She heard laughter from a small child. She looked over at the blonde boy with the infectious smile.
Who is that, she thought.
He ran to her. He couldn't have been more than two years old. He was calling out, "Mommy! Mommy! Look what I can do!"
She looked around for the child's mother. With shock, she realized that she was his mother.
She felt panic. What was his name?
A man about fifty came over and told him, "Now, Eric, you know Mommy hasn't been feeling well. Why don't we let her rest?"
He led the boy away as she thought, his name is Eric?! She felt sadness. That was her father's name, and that's what she wanted to name a son if she and Christian were to have one.
Where was Christian?
The man returned. "Chastity, Eric just wants to be with you. Why do you treat him like he doesn't exist?" he asked her.
"I'm not Chastity," she said; "I'm Kathryn."
The man's expression changed.
"Oh you're going to pull that shit with me again, are you?" he asked angrily. "Let's see how being hospitalized jogs your memory, bitch!" He then slapped her across the face.
He pulled her out of her chair and dragged her down the hall to a bedroom. He ripped her clothes from her body and savagely raped her.
Her next memory was being in a hosptial; doctors and nurses came in and out all day long. No one spoke to her, though she tried to communicate with them.
A nurse asked her for her name.
"Kathryn Marie Hope."
"Your date of birth?" she was asked.
"March 24, 2003."
The nurse loooked at her disapprovingly.
"Your name is Chastity Edwards Owens. Your date of birth is April 4, 2001."
"No, it's not," she insisted.
The nurse said nothing more to her and turned to leave the room.
"Where am I?" she asked as the nurse reached the doorway.
"You're where you can get some help. Your husband is quite worried about you."
"I don't have a husband," she insisted; "The man who forced me to come here raped me first."
The nurse left the room without responding.
"NO! Oh God, no!" Kathryn cried out in her sleep.
"Kathryn?" Christian asked her, concerned, "What's wrong? Another nightmare?"
She sat up in bed, then got out of it and walked to the window in their bedroom and stared out of it.
Christian was right behind her. "Kathryn, tell me what happened?"
She looked at Christian and sobbed, "Chastity had a child! A son named Eric. If she had one, there may be more! Christian... Chastity abandoned her child!"
"Tell me everything you remember about the dream, Kathryn," Christian said. He knew Kathryn had been having nightmares about something. Was this it?
Kathryn told him what she remembered. Christian made note of the name Kathryn had been told was her, and what the man who was Chastity's husband did to her.
It was the man who was supposed to call Christian back regarding his letter about no longer supporting A.R.M.
You will pay for what you did to my lover, asshole, Christian thought.
Ron Owens saw the note on his desk from the day before.
"So, Christian DeWitt wants to talk to me," he said. "He'll want to say that he won't fund us anymore. I got news for him. He'll do it, or one of his pretty daughters is going to feel my wrath."
What Owens didn't know is that DeWitt had news for him, too.
Ronald Clark Owens was a sadistic and brutal man. He'd fallen in love with a woman just like him. They had a child. Then she changed, claiming she had no memory of being married to him, or having a son. When he sent her away, he expected her to return. Instead, she had their marriage annulled. Then she sent him to California to work with A.R.M. terrorists based there.
When Chastity disappeared, he was glad. He hoped the bitch died and that her death was nasty, just like the punishments she gave out. He expected to be named head of the organization, but they brought in that Lincoln Marsh from the vigilante army that Clayton Pollard had on the side to take Chastity's place.
He'd put his son with Chastity up for adoption with a family out of state. He didn't care if he ever saw the boy again. He looked too much like a blonde, male version of Chastity. He never did figure out why the boy was so blonde with both he and Chastity having dark hair.
Marsh was in San Francisco looking for the female Triad assassin. Owens would take care of things in Collinsville. He knew he was no match for the male Triad assassins. The female should be easy to take down.
Owens didn't know who he was dealing with. And he wouldn't live long enough to take her down anyway.
Someone would make sure of that.
Eric Stevens was a happy four year old with big blue eyes and a smile that lit up the room. His adoptive parents doted on him.
When the boy started having nightmares, they grew concerned. He couldn't tell them why he was suddenly dreaming of a big dark haired man who threatened to attack him. So the Stevenses had the boy taken for a physical and discovered that someone had sexually abused him in the past.
When his parents heard that, Eric's adoptive mother became physically ill. Her husband became angry. Who could do such a horrid thing to a sweet little boy like Eric?
Valerie Stevens couldn't understand why she reacted so violently to it. She had been in charge of EpsOps during the Occupation, and her brother, Vince, headed up the Hit-n-Run team. She had seen far worse in her life.
But in the two years since they adopted Eric, they'd seen no sign of anything out of the ordinary until the little boy started having nightmares about a man named Ron who attacked him.
Then Valerie Cooper Stevens wanted blood.
When she and her husband Carder adopted the little boy from New York State, it was after they'd lost their own son, then 16, in an auto accident. Tyler was a bright, outgoing young man who had everything to live for. Then one afternoon three years before, he was on his way home from the camp where he was a counsellor when his car was hit by a semi tractor trailer whose driver had fallen asleep at the wheel. Tyler didn't have a chance to get out of its way.
It was the only other time Valerie felt physically ill.
On what would have been Tyler's 17th birthday the following April, she and Carder had gotten word that a little boy was available for adoption out of New York State. They had been foster parents in Virginia where they lived, and were interested in adoption. Tyler was all for it, Valerie remembered. Especially if it were a little boy. Tyler was the youngest of the Stevenses two sons, and their older son was in the Army, stationed in the Middle East. Between the two boys, there was their daughter, Miranda, who was in college.
Valerie and Carder readily agreed to take the then two year old boy named Eric.
He called them Mommy and Daddy the second day in their home.
But now, Valerie wanted revenge. She hadn't had those feelings since she ran EpsOps in her twenties.
She'd ask her uncle what he could find out about a man named Ron who was abusive toward children, and possibly women as well.
He wouldn't let her down.
II
Marsh arrived in San Francisco early the previous evening, and made his way to a run down motel in South San Francisco where his team had set up to look for Julia Summers and her family.
He knew his heart wasn't in it, but he didn't want these men to know that.
He held a meeting with them in the parking lot that morning, and told them what he expected and where to start looking. He handed out pictures of what their targets looked like, and instructed them to bring them to the motel before doing anything else.
"I know this is a big city, but I want you to check every school for these kids. As you can see by the photographs, three of them are redheads," Marsh said; "The oldest is a brunette and quite tall. Summers herself is five-three, one-ten in weight, shoulder length brown hair, brown eyes. She may be accompanied by an older man, name unknown, about six-two, one-seventy-five, age between 60 and 70. She may be armed, so use extreme caution."
He then dismissed his team to start their search of the city.
He went back to his room and laid down on the bed. He stared at the ceiling and thought of the beautiful girl with the green eyes who stole his heart.
"Oh, God...Edward!"
Nico felt like she was just going through the motions of life. She kept her emotions in check and lived life the way she thought would attract the least suspicion as to what was really going on.
She missed Eddie. Missed his touch, his voice, the way he made her feel.
Nico had started counselling with the psychologist on staff at police headquarters. She talked about what she'd been told by Marsh, how it made her feel, how she now had serious doubts about her committment to the police force.
She talked about everything except what really happened: she fell in love with an older man who had been conflicted and misunderstood his entire life. He fell for her, too.
As she stood in the parking lot that morning after Eddie had left her there alone, she felt something stir her heart. She'd never felt anything like it in her life. She likened it to Eddie trying to tell her something important that she couldn't hear, but could feel.
That he loved her. That he would return for her someday. That someday, they could be together.
She had to put that feeling aside, though. She couldn't allow herself to believe it. She couldn't live her whole life hoping for the impossible: that Edward Marshall would return to claim her as his own, and that she would go willingly.
None of this ever was heard by the psychologist. It was not in his notes. He didn't even suspect she was holding anything back.
Nico Nichols just wanted to be left alone. But she had a family to raise and a husband who loved her. She couldn't deny that, no matter how much she cared for another man.
She just didn't know how little time she had with Steve.
And she would blame herself for what happened to him, even though she had nothing to do with it.
Until someone told her differently, she would live with her guilt.
She felt she really had no choice.
He wasn't going to have good news for his niece about what may have happened to her adopted son.
"Ron Owens, we will meet again," Jacob said; "You escaped me once. I won't allow it this time."
He had to use his computer skills to hack into Eric's adoption records, where he learned that not only was Ron Owens his grandnephew's biological father, but that Chastity Edwards was his birth mother. Ron Owens had a long history of abusing women and children. He was the last person to be involved with Chastity Edwards before she disappeared.
But she disappeared almost a year after Eric was adopted by Valerie and Carder, Jacob thought. So what happened in the meantime?
That, Jacob decided, was not the important thing.
The important thing was to punish Ron Owens for being an abusive pedophile.
Jacob knew he couldn't do it alone. His eyesight had gotten worse over the last year and he couldn't shoot anything anymore.
The best person for the job was still hiding out in Wyoming. So he called someone he knew would be more than happy to put a child rapist out of commission permanently.
Jacob dialed the number of the person he had in mind. They were pretty much retired, but knowing their history, Jacob felt he was calling on the right person for the job.
When the person answered the phone, Jacob said, "Natasha, I have a job for you. Before you say no, hear me out. You might actually like what I have to say."
She couldn't believe it. For the first time in years, Natasha accepted an assignment that she could actually pull off and be home by the time the twins got out of school.
Jacob's request would be something she'd do with pleasure.
Any man who rapes children deserves to die, she thought. And he'll wish he'd never touched any child, much less his own flesh and blood.
"You'll be handsomely paid, Natasha," Jacob had told her. "I know the money means nothing to you, and I won't ask you to do another one of these again. Unless you want to, of course."
"You're right, Jacob," said Natasha, "the money is not important to me. Getting scum like Ron Owens off the face of the earth is. Are you sure he's the birth father of your niece's child?"
"Positive, Natasha," said Jacob. "I hacked into his adoption records."
"Where did you learn that?" Natasha said, surprised.
"My late son in law," Jacob said; "He said it was so easy, that he even taught Rachel to do it when she was four."
"I can just see that little girl hacking into some government websites," Natasha said, laughing. "No one here would believe it!"
"I'll give you particulars in the next 48 hours, Natasha," Jacob said. "You'll need to leave early that morning to complete the job. You understand what I'm asking you to do?"
Next thing Jacob heard was the voice he remembered when Natasha called herself Vixen Vincent:
"Yes, Morbus. I understand. I will not fail."
"I know you won't, my dear."
"He'll be eliminated when you give the word, Valerie," Jacob said.
"How about as soon as possible?"
"I have someone waiting on word as to when to carry out the assignment, Valerie," said Jacob. "If you want it done in the next few hours, I'll send word to my sniper."
"I can't believe I asked you to do this," Valerie said. "It was Carder's idea to call you. I think he thought you'd do it yourself, to be frank."
"I can't see that well anymore, Valerie," her uncle said; "So I contracted with a sniper who would be more than happy to take the scumsucking asswipe off the map."
"Someone who worked for you during the Occupation, no doubt," said Valerie.
"Besides Julia, there's only one other left from the female BlackOps team who still keeps up her skills and will take the occasional assignment."
"Then you could only mean Vixen Vincent," Valerie said.
"Considering that Vixen Vincent is only 13 years old, you must mean her mother, Natasha," Jacob said. "The original Vixen."
"Yeah," Valerie said, "that's who I meant. I forgot that she calls her daughter that now."
"No problem," Jacob said; "So how is my grandnephew? Other than his nightmares."
"He's a joy, Uncle Jacob," Valerie said; "All smiles and laughs, and he's smart as anything. We're going to have him tested to see if he can go to school now instead of waiting until next year. He's so bright! Miranda dotes on him when she's home. Trent sends home all kinds of Army stuff for him from the Middle East. Eric has this cute Army flak jacket in his size. It even has his name on it."
"I'll have to make a trip down there to see him, then," Jacob said.
"You should," said Valerie; "It's been a while since you've been here. The last time was for Tyler's funeral, so you haven't met Eric yet. But he knows all about you."
"Gramma must talk," Jacob said; "How's your mother?"
"She has her moments," Valerie said; "Her disease is getting the best of her, and Dad's doing all he can. He's preparing to live without her, I think. They've been together since they were 18 and 19 years old."
"Tell Matt I said hello," Jacob said; "And tell your mother that she can't die on me yet."
"I will, Uncle Jacob," Valerie said.
Soon, Jacob ended the call. The job will be done, and hopefully the sunny little boy who graced his parents lives will stop having nightmares about people trying to hurt him.
III
"Christian DeWitt, please," Owens said pleasantly.
"This is he," DeWitt said.
"I'm Ron Owens, you left a message yesterday wishing to speak with me?"
"I did indeed, Mr. Owens," DeWitt said; "I've sent a letter to Lincoln Marsh's attention that I intend to stop funding your group's activities. Chastity spent my money recklessly, and that is not what I gave it to your organization for."
"You realize that we are nearly destitute now, Mr. DeWitt," Owens said.
"That is not my concern," DeWitt replied; "You will have to either find other benefactors to fund you, or find the funds some other way. I'm done."
"Any particular reason why you've made this decision, Mr. DeWitt?" asked Owens; "Change of heart as to the possibility that we can pull off another Occupation?"
"Partly," said DeWitt; "But mostly because of the misuse of the funds I've already provided. I've grown tired of someone calling me every month looking for more money. My grown children don't even do that."
Owens saw his opening, saying, "But you still have children at home. Surely you make sure they have everything they need."
"Of course, Mr. Owens," DeWitt said; "My family must come first."
"What if you no longer had a family, Mr. DeWitt?"
"What are you getting at, Owens?" he asked.
"What if someone were to just take your pretty young daughters and hide them from you," Owens said; "The only way you could get them back is providing A.R.M. with funding."
"I don't take too kindly to threats, Owens," DeWitt said, growing angry; "But I suppose that's how you handle those who don't fall in line with your way of thinking, isn't it?"
Owens was himself getting angry. What the fuck does he mean by that? He certainly can't know about what I do with my life.
"Let's just say that when I want something, I usually get it, no matter the method," he said.
"Does that include raping your wife or abusing your child?"
Owens was speechless. He must have done research into my background! he thought.
DeWitt continued, "If you thought I'd roll over and give in to your threats, Owens, you're sadly mistaken."
"We'll see what happens when your ballerina gets off the school bus today, shall we?"
"You won't get anywhere near my children, you get me, Owens?" said DeWitt.
"Yeah, I get you. But don't be surprised when she calls you begging you to help her."
"We'll see who gets the upper hand, Owens," DeWitt said.
With that, he hung up. DeWitt looked over at the police officers who had been monitoring the call.
"We have a location, Mr. DeWitt," the lead officer said; "We're sending someone over there now. Keep your children home from school for the rest of the week. The schools have been notified. Your oldest daughter is not to go to ballet rehearsal this week. The company will be notified of this as well. It's for their own good."
"Thank you," DeWitt said; "That takes a load off my mind. I hope you catch this creep."
"We've been trying to get him for years," the lead officer said; "He's an unregistered sex offender. They ran rampant during the Occupation. Not all of them registered willingly. Hopefully, this one will be taken off the streets."
Neither DeWitt nor the officer knew that Owens would be taken off the street permanently; not by anything they had done.
But, by someone who been the position of being abused herself. And she didn't miss.
Twenty police officers in Chicago surrounded an abandoned warehouse on the north side of the city. They had been staking it out for months, and now it was time to take the perps down. Their reign of terror was coming to an end.
They had one more trick up their sleeve.
Natasha arrived in Collinsville, New York at eight that morning. Her target was in his office in the downtown part of the city.
So were the local police.
Shit, she thought, they must have found out I was coming!
Rarely one to second guess herself, she waited in her hiding place to see what the real situation was. She had a high powered listening device as she tuned in to the police frequency. She found out what she needed to know, then screwed the silencer on her gun. All she needed to do is find a position so that she could have a clear shot at her target.
She recognized the man immediately after receiving a photo of him. He was one of the people who named her Amanda Amador when she was nine years old. He was the "father" who raised her to be a whore, who sent her out on the streets when she was 13 (and actually only ten years old), and sent her to the equally abusive pimp when she was 14.
Killing you will be a pleasure, "father", Natasha thought. You'll never hurt another child. I will make sure of it.
At 11:50am, he emerged from his office building, heading for his car. This was the best opportunity she was going to have. If he got in his car, she'd never get him.
The police only wanted to arrest him for threatening minors. She wanted to kill him for stealing her childhood.
Raising the gun, the man's temple was in her crosshairs.
She fired. Seconds later, he fell. The police were puzzled as to what had happened. By the time they got to the man, his assassin was long gone.
Within an hour, she was on a plane back to Washington, D.C., and had never felt so vindicated.
The last person who robbed her of her innocence, her family and her childhood was finally dead.
She wanted to get home and tell Darren she wanted to set a date for their wedding.
Nico was called into Captain Castillo's office for a weekly progress meeting.
"Nico," she began, "I think you should take some time off. I'm authorizing six weeks of leave for you starting today. You'll need to come back for your sessions with Bryan Booth, but you won't be on duty."
"What am I supposed to do with myself for six weeks, Lina?"
"Read a good book. Relax. Enjoy your family. Just be Nico for a while," she said.
"For the past eight years, I've been being Nico," said Nico; "Nico is a cop, a wife, a mother."
"Maybe you should change that order to 'wife, mother, cop'. Maybe that will help," Captain Castillo said.
"I'll just sit around, bored."
"I'm sure you'll find something to do, Nico," Castillo said; "I know you paint. Do that."
Nico had to admit that was a good idea. She couldn't remember the last time she painted. Maybe before Mom died, she thought.
She left her captain's office and went home. She would be getting her full pay for the time she'd be off.
Nico had no idea that those six weeks would turn into a permanent vacation from the force.
Something didn't feel right to him.
He was the leader of the team that would be making the arrests in this long standing case. It took hundreds of man hours to find out what needed to be found out, analyze it, and come up with a plan to take these criminals off the streets and put them in prison where they belonged.
He didn't know that they had a surprise for whomever, be they law enforcement or not, walked into that building that day.
That surprise would cost five of Chicago's finest to lose their lives.
Including the officer in charge. One Lieutenant Steven Lee Nichols.
Nichols backed his team off. "Something doesn't seem kosher to me about this," he said.
"What's wrong?" asked one of his female officers.
"These people aren't going to come with us willingly," Nichols said; "They're going to make it tough for us to do our job. I'm advising extreme caution because they're capable of anything. Including killing us."
Nichols had a meeting with his team-- five women and thirteen men. He told them that the goal was to arrest the people inside, but if they resisted, to just back off and let it go until another time. Their main job that day was to secure the building so that the people who've been using it could not get back inside.
"If you feel anything is wrong with the situation, get out of the building immediately," Nichols advised. "We'll meet back at this spot in thirty minutes. We'll do roll call at that time."
They then surrounded the building and in groups of three, went inside.
For the first twenty five minutes, all was routine. The officers saw no one, so window and doors were secured. Locks were jammed.
It was that last five minutes, when the last group of three, and the two officers in charge, were confronted by six men. After being asked to leave the building, and their refusal, one of them said,
"I'm so sorry it has to be this way, officers. But we've worked a long time to get a foothold in this building, and we're not giving it up."
He then got out his secure phone and dialed a number.
The last number in the sequence would have grave consequences for all eleven people inside.
From their staging area six blocks away, fifteen officers of the Chicago Police Department saw the building blow up.
They would soon learn that five of their own were inside.
Another one of their own, at home with her children, would blame herself.
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