Chapter 4

Lieutenant Hargreaves got the memo. He was to report to his supervisor. Dropping his briefcase on his desk he walked down the line of desks to the door at the end. He stood briefly, then knocked.

From inside his supervisor hollered, “Who is it?”

“Me,” Hargreaves replied.

From inside his supervisor shouted, “Come in and shut the door.”

Once inside he pointed to a chair, “Sit down lieutenant. Bad news. I’m pulling you off the narcotics case. We’ve got something else.”

Hargreaves started to object, “But we’ve got...”

His supervisor stopped him, “I know I know, but I’ve got something that needs immediate attention. Some Maryland people have uncovered an antique theft ring. Nothing big, but we’re in on it. Seems someone’s been stashing stolen antiques in a barn in Chambersburg. Barn belongs to a lawyer named Westerbrook, Madeline Westerbrook. Probably nothing, but go check it out anyway.”

Hargreaves took the proffered folder. Under his breath he muttered shit.

His boss nodded, “Yeah I know. Waste of time, but talk to her. See if she can be of help. She’s a lawyer, probably knows her rights and all, but just the same let her supervisors know she’s been a little careless.”

Lieutenant Hargreaves understood; a near total waste of time, but someone in Maryland was about to make a pinch.

~~~V~~~

Madeline arrived at the Inn a little before 5:00. She saw Dorothy’s car so she decided to go straight in. The restaurant was nice, if nice applied to something commonplace and slightly worn. The lights were dim; partly for atmosphere, and partly to conceal the accumulation of dirt and grime that places like this acquire with years of overuse. She saw them before they saw her.

There were three of them; her lawyer compatriot Dorothy, former lover Brad Thompson, and a strange dark man she didn’t know. As she approached the table Brad and the stranger both rose.

Brad spoke first, “Ah, Madeline, God to see you and right on time.”

She held out her hand, “Good to see you.”

He took it briefly and offered her a chair, “You know Dorothy Krause, and me well, but here’s a colleague and good friend of mine,” He pointed to the still standing dark figure, “this is Robert Kesselring. He works with us over at Lingtalevought.”

Madeline stretched out her hand, “Good to meet you.”

He took it and smiled, “Likewise.”

Brad pushed her chair in as she sat, “Should we order first, or jump right into the business at hand.”

Madeline adjusted her seat, “I’m famished. Perhaps an appetizer. And I see you’ve all ordered a drink. What are you having Dot?” She used the shortened appellation because she knew she disliked it.

“This is a Gin Gimlet. You want one?”

Madeline inwardly cringed; a Gimlet, Gin, Lime, and usually, for Dorothy anyway, some added sugary concoction, “Not for me dear,” she replied. The waitress had just arrived, “How about a Glen Fiddich on the rocks.”

The waitress responded, “We might not have...”

Madeline cut her off, “Forget it. Just bring the best you have.”

The waitress looked about, “Anybody need a refill?” When no one responded she nodded and left.

The dark and somewhat foreboding Kesselring chuckled, “You like good whiskey.”

Madeline tipped back, “When I’m not paying and can get it.”

Dorothy, already tired of Madeline’s foolish postings bored in, “You know why we’re here?”

Madeline passed a glance from Dorothy, to Brad, and then to the dark man, “To close the deal I suppose.”

Kesselring opened up, “If you’ve read our reports you know what the stumbling blocks are.”

“I have and I do,” responded Madeline, “Shall we look at some solutions?”

Pleasantries all aside the foursome started to negotiate. Dorothy and Brad listened and interposed when they could, but the core of the meeting was clearly not in their hands. Back and forth the pendulum swung; first this by Kesselring, then that by Madeline, followed by another of Kesselring’s retorts, matched by something equally creative by Madeline with Dorothy unobtrusively but dutifully making notes on her panel.

Appetizers were ordered and consumed. More drinks appeared and disappeared. Dinner came, went and was followed coffees and sherbet. It was late, well past 9:00 when they finished.

Kesselring at last put up his hands and smiled, “Well Ms. Westerbrook he have it. Shall we go upstairs? I have my lap top and a small printer waiting where we can apply the finishing touches and call it a night.”

She replied with a smile of her own, “Yes, and order a bottle of wine. We’ll toast our success.”

He queried, “Anything special?”

Her answer, “Something cheap. I suggest Pinot noir.”

He grinned, “A dark red it is,” he also knew the truer significance of the wine, a wine with a slight hint of musk, a manly wine, a wine some said served as an aphrodisiac with some women.

The four stood. Kesselring smoothly grinned at Thompson and Krause, “You two needn’t bother,” And then with a glimmer of something insidious he whispered to Madeline, “You and I can pen in the last words.”

The four separated; two for the parking, two for the elevators. The ride up was quiet. Neither spoke. Neither had anything to say. He looked down on a flashingly beautiful woman, a woman at the height of her sexual prowess. Somewhat tall, dark, almost black hair, perfect complexion, slightly pink at the moment, probably from the several Scotches, partly from the warmth of the evening. Dressed immaculately; she still wore the dark blue suit and white blouse elegantly. He liked her, he liked women like this. He was going to enjoy her.

Madeline cast upward. He was tall, tall and muscular. Hair faintly blond, much like Colton’s. Why did he have to intrude? But Kesselring looked different, more like some 1940’s German she’d studied in school, like, yes, like that Heydrich, Reinhardt Heydrich, Hitler’s “Blond Beast”, architect of the Holocaust. And she was ... well her mother was Jewish. A spark of fear flitted across her skyline, he was going to hurt her. She knew it.

They found the suite and went in. Across the room was the printer, his lap top, and a stack of papers, presumably the bulk of the agreement.

Halfway across the room they heard a discreet muffled knock. Kesselring’s lips twisted into a half-smile, “The wine.” He turned to the door, accepted the wine and handed the deliverer something. Turning back he smiled again, “And now the prize,” wine in hand he re-crossed the room.

Downstairs she’d sensed his masculinity, his male heat. Her body had involuntarily replied with a heat of its own. Downstairs she’d thrilled at the prospect of having this man, of taking his seed, of subduing his manliness. She’d done it before. Twice before’ to two men whose bodies had gone seriously to flab, whose sexual strength had long before elbowed its way into childish fantasy. Those men like many others, she’d subdued- she’d conquered. The man approaching her now wasn’t like any of them. This man was strong, superbly ready. Yes, he would hurt her; simultaneously it thrilled and terrorized her. She thought of Colton. This man wasn’t anything like him.

He said, “Turn around. The glasses are right behind you.”

She turned around. Before she lifted a glass she felt the scissors, or was it a knife as it tore smoothly and meticulously up her skirt.

Skirt gone, belt on the floor, coat in a heap on the floor, he had her over the table. She felt her blouse and brassiere fall away. Tempted to run, she cringed. If she could turn around it would be different, but he held her so firmly.

He leaned forward, whispering in her ear, “I have my own, ‘special’ tastes.” His penis penetrated her ass with a suddenness and savagery she’d not known. She lifted her head to scream, but before a single sound was released her mouth was ensnared, engulfed in cloth, his cloth, his tie, his dark grey tie. Just as swiftly he had her hands behind her back. Cords or something like that wrapped around her wrists binding her hands tightly. All things sexual vanished; only to be replaced by sheer stark maddening terror.

He smacked her behind, then slapped her face. All night long he used and abused her; some moments she felt frightened, others like cheap chattel, but mostly she just felt nauseatingly miserable. He took her every way imaginable, anally, vaginally, and to her chagrin orally.

The anal was bad, awful, not because it hurt, which it did, and horribly too, but because it had never happened to her before. He’d forced her to her knees and pushed himself inside her mouth, and she felt degraded, disgraced, but yet somehow in some ways delighted. The delight came not from him, but from her own wild imaginings, her flights of fantasy. She feared, she hated, she despised this man, but in her wilder fantasies she dreamed it was Colt, that it was Colton Stewart who was using her. Yes, it hurt, but had it been Colton she would’ve enjoyed it, she knew she would. Yes, she could love it with him. She’d love it because she knew he would have prepared her, warned her, made her want it, but also because she knew she enjoyed giving to him, because she...

In other ways the truer vaginal was good, not great; this Kesselring was no ‘superman’. Face on, watching him grunt and groan, with his eyes closed he meant nothing, she felt nothing, nothing more than any of several men she’d allowed to use her. But yes again and again, when she closed her eyes she only saw Colton, her hick, her, her, whatever.

The oral was the worst. She had to look at him, he insisted. By then he was largely used up, a spent force, but still, oral was something that hearkened her back to college, her freshman year, the boy who’d used and manipulated her. Still, even with the man’s penis lodged in her throat, with her need to watch his perverted ecstasy she could see still see Colton and she knew. Had it been Colton’s penis she would’ve relished the sensation. She would’ve treasured every drop of swallowed semen.

As he finished his last imagined sexual subjugation, he leaned up and tauntingly laughed, “You know Brad is my nephew.”

He stood up, looked at the clock, “My, my, 3:00 a.m. Time to go.”

Madeline leaned up on two elbows; a questioning look on her face.

He sneered, “Don’t worry. You’ll get the contract. There are just a few more ... details. I’ll be in touch.” He quietly found his clothing, got dressed and left.

Madeline lay there a moment, but only a moment. Surely Kesselring believed he’d abused and humiliated her more than enough; she guessed he needed more. At least, she supposed in his mind he did, but not in hers. All the while that night, throughout that long night of sexual gamesmanship she’d suffered, but she’d survived. Moreover, she not only survived; she’d thrived, for she’d made a discovery, a great discovery. For some ungodly inexplicable reason she’d come to realize why she’d never been able to put Colton aside, why she’d never been able to close the book on a man she knew only as a decent lover but a dyed in the wool loser. She saw it, she understood it; Colton was the kind of man others stopped for. Wherever he was he cleared the air, made the atmosphere clean and pure. He could’ve finished college, of that she now was sure. He could’ve accomplished anything he wanted, but he was the kind of man who didn’t need outward manifestations of success. He was full and complete as he was; as long as he understood who he was he didn’t need money, or status, or praise. He was a man, a man’s man, the kind of man girls swooned over, and she was in love. She loved Colton Stewart. Who could tell when it started, but she did, she most certainly did. She bet he loved her too. Even if he didn’t, she believed she could make him love her.

Madeline looked about. Her clothes, torn and shredded littered the floor. She crawled around till she found her purse, got her cell phone and dialed the number of the one she knew would come. After three rings she heard his groggy hello, she purred, “Colton I need you...”

She knew of course he’d come. First she held the phone away and listened to his profanity, then when he’d run out of explicates she told him where she was and then she lay back on the grimy rug. Last, from out of nowhere an old lyric came whispering through her head, something from her childhood, something about her dad, his singing... , “I know you, you came to me once upon a dream...”

~~~V~~~

Colton put his phone down. He looked over at the still comatose Chelsea and muttered, “Shit.”

He drove to the Keystone Inn. When he got there and found Madeline he saw she needed clothes. He looked her over; there were bruises on her arms, breasts, thighs, around her wrists, and her ass looked like it had been rubbed raw, “Have a good time?”

“Fuck you,” she gainsaid.

More seriously he asked, “Somebody try to rape you?”

“Almost; it felt like it,” she replied.

Somewhat sickened by what he saw, and not eager to pursue the current line of comment he remarked “Only thing that’s open is the Walmart out on Glenhaven Drive. I’ll be a while. Can you stomach wearing Chinese imports?”

Outwardly she smiled sheepishly, inwardly well... , “You know my sizes?”

“Think so,” was his answer, and he left only to be back an hour later. He also brought back a coffee which she gratefully accepted.

Despite her wretched appearance watching her dress was fun, “You want to tell me what happened?”

Slipping the too short miniskirt up around her waist she muttered, “Here to finish a deal. One of the clients needed...”

He interrupted, “So you felt you had to...”

Her withering glare answered his question.

“I’ll walk you to your car, but then I’ve got to get back.”

Thinking of Chelsea she asked, “How is she?”

“No change.”

Exiting the suite door together she murmured, “I’ll keep her and you in my prayers.”

He exhaled a mirthless laugh, “Sure.”

As she walked to her car she started whistling the refrain she’d thought earlier. He’d come for her. She knew he would.

Colton sulked back to his truck thinking, ‘Fucking whore.’

~~~V~~~

It was a beautiful September morning in upstate New York when fourth generation farmer Keefer Sullivan was on his tractor cutting back some brush along a long overlooked ditch bank in an unfrequented part of a field that bordered an old woods when he thought he spotted something. Awkwardly clambering off his tractor and fearful of copperheads the older man cautiously walked over to get a closer look. Peering over the edge he saw what he thought was a bright red piece of cloth, but there was something suspicious about it. He carefully slid down the bank and into the muck. He was right; it was a piece of cloth, red cloth, but to his practiced eye it still wasn’t just right so he kicked around a bit and found the cloth was wrapped around a piece of bone. An older man, a Vietnam veteran and an army corpsman he recognized the bone, a fibula. Kneeling around bit he dug about and discovered there was a foot attached to it. Alarmed he struggled back up the bank, pulled out his cell phone and punched in his son’s number. He didn’t know it, but he’d found a morsel of the remains of a woman who’d disappeared from her west Pennsylvania home just a few weeks before. Patty Landers was no longer just another missing person.

~~~~V~~~~

It didn’t take Hanlon long; just a few mornings after her nighttime ordeal with the Nazi and he was at his office door waiting for her. He didn’t say a word; he just waved her in. She expected it.

Dropping her purse and light sweater at his secretary’s chair she strolled in his office. He pointed toward the big table where he stacked odds and ends. She nonchalantly ambled over, she leaned forward and started to pull down her hose and panties, but before she could he had her. Like the creep she knew he was he deftly took a pair of scissors and cut her undergarments, both panties and hose apart at the middle.

“Pull em down,” he ordered.

No longer whole garments, they fell to the floor easily.

He commanded, “Turn around and kneel down.”

She expected it. Panties and hose free she turned and knelt. He already had his zipper down and his penis out, “Now Madeline, do your duty.”

What was she to do? Kesselring had certainly broadcast the details of his conquest. She reached out and took Hanlon’s tumescent penis in her hands, such a pathetic thing, such a pathetic man. She knew what she was supposed to do. With the dedication of a ticket taker at some stupid sporting event she went to work. Determinedly she wacked him off till he was fully erect, or as erect as he was able. She took his sloppy uncircumcised pilaster in her mouth. He smelled. ‘God, ‘ she thought, ‘he could have at least wiped it off first.’ With his little piece of tawdry flesh barely reaching her cheeks she looked up. He was looking down; a senseless, mindless, stupid smirk alighted his saggy double chinned face. As she sucked he closed his eyes and moaned. She thought, ‘He looked like a ferret.’

He reached down and grabbed her hair.

From somewhere deep inside her cerebrum all stoic acceptance wanted to die. A colossal ‘NO’ lapped back and forth within her mind’s antennae. Damn it, expecting to see Colton later she’d spent close to forty minutes washing and yes, even braiding her hair, but there was nothing for it. She had to get that partnership.

“Mm,” she mumbled.

She noticed the slack bastard really believed she enjoyed this. Oh how she wanted to bite down as hard as she could. In her mind’s ear she heard his ear shattering mind numbing shrieks, but she lacked the courage, she wanted partner. She peeked up; he was about to ejaculate, another humiliation.

Hanlon pushed forward and shot off in her mouth. She swallowed it.

He leaned back slightly, “God damn, that was good!”

Reaching behind for a Kleenex Madeline grit her teeth, smiled and said, “You got really big.”

“What the fuck,” he smirked, “don’t I always?”

Madeline slowly rose to her feet, “I’ve never been down here like this before.”

Hanlon continued to stand still as he used his handkerchief to wipe his listless penis, “We’ll have to get you down there more often,” then he looked across the room toward the far wall, “There’s something else Madeline, and I guess we better get it out of way now.”

That didn’t sound right, “yes,” she responded.

“Well,” he said, “about that partnership. Prendergast and I talked it over. We want to do what’s best for you and for the firm. It’s like we’ve got two girls, you and Dorothy, and both of you are well qualified for the spot, but...”

Antennae up, brain on full alert, Madeline asked, “What?”

The sheen on Hanlon’s brow was thick, and it wasn’t from the recent exercise. He was scared, “It’s like this. We’ve got the two of you, but there’s Mr. Schilling, and then there are the things you do. You see, we thought it would be like Dorothy would be our ‘top girl’ and you’d be our ‘bottom girl’.

“You’re giving the partnership to Dorothy.”

Hanlon was sweating profusely, “The thing of it is... , well... , you see we can’t have sssse ... what you do entering into how we get contracts. I mean we need your special ‘expertise’, but we can’t, um, risk ... uh ... you know ... being caught out. He clenched his hands into fists, “You’ll get more money, a lot more money, but you won’t...”

“You’re giving the partnership to Dorothy.”

He tried to sound in control, like he knew what to say, “Uh well no. We’re giving her the option of getting a small percentage, but we’re forwarding the actual partnership ... er um it’s going to Mr. Kamenitz.”

“Kamenitz,” Madeline exclaimed!

“He’s good Madeline ... maybe next time...”

Furious Madeline nearly exploded, but she held it in, “I get it, I do the fucking and sucking while Kamenitz gets the prestige and recognition, not to mention the added money.”

Hanlon let fly his opening arrow, “Well you had the problem with the antiques ... your barn.”

Madeline smiled the look of the defeated. She’d been used. It was like her freshman year in college all over the again. A frat boy had fucked her over once more. She had one last shot, “What does Mr. Schilling have to say?”

Hanlon sank his final dagger, “Mr. Schilling found out about your ‘antique problem and didn’t like it. You know how he is about the firm’s reputation, not a trace of scandal,” Hanlon paused and went on, “Of course you must know everyone knows you got your position because of Mr. Schilling and your dad,” then he finished her off, “I have no idea what his response would be if he thought you were using your ... well.”

Beaten, beaten and done Madeline shrugged, “Mind if I take the rest of the day off?”

Relieved Hanlon worded, “Take the week if you want.”

She started for the door. As she reached for the knob she heard him say, “Nothing personal Madeline. You know we all like you.”

Passing into the outer office she mumbled, “Yeah sure,” and just like that she knew she was through at Schilling, Prendergast, and Hanlon. She knew now it was the bastard Hanlon who’d told Mr. Schilling about the antique thing. Such a minor fracas; if she stayed Hanlon had her as his very own private sucking machine, and worse he’d use her over and over again as the firm’s whore. Feeling stifled and abandoned she was at a loss. What would she do next? She knew what she wanted to do; she wanted to go back in there and kick Hanlon in the balls, she wanted to tell Mr. Schilling the only reason they got the Lingtalevought account was because she’d bought it with her body, she wanted yell and cuss and scream her head off, but she knew she’d do none of those things.

She stepped out to the street, opened her purse, found her cell phone, and punched up the number. It rang twice, she said, “Colt ... Colton,” then she cried.

~~~V~~~

The days dragged on and on. Colton’s life had become a continuous series of false hopes and dashed moments. He’d given up staying at Chelsea’s bedside. It was back and forth from home to the hospital or to Madeline’s. He was all out of sorts. Someone was paying all his bills; not just the hospital costs, but everything else too. He wondered; had the father he’d never met heard about Chelsea? Irma and Emit had given up; they didn’t have any answers. Who else could it be?

He’d given up and found another job. He was a late night stock boy at the Walmart. ‘Well, ‘ he’d thought, ‘it was only part-time, but it was something.’

Then there was Madeline, the rich but poor dumb whore, lawyer bitch. What was he going to with her? She called ... again, and yeah ... he’d gone over. She’d been a total mess. Her bosses had fucked her over. She’d lost the partnership, and she didn’t know what to do. He didn’t either so he’d taken her in his arms, consoled and then made love to her. Crazy how that worked; over the past weeks she become increasingly soft, not obsequiously soft, but like lovingly soft, really loving. Yeah, she’d been falling in love with him, he’d tried to pretend he didn’t know and didn’t care, but damn it, he had known and did care. Funny thing about it; he enjoyed it, and worse, or better, he thought maybe he was beginning to feel the same way. It was a strange world.

~~~V~~~

It was Wednesday, October 13th 2010 when he was sitting glumly by Chelsea’s bed staring into the darkness wondering what his life had become when he though he heard something. What was it? The sheets! Chelsea? He sat up, “Chelsea?”

He heard her murmur, “Colt?”

He jumped up! He screamed and yelled, “Chelsea you’re awake!”

In came the night nurse, “We saw something.”

Colton pointed, “Look!”

Chelsea was awake. Groggy, but awake, “Colt, where am I?”

He grabbed her warm and oh so alive hand, “Oh Chelsea...”

Another nurse had arrived, looked and exclaimed, “I’ll get the doctor.”

A befuddled Chelsea asked again, “Where am I?”

Colton laughed, then giggled, “Oh sweetheart you’re at Saint Isadore’s, the hospital.”

And yes she was alive and awake, then she slipped off to sleep again, but only briefly. For Colton the clock had started ticking again. The world could and would go on.

~~~V~~~

Two days after Chelsea awakened the police found both Girty brothers. Their throats had been slit, but not before someone had thoroughly worked them over. For Lieutenant Hargreaves and his side-kick Venice Biscotti their deaths marked the end of a once promising lead into a part of the illicit drug world of their region. With Patty Lantern’s remains found and identified, and now the Girtys out of circulation they were back to square one.

Venice looked down at the older Girty’s mangled body, “That only leaves Colton Stewart.”

Hargreaves shook his head and muttered, “I doubt it. Don’t think he had anything to with any of it.”

Not too many miles away two very mean looking men in a black Chevy Suburban were mulling over the same possibility. One looked at the other, “What do you think? Go after Colt?”

The older man chuckled, “No. We both know him. He’s clean.”

The younger of the two, a skinny kid named Steve Brady lit up a cigarette, “Yeah, he’s one lucky son-of-a-bitch, but how will we explain the lost cocaine to the ‘people’ back in Philadelphia?”

The older Brady shrugged, “We won’t. We’ll just have to eat it.”

~~~~V~~~

The partners were having their final meeting to determine who’d be invited to join the firm as an equal. Mr. Schilling scratched his chin in disbelief, “It’s unfathomable. You say Madeline, Ms. Westerbrook has been... ?” he couldn’t utter it, “ ... misbehaving? I just can’t believe it.”

Hanlon innocently added, “I’m sure it’s true. She’s just outside. You want to speak to her?”

Schilling glowered at Hanlon, “Yes. Would the two of you excuse us?” He glanced at the other partner, “Ask her to come in will you?”

Outside Mr. Hanlon smiled at Madeline, “Mr. Schilling wants to see you.”

Primly dressed in a knee length grey skirt, grey blouse, and grey jacket she stood, straightened her attire and walked in.

Evincing no emotion Mr. Schilling pointed to a chair opposite his desk, “Have a seat Ms. Westerbrook.”

She sat.

He asked, “Is it true?”

Hands in her lap, looking down, in a barely audible whisper she responded, “Yes sir.”

He softened, “You know I have to tell your father.”

Like smashing a rare and expensive piece of imported porcelain Madeline completely collapsed. Falling on her knees she burst into tears, “No please Mr. Schilling,” blubbering like a baby she begged, “No Uncle Horace. No please, oh please. Don’t tell daddy! You can’t you mustn’t ... it will kill him. He’s already ashamed of me. No please ... you mustn’t.”

Not a real uncle, but so close to the family for so many years she’d come to look upon him as someone just like her dad. Since she could remember he’d been Uncle Horace. The polished woman, accomplished lawyer had lost all her aplomb. She cried bitter tears.

Mr. Schilling got up, came around, and on one knee knelt beside her. He put his arm around her shoulders, “Now, now Maddie. Your dad needs to know.”

Tears pouring down her cheeks; she rolled her head in his direction and opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Arms wrapped tightly around her the older man whispered, “I think I understand how this happened. I’ll tell him. You’ll see. He’ll understand.”

Inconsolable, knowing she’d willfully played the whore much too often and for far too long she allowed herself to melt into caring arms.

Mr. Schilling held her for a few moments, and then leaned back and stood up, “Now Maddie. I want you to wipe away those tears. Straighten yourself up, and go home.”

She wiped her make-up ruined face, “You’re going to release me too aren’t you,” with that she started crying again, “I won’t even get a reference.”

Mr. Schilling softly chided, “Maddie I said to go home. Nothing’s been decided,” he had decided though.

Madeline got up, wiped her eyes again, turned, opened the door, and walked out into the main office.

Mr. Schilling watched her go. Then he opened his office intercom, “Hello Tildy?” Tildy was one of their secretaries, in fact his primary secretary.

“Yes Mr. Schilling.”

“See if you can find Mr. Prendergast. If you can, ask him to come in.”

~~~~V~~~~

Madeline walked through the office as swiftly as she could without drawing attention to herself. Outside to the parking lot, then to her car, she got in and sat down. She took mental stock of her finances. Chelsea’s hospital bills had been a heavy burden, but she was still pretty well fixed. She thought, ‘What was the absolute worst thing that could happen? That was easy; her dad ... She felt so alone. She needed to talk to someone, but who? She pulled out her cell phone and punch in his number. On the third ring he picked up, “Hello Colton?”

Several hours later and after she’d poured out almost the whole story, she left out the parts about State College and the years immediately following, but about Hanlon, Bradley Thompson, Lingtalevought, Kesselring and the promised partnership she’d opened up completely. Lying side by side on Madeline’s queen sized bed Colton lazily glanced over at her, “You’re such a whore.”