The bright lights of the ambulance cast a red glow on the winter landscape. The wreckage of the van smoldered at the bottom of the hill where the two figures below were lifting the driver onto a stretcher. Horace had made it on his own up the steep slope to where she was standing with the two policemen.

"Is he…," she asked.

"It don't look good," Horace said his voice shaking. "They're takin' him to the hospital."

She fought back tears. Cruella should be here. Cruella was strong. She would know what to do and how to brazen her way out of this mess. But Cruella was gone and only Estella remained—Estella who had probably just killed her best friend and possibly the only person who had ever loved her.

"Let's go," said one of the policeman pulling out a pair of handcuffs. He moved toward Horace.

"No," said Estella. "He needs to go with Jas..," she choked on the name. "Let him go. I'll tell you everything. I'm the one you want."

In the end a policeman escorted Horace to the hospital and she was driven to the police station where she asked for pen and paper. She had written the confession out, careful to make sure that neither Horace nor Jasper were implicated. The door to the room opened and she looked up. "You," she muttered, then looked back down at the paper. She signed her name with a flourish then pushed the paper toward him.

"It's all there," she said.

The man picked up the paper and read through it.

"Very clear and concise," He said. "This could put you away for years." He folded the paper and put it in his pocket. "However, as your lawyer I must advise you not to give this to the police or to say another word."

"My lawyer!"

"Horace called from the hospital," the man explained. "He said you had been arrested and needed a lawyer."

Speechless, she could only look at him.

"It makes sense if you think about it," said Roger. "I'm the only lawyer he knows."

xxxxxxx

Cruella, no it was only Estella now, looked up at the ceiling in her hospital room. She had vague memories of Roger posting bail and Anita insisting she go to the emergency room. At the hospital they had asked her a great many questions and John had come and taken care of things like he always did. Then she had slept and woke up to find an IV in one arm and a cast on the other.

"Shock," explained John, when he came later that day. "Sometimes people can go for hours before they realize they're even injured. It's a wonder you didn't collapse at the police station."

She needed to know but didn't dare ask. She closed her eyes and pretended not to care.

"Serious but stable," said John without asking. "It's still too soon to know but things look better."

She fell asleep for real then. When she woke up everything hurt. A quick look in the mirror showed that she had a black eye and stitches above the eyebrow. She didn't remember it bleeding. In fact she couldn't remember much about the accident.

"Concussion, broken ribs, and a broken arm," said the doctor. "You're a very lucky young woman. It could have been much worse."

"I was laying in the snow," she said.

"We think you were thrown out of the car when it hit the tree," said the doctor. "You were outside it when the police arrived."

"I don't remember."

"No, not with a whack to the head like that. It's a wonder you can remember your own name."

She didn't, but that was only because there was two of her and she wasn't sure which one was in charge right now. Maybe once her head stopped hurting and she knew Jasper would be all right she could sort it all out.

Voices from the nurses' station drifted in from the hall. "That's horrible! said one. "Do you think it's true, that she was really going to do it?"

"Says so in the papers," replied another voice. "She's been falling out of fashion lately. That sort needs to do something more outrageous every year. She needed some sort of stunt to get people talking."

"Well, I wouldn't buy one," said the first voice. "Not if you paid me a million pounds."

"Why not?" she thought laying in her bed. "You'd buy it fast enough if it was a mink. What difference did it make. An animal was an animal whether it was a mink or a puppy. At least it wasn't Persian lamb." Estella shuddered. Even Cruella had limits.

Would she have gone through with it? She was rather relieved the decision was out of her hands. She felt like someone who had been standing on a bridge, determined to jump only to be pulled back at the last minute. It didn't mean she regretted the original decision. It just meant she had more choices now, other paths she could take.

The days in the hospital were long and tedious. Roger called to tell her that he had been meeting with the prosecutor about the charges and gave her strict instructions not to speak to anyone about the case, especially if she suspected they were a reporter. John came every day, and Anita dropped by to see how she was faring. Anita apparently didn't count as a reporter. It hardly mattered. Anita resolutely steered all conversations away from puppies, clothes and cars. It made for very quiet visits, but it was nice to have someone else in the room. She hadn't seen Horace, but she didn't expect she would.

Horace was at the Hall, John told her. He had come back for Wink. John had persuaded him to stay by saying that Wink was an elderly dog and wouldn't be able to stand the rigors of living on the streets. Wink was elderly by dog standards, but he enjoyed robust good health. John had recommended a visit to the vet just to make sure all was as it seemed. The vet could find nothing wrong but still prescribed a vitamin supplement and special food. Horace was now convinced that his beloved pet was in delicate health and had settled back into his old room for the time being.

"Why did you stay John," she asked, "All those years with the Baroness and now me?"

"Because I was in love," he told her. "At least that's what I wanted to believe. She was beautiful and I clung to the fantasy that there was good inside her. That's why I saved you. I sent you away with Catherine hoping that she would regret her decision and want you back. But she didn't. Gradually I realized that she never would and that I didn't love her. What I loved the was excitement of being around her and the power that she wielded. I thought she needed me. I made the mistake of thinking I was relevant."

"And me?" she asked.

"I'm curious," he told her. "I want to see which way you'll turn. You're very like her. There are still fundamental differences, but I don't think you would have to work too hard to develop her 'killer instinct.'"

"Mother tried to love it out of me," she said tears welling up in her eyes. "But she couldn't."

"Don't be silly!" said John sharply. "Catherine was the kindest person I ever knew, but her family and background was less than ideal. Didn't you ever wonder why you had no grandparents or cousins? We can't do much about our nature or nurture, but she knew better than anyone that we are the products of our choices. She gave you the one thing a parent can give a child, the example of her own life and the chance for you to make your own decisions."

Catherine had been a wonderful mother. She had done her best to steer Estella through the pitfalls of a society where she didn't fit in and a community where she wasn't welcome. Even as she had rebelled against her mother's concepts of being kind and giving in to polite conventions to make her life easier, Estella had never doubted Catherine's love. But she had assumed her mother had always existed as she knew her. Why had she never wondered about Catherine's life before she was a mother?

She was discharged from the hospital the day she was to appear in court. There was a television in the hospital lounge. Anita was on the screen with Cruella's face on the wall behind her. She couldn't hear what Anita was saying, but someone in the room said "That's her." And everyone in the lounge turned to look as she walked past.

The courthouse was surrounded by reporters when the cab pulled up. "Look down," Roger instructed. "Don't make eye contact. Try to look vulnerable."

Vulnerable, she'd never looked vulnerable in her life! She did her best, pulling the wide brimmed hat low over her face and keeping her eyes on the ground. She swayed on her feet. Maybe she was weaker than she thought. She'd only gotten out of the hospital this morning. Roger held her good arm and escorted her into the building, making sure that the reporters could see her other arm with its cast and sling and just a glimpse of her ravaged face with the stitches and the black eye.

Outside the courtroom she waited to see the judge. The man across from her was reading a newspaper. She clearly saw Anita's byline. "May I?" she asked indicating the paper. He looked at her quickly and then at the picture under the headline and handed it to her without a word.

She read Anita's story in awed silence. It was a tale of misunderstanding that had ended in tragedy. Cruella had become the victim of her own fame and extravagant publicity stunts. She had planned the greatest one of her career only to have it go horribly wrong before it could be brought to its final culmination.

Anita had interviewed John and Artie. Artie had shown Anita the purchase order for hundreds of yards of faux Dalmatian fur manufactured in a small factory in Yorkshire. The factory, he was eager to point out, had been on the verge of bankruptcy but would now be able to stay in business.

Meanwhile, John had the receipts and the pedigrees for 85 Dalmatian puppies, legally purchased throughout the United Kingdom. The canines had been housed in Miss de'Vil's home in the country, where they had been cared for by her staff. It was a beautiful thing she had done, hiring ex-convicts to care for the animals and giving them a new chance in life. John also showed Anita the bill from the vet for the special food and supplements needed by one of the dogs who was adorably named Wink.

As for the stolen litter of puppies, Anita had sat the record straight. Cruella had asked to borrow the puppies for a photo shoot, and Anita had readily agreed. It was the least she could do for the dear friend she had known from childhood. It was Cruella who had gifted her Perdita, the mother of the puppies and the offspring of Miss de'Vil's own Dalmatian. The fifteen puppies, along with Miss de'Vil's dog and the other 85, would equal 101 Dalmatians—a number that would stick in the public's mind.

Anita had given Miss de'Vil the key to Roger's apartment and told her that the puppies could be picked up that afternoon. Unfortunately, she had not been able to contact Roger's housekeeper, Nanny Cook. That dear lady had been understandably distraught on finding the puppies missing and called the police.

Watching out for so many puppies was a herculean task. Anita now recounted Horace's tale of that horrible night when her puppies had escaped and he and his brother had joined Cruella in a desperate search for them. Approaching the small village by Hellman Hall from opposite directions the two vehicles had tragically met on the icy road. Miss de'Vill had been injured and Horace's brother was still in hospital.

Both drivers had swerved to avoid the other. "But," asked Horace, "What else could you expect?" Any one of them would have given their life for the other. They were a family. The three of them had grown up together as orphans on the streets of London, surviving on only their pluck and ingenuity.

Anita's prose was so descriptive you could hear the heartbreak in Horace's voice. He was being very brave, but it was obvious that he was devastated by what had happened to the two people he loved most in the world, his brother and the woman who was like his sister.

Was Cruella going to make coats out of those sweet puppies? No, of course not. Concerned with the plight of innocent creatures killed only for their fur—animals that no one defended because western culture, steeped in centuries of tradition, had come to accept their deaths as normal—she had concocted the greatest publicity stunt of her career. She would create a line of clothes made from the skins of an animal so beloved that everyone would feel horror and revulsion at it's death. Only when the shock and outrage had reached its height, would she reveal that it was all a ruse.

It was time to see the judge. She lay the paper down on the chair beside her and silently walked into the courtroom.

The larceny charges had been dropped, as had the charges of animal cruelty. Only her bad driving had to be addressed. Roger gave a great many boring statistics about the treacherous curve in the road and reports about the low visibility and the icy conditions that night. In the end the judge suspended her driver's license (she'd never had one) and ordered her to enroll in driving school. In a daze she left the court room still not sure how Roger, of all people, had pulled it off.

She tried to sort it out. The papers had gotten a hold of the true story and had a field day. She had been reviled by the press as the greatest villain of all time. She should be headed to prison. However, Roger had come up with a better story that he had told to the police and the prosecutor. Then Anita had written it all down and gone on TV to sell it to the public. Cruella wasn't a villain. She was a hero, a socially conscious designer who abhorred the use of fur, sourced her fabrics in the United Kingdom and protected British jobs.

"So I'm good?" she asked uncertainly.

"Yes," said Roger understanding that she meant from a moral standpoint not a legal one.

"Does that mean we're friends?"

"No!"" said Roger vehemently, "God no..."

She sighed in relief.

Roger guided her through the gauntlet of reporters and cameras outside the building and settled her into a waiting cab. There were so many things to do. She had to scrap her designs for the fall show and she was going to have to talk to Artie about all that fake fur he had purchased without telling her. Then there were all those puppies to find homes for. She'd leave that to Anita. Suddenly she realized they were not heading for Hell Hall.

"Where are we going," she asked.

"Back to the hospital," he replied. "Someone wants to see you."

She couldn't do it, but Roger was talking again.

"I don't know why," he was saying, "But the poor sod cares about you. He'll probably stay with you forever if you give him any encouragement."

"He's in love with Estella," she said. "Cruella treats him like dirt."

"You're not two people you know," said Roger. "Everybody's born with a bit of a sociopath in them."

"How would you know?" she asked sulkily

"Because I may be a second rate lawyer, but I just pulled the greatest con of the 20th century. I then handed a plum story to my girlfriend that will make her career and has gotten her a spot on a national television show." Roger smiled in satisfaction. "Best of all, I have your signed confession that I will make public if you ever try something like this again."

She leaned back against the upholstery of the car seat and closed her eyes. So Roger and Anita weren't as squeaky clean as they seemed. They had helped her, but they had both benefited considerably as a result. It was comforting to know that they had a bit of larceny in their souls and hadn't been born good. Maybe John was right and it was all about choices.

When they reached the hospital Roger helped her out of the cab and got back in again.

"Aren't you coming?" she asked.

"No, you're on your own for this," he said.

She stopped in the bathroom to fix her hair and do her makeup. Roger had made her tone it down for the court room. The black eye looked horrible but being on the opposite side of her dark plait gave her face a sort of macabre balance. The cast on her arm made the job difficult, and her hand was a bit unsteady. Still she managed the smokie eye shadow, applied the bright red lipstick and pulled her hair out of the tight knot at the back of her neck. Cruella looked back at her from the mirror, but it was Estella who was standing here in the bathroom. Which one of them was going to walk down the hall and into Jasper's room. She thought of John spending years with the Baroness, thinking he loved her when there was nothing there to love. There was only one choice. She took a deep breath.

Cruella strode down the hall and breezily opened the door, ready to let him have it for being an idiot and losing the puppies and wrecking the van. The jeers and cutting words were on her lips, but Estella betrayed her. The sight of Jasper, smiling at her from the bed, his hand (still with an IV in the arm above it) raised in greeting, undid her completely. She burst into tears and rushed toward the bed. For once Cruella and Estella were in agreement. Both held him and cried because they had almost lost the one person in the world that mattered more than either of them. And Jasper, realizing that they were both one and the same and he was never going to get one without the other, put his good arm around her.