The Cabot/Cove Letters

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, the characters do not belong to me.

Introduction

My name was, and still is, Alexandra Cabot. I was an ADA for the District Attorney's office in New York City, handling cases for the Special Victims Unit. Those cases involved sex crimes.

For almost four years, I had put away criminals of all walks of life and perversions, made new friends and enemies. I had a good life, until a few misspoken words pissed off the wrong person, and made an underling of a Columbian Drug Lord my enemy. I heard a taped telephone conversion with him planning to murder me, and my mother. That same evening, the DEA agent that replayed the tape was killed by a car bomb. Though we nailed the underling, he was killed in a federal prison waiting for trial; I thought it was over.

One night, I was leaving a bar with two of my friends, and the next thing I knew I was laying on the concrete sidewalk. I felt a sharp pain from my shoulder, a warm wetness that seemed to spread out, a heavy pressure and Olivia chanting "no no no no" over and over as I lost consciousness.

I woke up early morning to the sight of a Federal Marshall, who told me that I was now in danger. He offered me witness protection, and I took it, but on one condition.

He refused to accept it at first, but he eventually realized I wouldn't take no for an answer. The last memory of my life was seeing the shocked look on the faces of my two best friends; the last people to see me alive. The look on Olivia's face was heartbreaking, and her voice conveyed it as much when she said my funeral was tomorrow. There were so many things I wanted to say, but there was little time, and I had to leave.

There were so many things to say, and no safe way to convey them to my friends. Except for Olivia and Elliot, everyone else thinks I'm dead. It could endanger my life, not to mention get my ass chewed out by Federal Marshals, if I tried to talk them through unsafe channels.

Those first months of orientation were hard to cope with. You're practically a prisoner in their witness training center, and have to deal with perfecting a new identity and review the gory details of why you must stick to it. There were a few things that helped me. I met with a counselor, and spoke to a few other witnesses weekly. My mom called me, wrote letters, and even visited me a few times; I'll always be grateful to her for that. I went to driving school in Arizona and learned anti-kidnapping and avoidance skills. I can now drive better than I ever have before and play Demolition Derby without putting more then a few dents in my car.

At the end of my orientation, when it was time to reenter the world with my new identity, I needed to find a place to live and a new occupation. I couldn't go back to work as an ADA, or even a lawyer. That left perhaps one avenue I hadn't thought of in a long time: teaching.

My education included a Masters Degree, so I have the credentials to teach. The step from Courtroom to classroom wasn't really that big a step for me. The stress of putting away a perp was gone, not to mention dealing with the occasional sleazy defense lawyer and uptight judge (not to mention my boss). To me, it was like returning to my youth and reliving my school days.

The Feds established me in the city of Piqua, Ohio, north of Dayton off Interstate 75. I had a few misgivings being near a drug corridor, but it was doubtful that a drug courier would drive off the Interstate and into the city. Once that paranoia wore off, I found out how lucky I was. The city is very well kept, very picturesque at a distance and as clean, if not more so, than New York. I moved into a nice apartment near Edison Community College and went to work as an Associate Professor that following semester Spring 2004.

As the paranoia and nightmares wore off, I started to relax and make new friends. I'm working on a way to safely contact Olivia back in New York, and I hope to establish a correspondence with her.

Some days are hard for me, others are easier, but I'm driven by one thing: if I give up, that Drug Lord wins, and I'm not going to let him win.