Twilight on the Road Home

Part Four

by G. Lawrence

The calm before the storm

Recap: Catherine is slowly finding her way back from her kidnapping ordeal, though her new friends cannot fathom her recent meeting with James Yearling at Huntsville Prison. This story is told in six parts. All characters are over 18 years old.

* * * * * *

Chapter Seven

PRESENTS UNDER THE TREES

Two days after the visit to Huntsville Prison, and a swanky dinner in Houston's finest steak house, Judson and his wife left for Paris. The boys were preparing for Christmas in Boston. Cat considered having a small tree, and then decided it was too much trouble for just one person. She would draw a tree instead.

"You're okay with this?" Russ asked.

"I'm looking forward to peace and quiet. You guys make so much noise when you're having sex."

"We do not!" Russ protested.

"I would, if it was me," Cat said.

"Judson left something for you," Russ announced, giving her an envelope. "This is documentation for your new bank account from the settlement offer. It has $56,000 in it. And here is your new credit card, and your debit card."

"I'm rich!" Cat joyfully exclaimed.

"You're getting there. When Charley and I get back, we're going to find a car for you. If you need anything, call us or Ashley."

"I can't bother anybody during Christmas," Cat protested.

"It's not a bother. It gives us peace of mind knowing you're okay."

"I guess that makes sense."

"A lot of sense. What project are you working on over there?" he asked, pointing at her drawing table.

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

"It's a sketch for Mr. Yearling. To hang on the wall of his cell."

"A sketch? Of what?"

"Me. If he has a woman on his wall to look at, maybe he won't turn gay in prison."

"People don't turn gay because they're in prison."

"How would you know?"

"I guess I wouldn't. What is this thing with you and Jim Yearling?"

"We have history," Cat replied.

"Not the right kind of history."

"It's complicated."

Charley came in with their suitcases. The taxi to the airport would arrive soon.

"We're going to miss you," Charley said, hugging her.

"I'll still be sleeping in your bed," she replied.

"I left enough tranquilizers for four nights. Don't use them unless you need to," Charley instructed.

"Charley! What the hell? Do you think I'd overdose in your home? Have you guys come back to find my dead body? I'd never do that to you. Not ever!"

"You might go down to the homeless park, get drunk, feel sorry for yourself, and think a few pills might help," Charley cautioned.

"I promise not to do that. Not while you're gone," Cat said, trying to make it sound like a joke.

"You have a cell phone now, so we're going to call you every day," Charley insisted. "Maybe twice a day."

Cat wanted to tease him, but it would only ruin his holiday.

"I promise to be good," she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

After they were gone, Cat returned to her studio, working on the sketch for Jim. She wasn't sure why she was doing it. He hadn't asked for one.

It was only the second self-portrait she'd ever attempted. The first she had given to her father. Tommy Varoom had stolen that one. Probably destroyed it. This one showed her in better days, though it was daring. She was nude, sitting on the floor, seen from the back. Only traces of her round bottom were visible. Long hair draped around her face as she looked over her shoulder with a fetching expression. There was a mysterious smile. Nothing like she truly felt.

Rolling the thick paper carefully, Cat put it in a tube and walked to the mailbox store on the corner. It was nice to pay with her own money instead of someone else's. She got several admiring looks. Apparently, despite difficult times, men still thought her attractive. At 5'4 and 100 pounds, with dark golden hair and deep brown eyes, few would have guessed she's spent nearly two years being bartered by a vicious criminal organization. An organization now destroyed.

Cat wondered how to spend the holiday. It was December 23rd. Tomorrow would be Christmas Eve. That had been a big night for her adopted family. Yule logs in the fireplace. Decorating the tree. Filling stockings. Making a big meal. She considered all of those, then laid down on the sofa, doubting she'd bother to get up anytime soon.

There was a knock on the door.

"Hello?" Cat sleepily asked, peeking out. It was Ashley. She pushed her way in, finding Cat in gym clothes and sleeping in the middle of the day. At least there weren't whisky bottles littering the floor.

"Okay, let's get you ready," Ashley said, going to Cat's bedroom. She pulled out her suitcase, found several appropriate outfits, and opened her underwear drawer.

"What are you doing?" Cat asked.

"Preparing you for the weekend."

"I don't understand."

"You're coming with me to the lake house. To have Christmas with Collin and the girls. You can help me cook the ham."

"I can't impose like that."

"This isn't up for debate, honey. After all you've been through, I'm not leaving you alone. You deserve a real holiday, with people who care about you."

"I don't have any presents."

"Bring your sketch pad. You can draw presents for us."

Ashley was driving her silver Mercedes. Traffic was light when they weren't near the Dallas shopping centers. The weather had turned dry.

"We'll be there in an hour. Our cabin is on a hill near the lake. We have a creek. A forest. Hiking trails. Fishing. Do you like fishing?"

"My father and I went fishing. It was a good way to spend time together."

"Your adoptive father?" Ashely asked.

"Yes. My birth parents were killed by a drunk driver when I was a baby. A nice couple from Fresno adopted me. I've always thought of them as my real parents. They're gone now."

"You'll like my girls," Ashely said, sorry to have invoked such sad memories. "Lady is seven now. She's a reader. Jenny is five. She likes to color Disney princesses in her coloring books."

"They sound smart. I don't read very much, though I wish I did. I like coloring, too. I'm experimenting with watercolors in my studio."

"Russ showed me the drawings you gave him. They're very good. You should go back to school."

"I'm thinking about it."

"How hard are you thinking about it?" Ashley asked.

"As hard as I'm able."

"Your meeting with Jim Yearling really surprised us. Grayson and I don't know what to make of it. He kept you prisoner in his house for three months. Raped you. They found whips and chains in his dumpster. Why don't you hate him?"

"I don't want to."

"I've known Jim for four years. I never thought him capable of such unspeakable acts."

"Maybe you shouldn't pass judgement on things you don't understand," Cat suggested.

"What does that mean?"

"It means I don't want to talk about it. You said Mr. Wilkerson is a banker. What does a banker do?"

"Banks accept deposits from their customers, pay them interest, and use the funds to make loans, earning dividends for their shareholders."

"So, they pass money around from one group to another and skim off the top? Like the casinos in Las Vegas?"

"We don't look at it that way."

"Am I wrong?"

"I'll have Collin explain it to you."

The cabin was among pine trees on a low hill. Made of logs with a shingle roof and a wide porch, Cat saw it was big enough for a family and several guests. A scrubby grass lawn led down to a short pier on a blue lake twenty-five yards away.

"It's beautiful," Cat said, enjoying the fresh air.

"We like it. We try to get up here once a month, and for a few weeks during the summer."

The weather was cold but hadn't snowed. They saw that Collin and the girls had already arrived, smoke coming from the chimney.

"It's good to finally meet you," Collin said, giving Cat a hug at the door. The daughters shook hands, Lady being bold and Jenny shy. Collin was ten years older than Ashley, broad-shouldered with thinning black hair graying at the temples. The girls had his dark hair and Ashley's blue eyes. The cabin proved rustically charming.

"Let me show you your room," Ashley said, taking Cat down the hall. "You have your own bathroom, and the blanket is electric if you get cold. Settle in, then we'll think about dinner."

"Mrs. Wilkerson. Ash," Cat said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, dear."

Cat unpacked her bag, sat on the bed for a moment, and saw a shelf of books, promising herself to read one.

* * * * * *

Cat made breakfast the next morning for herself and the girls, letting Ashley and Collin sleep in.

"You're famous," Lady said. "I read about you on the internet."

"It's not always good to be famous," Cat replied.

"I read that bad things happened to you, but you were very brave and put the bad men in prison," Lady persisted.

"Many people worked hard to convict them. I just helped."

"Do you carry a gun?" Lady asked.

"Me? No. Not yet," Cat said.

"Do you have a job?" Jenny questioned.

"No. I tried to find one, but I don't sleep well, so it was hard. Now I keep house for Charley and Russ. And I draw."

"You draw? What do you draw? Did you bring any?" Jenny said.

"I brought my sketch pad."

"Can I see you draw something?" Jenny begged.

When Ashley and Collin emerged from their bedroom still in their pajamas, they found Cat and the girls at the coffee table before the fireplace. The girls were drawing while Cat leaned over, giving instructions. Everyone had faces smudged with colored chalk.

"Look, Mom!" Jenny said, showing her a sketch of a princess.

"I drew Cat," Lady said, showing an engaging work using simplistic lines.

"These are very good, darlings. You are very talented," Ashley praised, handing them to Collin.

"Wow, these are good. I think we have a teacher in the house," he said. Cat blushed.

"I made sausages, scrambled eggs, and grits," Cat announced, running into the kitchen.

"Honey, you don't need to do that," Ashley said, going to help.

"I don't mind," Cat answered.

Being Christmas Eve, it was decided they would decorate the tree in the evening and spend the day outside. Until it got too cold. Collin rounded up the fishing gear.

The morning was foggy but gradually cleared. Cat saw people up on the main road walking or riding bikes, but only a few down near the lake.

The girls went out on the wooden dock with orders not to get in the rowboat. They seemed more interested in feeding the ducks than fishing. Ashley watched from a folding chair while reading a legal brief. Collin took Cat along the shoreline to the mouth of a bubbling creek carrying fishing poles.

"We catch a few here every now and then," he said, baiting her hook. He cast his line, then slowly reeled it in. Cat did likewise.

"You and your Pop went fishing?" he asked.

"We went to Shaver Lake. Or Huntington Lake. Sometimes we'd stay in a motel so we could get up early. Dad loved the outdoors."

"What did he do for a living?"

"He installed security systems. Mostly for stores. Gas stations. Warehouses. He did a medical clinic once. He was good with tools, until he got sick. Mom was handy, too. She made pottery."

"You must miss them."

"I hardly got a chance to miss Dad. A few months after he died, things happened, and everything was suddenly gone. The world we lived in disappeared so fast."

"I know it's hard. My father was a Marine in Lebanon when terrorists bombed his barracks. He was killed. I was only twelve. Mom went into a downward spiral and died a year later. We kids were lucky to have an aunt and uncle to raise us."

"I'm sorry," Cat said.

"We both know how that goes. We mourn, and we move on. Now I have a great wife. Great kids. A job I love. That's what makes everything worthwhile."

"I like your wife. I like her a lot. And the guys try so hard to cheer me up. Sometimes it makes me feel bad."

"Why would it make you feel bad?"

"I'm afraid of disappointing them. I'm afraid of disappointing everybody."

"You can't take the whole world on your shoulders."

"I guess that's true."

"Hey, it looks like you've got a bite," Collin said.

Cat braced her feet, slowly reeling the line in. Gradually, a silvery bass appeared, being pulled to shore.

"Nice catch," Collin said, fetching a net and a bucket. Cat froze.

"Cat? Catherine, what's wrong?"

Cat was staring at the fish, caught on the line in the shallow water. Helpless. Fighting for its life. Frantic. Suddenly she couldn't breathe. She dropped the pole and stepped back. Stepped back again. Collin saw a look of sheer terror in her eyes, and just like that, she was off and running.

Cat didn't know where she was going. It didn't matter. She ran through bushes, and into trees. When her jacket got caught on something, she fought to free it, then tore the jacket off and kept going. She couldn't see anything. Everything was a blur. She crashed into something and fell down, tried to get up, and fell again. And then she started crying.

"Dad, she's over here!" Jenny called out several minutes later. Collin rushed up, followed by Ashley. The girls were told to stay back.

"Cat, what's wrong? Honey, what happened?" Ashley asked. Cat couldn't talk, struggling just to breathe.

"I know," Collin said, kneeling next to her with a comforting hand on her shoulder. "That was you, wasn't it? The fish in the water."

"They kept me naked. Handcuffed. Legs tied together. They'd drag me around by a collar. They would yell at me and beat me. And then they would ... they would ... There was nothing I could do."

"Take a moment, honey. Take a deep breath," Ashley said, holding Cat in her arms.

"I should go home. Your daughters shouldn't see this," Cat said.

"Our daughters will be fine," Collin replied, helping her up. Cat wiped her eyes, attempting to compose herself. Her clothes were torn. They found her coat on the way back to the lake.

"There's something you need to see, Cat. Trust me," Collin urged, returning to the shoreline. Collin had her put on gloves.

"Look here," he said.

He showed her the bucket. The fish was alive, swimming in a circle. Collin carried the bucket to the edge of the water.

"We only catch and release here," he explained. "I want you to reach into the bucket and put the fish back in the water. Can you do that? Nice and easy."

Cat knelt in the cold water, scooped the fish out of the bucket, and watched it swim away. She started crying again. Ashley helped her up to the cabin to change clothes.

"Cat is really sensitive, isn't she?" Lady observed.

"The world has taught her to feel some things very deeply," her father replied.

"I bet that's what makes her a good artist," Jenny decided.

* * * * * *

They decorated the Christmas tree while the ham was baking in the oven. Cat drank two glasses of wine to stay calm, but wasn't going to get drunk. Then she sat on the couch between the girls, Lady reading her newest Girl Who book, Jenny showing her coloring books.

"You were afraid today, weren't you?" Lady asked.

"I'm sorry if I frightened you," Cat replied.

"It's okay. Dad explained," Jenny said. "You don't need to be afraid now."

"I won't be afraid while I'm with you," Cat agreed.

Ashley and Collin were watching from the kitchen.

"Having her release the fish was brilliant," Ashley whispered. "It was like she was freeing herself. And she does so well with the girls."

"She bounced back fast, but you've got to find her professional help."

"Cat says she's not ready."

"It's a shame she didn't get help right away."

"There aren't any miracles for PTSD. It's a process. Sometimes a long process."

"What about--"

"Let's talk after dinner," Ashley hushed.

The meal went well. Cat was quiet at first, but the more Lady and Jenny engaged her, the more she spoke. By the end of the evening, Cat appeared relaxed, smiling often at their jokes. Everyone turned in early. Ashley made sure Cat had a tranquilizer.

"What did you not want to talk about before?" Collin asked as they settled into bed.

"I'm sorry if inviting Cat disrupted our holiday."

"No, please, don't say that. I'm glad she's here. She's a role model."

"Role model?" Ashley asked.

"The girls see how difficult things are for Catherine. They read stories on the internet. There's no keeping the real world from kids these days. Where others might see a troubled woman, I see an amazingly brave woman. I think the girls see that, too."

"I'm so glad. I don't know that everyone does. I know Cat doesn't see herself that way. And this thing with Jim is bothering me, too."

"Yearling?"

"Yes. I think Cat may have Stockholm Syndrome."

"That's quite the diagnosis."

"When they met at the prison, something was going on that neither would talk about. After her rescue, the FBI and Dallas Police interviewed Cat for weeks. The transcripts are four hundred pages long, and the text is so graphic, the prosecutors only introduced edited versions in court. When the defense lawyers objected, they were shown the unedited transcripts in chambers, and they didn't want them introduced either."

"You saw them?"

"There is so much, and it's so awful, that after a while you just grow numb. But Cat barely mentioned Buzz Johnson. She only talks about the GPS collar he made that led the Texas Rangers to Varoom's compound. And how nice his mother is. Her references to Jim are even murkier."

"He's being held accountable, isn't he?"

"Jim got off easier than any of the others."

"Not to make excuses for anybody, but it sounds like those other bastards were a lot worse than Yearling."

"They were, and they're going to pay for it. Until this all happened, I had reservations about the death penalty. Now I can't wait for those degenerates to walk the last mile."

* * * * * *

"Hi, guys," Cat said, returning to the Lake View condo and dropping her suitcase near the door. She rushed to give them hugs. "How was Christmas? Are the families well?"

"My folks are doing great. And my brothers are still unmarried," Russ said. "How was your Christmas? At the lake house hobnobbing with the Wilkersons."

"It was wonderful. Don't tell me it wasn't planned that way?"

"Not by us. Ashley kept us in the dark," Russ replied.

"I'm going to take art classes. There's a workshop down the street from Charley's office," Cat announced. "And I think it's time to sue Tommy's clients. Ash thinks her firm and Charley should divvy up the cases because there are so many of them."

"Will these lawsuits include James Yearling?" Charley asked.

"Who?" Cat answered.

"There are plenty of people to sue," Russ said. "Charley, why don't you take the cases you want, and we'll pick up the rest."

"Giving me the easy ones?" Charley asked.

"Judson, Taylor, and Wilkerson have a big staff. Huge resources. You have a cubby hole on 4th Street with four associates," Russ answered.

"After this, I'll have an executive suite in the tallest tower in Dallas, and every wall will be decorated with Cat's paintings."

"I draw. I don't paint," Cat corrected.

"I've got a hunch you'll be broadening your horizons," Charley said.

* * * * * *

With a few days remaining in the year, Cat received an email message relayed from Huntsville Penitentiary. It was from James Yearling. Cat opened it.

Dear Miss Hollinger, thank you so much for the sketch. Everyone who sees it is impressed. I wish to beg a favor. It's not for myself. I have a friend who spends hours staring at your drawing. He would like a drawing of his little girls in their Christmas outfits, if you can. Their photo is attached. It would mean a lot to him. I heard you had a lovely holiday. No one deserves it more. Jim Yearling

Cat opened the attachment. The inmate was Jay "Blow Fish" Lincoln, a former professional boxer in prison for manslaughter. Cat remembered Captain Kendrick talking about the case. Blow Fish had killed a man who attacked his wife.

A call to Charley's office assistant got the information she needed. The Lincolns were still living in North Dallas near the airport. Cat stuffed her art supplies in a shoulder bag and called a taxi.

It wasn't the best part of town, reminding her of the Long Branch Motel, but bad neighborhoods didn't bother her. She wasn't carrying much money and wore her favorite baggy clothes. If confronted, she'd likely be recognized, and no petty crook wanted the kind of publicity that followed her around.

She knocked on the door of a tidy two-story wood-frame house. A tall slender black lady answered, curious to see a small white girl on her porch.

"What can I do for you?" Vanessa asked.

"My name is Catherine Hollinger."

"The Catherine Hollinger?"

"Yes. May I come in?"

It was a nice home, quaintly decorated. Two cute girls sat at the kitchen table doing homework. Cat guessed their ages at ten and twelve.

"Marley, Dee, this is Catherine Hollinger," Vanessa introduced, causing them to run over.

"Hello. We've heard of you," Marley said, the older of the two.

"It would be a surprise if you hadn't," Cat said. "I've come to ask a favor."

"Would you like coffee?" Vanessa asked.

Cat spent the entire afternoon making sketches. The girls as a pair in their new Christmas dresses, then each was drawn individually, the daughters with their mother, and their mother alone. Their cat. She thought it tremendous fun, and some of her best work.

"These are so good," Marley said, spreading the 14" x 17" sketches out on the dining room table.

"It's great to be inspired," Cat replied. "I'd like to keep three of them for your father. You're welcome to the rest."

"This is very nice of you, Cat," Vanessa said.

"We see so much of you on the news. They never treat you like a person, just a story," Marley said.

"I spent a long time not being a person," Cat responded without thinking. They seemed to understand.

"We won't ruin Daddy's surprise," young Dee promised.

"Did Jay have a good lawyer?" Cat asked. "From what Captain Kendrick said, he should have gotten a medal, not a prison sentence."

"Black men don't get treated the same as white men," Vanessa answered.

"Can I have my lawyer get involved? I don't want to butt in where I don't belong."

"We can't afford a decent lawyer," Vanessa said.

"There won't be a fee. He's my gay boyfriend," Cat explained.

"You have a gay boyfriend?" Marley asked.

"I have two gay boyfriends, and they're both excellent lawyers."

"Anything they can do for Jay will be appreciated," Vanessa agreed.

"Thank you," Cat replied, getting ready to go.

"Thank me? We need to be thanking you," Vanessa insisted.

"No. This has been a wonderful day for me. I'm out of the house. Meeting new people. Being a real person. Doing what I love. I don't need thanks for that."

"Let me call my brother from down the block. Get you a ride home. It's hard to find a taxi around here after dark," Vanessa offered.

* * * * * *

It had been a long Sunday morning bus ride. She told Charley she'd be gone most of the day, but didn't say where. It wasn't something he'd understand. Besides, the boys were still hungover from their New Year's Eve party, and Cat wasn't a huge football fan.

New Year's Day at Huntsville wasn't as crowded as she expected. Maybe the rest of Texas was hungover, too. She took a cab from the bus station, a cardboard tube under her arm, and waited in the lobby while her visitation request was being processed.

She found Jim sitting at the same table as before. The hesitation was gone, replaced by a big smile. He jumped up to pull out her chair. He was as handsome as ever, broad-shouldered with deep blue eyes and a square jaw. Cat noticed fresh coffee and oatmeal cookies from the vending machine.

"This is a surprise. No lawyers?" he greeted.

"Not official business, Mr. Yearling," Cat said. She was neatly dressed, prim and proper in an emerald green skirt with a matching jacket. She was wearing a slender chain necklace with a small gold cross.

"Do you realize that's the first time you've ever called me anything other than master or sir?"

"I called you master in captivity to avoid being beaten, and I called you master here to embarrass you."

"I was never going to beat you. You know that."

"Tommy would have. And worse, if he ever found out I broke the rules."

"It was embarrassing to be called master in front of Grayson and the others," Jim admitted.

"I enjoyed it," she boasted with a twinkle in her eye.

"Why are you here again?"

"Special delivery. Is Jay Lincoln nearby?"

"Blow Fish? Sure, he's right over there. He's in charge of the vending machines."

"Please fetch him for me. And sugar. Lots of sugar. This coffee is awful."

"Did you make a sketch for him? From the photo I sent?"

"From the photo? No, I didn't."

Jim hustled away, returning with a giant of a man. He had huge arms, a barrel chest, and a broad face with a smashed nose. The curly black hair was trimmed close.

"You're Catherine Hollinger," Jay said. "I recognize you from Jim's picture. It's beautiful. There's something haunting about it."

"I've seen your picture, too, Mr. Lincoln," Cat said. "I understand you wanted a drawing of your girls?"

"The one of you in Jim's cell says so much. He looks at it all day long. It's like you're right there with him. I was hoping to get that feeling for myself," Jay replied.

"Can I use that towel?" Cat requested. Jay pulled a rag from his back pocket, which she used to wipe off the table. Then she brought up the cardboard tube and popped the top off.

"This one is of Marley and Dee," Cat said, unrolling a charcoal sketch. It showed the girls sitting in their living room wearing their best outfits. "This is Vanessa wearing the pendant you sent her for Christmas. And here is one of all three."

Jay's legs went weak, forcing him to sit. Staring. His eyes started to water.

"They're beautiful. Just what I hoped for," Jay muttered. "But those clothes. The jewelry. None of this was in the photo."

"I had a lovely visit with them," Cat said, reaching into her pocket. "Here are some letters. Marley is getting good grades in math. Dee is starting for her basketball team on Wednesday."

Jay stroked the drawings, careful not to touch the black and gray lines. Then he rolled them up, reverently putting them back in the tube. He looked at Cat, wanting to say thank you, but he couldn't speak. He jumped up and hurried away.

"That was incredible," Jim whispered.

"I've found a new lawyer for your friend, but don't say anything until we know if he can help."

"I can't thank you enough for this."

"I don't want your thanks. I don't want anything from you."

"Then why did you do it?" he asked. Cat looked out the windows to the winter-stricken picnic area.

"I don't know. Why do I do anything?"

"This whole thing with the lawsuit. I can't let it rest. You know that, don't you?"

"Mr. Judson gave me my money."

"It's not enough. I need to do more."

"You're doing your time."

"And you're still doing yours."

"I'm fine," Cat insisted.

"I've been talking to Judson. We were going to pull a fast one on you, but I see now we need to be honest."

"Don't hurt yourself."

"I've contacted a cosmetic surgeon for you. Dr. Jillian Haverstock, in Boston. She's the best there is."

"I don't understand."

"Yes, you do. When you first came to me, you had scars from the previous whippings. I used that ointment from Switzerland to work most of them out. Another month or two, we would have gotten them all. Then I heard what Manson did to you. It makes me sick. If he was in the general population, there'd be a reckoning."

"Where did they send him?"

"The Feds are still investigating all the Clubbers. Apparently there are foreign connections that Homeland Security wants to know about. When they're through with them, they'll be transferred here. Manson's headed for death row."

"I'm hoping to get tickets to their executions."

"I'd like one, too. In the meantime, Dr. Haverstock is going to take care of you. After she's done, you can look in the mirror again. You'll be able to wear a bathing suit without being self-conscious."

"Why would you do that?"

"Why? It's my fault you have those scars. I thought I was so smart. Everything was under control, and the whole time, Varoom was playing me. And you paid for my arrogance."

"Mr.--"

"Catherine, I don't get to have a life until you get your life back. That's how it is. Judson is getting your schedule from Ashley. Just do it. Give yourself a break."

"I'll see what Charley and Russ think."

"That's a start."

* * * * * *

The early January morning was cold as Cat and Russ flagged a cab at Boston Logan Airport.

"You've made a good choice," Russ said. "You know what Charley's been saying about your self-esteem issues."

"Charley isn't a psychiatrist."

"He reads you pretty well."

"He's a Harvard-trained lawyer. I was a retail clerk. How hard could I be to read?"

"You're a woman," Russ replied, as if it answered the question.

"Are your folks really okay with this?"

"They love the idea. The moment they heard you'd be in town for five or six weeks, they refused to let you stay in a hotel."

"But--"

"Charley and I are serious when we call you our little sister. You're family. Mom and Dad say that makes you their family, too."

"I wasn't looking forward to being alone in a hotel," Cat admitted with a shudder.

"More nightmares?"

"I was standing in the bathroom last night. In front of the mirror. I remembered when Tommy stood behind me in his bathroom. He said to look close, because I'd never see that girl again. And he was right. All I see now is a stranger."

"Charley and I don't see a stranger. We see a friend who's fun, and talented, and always helping others. The woman in that mirror is an amazing person with a bright future."

"I don't know what the future means. It's so tenuous. Do you like that I know that word? Tenuous? It means unpredictable."

"It's dangerous to let you around books," Russ laughed.

"That's from a graphic novel," Cat explained.

"Dr. Haversack isn't your only mission in Boston. Between treatments, you have a schedule of tours, concerts, and plays. By the time you head home, you're going to be a very sophisticated young lady. Smart. Cultured. A debutant."

"I don't even know what a debutant is. It sounds weird."

"It means you'll be the toast of Dallas."

They reached an ivy-covered brick house in Brookline with broad lawns and tall spruce trees. Russ carried Cat's suitcases to the front door, which was quickly thrown open by a youthful middle-aged couple.

"Oh, good, you're exactly on time," Russ's mother said, a gracious lady with a warm smile.

"We feel like we know you already," Russ's distinguished father added.

"I hope I'm not imposing," Cat shyly replied.

"Don't be silly," Mrs. Hartley said. "We've heard so many good things about you. If Russell wasn't gay, we'd want you to marry him."

* * * * * *

Chapter Eight

HOMECOMING SUPRISES

Cat emerged from the Dallas airport terminal on a rainy February afternoon. Seven people were waiting for her, holding up signs saying Welcome Home Cat. Her boyfriends, the Wilkerson family, and Judson rushed to give hugs.

"You look wonderful," Ashley greeted.

"It's all that yachting at Martha's Vineyard. Salt air is good for the complexion," Cat explained.

"Tired?" Charley inquired.

"Hungry," Cat answered.

"Have you been drawing?" Lady asked.

"I've been drawing like crazy. Seagulls on Bunker Hill. Drunks sleeping in Boston Commons. Fenway Park covered in icicles."

"Did you make any for me?" Jenny hoped.

"A whole bunch of sketches," Cat said, handing her a folder. "But you'll need to color them yourself."

Jenny glanced inside, squealing with delight. Ashley made sure the drawings didn't fall on the wet ground.

"Any portraits?" Russ asked.

"A real nice one of your folks, Russ," she confirmed. "They're so great. I promised to marry you even if you are gay."

"I'm sure that made their day," Russ smiled.

After a big dinner in the fanciest steakhouse in Dallas, Collin took the daughters home so the lawyers could talk business.

"I guess you've heard about the lawsuits?" Charley said.

"You guess wrong," Cat replied.

"Their lawyers are being obstinate, but we'll get them in the end," Russ promised.

"My money will last a while longer, won't it?" Cat asked.

"You would have more money if you hadn't insisted on paying everybody back," Ashley complained.

"I can't be a charity case. It's bad enough I haven't repaid Mr. Yearling for those medical treatments. They were expensive, weren't they?"

"You shouldn't be worrying about that," Ashley replied.

"No one told her about phase two?" Judson said, finally speaking up. He looked grimmer than usual.

"Not yet. Cat and I will talk about it later. Privately," Ashley answered.

"Let's go. I want to show Cat the surprise," Charley urged.

"Everyone is being so mysterious," Cat questioned.

"You'll like this one," Charley promised.

Russ, Charley, and Cat drove back to Lake View, taking their time. The suburbs southwest of Dallas were upscale, the shops full, the streets busy. There were parks, and schools, and a Baptist University. For an old city, it looked young. They used the East Pioneer Parkway to cross the lake, turning into their gated community just north of the golf course.

When they reached the condo, the boys carried her bags to the foot of the shallow staircase. The condo rose in front of them, the boat harbor beyond. The former Naval Air Station was on the far side of the lake, the lights shining now that the sun had set.

"Though it's good to be home, I have sad news," Cat said before going up the steps. "Guys, you've been so great to me, but I can't keep imposing on you. You're a couple and need time together. I've decided to move out."

"Mom warned us," Russ replied.

"I want to say how much I appreciate everything you've done for me. You saved me. You've given me hope," Cat insisted.

"That's part of our surprise," Charley said.

"You like our place, don't you?" Russ asked. "The location? The layout? That sort of thing?"

"Of course, you have an incredible place," Cat agreed.

"Well, here we go," Charley said, gathering her bags and starting up the stairs. But at the landing, instead of going left to their own door, he veered right, stopping at the unit next to them.

"Charley, what is this?" Cat asked. He opened the door and went inside. Cat followed, seeing Ashley and Judson had gotten there first.

"Surprise!" everyone shouted.

"Surprise what?" Cat said.

"This is your home, Cat. I used your power of attorney to buy it for you," Charley replied.

"Look, it's the same layout as ours, only reversed," Russ pointed out, drawing her into the living room. "Two bedrooms, two baths. The same kitchen. Great views of the boats. We've already brought your studio over."

Cat saw her drawing table and easel set-up near the wide windows. Shelves were filled with her art supplies, though they'd need to be rearranged. Her favorite red wool blanket was on the sofa.

"There's something more," Charley said. He went to a wide panel in the middle of the wall, sliding it aside. Cat saw her living room opened directly into their living room.

"Russ cut a portal that goes straight through," Charley explained. "We're all still together, just with a lot more space."

Cat wasn't talking. She was crying. The guys went to hug her.

"I didn't want to leave you," she confessed, clinging tightly.

"We can't do without you, Cat," Charley said. "This was the best solution we could think of."

"It's a good one," Cat choked through sniffles.

"You can still make breakfast for us," Russ suggested.

"I'm not washing your car," Cat replied.

"Now that you have your own place, Missy, how about making drinks for everyone?" Judson suggested.

Half an hour later, after a tour of her new home, they were sitting in the living room with refreshments. Vodka martinis for the men, white wine for the women.

"How did the treatments go?" Russ finally asked.

"I'll show you. Most of you," Cat said, dashing into the master bedroom and emerging in a long white bathrobe. "Dr. Haversack is really amazing. She performed the procedures in stages. Sometimes they were painful. Usually not. Then while parts were healing, I'd run around the city causing mischief."

"You? Cause mischief?" Charley said.

"Without your restraining influence, sweet bird, I can be a troublemaker."

Cat turned around and raised the robe, showing the scars on her thighs seemed gone. Then she lowered the robe to show her shoulders.

"Okay, Grayson, you need to shut your eyes," Cat ordered.

"Really, Missy? Just me?" he said, though he quickly complied.

Cat stood before Ashley and the boys, dropping the robe completely, and turning several times with her arms out. Her figure looked great, trim at the waist and full in all the right places. Other than lingering redness, only faint traces of the scarring remained.

"Look, I'm pretty again," she said with tremendous relief. "I can sit around the pool without wondering what people are thinking."

"You're gorgeous," Charley agreed.

"It's a miracle," Russ said.

Ashley had a sharper eye, but even she was impressed. Cat put the robe back on.

"Okay, Grayson, it's safe," Cat announced.

"I was peeking," Grayson said.

"No, you weren't, but thank you for saying so," Cat said with a big smile. "And everyone, thank you. Thank you so much. When we first met, I thought my life was over. I've had nothing but blessings since the day I walked into Grayson's office. Who wants more drinks? If you can't drive home, I have a guest room!"

Cat ran into her bedroom to get dressed.

"Well, I guess we didn't need to worry about her coming home depressed, did we?" Russ said, refreshing the martinis.

"She looks great," Charley said.

"You would know more about that than I would," Judson grouched.

"What should we tell her about these accusations?" Russ asked. "She's going to hear about these jerks playing hardball."

"We've got our media assets ready to go, but I'm afraid the allegations are going to sting," Ashley said.

"They were floating these lies during the criminal proceedings," Charley said. "Nothing came of them."

"The Clubbers are claiming Cat was a prostitute hired for role-playing assignments, which supports the arguments their lawyers were making in court," Judson said. "And they've lined up a corrupt cable news network to sing their gospel."

"During the trials, the FBI and Texas prosecutors fired back to protect their cases," Ashley said. "Most of those cases are over. The government doesn't give a damn about civil litigation."

"They threw Cat out on the street when they were done with her, and now they'll throw her under the bus," Russ lamented.

"Let's go after these scumbags. The Clubbers, their lawyers, the media. All of them," Charley said.

"We'll do our best," Judson promised.

A few minutes later, Cat returned, startling them all. She was wearing a sheer blue evening gown. She'd done her makeup, brushed out her hair, and added a pearl necklace and silver earrings.

"I wore this to the opera. In Boston. Russ's folks took me," Cat said, showing off. "Everybody was singing in Italian."

"Stunning," Judson said. "Quite the sophisticated young lady."

"I wish I wasn't gay," Charley complimented, making her laugh.

"I've got another outfit that's extra fun. It makes me look sexy as hell, but very tastefully. I'm wearing it to Huntsville tomorrow," Cat announced.

"Huntsville!" several blurted.

"I need to thank Mr. Yearling for helping me," she said.

"You don't owe Yearling a damn thing," Charley grouched.

"Thanking him is not necessary," Ashley agreed. "He has his own reasons for wanting to help you."

"Ash!" Judson said, trying to hush her up.

"This isn't protected by client-lawyer confidentiality," Ashley said. "Jim is looking good for a new trial. The prosecution never should have allowed those other two women to testify."

"What I said was the truth," Cat protested. "As much truth as I was allowed to say."

"No one says different," Judson answered. "But the false testimony by the other witnesses poisoned the jury. It's the basis for Jim's appeal, and we're pretty sure it will be successful.

"Which means they'll be another trial," Ashley warned.

Cat wanted to ask what that meant, but she already knew.

* * * * * *

Cat didn't need to take the bus the next day, Judson hired a town car and driver for her. She sat in the back silently, just staring out the window. There was a roll of recent sketches on the seat.

Judson had called ahead, so the wait didn't take long. Apparently she'd been getting press coverage again, for all the guards recognized her. Most of them were friendly.

When she was escorted into the large cafeteria, she noticed the Lincoln family seated at one of the tables. Marley and Dee rushed over to say hello. Vanessa smiled and Jay waved his hand. Jim was sitting at a new table, all the way in the back corner.

Cat took off her heavy tweed coat to approach slowly. Her yellow sweater wasn't low cut, she wasn't foolish enough to wear such a garment into a prison, but it did show off her modest bustline to its best advantage. The flowing crimson skirt hugged her hips, accented by a snug leather belt and high black boots. Her only jewelry was the gold cross.

"Thanks for visiting again," Jim said, standing up for her. "Was Dr. Haversack successful?"

"You know she was. Everybody tells you all my secrets."

"My spies aren't that good. But with photographers following you around Boston, it was hard not to miss."

"They did what?"

"Don't you follow any news?"

"What for?"

"Have you ever voted?"

"I thought about it once," she answered.

"Catherine, you're becoming a hot topic of conversation again. The men you're suing are claiming you were paid."

"I was not paid by anyone!"

"I know that. Your friends know that. But it makes for a juicy story. It's not going away anytime soon."

"That will help your new trial, won't it? The jury thinking I'm a prostitute."

"Nothing will be said to impugn your integrity. Not by me. Not by anyone representing me."

"What does impugn mean?"

"It means no one will call you a prostitute."

"I can't change my testimony. It was the truth. Mostly."

"It's your truth. Don't change a word," he said.

"But--"

"I've got good lawyers. I'll let them do their jobs. There is something else. Did Ash talk to you about phase two?"

"They hinted about a phase two last night, but I passed out before anyone would explain it."

"Let me get us coffee."

"Poisoning me won't change my testimony," she laughed.

Jim got the coffee anyway. When he came back, Cat had unrolled several new sketches.

"I know you and Mr. Judson like boats. These drawings are from Battleship Cove. There are lots of ships there. This is a drawing of a fan dancer. She dropped her fan and everyone giggled. I have photos you should see."

Cat sheepishly took out two photographs. Nudes of her, taken from behind. One showed spiderwebs of whip scars on her back. They were severe mementos of her captivity. The second photo showed her after the treatments, now looking 95% better.

"You look terrific, Cat. Was there much pain?"

"Not much, and worth it."

"I'm glad. This really makes my day. Can I keep the photos?"

"No," she said, putting them away.

"Here's your coffee, and hold on to your hat."

"I'm not wearing a hat."

"Ashley wrote a memo to Judson, and he shared a portion of it with me. This is very delicate, but it can't be helped."

"Okay, more mystery. What is no one saying?"

"The FBI doctor said you were so badly damaged that you can't have children. True?"

"That really isn't any of your goddamn business," Cat said, looking down.

"I'm making it my business. And I don't accept what some government bureaucrat said to make their cases stronger. I've arranged for the Montrose Institute in New York City to see you. They're on the cutting edge. Let's have you checked by experts before admitting anything is impossible."

"I'm not going to change my testimony."

"Goddamn it! I don't give a fuck about your testimony," Jim shouted, causing dozens of heads to turn in their direction. "If I do the full ten years, then I do the full ten years. This is about you. Now I want you to talk to Ashley, and your boyfriends, and to Patricia Judson. She's a smart lady and had similar problems when she was young. Before having two sons and a daughter. Let's get this figured out."

Cat drank her coffee, as awful as it was.

"What would I need to do?" she asked.

"Judson will book a flight for you to New York. Dr. Keeler says the testing should take about a week. We'll get a nice hotel for you. And then you'll have real information. Better information."

"I was hoping the doctor might be wrong," she admitted.

"Then you'll do it?"

"I'll talk to Ash, and take her advice. I always take her advice. Usually."

"If our meetings make you uncomfortable, you don't need to come back. But I wish you would. You are ... It's always so good to see you."

"I like seeing you, too. But not like this."

"It is a bit of a role reversal, isn't it?"

"You should have better lawyers. You wouldn't be here."

"I told Grayson not to ask certain questions during the trial. He was following my instructions. You could have gone into more detail."

"Mrs. Pennington ordered me not to."

"The district attorney? Why?" Jim asked.

"I don't know, but I had to obey her."

"Why?"

"I don't understand your question," Cat replied.

"Why did you have to obey her?"

"The police gave her authority over me. I had to obey."

"Cat, when you go home, talk about this with your lawyer friends."

"Do you want me to tell them the whole story? The one I wasn't allowed to say in court."

"That's up to you. Even I haven't told Judson everything. At the end of the day, it doesn't change what I did."

"Jim? What did you do?"

"I think that's the first time you've ever called me by my first name. And I was stupid, Cat. Arrogant, naïve, and stupid."

FOURTEEN MONTHS BEFORE

Jim was getting impatient with the slave girl. She'd only come out of the cage for sex, or to use the bucket. She didn't eat all of the food he brought her, but drank as much water as she could. She kept looking at the whips, expecting to be beaten. By the morning of the third day, he'd had enough.

"Come out of there," he ordered, throwing the gate open. The woman dropped the blanket off her shoulders and crawled out to a floor mat, waiting for him on her hands and knees. Naked. Available. Despite the thin bones and scars, he thought her very pretty. He needed to remind himself of his resolve.

"No, not that. Get up. Get up," he demanded. She stood before him, head down, hands at her sides.

"What's your name?"

She wouldn't answer. He drew her toward the door. She pulled back, trying to return to the cage. He grabbed her around the waist, finding her too weak to resist him.

"You're coming with me," he said, picking her up.

They went up the stairs into the main house, smartly furnished with Italian décor. Paintings. Vases. Stylish furniture. He continued up to the second floor, pushed the master bathroom door open with his foot, and set her down on the toilet. He started running bathwater. She made a move for the door, which he blocked.

"Get in," Jim ordered.

She wouldn't move, looking at him like he was crazy. The big brown eyes were confused, and frightened.

"Get in or I'll throw you in," he threatened.

She climbed in the tub and sat still. Jim added bubble bath and offered her a bar of soap. She didn't move.

"Am I supposed to wash you, too?"

He did. Taking his time. Then he washed her hair. The tenseness in her muscles eased in the steamy hot water.

"See, this isn't so bad. You don't always need to be in character."

Cat hadn't been able to breathe, at first. She wondered what this guy's game was. Was he trying to trick her into breaking the rules? She would be punished for that. Punished bad. If she gave him her name, Tommy would kill her. Why was this man being so mean?

He drew her from the tub, drying her off. When he draped the towel over her shoulders, she dropped the towel off. When Jim tried to put the towel back on, she backed away. He brought her into the bedroom, lifting her on the king-size bed.

"Okay, I want you to stay here. Are you listening? Stay on the bed," he ordered.

Cat didn't respond. He left to go downstairs, giving her a chance to look around. It was his own bedroom, not a spare room, with big windows looking out into a private forest. There were paintings imitating Dutch masters. Thick furry carpeting. An oak desk and an easy chair. A large screen TV was mounted on the wall.

Jim returned carrying a silver tray. She saw cheeses, grapes, carrots, crackers, broccoli, and slices of pepperoni. He poured her a glass of red wine, made her hold it, and got on the bed behind her with a brush and hairdryer.

"You eat that," he said. "And that's a good wine. Very expensive. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, master," she replied. After three days in his custody, it was the first time he'd ever heard her speak.

"I think you're taking this game too far," he admonished.

"I think you're an idiot," Cat replied.

"What do you mean by that?"

But Cat had already said too much. Shocked she had been so bold, and so reckless. He hadn't hit her yet, but it was only a matter of time.

"That is so much better," Jim said as he finished brushing her hair. "Let's find you some clothes." He went to his dresser. His gym clothes were too big, but warm. She'd be comfortable.

"No," Cat said, backing off the bed into the corner.

"I want you to put these on."

"No, I won't."

"You can at least wear pajamas. And a robe," he said.

"No," she answered.

"You're awfully brazen."

"You're awfully stupid," she impulsively replied. Then she dropped to her knees, her head down. "I'm sorry, master. Please don't hurt me."

Jim saw the woman was trembling, her fingers clutched in the carpeting. He lifted her back on the bed, tucked her under the bedcovers, and laid down next to her.

"Do you want to tell me what's going on here?" he asked.

"I can't."

"Why?"

"It's against the rules, master."

"Stop calling me that. And what the fuck is it with these rules? This is my house. Tommy Varoom doesn't make the rules here."

"He makes my rules, master."

"He doesn't make mine. Do you want to leave? I'll take you wherever you want to go."

"I can't."

"But you won't say why?"

"I can't."

"I don't want you to lose your job, but no more sleeping in that cage. You're sleeping here with me. Using a real bathroom. In the morning, you're coming down and having breakfast with me. And no more walking around naked. Understand?"

It was clear to him that she understood. It wasn't clear if she would cooperate. Jim considered himself good at reading people, it made him successful in business, but he wasn't able to read her. She slowly sat up, studying him. Her heart was beating so hard he could almost hear it. Jim did nothing to hurry her, sensing she was making a difficult decision.

"Once a week," Cat finally said.

"What's once a week?"

"Let me sleep in the cage one night a week. So I can tell Tommy I didn't break the rules. And I'll wear a towel. A towel isn't clothes."

"I have you for the whole month. I'll get you a different color towel for each day of the week. And slippers."

"Please don't spoil me," Cat begged. He thought she was joking. He didn't find out until months later that she wasn't.

"Are you ready to tell me your name?"

"That will never happen, master," she replied.

* * * * * *

"Does the paparazzi always follow you around like this?" Dr. Keeler asked.

"Ever since I got to New York," Cat replied, sitting in the examination chair wearing a hospital gown. "I heard they were following me in Boston, but I never noticed."

"They're hard not to notice today. Security keeps chasing them out of the lobby. Is there a reason for it?"

"Probably, but I'd have to watch the news for that, and I'm not going to. It's never good."

"I'm sorry about the awful things those cable reporters are saying, but you have plenty of defenders, too. Passionate defenders."

"I really don't want to get into it," Cat dismissed.

The doctor had her lay back, using gynecological instruments, scanners, and other gadgets that Cat had never imagined. IVs were adding colored fluids and taking them away. It was uncomfortable but necessary. After several hours, she was allowed to get dressed.

"One more series of tests tomorrow, and then we'll have all the data we need," Dr. Keeler said.

"And then we'll know?"

"No, it will take a few weeks to process everything. We try not to raise our patient's hopes prematurely."

"But it's not a categorical no?"

"We're always learning new techniques. Nothing for us is ever categorical," Dr. Keeler replied. Cat didn't take that as the best news.

When she went downstairs to the lobby, she saw a dozen photographers outside on the sidewalk waiting for her.

"Need a lift?" a familiar voice said.

"Charley!" Cat said, rushing into his arms. "What are you doing here?"

"We played rock-paper-scissors to see who'd come, and I won. Are you ready to go home yet?"

"No. The final tests are tomorrow."

"How's it looking?"

"They won't say, which means it's probably bad. But I don't want to jump to conclusions. After all, I thought handcuffing myself in a freezing cold closet with a couple of pills and too much booze was a good idea. Then two gay guys showed up out of nowhere to prove me wrong."

"That happens a lot."

"We should sneak out the back way," Cat suggested.

"They've got that covered, too."

"Why?"

"You didn't hear?"

"I never hear anything, and whenever I ask, people answer with another question! It's really annoying."

"The Feds are finally done with Varoom, Powell, and Manners. They're being transferred to Huntsville at the end of the month. They're claiming to be the victims of a conspiracy, and that you're the mastermind."

"Me? A mastermind? Who is stupid enough to believe that?"

"People believe all kinds of stupid things, especially if they hear it on TV."

"Can we escape, or should we be renting a room here?"

"I brought you a disguise," Charley said, holding up a grocery bag.

"Are you going to make me a brunette?"

"Trans."

Charley put Cat in a floppy hat and men's overcoat, had an orderly go out to shout "There she goes!" and boldly left the medical building through the front doors in the confusion. Being a pleasant March afternoon, they took a taxi to Central Park.

"Have you been to New York City before?" Charley asked as they stood on a rustic bridge near a blue lake. The park was vast, green, and filled with people. They saw birds in the meadow and squirrels in the trees. There was a castle on the hill behind them.

"No. And I haven't seen much of it now. Other than the hotel."

"Have the tests been hard?"

"They hook me up to machines, pump liquids in my body, and then watch what happens. It takes hours."

They moved to a wooden bench, enjoying the view. A forest. Baseball fields. Tall buildings in the distance. Old men playing chess. Children feeding ducks.

"Has it been hard? Being alone for a week?"

"It's not fun, but I'm okay. I'm not crazy anymore. I draw. Study composition. Learned a new brushstroke. I even started reading a book."

"Which one?"

"Hound of the Baskervilles. It has a dog in it."

"Do you want a dog?"

"I would love a puppy, one day, when I can take care of it."

"That might be soon."

"It might be very soon," Cat agreed.

"Russ and I feel awful proud of our ourselves. You know that, don't you? For how much better you're doing."

"Sweet bird, I would be lost without you. And Russ. And Ashley. I am so lucky. You will never know what strength you give me."

"I try to take inspiration from you," Russ revealed.

"Is something wrong?" Cat asked.

"Family drama."

"I don't have a family. Let me hear about yours."

"Russ and I have talked about getting married. His parents are on board. Mine, not so much."

"Why?"

"You know Russ's folks. Wealthy. Cultured. Accepting. Two extra sons. My family is working-class Chicago. Old school. They aren't so broad-minded. They're hoping I still might decide to be straight."

"You just turned twenty-six. Didn't you come out when you were nineteen?"

"More or less."

"And after seven years, your folks think you might be mistaken about being gay?"

"They're optimists."

"You and Russ have been together for two years. Is that long enough to know what you want?"

"I'm not sure. I want to get married and adopt. Russ is afraid of making such a big commitment."

"Adopt a baby?"

"A little girl."

"So instead of a daughter, you got a damaged crazy girl instead?"

"It was better than adopting a kitten."

"Please don't compare me to a kitten," Cat said with a shudder. "A puppy, maybe. Or a parakeet."

"Sorry, I wasn't thinking. And you're not crazy, just recovering from a bad experience."

"That's still going to take some time."

"Cat, you are tough. You have no idea how tough. I think each time they gave you to some creepy sadist who tried to break you, you were getting stronger."

"There was hardly anything left after Manson got through with me."

"There was enough left to make Varoom greedy. He gave you to Buzz Johnson, knowing he'd go easy on you, while setting up the deal with Leonard Knox. Death Addict wanted a challenge, not a half-dead female. He paid $100,000 for you. And because of that, it all came crashing down for Varoom, and Powell, and Knox. All of them."

"Who'd have thought I was worth so much money?"

"It only cost Captain Kendrick 75¢ to kill him," Charley said.

"I'd have done it for less."

"Now Manson is on death row. Varoom and his pigs are headed for death row. The rest are serving life sentences. And here you are in New York City, staying at a luxury hotel, about to have dinner with a handsome, charming man."

"Oh? Is Russ coming?"

"You really need to stop that," he said with a grin.

"Are you and Russ going to be okay? Is there anything I can do to help?"

"We have a great place, good jobs, and the sweetest neighbor in the world. I'd say we're going to be fine."

As the sun was setting, they walked back to the taxi stand on 5th Avenue. Central Park was no place for them after dark. They were approached by a well-dressed young couple.

"Excuse me? Aren't you Catherine Hollinger?" the woman asked.

"Most of the time," Cat replied.

"We're huge fans. Can I have your autograph?" she requested.

Cat was handed a park brochure. The man fumbled for a pen. Cat scribbled her name, tried to smile, and moved on.

"I have fans?" Cat asked.

"Thank God for that," Charley said.

They took showers in Cat's 30th floor hotel room. Not together. Then it was time for dinner, and Charley had plans. They walked up 7th Avenue to a discreet restaurant near an art museum. It didn't have a name, only a number. The maître d' made a fuss over them, providing a private booth. A fine red wine was served.

"How come there are no prices on the menus?" Cat asked.

"Because if you need to know the price, you have no business being here."

"Russ is the one with family money, not you."

"I'm doing okay. Ever since word got out that I'm Catherine Hollinger's attorney, the phones won't stop ringing. I've hired five new associates."

"I guess that's good."

"For a lawyer who's picky about what cases he takes, it's real good," Charley said.

Charley ordered thick steaks. Cat hoped the restaurant had doggie bags.

"There's something I haven't mentioned," Charley ominously said. "If you don't like it, say the word and I'll call it off."

"What is it?"

"The media war is getting intense. I know you don't pay attention, and that's a good thing. But that doesn't mean your friends aren't fighting back."

"I don't understand. I never do anything. I never talk to anybody. I don't even know about anything. What is it these people want?"

"They want money, and power, and ratings. None of this is personal for them, it's just business. We need to make their attacks on you into a bad business, and I know someone who can help. If you'll let her."

A moment later, Charley stood up as a short woman in her late-60s approached. She wore an expensive red wool dress with a faux fur collar, her gray hair up in a bun under a pillbox hat. Charley surrendered his seat to sit with Cat.

"Cat, this is Ruth Sparrow," Charley said. Cat gave a blank stare.

"I'm sure you've heard of me," Ruth said with a gravelly voice.

"Sorry, no," Cat answered.

"Then let me explain. All of America reads my column. I defend the innocent who have been wronged. Especially women. And if I find a woman's been lying, I expose her, for she hurts all women. I've heard nothing but good things about you. From people who matter."

"What makes me so important?" Cat asked.

"You are under attack by powerful men. And insipid women who do their bidding. I have a friend in Los Angeles. Pamela Benson?"

"Sorry," Cat said.

"Her aunt? Hattie Marbury?"

"She's rich, isn't she?"

"Very rich. Pamela Benson has an adopted daughter who was unfairly attacked by the press, like you are. Her family rallied and fought back. Now they're harnessing their resources to fight for you. In my column, I only write the truth. I won't fudge facts. But if I find you're the real thing, I'll fight for you, too."

"What do you think, Cat? Is this something you're willing to try?" Charley asked.

"I don't know. What does it mean?" she replied.

"Ruth would interview you and publish the interview in newspapers and on the internet," Charley explained.

"For people to read?" Cat asked.

"Yes, people would read it," Charley said.

"A lot of people?"

"Millions of people," Ruth replied.

"I need to use the restroom," Cat decided, suddenly pushing out of the booth and rushing off. She wasn't sure where. She had no idea where the ladies' room was. Or even the exit. She floundered around, bumped into a table, and then an old woman carrying a dog. A waitress showed her to a rear hall. When Ruth entered the ladies' room a few minutes later, Cat was soaking her face in the sink.

"It's been awhile since I saw someone panic this bad," Ruth said, handing her a towel.

"I don't know how to do this."

"Which part?"

"Any of it. First there were lawyers, and now reporters. Even people I don't know want to talk with me. About what? What do I know?"

"How about you trust me? I'm not out to get you."

"What do you need?"

"You were born in Sacramento, where your birth parents died in a car accident?"

"That's what they tell me."

"You were adopted and moved to Fresno, where your adopted mother died. Then moved to Dallas, where your adopted father died."

"Yes."

"You worked in a stationary store, and started classes at Athena Junior College?"

"It sounds like you already know all about me."

"You are famous."

"Goddamn it! Why am I famous? I was a stupid girl who got picked up by a handsome man. He made me feel special. But I wasn't special. I was a thing to be passed around to his rich-fuck friends. Would you want to be famous for that?"

"Let's get you another drink. I'll put it on my tab," Ruth offered.

"Can I fix my make-up first? It must be a mess."

"I'll help."

Charley was looking worried when they returned.

"Everything is fine, Mr. Tieman. I'm going to spend time with Catherine, getting to know her. Then she can tell me all her innermost secrets."

"Cat has secrets she shouldn't be telling," Charley said. "We have lawsuits pending. And Varoom has been making accusations. I don't want anything Cat says taken out of context."

"I've seen pictures of you with Cat. And another man. Are you her boyfriend? Is he her boyfriend?"

"They're both my boyfriends," Cat said, causing Ruth's eyebrows to go up.

"The man you're talking about is Russell Hartley," Charley explained. "And he's my boyfriend."

Ruth looked at Cat, then at Charley, and then back to Cat.

"Okay, I get it now. That's interesting," Ruth said. "Can I use it in the column?"

"Russ and I are out. We've been out for a long time. What's your plan? I need to be there."

"You don't need to be there, we girls will be fine," Ruth refused. "I'm going to stay over at your hotel where Cat and I can talk. We'll have breakfast. And then I'm going to accompany her to the clinic in the morning."

"I should do that," Charley said.

"It's the final test. She should have a woman nearby," Ruth insisted.

"I'll be okay, Charley. What can Mrs. Sparrow do to me that Tommy Varoom didn't?"

That shocked Ruth. She sensed a challenge ahead.

* * * * * *

Ruth wasn't afraid to impose herself. Like any successful journalist, she knew the closer she got to her subject, the better the story. Though she didn't remember interviewing someone while they were being examined by an OB-GYN before.

"It's been eight months since you escaped from captivity. You can't be pregnant from one of those Club monsters, can you? You'd be showing," Ruth said, sitting on a stool at Cat's side while she rested back in the exam chair. Cat waited until the nurse left the room.

"No, they didn't get me pregnant," Cat confirmed.

"It wasn't one of the gay guys, was it?"

Cat laughed. "No," she said.

"Well?"

"An FBI doctor said I was so badly damaged during my imprisonment that I could never have babies. I'm here to learn if that's true."

Ruth fell quiet. She suspected a juicy story, not a tragic one.

"I'm so sorry," Ruth said, apologizing for her thoughts.

"I should be dead. Buried in the mountains with those poor women. Agent Powers told me about the twelve women Tommy singled out for his special rules. I'm the only survivor. Death Addict was cutting me up when Captain Kendrick blew his brains out. Later, when I felt lost and alone, and couldn't go on anymore, Charley and Russ took me in. They've been mother hens ever since. I am so lucky, Ruth. So lucky. It's a miracle I'm still here."

"And now Tommy Varoom is slandering you. With his callous media allies."

"Fuck them. I don't even watch the news."

Dr. Keeler returned with her associate, looking at the monitors and reading the charts. They whispered in the corner.

"You can get dressed now, Miss Hollinger. The tests are complete," Dr. Keeler said.

"What do you think?" Cat asked, getting up from the chair.

"It will be about two weeks before we know," Dr. Keeler replied. Cat dropped her head, going behind the changing screen.

"That's not good enough," Ruth demanded. "This woman deserves a better answer."

"The scarring is severe, but with a new procedure we're developing, the damage might be mitigated," Dr. Keeler said. "We won't know until we've finished analyzing the tissue samples."

Cat finished dressing, thanked the doctors, and left with Ruth. The moment they were in the quiet hall, Cat slid to the floor, crying.

"It's okay, little darlin'," Ruth said, kneeling next to her. "This would be stressful for any woman."

"This is all my fault," Cat said, trying to catch her breath.

"No, no. What do you mean?"

"I didn't have a career. Not much of an education. But I was pretty. I thought I'd find a handsome husband, have babies, and live happily ever after. I was so stupid. So goddamn stupid."

"Little darlin', not every woman needs big schools and a fancy job. There's nothing wrong with wanting children and a home. It's the most natural thing in the world."

"I gave my virginity to Tommy Varoom. Did you know that? I knew he was out of my league. That we'd never have a future. And I did it anyway. How dumb was that?"

"You need to stop beating yourself up. Men have been doing this to us women since the beginning of time. They're a bunch a sick bastards. We just need to deal with them the best we can."

"But look at me? I'm damaged. A wreck. Tommy always said I was nothing, and he was right."

"That's not what I see," Ruth disagreed, reaching out. "Now get up off this floor, find the courage I know you have, and get back in the fight."

They met Charley in the lobby. He looked nervous. The press corps on the sidewalk was bigger than the day before. There was even a media truck causing a traffic jam.

"They're everywhere. What are we going to do?" Charley asked.

"I don't know what you're going to do, Mr. Tieman, but I know what I'm going to do," Ruth said, taking Cat by the arm. And then she marched out the doors into the mob.

"It's Ruth Sparrow!" someone shouted.

"Hollinger is with her!" another yelled.

Ruth moved among them like a pro, pulling Cat along until finding convenient steps outside a stone bank building. The reporters made room. Cameras were everywhere.

"Hello, ladies and gentlemen. And the rest of you. May we be of help?" Ruth said.

"Ruth, what are you doing here? Why is Catherine Hollinger here?" a tall fellow asked.

"Is she pregnant?" someone asked.

"Is it twins?" a rude man yelled.

"Everybody quiet down!" Ruth commanded so firmly that they did. Cat noticed how she took control, gave a dramatic pause, and waited for the moment she wanted. Then Ruth plunged back in. It was exciting to watch.

"I am with my dear friend, Catherine," Ruth sternly said. "Providing moral support while she is being examined for horrific physical damage inflicted by Thomas Varoom and his Club. She is not with child nor, according to the doctors, is she ever likely to be."

"Ruth, Tommy Varoom says--" an upstart shouted.

"Young man, you need to listen to what I'm saying," Ruth interrupted. "No murderous sex-trafficker like Thomas Varoom, or his malignant enablers, gets to set the terms here. Lines have been drawn, ladies and gentlemen, and you had best decide which side of the line you're on. Because I promise you, there will be consequences."

"Mrs. Sparrow! Mars Nixon says--" a tall reporter questioned.

"Mars Nixon is a half-witted media whore, and the network she works for is a national disgrace," Ruth replied. "Everyone needs to read my column tomorrow. You will be as startled and angry as I am by the lies Thomas Varoom and his degenerate allies are telling about this poor girl. Mr. Tieman, tell them about the new lawsuit."

Charley was caught off-guard, but saw the mischievous glint in Ruth's eyes.

"My name is Charles Tieman, Miss Hollinger's attorney. At the appropriate time, we will be filing lawsuits against Mars Nixon, her network, and every media outlet that has put forward these malicious allegations. The 1st Amendment does not protect libel, slander, or criminal conspiracy to intimidate a Federal witness."

"Let me be clear," Ruth said. "If anyone in this country thinks I will stand back while my dear sweet friend is being attacked, then you know nothing about Ruth Sparrow. Follow my column and you'll see these vicious felons exposed for the despicable filth that they are."

Ruth took Cat's arm and pushed through the crowd, finding a taxi. Charley jumped in at the last second. Reporters pressed on the windows shouting questions until the cab pulled away.

"I think that went well. How are you holding up?" Ruth said, catching her breath.

"That was so scary," Cat replied.

"This is just the beginning, honey," Ruth persisted. "Before I'm done, Tommy Varoom and his friends will think death row is a beach resort."

"Thank you so much," Cat said, taking hold of Ruth's hands.

"Dear, in the months ahead, I want you to remember something. Just because the press uses you, doesn't mean you can't use the press. Brave, decent people get attacked all the time. That's why brave, decent people need to fight back."

"Thank you, Mrs. Sparrow," Charley said. "I think we were getting overwhelmed. You're an inspiration."

"Catherine is the inspiration here. I won't be losing sight of that," Ruth replied.

"Charley, are we really suing those media guys?" Cat asked.

"We are now," Charley replied.

* * * * * *

This story is about to get darker in part five, Tommy Varoom Makes His Move