand. It contained steel handcuffs, purchased from the Army-Navy surplus store. Toying with them felt strange, both alien and familiar. She played at putting them on, but didn't dare fasten them. That was too scary.

* * * * * *

It was late in the afternoon when there was a knock on the door. Cat felt groggy. Hungover. She went to answer without thinking, wearing only a Six Flags t-shirt and white socks.

"Sorry to bother you," Ashley Wilkerson said with a smile. Though the smile quickly disappeared. "May I come in?"

"Sure. Sorry the place is a mess," Cat said, standing aside and then bolting the door.

Ashley was shocked by the conditions Cat was living in. The room felt chilly. The furniture, what there was of it, looked sixty years old. The carpet threadbare. The ceiling had water stains. And Cat looked awful. Her hair was a mess, her skin pale. There was little evidence she'd been eating properly or getting enough sleep.

"May I sit?" Ashley requested.

"Yes, of course," Cat said, taking her coat off the only padded chair. "Can I get you anything? I have orange juice. And oatmeal cookies."

"I'm fine."

"Let me get dressed," Cat said, ducking into the bedroom.

Ashley looked around the bleak room noticing the half-empty whisky bottle. Empty wine bottles. The grocery bag from her law firm lay on the floor, all the food eaten. The décor appeared retrieved from dumpsters. Wooden crates for tables. Worn pillows. A stack of tattered magazines.

Cat emerged a moment later wearing a red turtleneck sweater and slacks, fussing around the room before sitting on a crate.

"You must be wondering why I'm here?" Ashley said, setting another grocery bag on the floor.

"I'm clueless," Cat admitted.

"To avoid conflict of interest with your lawyer, I'm not here to discuss business."

"I don't have a lawyer," Cat said.

"But Paranay said he was representing you?"

"Mr. Paranay wanted to represent me, and said he would prove himself. Which he did."

"What about the lawsuit?"

"That was his idea."

"You're entitled to something."

"I guess," Cat said. She got up to probe around the room, finding the bottle of Southern Comfort.

"Can I make you a drink?" Cat offered. "Orange juice and whiskey? I have ice cubes."

"Thank you, that sounds good," Ashley said. Not because it did. She saw Cat wanted to be a good host.

"I don't get much company," Cat said, returning with two drinks in faded porcelain teacups.

"To friends," Ashley said. Cat sipped without saying anything.

"With your parents gone, have you no other family?" Ashley asked.

"No."

"But you have friends nearby, don't you?"

"I had friends in Fresno, before we moved to Texas. I lost contact with them."

"You worked in a stationary store?"

"At Michelle's. I was in charge of the art supplies. Ordering them. Organizing them. Selling them. It was lots of fun. The kids were especially fun."

"Will you be doing that again?"

"Probably not."

"Why? It sounds like you really enjoyed it."

"Things aren't the same now."

"Sweetheart, I don't wish to be indelicate, but I'm trying to understand. You have no family, no friends, no job, and by the looks of it, no money?"

"Gosh you lawyers are smart. Do you learn that in college?"

"I'm not trying to offend you."

"I know, I'm just teasing," Cat said, softly smiling.

It occurred to Ashley that she'd never seen her smile before. Or even come close.

"Paranay may be an embarrassment to the legal profession, but there are other lawyers who are good people. Russ's boyfriend, Charley, is a good guy. And smart."

"I've met Charley. He is so cute. It makes me wish he was straight. Or I was gay. I'm not sure how that's supposed to work."

Ashley smiled, thought about it, and then laughed. "You're funny," she said.

"If you're representing Mr. Yearling, shouldn't you be recommending a bad lawyer?"

"Don't tell anybody, I might get fired."

"They'd fire you?"

"Now I'm the one who's teasing. No one can fire me. I'm a partner. And you should have a good lawyer."

"I'll think about it."

"What are you doing for Thanksgiving?"

"When's that?"

"Tomorrow."

Cat looked surprised. Then she glanced around the room. Ashley couldn't make out what she was searching for, though something seemed off. Something ominous.

"I'll have a busy day tomorrow," Cat said.

"That's good. May I use your restroom?"

"Of course. Watch out for the toilet, sometimes you have to flush it two or three times."

Ashley saw the tiny bedroom was just as dreadful as the living room. It didn't have to be. It was like Cat didn't care. In the bathroom, she dug through her purse, found a bottle of perfume, and poured it on the sink top.

"Cat, I apologize. I spilled something. Do you have paper towels?" Ashley said, rushing back to the living room.

"I have a dish towel," Cat said, going into the bathroom to clean up.

Ashley wasted no time, searching the corner of the room that had taken Cat's attention. And there they were. White pills, arranged in circles on the floor. The bottle indicated a strong sedative.

When Cat returned a few minutes later, she found Ashley cleaning the living room. The crates had been moved. The magazines picked up. Pillows fluffed.

"You don't need to do that," Cat said.

"It's my pleasure. Oh, I brought presents."

Ashley had Cat sit in the padded chair and knelt on the floor, opening the bag.

"Here's a bottle of fine wine for the holidays. A nice cabernet. And here is a cheese tray with deli meats, and a delicious clam chowder."

"I love care packages," Cat said with big eyes, making Ashley laugh.

"After the holidays, we're going to get together and work something out," Ashley said, getting up. "Thank you for letting me visit."

"I enjoyed it," Cat responded. "Have a blessed time with your family."

Once Ashley was gone, Cat put the new groceries away, happy with the unexpected bounty, and ate a bit of cheese. Then she found the Southern Comfort and looked for her pills. But they weren't where she left them. Or where she thought she left them. When she finally found the prescription bottle under a pillow, it only contained two pills. The rest were missing. She tried to remember where she'd put them.

* * * * * *

"Are you sure about this?" Charley asked.

"Ash told me Cat has no family, and no money to go anywhere," Russ said. "Are we so high and mighty that we can't treat her to a Thanksgiving dinner?"

"I'd like to see her, I'm just not sure about barging in like this," Charley replied.

"If she had a phone, we wouldn't need to barge in."

They knocked on the motel door. There was no answer.

"She must be home," Russ said. He spotted the super pushing a bucket and mop. "Excuse me, do you know if Miss Hollinger is home?"

"She sure as fuck is," the super said. "Knocked on my door in the middle of the night, drunk as a skunk, wearing nothing but socks and a t-shirt. Demanded her bill. I asked if she was checking out, and she laughed at me."

"Thanks buddy," Russ said, looking at Charley.

"Yeah, I don't like this, either," Charley concurred.

He pulled the super aside, returning a few minutes later with an extra key.

"I told him I'm her lawyer," Charley explained, working the lock.

They entered cautiously. The heat had been turned off despite the cold. There was no sign of Cat. Russ looked in the small bedroom and peeked in the tiny bathroom. He found an empty prescription bottle on the sink, and a drained bottle of Southern Comfort on the floor.

"This is disturbing," Charley said, looking under the bed. Then he noticed a coat. Two sweaters. The gray suit Cat had worn to the law office. A suitcase. It looked like someone had emptied a closet.

Oh my God, the closet, he thought. He turned, seeing a rickety clasp had slid down, holding the door closed. He hesitated to look inside, sure he'd find Cat's body hanging from a noose. What he found surprised him even more.

"What the fuck? Russ, grab a blanket! Grab a couple of blankets!"

Charley knelt down. Cat was lying on the floor, naked, hands handcuffed behind her back. A gag in her mouth. Her ankles were bound with twine. She wasn't moving.

"Thank God she's breathing," Charley said, checking for injuries.

Russ returned, watching as Charley tenderly wrapped the worn wool blanket around her.

"She's ice cold," Charley muttered. "Get that rope off her. We've got to warm her up."

Russ found scissors, cutting the twine, and rubbed her feet. Charley pulled the gag out of her mouth. Before long, Cat began to stir.

"Who are you?" she mumbled.

"Charley. Charley and Russ."

Cat came out of her stupor, her face turning red.

"This is awfully embarrassing," she said.

"Are you hurt? Who did this to you?" Charley asked.

"The key is on the nightstand," Cat responded. Russ quickly had the handcuffs removed.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, pulling the blanket tighter.

"What are you doing in this closet? Or should I guess?" Russ replied.

"Please don't tell anyone," Cat answered. "I don't want to spend the holidays in a mental ward."

"We won't say a word," Russ promised.

"Wait. What are you saying?" Charley asked. "Was she trying to kill herself?"

"Don't be dramatic," Cat said, struggling to stand up without losing control of the blanket. "I got drunk, took a few pills, and got a little depressed. I'll be fine now."

"You don't look fine. You look terrible," Charley disagreed.

"Wow, what a gentleman you are," Cat replied.

* * * * * *

Continued in part three, Catherine finds new friends.