Disclaimer: Everything Law & Order related belongs to Dick Wolf and company, as in the show idea and known characters. But I do own the abstract created characters and plot line.
Disclaimer Two: I do not own Charles Dickens's, A Christmas Carol, no concepts or ideas, nadda, never have and never will. But it is an awesome tale, props to Dickens's-man.
A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, ya'll are the driving and inspirational force that keeps me going. I really appreciate it. Hugs and Texas kisses all-around!
Wolfwood11: Naw, dude, I appreciated that. I also appreciate that you consistently review. And all the weird stuff that happens in my little story is all on purpose and carefully engineered. And Andrew…I'll just leave it at that, nothing to say, yet. Thanks for taking the time to review.
OrionandSilver: Yeah! Who's the baby's daddy! I ani't revealing nothing, yet. Oh, you've pieced so much of the story together. I'm glad you have too, I was worried the long, long chapters would cause readers to miss the clues I've been deliberately dropping everywhere. But maybe not. And yes, poor Cate, but she has overcome and returned with a vengeance! Thanks for your review.
SVU Lover4ever: Ah, that makes me feel so special! But I bet you say that to all the starving writers. Thanks for the praise, I feel honored. (And no, I'm not being sarcastic.)
A/N: The towns and river, Cheyenne and Marfa and the Platte River are real…all the others are made up, same with The Gully, made that up too…the name of my future bar…someday. Yea me.
This is also another one of my favorite chapters! Yeah, hope ya'll like it as much as I do. Rock on!
Also, I'm caught in my end-of-semester time crunch, this may be the last update for a while, ya'll might not get another one for several days, next Saturday most likely. But a butt load of reviews might make me push to update sooner…
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Strip search wasn't necessary under the bizarre circumstances; Cate had just been released from the hospital. So she wasn't probed to search for weapons or drugs, her doctors had already done that.
But Cate Monty was relieved of her shoelaces and escorted by two uniforms and Elliot to the left wing of temporary lock-up, the last cell; she the only occupant of the wing too.
It would be her home until arraignment and trial. The cell was simple, a spring-less mattress on a wall bolted bed frame, with harsh sheets and a flat pillow, a stainless steel sink next to a stainless steal toilet with no tank, along with one roll of cheap paper, a window; it was steel barred and covered with thick glass.
There was nothing else.
Cate was left alone to her own wicked vice of escaping from the cell. She waited for nearly ten minutes before she started inspecting the cell for imperfections and flaws.
Running fluid fingers over the corners, edges and seals of the paint coated cinder block walls.
Noting the several graffiti marks on the cell walls from its previous inhabitants; crude deceptions of genitalia both male and female, derogatory labels, racial slurs and stereotypical claims along with colorful poems, curses and rants, gang signs and affiliation marks, even small stick figures, bumping and humping, thumping and grinding, vulgar and blotchy but relayed the meaning with clarity, the history of the cell went on and on.
One small stanza in particular caught her eye: 'I had you mom, I had your dad, tell you what they both weren't too bad.'
Then there was the cell lock, she wouldn't risk tampering with it, yet, it was the older type of lock too.
This was just a temporary lock-up cell; they weren't magnetized like prison locks. Cate doubted anything in her cell would be of much use in forcing it; she could strip the screws from the hanging bed frame later tonight in an attempt.
Then there was the toilet, nothing of use there she concluded after she was done probing the bowl and pipeline joining it.
The sink proved just as useless as the mattress did.
Frustrated, she knelt into a cross-legged position on the cool concrete floor, mediation always helped in situations like this.
She rarely did it anymore.
When did I stop again?
Cate counted back the days.
After I killed Kershaw…That's when I stopped.
Adam warned her about that, once you start you can't stop…
…taking lives.
Annoyed at how right he was, Cate chose to rectify the situation and mediate some.
She was so lost in thought she didn't hear her first of many visitors approach her cell, some would come in secret with cloaks and daggers, others blatantly with curious intentions.
"Does that clear your conscious of guilt?"
Cate opened her eyes to see John Munch and George Huang standing on the opposite side of the cell door.
Cate didn't respond to the raw and stinging question from the gentlemen with the shaded glasses, instead stood before them both, "Which one of you told Stabler what to ask me?"
The two suddenly looked uncomfortable.
"It was a nice idea having him bait me and relive the worst night of my life. Did it help in your assessment of my sanity?" She added stepping closer to the bars.
"Your very smart, Cate." George observed.
"You know my name, but I haven't had the pleasure…"
"Doctor George Huang," he brushed his hand toward his counterpart, "Detective John Munch."
"Doctor," she purred. "But not a doctor of medicine…At least not physical medicine. No, you're a doctor of the mind," Cate tapped at her temple and moved closer to the bars this time gripping them.
"So tell me Doctor, in your professional opinion, am I insane?"
George didn't move back from the bars, he was in her fatal reach, but was calling her bluff, she wouldn't attack him. This new behavior was a front.
"No, and you know that."
"Is this a pych. evaluation? It may be more suited to an interrogation room." Cate added moving away from the bars and taking an uncomfortable seat on spring-less mattress, creaking the hanging frame.
"No, I just wanted to talk with you. May I come in?"
"Of cou—"
"That's not such a good idea." John interjected.
"He could be right," she piped up, "I could take you hostage, then use you as a human shield. Take his gun from him and beat him to death with it. Wreak all sorts of havoc on your station. Then escape once again into the city's underworld and finish my vengeance." Cate intimidated stretching one leg on the bed.
George didn't falter, "No you won't, Cate."
"And why wouldn't I?"
"Because we haven't done anything to you, we didn't burn or rape you or kill your children. You've been very cooperative since you've been here. Detective Stabler tried repeatedly to bait and enrage you. Each time you showed self control, you don't want to act hostile against us, because you save your aggression for them. You're not threatened by us and you don't have any fatal intentions against us. So drop the hostility toward me." George deemed calmly and passionately.
Cate smiled and looked out the thick glass window, "Maybe I should have majored in psychology instead of advanced mathematics."
"Open the cell," George murmured to John, who crossed his arms in defiance.
"George," John started.
He held up his hand, "She's not going to do anything."
Cate was now watching them both murmur quietly like she wasn't there.
"Ok, if she somehow slits your throat with that bed sheet, Cragen will have your ass, not mine."
Well if I'm dead it won't matter will it?, "I'll accept full responsibility, if there are any repercussions." George said confidently.
"Why do I feel like I'm going to regret this..." John said under his breath, "Eugene! Will you open this cell, please?" He called to guard down the corridor. A few seconds later Eugene keyed the cell door and the two entered, he shut it behind them.
Cate didn't move from her position but did draw one leg beneath her, still watching them.
He was right.
She wouldn't attack them, not unless they attacked her. Cate hoped it wouldn't come to that either, but she had a feeling most of the officers in the station wanted to take a potshot at her, in more ways then one.
"May I have a seat?" George gestured with his hand to the other side of the bed.
"Certainly," she shifted some and George took a seat beside her.
They talked for nearly an hour, like old friends who ran into each other at a coffee shop and spent time over the cooling and ridiculously expensive lattés, catching up on the passed years, slipping into an instant sync.
They talked about her past, topics ranging from her time in the Army, Frankie Monty, the people who killed her family and burned her, then on to more narrow and razor subjects, like her circumcision and the rape.
Then on to ill-circumstances of floating from town to town and state to state over the last six years, to places that no one's ever heard of and the occupants there had never heard of Cate Monty, the few she thought were worth mentioning:
Tally, New York, were she mocked as the waitress Lily Waters, who had a comfort level with dime book romances.
Isaiah, Alabama, she was the librarian Connie Branch, who would noodle on the weekends with the local old-timers.
Hell, Texas, she tutored teenagers under the name Natalie Boar and would make the four mile walk to Marfa on clear nights to ponder the mysterious lights.
Baytown, Florida, bartended at The Gully as Katie Montgomery and listened to depressed alcoholics mourn their lost careers and families, due to the burning addiction from the bottle.
Blue Creek, Montana, found some peace working in a kitchen at the Walters Horse Ranch and learned to ride as Mora Sanders.
Match, Arizona, she learned bits of Navajo while working at a roadside café and gas station as Kylie Hightower.
Joanna, Louisiana, lived in a shotgun double, tutored the unruly teenagers next door in exchange for Cajun and Creole cooking as Cate Starr.
And finally Waterville, Wyoming, she intended to end her journey there, tired of uprooting every time she saw a suspicious shadow. Things were fine for three years, then that trial and scandal occurred, drastically ending her new life and sending her back down the path of her old one.
People would always look at her differently due to the noticeable burn tissue; Cate would always tell the ones brave enough to ask that she was in a house fire. Kept to the core of what was fact and didn't go beyond that.
Avoided any physical or emotional relationships with the opposite sex or that of her own.
Who'd love or sleep with a dead woman?
Especially one so damaged and mutilated.
Occasionally John would drop a cynical remark or off-color comment and Cate acted like he wasn't there.
George's theories where realized as he listen to her; she really didn't care is she lived, died or went to prison,
"At least I would be there for something I am guilty of."
"Do you feel remorse for what you did? That it was wrong."
"Yes, I know it is wrong to take a life. But I don't regret it."
"So you think you did the city a favor? Murdering those rapists, child molesters and drug dealers."
"I'm not doing this to clean up the city; I'm doing this to bring justice to the deaths of my children."
"Do you think you're a hero?"
"No, I'm just a dead mother."
She didn't want to be a hero, as some of the cities' inhabitants were portraying her as; she was more vigilante than anything.
Saving Petra Ramirez, Nathan Throne, encouraging Edward Sauls to change and impacting the countless other individuals, that would never come forward, were the best examples to attest and affirm that fact.
Those people where there and needed her help so she stepped in, at the right time and right place. It wasn't intentional, just fate, if you believe in things like that.
Cate Monty wasn't insane.
No, she just didn't care about the consequences she faced.
Cate Monty felt she was dead, George Huang didn't though, she was far too vibrant and deep to be dead.
But through it all, she had a death wish.
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After George and John left, Cate started exercising in the cell, determined to regain the muscle mass she lost during her coma.
Crunches to sit-ups, push-ups and wall push-ups and pull-ups using the top bar brace of her cell.
She had worked up quite a sweat and healthy glow when her next group of visitors could be heard storming down the hall. After quickly flushing her face with water and wiping it off with the bed sheet, she started to focus on the loud and hostile conversation.
"Where is my client?"
Client? Ah, damn…They provided me with a lawyer.
"In her cell." Cragen replied.
"I assume she was advised of her rights?"
Cate walked over to the pea-green painted, cool steel bars and leaned against them, palming the long cylinders lightly.
"Of course. But she already confessed."
"Confessed! Without lawyer advisement? I'll have this thrown out of court!"
"No, she—"
"This is a violation of her rights as an American citizen."
"She's illegally dead."
"Then you won't mind releasing her into my custody."
"That is out of the question."
"Then her confession is inadmissible. I am also asking for a psychiatric evaluation. Aw, here we are, Ms. Monty."
Cate eyed the lawyer, Nice suit…Rolex…Metro-sexual…And slimy.
"I'm Vahik Aboolian, your lawyer." He thrust his hand fearlessly through the bars causing Cate to take a surprised step back, then cautiously shook it.
"I want a private room to confer with my client, now." He demanded, his voice turning to an almost liquid honey, dripping with confidence in Cragen's direction.
Cragen looked to Eugene who shrugged, keying the cell door again, handcuffed her and then escorted her to a private room, left alone with Vahik Aboolian and a uniform.
Cate nearly spent an hour listening to him ramble about how they had that this case in the bag. She wouldn't be going to go prison; if anything she would be going to an insane asylum. With the psych. evaluation (he didn't even have yet), he was going to pull for an insanity plea. And have her confession entered as inadmissible, because he wasn't present.
Cate acted polite and finally concluded that he liked to hear himself talk. He wasn't in it in the name of justice; he was in it for the press.
This was going to be a massive and highly publicized trial.
"Especially that the city knows your story. Murdered children, betrayed by your husband and the court system. The people are on your side, you're a hero. And then think of all the protesters."
"Protesters?" Cate's heart fell, it was never supposed to be like this, she didn't want support or a following, she just wanted to finish it.
"Oh yeah, you're an inspiration…" He continued to ramble about all the possibilities of beating the system.
He was cocky and overly confident; Vahik Aboolian was the sort of man that gave the profession of lawyer an ill reputation.
"I will see you at arraignment; it was a pleasure Ms. Monty." He concluded their private meeting, produced his hand again waiting for her to shake it, she took it and he turned to leave.
Cate was about to be cuffed again when she had an idea, "Mr. Aboolian,"
He turned to her and flashed his gleaming teeth, like a vicious and predatory animal.
"Do you have a card?" Cate asked meekly, with one cuff already clicked about her right wrist, the uniform standing behind her.
"Oh, yes. Sorry I forgot about that." He reached into the breast pocket of the dark blazer and handed her a very expensive business card, with his information printed on thick, threaded paper.
Perfect.
Cate slipped it into her front jeans pocket, "Thank you. Thank you for all your help." She moved her wrist to her back and allowed the officer to finish cuffing her.
Within minutes she was placed in the same cell and left alone again.
She pulled the hardly bent business card out of her pocket and smiled at the thick, chunky ink.
"Thanks for giving me the key out of this cell, Mr. Aboolian." Cate whisper to the unforgiving walls, placed the card on top of the messed-up bed and started to exercise again, the rain pattered rhythmically against the thick glass window.
Cate wished she could taste and feel it, instead of just watching it.
She knew she would soon enough.
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"You fuckin' bitch!"
The highly insulting and accusatory statement bounced off the cinder block walls and echoed down the corridor, creating catcalls and hisses from the occupants of the right wing of lock-up.
Cate was in the middle of a crunch when the assaulting words registered in her ears; she sat up and looked to the cell door.
A woman of mixed ethnicity stood at the bars, wrapped in a maroon fringe leather jacket, with a very pissed look on her face.
"That may be," Cate stood and moved toward the bars, highly insulted at the label, "Who in the fuck are you?"
"Did you know!" She demanded moving closer to the bars.
"Know what?"
"Bitch, don't finger me!" She hissed jabbing a fist at Cate; she felt her hackles rise at the possible attack.
"Wouldn't dream of it." Cate replied spreading her arms to emphasize, "You're not my type."
"Answer my question. Did you know?"
Cate moved around in the cell, "I don't even know who you are or what you're talking about."
"Kim Ong."
"What about the fuck?"
"His little business. Did you know about it?"
"What are you talking about?" Cate was genuinely lost and glanced over to the rain wet glazed window.
"The warehouse basement of sex-slaves! Those little kids…" She trailed off, feeling a hiss of tears at the mention of those innocent children, "Why didn't you help them, like you did Petra Ramirez and Nathan Thorne?"
Cate looked up, seeing her weep at the statement, Sex-slaves?
Cate moved over to the young woman, standing only inches apart due to the bars and started to whisper for sake of the drastic change of mood, "Kim Ong, he was housing sex-slaves," she nodded. "You said children, I'm assuming abducted children." She nodded again, "How many?"
"Thirty-eight."
"I didn't know. Had I, I would have gone there first. Make no mistake, Ma'am, I would have done something." Cate said sternly, the young woman looked up, "Would you?" Not quite believing, spiteful still.
"Yes." And if he has anymore houses I will find them and take care of the fucks holding them.
The young woman ran a hand across her face and looked down the corridor to see the guards Eugene and Maxwell eyeing her, then quickly look away.
"'Oory, it's just that…I was there. I saw them. I had never been so disgusted and enraged at the same time in my entire life. It shouldn't have happened to them…or anyone." She murmured, confused at the same time, wondering why she was confessing this to a homicidal vigilante; showing her maternal and human underbelly to a person who's killed at least nine people, each murder more brutal than the last.
"I know. Who are you?"
She looked up, "Detective Nadia Sands, I've been on your case from the very beginning."
Cate nodded, "Well, Detective Sands, don't beat yourself up about the children. You didn't know, but you stepped in to help them didn't you?" Cate moved away from the bars and seated herself on the creaking bed frame.
"Yes." Nadia nodded.
"You acted in accordance with the law."
"Yes."
"Saw to it they had medical attention and a way home."
"Yes."
"Then you've done everything to the best of your ability. Even clearing your mind of any possibility that I knew and did nothing."
Nadia felt naked all of the sudden, she was being brought back to earth by a murderer.
This is grounds for suspension. I shouldn't even be talking to her.
"Detective Sands," she drew Nadia from her thoughts. "Get out of here and help someone who needs to be rescued and can be saved. Stop wasting time on me, I'm beyond redemption and lecture." Cate said in her teacher like tone.
Nadia nodded and was about to leave when a particular question nibbled at her temple, "Why don't you carry weapons?"
Cate looked at her perplexed, no one had asked why she didn't carry her own weapons or her how she managed to get to into the various homes, How observant of her to ask, not even Georgey-Boy thought to. Stabler should have, because I won't be here next time.
"I never had a use for weapons since I came back to the city. Why carry them when the city and their homes provide me with ample means of permanent incapacitation. Except for my virgin kills…As for that sawed off twelve gage, I discarded it long ago. It's a rut for pan-fish now." Cate answered calmly, Rotting on the floor of the Platte River.
Nadia tilted her head slightly, more disturbed at how calm Cate was when she said that, then left without saying another word.
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Cate had her head against the cold and rain fogged glass window, slowly starting to develop cabin fever, And its only the first day.
She had given up for the evening on mediating and exercising and was wondering when she would have her evening meal and shower.
Also wondering when the opportunity for escape would come about, her eyes gazed over to Vahik Aboolian's business card still lying on the sterile flat pillow, she intended to be on the streets again before arraignment or sooner.
Cate wasn't so lost in thoughts of escape and food, not to hear her fourth visitor's heels click on the paint slick concrete walk.
Great, what ghost is coming to visit me now?
Cate had noticed the odd and twisted similarities of her imprisonment with that of Charles Dickens's, A Christmas Carol, one ghost after another appearing in her presence.
She kept expecting Lengsfield Philips's angel of death to return and finish what he or she had started.
Maybe they've wised up this time and will just use a machinegun to cut me in two, no more of these pussy-shit attempts, cutting my arteries, burning me alive or injecting me with rattlesnake venom. Just kill me and make sure I'm dead before you slip away into the dark…Cowards.
The steps came to a halt outside her cell, Cate leaned back some eyeing the distorted figures' reflection in the foggy window.
Then finally gave in and turned to face the bleary enigma.
Olivia Benson.
Cate couldn't hide her surprise and confusion.
After the broken and one-sided conversation at the hospital, Olivia was the last person Cate expected to see darkening the doorway of her cell.
Olivia seemed just as confused, as if she wasn't sure why she stood there either.
Neither spoke for nearly a minute, Cate did it out of respect; the ball was in Olivia's court after her comment nearly five hours ago.
"How did you know?" Olivia whispered finally shattering the porcelain silence.
"About your pregnancy?"
Olivia nodded tiredly, eyes dry and red with wonder and worry.
"My great-grandmother educated me herbal medicines and mid-wifing. We were always going to some sort of birth, whether it was horse or human…When ever I was at Sage for the summer, we would wind up bringing some sort life into this world." Cate turned her focus back on Olivia, "I knew you were pregnant the second you and Stabler walked into my recovery room."
Olivia was about to speak, when Cate interrupted her, "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me."
"Is it?"
"Why would I tell? And who? What for? Blackmail? I can't gain anything from you. I have no reason to screw you. I already feel terrible about darting you." Cate apologized, genuinely.
Great, she feels remorse for darting me, but not for her murders. Would I, if I was in her position? What if it is true?
Olivia chose to let the subject drop, for some odd reason she trusted her about the life altering secret. It was as if Cate was nothing but a burnt husk of secrets and horrors, just another truth locked away in her psyche and would be taken with her to death.
If she ever died.
She thought about the misfire and the old woman's words on that stoop in the slum.
"Who was the woman in the slum?" Olivia ventured without thinking and nearly clamped her palm over her mouth in a pubescent fashion.
Cate cut her eyes in Olivia's direction, peering through the near white, stringy and oily hair.
"What woman?" She was intrigued.
"African-American, elderly, carried a white-bone cane. Lives in the building across from yours." Olivia profiled.
Cate turned pale, "What did she say to you?"
This is a bad idea,Olivia started to backtrack; suddenly she didn't want to know.
She continued at Olivia's silence, "You described Dolorous, she's an urban legend. Look it up…haven't you ever seen a ghost, Detective Benson?" Cate questioned with leer.
Thoughts of F10, the Irish banshee, the image in the mirror and snake-like scar burned in Olivia's mind's eye and she felt a wicked chill lick her spine.
Cold, so utterly cold and disturbed.
"Don't you know your looking at a ghost?"
Olivia turned her heel quickly, nearly losing balance, This is just too weird.
The rattled detective walked quickly down the hall, her steps echoing rapidly off the cinderblock walls, hormones at full tilt and reeking havoc on her emotions.
Cate didn't say another word in her direction.
I've done enough to her.
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An hour after she alienated Olivia and disturbed Nadia; Cate was escorted to the unisex prisoner shower, were she was watched by two female uniforms while she bathed, as a precaution.
It didn't bother her much, Cate had a feeling they weren't looking at her body, it was too grotesque for them, well at least the front was. Her back had remained virtually untouched by the fire.
After her cold shower, with cheap soap, no shampoo and powdery deodorant, she was escorted back to her cell, in the same donated hospital clothing, which sort of defeated the purpose of the shower.
Nearly an hour later her evening meal was severed; chunky, lukewarm cheeseburger, a tangy Styrofoam cup of water, pasty fries and a mesh of spinach, the lance against the fiend anemia.
After the meal, she removed the lace-less shoes, over-shirt and the faded worn jeans, folding them neatly on the floor next to the hanging bed; she would sleep in the thin tank top and underwear…at least for the first few hours.
She stretched, about to slip under the coarse bed sheet when her fifth visitor arrived, timidly.
Cate noticed the pale blue heels first in the shadows of the hallway adjoining the cell, then the hosiery, and combining, yet clashing gray skirt and pale blue button up top.
Her face seemed very familiar, then Cate almost instantly recognized her from Lee Apartments, the woman called 9-1-1 and helped her carry Kershaw's last victim.
Why is she here?
Then had a horrible vision and epiphany materialized in her mind, What if she's Lengsfield Philips's assassin?
On edge as she eyed the blonde, she finally chose to speak, "What are you doing here?"
"So you recognize me."
Cate nodded, half expecting her to produce a shotgun, screaming vengeance for Jack Kershaw and all the others in the name ofLengsfield Philips.
She didn't.
"I'm Casey Novak, the ADA for Special Victims."
"Small world," Cate felt her hackles lower. "How's the girl?"
"She made it. Out of the hospital and everything."
Cate nodded, she had wondered about the girl ever since that night.
"I—I want to thank you." Casey stammered.
The thanks caused Cate to look at her in surprise; no one had thanked her for any of this and she didn't ask for it either, she was selfish in her vengeance. It was for her and no one else, as for the people she helped along the way; Petra Ramirez, Nathan Throne and Edward Sauls just to name a few, they where there and she wouldn't leave them to their demise, but she didn't go out looking for them either.
"For what?"
"Jack Olen, I mean Kershaw, he worked in my building. Handyman, but I guess you knew that already." Casey responded.
Cate merely nodded, it was no coincidence that she knew were Jack Kershaw was working and living. He was the easiest to track down too.
"He was in my apartment repairing a leak in my sink the night you…I was going to go out to drinks with him that evening after he got off his shift. I could have been his next…" Casey trailed off and found herself staring at her pale blue heals, focusing on a scuff on the toe.
"But you weren't, you where in the lobby to help her. He placed you there, it was his undoing in a way. You had greater purpose that night, to help her and you did." Cate didn't know where these words of comfort where coming from or why these people kept coming to her but she took it in stride, as most things.
Casey nodded, "You saved my—"
Cate cut her off holding up a finger, "I didn't save you. Make no mistake Ms. Novak, I was only there to kill him. Not to save you or the girl, even though I did. It was a coincidence, nothing more." That was it, Cate ended the conversation.
Casey shook her head, feeling it was more, like fate, that night made her realize how lucky and fortunate she was, then she shrugged coming to her senses, She's just a killer. She's no different from any of the others. She doesn't even feel remorse. Not a hero or vigilante, just fucked-up in the head.
Casey turned to leave, she had Cate Monty's arraignment to prepare for, she was seeking life imprisonment, with no chance of parole.
As for Vahik Aboolian threats about throwing out Cate's confession…Well, lets just say Satan would getting brain-freezes off shushes in his office, before she was going to allow that to happen.
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The Twenty-Ninth Day
September 6, 2005 Tuesday
Vince Connors, Damien Burroughs, Manuel Montero and Jina Farlane were back together again for another night of playing cloak and dagger.
The precinct was nearly deserted at 3:16 a.m, the graveyard shift, thin and sickly.
The four entered though a side door after being met by one of Vince's police implants.
Corrupt Officer Jimmy O'Malley led them to the left wing lock-up, taking his two-grand bribe from Vince; he palmed the heavy envelope, as Vince passed out the other two bribes to the other two officers posted at the threshold of the wing.
"Take a coffee break, for at least an hour and half. Don't let anyone come up here." Vince said sternly to the three corrupt officers who nodded holding their dirty money concealed in clean, fresh envelopes.
"You can't kill her though, that's not what we agreed to." Jimmy reminded handing him the appropriate cell key.
"We won't, we just want to talk to her." Vince smiled shoving his hands into the pockets of his dark slacks, after taking the key.
"I'm sure…Ok boys lets take a powder." Jimmy instructed to his two subordinates as they left.
Vince Connors, Damien Burroughs, Manuel Montero and Jina Farlane approached the last cell in the semidarkness, whereas Cate had be well wake for the last twenty minutes or so, dressed again and was working fevered and patiently picking the cell lock with the tightly rolled Vahik Aboolian business card.
Intently listening to the various clicks within the spring-lock, making progress until she heard the approaching multiple footsteps.
Her sixth ghost had arrived.
Cate jerked her arm while she pulled it back into the cell, enduring the hot pinch in her shoulder while backing up against the wall adjoining the bars, listening to the steps.
This is it, the tempers of pissed cops coming her way to take their shots at the vigilante, the killer.
Or so she believed.
Most of the lights were out in the hallway creating shadows everywhere; Cate held her breath and crouched against the wall.
Four figures appeared at the doorway finally, each brandishing a Billy club, one keyed the lock, and none of them had noticed her, folded in the corner, yet.
Cate sized and observed them silently, as they entered and shifted her sheets, in annoyance one of them turned and his face was lit up by one the rays of light cast from a florescent in the hallway.
Her mouth dropped as she found herself looking at a younger Bensyn Connors.
Lost in the surprise Cate was spotted in the cell, forcefully cursed at and smashed up against the painful bars of the cell, wrists restrained by Damien and Manuel.
All the oxygen left in body in shock as her head started to throb from bars.
A gloved hand intertwined in her hair and pulled, "Do you know who I am?" Vince hissed as he abused his father's murder.
"Yes, you're a spiting image of your father." Cate sneered purposely pouring salt in the wound.
Vince lost his composure and hit her hard across her face, she felt her both her lips burst and the iron tasting, cherry colored fluid sprayed across Manuel's face, he ignored it.
"Why'd you kill him?" Vince demanded, gripping her hair harder.
"Because he participated in the murders of my children and the burning of my body!" Cate spat.
"Lair! He wouldn't do that!"
"Yes he did. You know your father wasn't a saint, he was nothing but a drug dealer and gunrunner. You know that!" Her voice carried down the corridor.
They were blessed that lock-up was empty in the right wing at the moment, or else every uniform not corrupt would have been notified about their visitation.
"He just stood there, as my son and daughter were sodomized and raped by his counterparts. And he did nothing!" She screamed passionately.
Vince shuddered at her words, refusing to believe and hit her in the stomach hard out of anger for what she said and had done.
She gasped at the mind blinding pain and leaned over some, gasping for air, like a fish out of water.
Damien forced her back against the bars, knocking her skull again in the process.
"You killed the wrong man. You left my mother widowed and my sisters without a father." Vince accused.
"What…about me? My…children? He helped in…destroying my life…and family." Cate retorted through wet gasps of air, Vince hit her again, this time she wasn't allowed to fall forward.
Through the drenching sobs Vince leaned in so she could hear, "You're so fucked-up in the head, you know that. He didn't do anything too you or your children. You mutilated, you molested—"
"No I didn't!"
"Yes-you-did! You raped your own children and burned them alive, you-sick-fuck!" Vince screamed into her face, spittle peppering her features.
Cate was overcome with rage and reacted like a caged animal, lashing out at Vince first shifty kicking him the in groin.
As he collapsed, Jina stepped in hissing and calling her a bitch then raised the Billy club about to crush her skull with it.
Cate held back and ducked at the last minute, the club rattled across the bars above her head and connected with Damien's temple, causing him to release his grip on her wrist, following Vince to the floor.
Jina raised the club again only for Cate to wrap her fingers around the black cylinder extremely quickly, catching Jina off guard, at the same time Cate wrapped her right leg around Manuel's right leg, and pulled hard.
The three jerked back and fourth as Damien lay unconscious on the hard floor and Vince tried to regain his footing, seething though the throbbing pain in his crotch.
Manuel's patience was wearing thin as Cate jerked and twisted against his body, finally he grasped her throat causing her to let go of Jina's club and claw at his death grip.
The oxygen started to escape her lungs; she had a vision of Kim Ong's asphyxiation from only a few days ago, she tried vainly to pull his hand from her throat while he continued to crush.
Vince was now on his knees, Jina helping him and Damien still incapacitated and Manuel continued to hold her left wrist and bear down dominantly on her throat, withering and fighting for air while her other hand was pinned to the bars, she saw only one alternative, to let go of her hold of Manuel's throat grip.
Cate shoved her thumb into Manuel's left eye socket, using her other fingers as a base, embedding them into his scalp and shoved her thumb deeper until he screamed and released her throat and pawed at his bleeding eye.
Cate let go of his face and collapsed against the cell bars, sucking in fevered breaths and holding her throbbing throat.
It was Jina's turn to redeem herself for knocking Damien cold, still crouched as she cursed at Cate again, raising the Billy club only to have Cate violently wrestle it from her grip and connect it across her mouth, loosening a tooth and a back filling in the process.
Fumbling for the bars behind her while she tried to stand and breathe, this was her chance, most of them were incapacitated in some way, the perfect time for her make her flight, she was done fighting.
Manuel was moaning on the cold concrete floor shifting through the blood streaming from his socket, Jina reeling from the agony at her mouth, Damien still out cold and Vince had nearly recovered.
Cate stepped around the cell door barefoot, at a run, the Billy club still in her grasp as Vince stumbled out the door, pulled his Glock out of its shoulder holster, thankful he had minded in screwing the silencer on, leveled it, not caring about what he and Officer Jimmy O'Malley had agreed too; not to kill Cate Monty.
Fuck that.
He pulled the trigger, multiple times.
Cate screamed feeling the hot lead sear through her shoulder, another one through her lower calf.
The force knocked her to the cold concrete, the club clattered in her fingers, thoroughly banging and bruising her body in the process.
Vince stood harshly having unloaded an entire clip into Cate and the adjoining cinderblock walls.
Puffs of cinderblock and gun smoke now filled the hazy hall.
Vince removed the empty clip and allowed it to clash floor, then reloaded the Glock as he walked, chambering a new round.
Cate hissed for breath but didn't move or fidget, waiting for Vince to approach.
"I know Lucifer has a special place in Hell for you, for all the rapist of children." Vince hissed leveling the Glock at her unprotected back.
She sobbed for air, wetly, lying on the growing rose blossom of blood, coating the pea-green painted concrete floor, inhaling the smell of wet iron mingled with gunfire and musk of cinderblock.
Vince didn't expect her to fight back, but she did.
Cate rolled halfway on to her side at the last minute and used her good leg to sweep Vince off his feet.
The Glock discharged with a sharp, quiet hiss into the foam tiled ceiling above them as he collapsed.
His Glock with one round less and the silencer still securely screwed on the barrel, rattled out of his grip and hung on a nearby unoccupied cell's bar. Just out of his reach.
Cate crawled awkwardly to his body, moved onto sore knees for more leverage, and clocked Vince across his temples with the Billy club, knocking him out cold.
Breathing hard, knowing she had only seconds to escape, she reached for the silencer Glock, hoping she wouldn't have to use it.
Standing on sore joints and wounded calf, she continued to walk quickly out of the wing, totally lost.
Moving down hallways only to find dead ends or uniforms congregating over coffee, searching for that lovely glowing and red sign, that preached the word; EXIT.
She was leaving a blood trail in doing so, nothing she could do about that, and she was barefoot to begin with.
Bending toenails and burning her feet on the carpeted sections of the station, creping around corners and seriously considering calling the New York Fire Department about the lack of fire exit signs posted in the hallways.
Then, eureka, an exit.
Cate slid over to it with sticky footsteps reading the sign posted on the door, 'Fire Alarm Will Sound When Opened', an emergency exit.
Cate shrugged at the warning, These cops could use some excitement right about now.
With a mischievous smirk she shoved the lever and the siren sounded overhead, complete with rotating red lights.
Once over the threshold she found herself in a side alley, with rain still pouring from the night sky, she didn't bother top stop to bask in the drops and instead started to run with awkward steps, the blood oozing off her clothing.
The sirens started to fade as she ran barefoot over glass and debris in the alleyway, then adjoining alleys and streets, ignoring the throb in her calf.
She didn't stop until she finally found herself in an empty alley, back against a sun rotted brick wall, slouched next to a rusting trashcan, the sirens had faded in her ears, replaced by the patter of rain and that of agitated opera music emitted from a record player some apartment stories above her.
Cate smiled and discarded the Billy club and Glock into the rusty trashcan next to her and stepped out into the rain, spreading her arms and allowing the rain to wash her body free of blood and sin.
She spun freely, laughing, everything was perfect, the rain and the shaky opera music, it was bliss in the alley, a wonderful soundtrack to her freedom.
I am free. Free to finish and free to die…
(End Chapter Twelve)
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