Recap of Canadian Hogan's Fan's last chapter: After our heroine rescues Sgt.Moffitt with the help of Jim Rockford and Murphy Brown, the dastardly bounty hunter, Spencer Tracy, spirits CHF away and turns her over to Judge Stone. Stone sentences CHF to three years imprisonment for helping Sgt.Moffitt elude her captors, but CHF awakens from a coma before she can be incarcerated and finds a familiar face waiting for her.

"And how is our accident victim feeling?"

I turned to the doctor who entered my room and gulped. He looked like Matt Drayton* (Spencer Tracy in Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?) in a lab coat.

It was a coma fantasy, wasn't it?

oOo

It wasn't a coma fantasy. Dr. Spencer Tracy didn't disappear, no matter how hard I wished him away.

I closed my eyes when his fingers brushed my arm. Go away! Shoo!You're the last person I want to see right now.

"Open your eyes!" he snapped. "You look like you're trying to force yourself to have a bowel movement."

I obeyed, my cheeks burning. So much for bedside manner.

"How is she, doctor?" my mother asked, concern filling her hazel eyes.

He flashed a charming smile at her as he checked my pulse. "I've never seen someone so healthy. In fact, I think she's ready to get out of bed."

My eyebrows flew up. "I just came out of a coma after being in a car accident with a load of very frightened Simmentals.* Aren't I entitled to an extra five minutes in bed?"

He gripped my wrist so hard I thought it was going to break. I tried not to cry out as he yanked me to my feet. "Not at all. The sooner you shake it off, the better you'll feel."

"Hold it!" My mom shouted as he led me away. "No real doctor would say that!" She gave him the frowning of a lifetime. "Who are you?"

I ripped the glasses from his face with my free hand. "Meet Spencer Tracy. He's a part time bounty hunter with a vendetta against me."

Tracy shrugged. "It's nothing personal. It's just that Judge Stone offered me a million bucks to catch you after you escaped again." He shook his head. "His bailiffs never seem to be able to hold onto you for very long. But, I suppose good help is hard to find these days. People don't take pride in their work anymore."

Mom stared at me, her mouth hanging open. "Babe, could you explain all this?"

Tracy tipped an imaginary hat to her. "Nothing much to explain, ma'am. Your daughter is going to jail for three years on the charge of aiding and abetting a fan fiction fugitive."

She jerked back, her forehead wrinkling the way it did whenever someone hit her with something unexpected. "Fan fiction? What the hell is that?"

He grunted, glancing at the clock. "Have you heard about the Hogan's Heroes fan fiction trials involving authors on a website called fan fiction dot net? Your daughter is one of the writers."

She shot me a dirty look. "You're still writing those silly stories? I thought you gave that up in high school."

I rolled my eyes. "Mom, they're not silly! Some of these stories are just as good as 'legitimate' fiction! And lots of people write them, not just me."

"Never mind that now." She leapt up and blocked the doorway, her mother bear instinct kicking into overdrive. "Now, Mr. Tracy, I'm not going to let you take her away, however much you claim she's clinging to her childhood fantasies, so why don't you go back to the mental ward and leave us alone."

Tracy marched deep into her personal space, stopping only when their noses touched. "Oh, I'm so scared. Now stand aside!" he barked.

She even didn't flinch at the barrage of spit foaming at the corners of his mouth. "Security!" she hollered. "There's a maniac in my daughter's room!"

He reached into his pocket. "Ma'am, I have something here I think you need to see. It should remove all doubt about my authority in this matter."

I caught a glimmer of steel out of the corner of my eye as he removed a syringe. "Mom, watch out!"

It was too late. He stabbed and injected her with a clear liquid so quickly, she probably didn't realize what had happened before she collapsed.

"You bastard!" I screamed, beating him as he carried her unconscious form to my bed. "Why did you kill her?"

Tracy laid her down. "Relax, Miss Hogan's Fan. I just gave her a very strong sedative. She'll still be asleep when we reach the prison." He jerked me away. "Now, c'mon. I have to get home in a few hours. Katherine's making pot roast tonight and she'll kill me if I'm late."

oOo

I hear the train a coming, it's rolling round the bend, and I ain't seen the sunshine, since I don't know when.

This is definitely not a dream, I thought, as I entered the exercise yard on the second day of my sentence, the strains of a prisoner's rendition of Folsom Prison Blues permeating my thoughts. I've pinched myself so many times in the last 48 hours,I look like I've been attacked by an army of lobsters. Oh well,at least Sgt.Moffitt got away.That makes all this nonsense worth it.

"Canadian Hogan's Fan!"

I turned to Sgt. Moffitt, who waved me over, and groaned. "What are you doing here?"

She whipped out a homemade nail file and sawed on her leg irons. "I got in last night. Gibbs and DiNozzo nabbed me at home because somebody planted a plutonium core in my fridge." She cursed when she sliced her right hand open. "I have a pretty good idea who did it, and when I get my hands on him, I'll murder the bum!"

A pair of guards hurried over and dragged her off. "Now, now Ms. Moffitt, you know the prisoners can't have sharp objects. That's how people get hurt."

"I'll get you 80sarcades!" she screamed, kicking all the way back inside.

Since I was alone, I decided to head for the fence to catch a glimpse of freedom. I ignored the crones, hags and generally not-so-nice women who taunted and shouted at me, and scratched furiously at my prison jumpsuit. Seriously,what is this thing made out of,a Brillo pad? My poor skin will be rubbed down to the bone by the end of the week if I have to keep wearing this.

"Oh God, this is awful," I moaned. "The food looks like re-heated army surplus airplane dinners and tastes as bad as something I'd make myself, my bed feels like plywood, I had a creepy guard eying me up in the shower and my bunkmate whispered things in my ear all last night that would make Hugh Hefner blush. Now I find out it's all for nothing because Sgt. Moffitt's stuck here with me! How did I get into this mess? Why did I ever learn to write? My parents should've snapped every pencil I ever picked up and told me to concentrate on math instead."

"Back away from the fence, or we'll shoot off your pretty little head," a voice squawked over speakers hanging above me.

I stopped, squinting into the sun as I tried to figure out who'd spoken, when a short guard with love handles approached me, tapping a billy club. "Didn't you hear the man?" He grinned. "Are you telling me that what we have here is a failure to communicate?"

I hurried away, shaking my head so hard it's a wonder it didn't snap off. "No we don't! See, I'm backing up! No touchee or go nearee the fence. I got it."

Hey, call me a Bob-Hope worthy chicken, but I saw Cool Hand Luke. The last thing I felt like doing was letting that guy beat me up the way he did Paul Newman. I wanted to walk away from this nightmare under my own power and not be carried out in, say, a pine box.

Wait a minute.What the heck is a Canadian citizen doing in an American prison, anyway? I sighed and sat down on a particularly prickly piece of earth. What does it matter? If I start asking questions, I'll probably mutate into King Kong. I can't go home with that much facial hair; Mom'll think I escaped from the zoo.

I suddenly remembered her, sleeping like an angel in that hospital bed. She must be worried sick right now. I wish I could phone and tell her I'm okay.Dad must be beside himself too. Poor Dad. He'll get so lonely having no one to poke or sing Doors songs too.

Okay,as embarrassing as it is to admit, especially since I take pride in keeping a level head in crises, I had a good cry, the likes of which hasn't been seen since I watched MyDogSkipwhen I was 12.

A surprisingly soft hand touched mine. "Don't you mind that guard," its owner said. She sounded like she was 12 years old. "He's a big old softy if you handle him right."

I wiped my tears and looked into her hypnotic brown eyes, forcing myself not to recoil. I'd recognize that long brown hair and false sweetness anywhere. "Kristin Shepard?"

She simpered. "That's me. I see J.R. couldn't keep my name out of the papers after all."

"What are you doing here?" I asked. "I thought you were dead."

She shrugged. "Well, you know those silly Dallas writers. They didn't kill me, not really." She giggled at my confused expression. "C'mon, everyone knows nobody dies on a soap opera, even a night-time one. The writers just stashed me here until I'm ready to exact my revenge on J.R." She scowled. "And that bitch of my sister, Sue Ellen."

I edged away from the villainess, who was really starting to scare me, only to bump into an auburn-haired inmate, who's jumpsuit seemed to enhance her figure, unlike mine or anyone else's. "Don't worry about Kristin. She's all meow and no bite."

Kristin rolled her eyes. "Selena, what are you doing here? Why don't you go find the other Selinas and play with a ball of yarn?"

Selena? Yarn? Oh my God, Catwoman ala Julie Newmar!

She hissed. "Those catty creatures kicked me out of their clique. They wouldn't admit Batman liked me best." She nuzzled my neck. "What are you in for, kitten?"

I took a deep breath, struggling to appear calm. "Uh, aiding and abetting a fugitive."

She frowned. "Are you sure you're in the right place? This is a maximum security jail for female TV criminals, and only the best of the best, I might add."

My heart pounded. "Well, I guess I qualified since I write about TV characters so much and escaped custody so many times." They must've figured Moffitt was too much of a risk, too.

Kristin laughed. "Don't mind her. She's a bit territorial, as you can tell. Between you and me, I think she's gone batty from spending too many years in re-runs. I, on the other hand, can show you the ropes and teach you how to get special treatment. Maybe we can even become good friends."

Catwoman tucked a sharp fingernail under my chin and turned my face toward hers. "Forget her. I'm the one you want to be friends with. I remember my friends forever, and my enemies even longer."

"Selina!" Kristin whined. "Stop trying to recruit all the newbies. She's mine! I saw her first!"

I gulped, watching their claws sharpen as they argued back and forth. Help! Somebody help! Iwon't survive here much longer!

*A breed of cattle.