Emily sat in the back seat of the police car as they headed south out of Chicago. She was too shocked to cry, or maybe it was the anger at the way the men had handcuffed her and taken her from the building as if she were less than human. Once in the car they had gone through her bag while she watched frustrated and feeling helpless and personally violated. She wondered if they actually thought they'd find a knife or something.

She looked up at the two in the front seat, chatting as if they were on their way to a party. And then it struck her that they were acting on what they were told, most likely that she had murdered a poor innocent man with a pitchfork as he was going about his morning chores. Just doing their job.

As they neared Watseka, the misery settled in her belly and knotted up like a ball of steel. She wished she could poke her head out the window and let the breeze whip across her face.

She leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes, imagining a long drink of brandy sizzling against the roof of her mouth and around her tongue, sliding down her throat like a cool hand that would loosen the tether on the way down, spreading its joy to every cell and pore of her being.

When they came to the corner that would have taken them to the grocery store, they took a left and sped to the other side of town, onto Walnut, past the courthouse, and then into a parking lot.

One of the officers left with her folder, and the other rushed her inside a building into a cold, dingy room with only a table, a couple of stools, and several chairs. He removed her handcuffs, and then left her alone. She sat at the table, so nervous her stomach was turning somersaults.

Finally, the door flew open and a man around thirty or so burst in, wiping his forehead with a hanky, out of breath and puffing like a steam engine as he scrambled over. His coat sleeves hung to his knuckles, and his shirt buttons were in danger of popping over his slightly ample mid-section. His tie was in disarray, and his sandy hair was tousled and in need of a trim.

The police officer who brought her in stepped into the room and took a stool against the wall. "Well... Mr. Dillard, nice you could make it."

The young lawyer nodded, stuffed the hanky into his coat pocket, and then pulled out a chair. "Hello, Emily," he said, struggling to catch a good breath. "I'm Ryan Dillard." He shook her hand then took a seat. "I'm sorry I couldn't make it sooner, but I just now managed to escape from the courthouse."

"I'm just glad that you're here."

"Yeah, well, me too." He moved closer, resting his elbows on the table. "As you know, I've been hired by your father to represent you. So the first thing I'll need is to get some information. We'll talk later," he nodded toward the officer, "after this gentleman is finished with you. Also, I want to remind you not to say a word about the case to anyone but me. You do understand that, don't you?"

"Yes, yes, I do."

"Okay, good." He leaned closer, lowering his voice "I'm going to use everything in my power to have you out of here in a couple hours." He stood, tapping the table. "I'll be seeing you very soon."

After Ryan Dillard left, the officer finished admitting Emily, then turned her over to a female officer.

"Step over here," she barked, motioning to her bag.

Emily's knees trembled as she walked over. "Th-they already searched it."

"Come on. Let's have it."

Emily stepped forward, handing over her bag.

Then she was taken to an even smaller room where she was put through a needless search.

She barely noticed the hand on her elbow as she was steered to her cell. The door closed behind her and she stood gaping at the bleak surroundings. The walls were green and the cot was cold iron with only a gray wool blanket tucked so tight she figured she would have to wrestle it free to crawl in. She walked over and spread herself across the cot, closed her eyes, and waited.

For the next hour, she didn't let herself think for fear she would burst into tears and never stop. There was no way to stop the sounds of footsteps, murmurs, and clanging doors.

Then she heard her cell door open. Her eyes popped open and she stood, ready to leave. When she saw the look on Ryan's face, she sank back to the cot.

She already guessed what he was going to say. "I'm sorry, Emily. I'm really sorry, but... you're going to have to stay here until after court tomorrow." He pulled out a handkerchief, wiping his forehead. "This is so difficult." He took a breath and stepped toward her. "You see, the judge is concerned because you've been a fugitive for so long. You know, for most people, running is a sign of guilt."

Emily clutched her hands in her lap, trying to steady her voice. "I... I thought of going to the police. But I didn't think they'd believe me."

"Your father told me Claude raped you. Is that what was happening when you killed him?"

"Well, not at the moment. But he did... before. And then after that, he just expected it."

"Did he threaten you that day?"

Emily wrapped her arms across her chest, shivering. "See... I-I was trying to run away that morning, and... Well... when he tried to stop me. I..." She knew if she told how she had beckoned Claude to turn around, making him think that they would... No, it just didn't sound right. How could she make anyone understand?

"Did you put the pitchfork into his chest?"

Emily looked up, shocked.

"I'm sorry, but I'm just trying to prepare you."

She nodded. "I-I was trying to scare him off, and he charged at me. All of a sudden... i-i-it just happened."

Ryan looked down at his notes. "I see you turned eighteen just prior to the incident. In the court of law, that makes you an adult." His voice was low and thoughtful. "So it seems odd that you would be running away."

"It's probably hard for you to understand, but Grandfather thought it was my duty to take care of him and my uncles for the rest of their lives."

"And then there was Claude too, right? From what I've heard, he was a distant cousin of your grandfather's?"

"Well, yes, him too. I never really understood the relationship between my grandfather and him. They didn't speak of it. All I know is that sometimes he was called Cousin Claude."

Ryan set his notebook on the cot and took a seat, leaning so that he looked down at the floor. "Tell me, Emily, what it was like living on the farm."

She took a breath, sliding her hands to her lap. It was difficult to know where to begin but, to her surprise, she did, hesitantly at first, and only as much as she thought he needed to know.

When she finished, he sat quietly for a while, then picked up his notebook and stood. He walked to the bars and turned to face her.

"It's very easy for me to believe your story, and I wish we could just sit down with the judge and end it all right now. But... that's not the way the system works.

Tomorrow in court you'll be given the chance to plead your guilt or innocence. I want you to plead *innocent by reason of self-defense'. There's a chance the judge will let you go, although I think you should know that Judge Grosslyn is not the most lenient of men."

A door banged in the distance and footsteps approached.

The jailer unlocked the door and Ryan stepped out. He looked at her through the bars. "I'm going to give it my all, Emily."

She lay back on the cot, listening to the footsteps fade away, the clang of the door, and then closed her eyes.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT.

Emily was taken to the courtroom the following morning and seated at a table with her counsel. Ryan waited for her to settle in. "Try to relax," he said. "This won't take long. Just remember what I told you."

She pressed a smile, and nodded, keeping her hands clasped tightly on her lap. The last person she wanted to see was her grandfather, and yet she couldn't help but check back over her shoulder. The room was almost empty, and she was relieved that he hadn't shown, although Rose was there sitting behind her. They exchanged anxious smiles.

The courtroom was asked to rise, and Judge Grosslyn, a tall man well into his fifties, walked in and took a seat at the bench. Ryan had warned her the judge wasn't the most lenient of men, and now she searched for something positive, laugh lines around the eyes, something soft, but there was nothing of comfort, only stiff dark hair combed to the side, harsh feathery eyebrows, and a set mouth.

When everyone had taken their seats, the judge addressed the courtroom, and then turned to Emily. "I ask that the defendant rise."

Ryan placed a hand on Emily's elbow and they stood together.

"Miss Rezell," the judge said, "what is your plea?"

"I, I..."

Ryan leaned in. "Louder. Speak louder."

"I plead innocent, Your Honor. By reason of self-defense."

The judge took a moment to evaluate some documents while Emily waited. Her muscles were so tight she felt that if someone tried they could snap her like a twig.

The room was still as he set the papers aside and looked up. "Because of the nature of the crime, and the fact that you've been a fugitive for over a year, I have no choice but to order that you reside in custody until after the trial."

Rose gasped, and started to sob. There were murmurs, sharp breaths, and sounds of creaking wood from the baffled handful in the room as they turned in their seats.

Emily clutched her chest, and Ryan slipped an arm around her, attempting words of comfort until someone took her elbow and pulled her from the table.

She turned at the door, wanting to reassure Rose. That's when she noticed a woman lean from behind and put a hand on her sister's shoulder. There was something vaguely familiar about the woman, although she couldn't place her.

It didn't seem real, or even possible that the tiny cold room and the hard cot was her home now, and the best she could do was to lie there and wait.

When Ryan came, she pulled herself up, searching his face as she slid over to make room for him.

He declined her offer, and leaned against the bars instead. He looked a mess, his cheeks ashen, bloated, and glistening with sweat, his eyes worried, and his shoulders heavy.

He took a breath, shaking his head. "I tried my best, Emily. I talked to the judge, but he feels it's in the best interest of the court to keep you here. On paper it looks bad. A violent crime with a pitchfork through the chest, an attempted cover-up, and then running from the crime scene. What also has him very concerned is that you were a fugitive for over a year."

Emily sat for a moment, angry with herself for running. "I know it sounds awful. But, does he know about Claude? About what he did to me?"

"I told him. Although you have to realize he's read the police report that puts Claude as the victim. It doesn't say anything about a rape."

"Of course it wouldn't. I didn't tell anyone." She looked around the dismal room, then back to her lawyer. "What am I supposed to do?"

"I understand your frustration, Emily. And I want you to know that I'm going to do everything possible to convince the court that you were protecting yourself. Yet at the same time, the prosecutor will say that you killed Claude in cold blood. It's his job to prove that you're guilty. If you win, he loses. He'll use any information he can scrounge up to use against you."

Ryan gazed at her in deep thought, and then he began to walk, circling the cell, looking up once in a while. "The police report says you hated Claude because he kept the cat population down. Now that's exactly what the prosecutor will use as evidence."

"It wasn't that simple. But I'm sure he killed them."

Ryan glanced up, still pacing. "And the prosecutor will say you don't murder someone for killing cats."

"I didn't kill him because of the cats. I don't even remember seeing him do it. I just know he did. And. I... I didn't mean to kill him."

"Listen, Emily. I'm sorry if I'm sounding harsh, but I'm trying to make you see what we're up against. The trial is about a man who was murdered. We need to show the jury that Claude was evil, without a heart. Yes, he was mean, and drank like there was no tomorrow. But the prosecutor will be digging. You need to give the jury something compelling, give proof he was capable of rape, a violent rape."

Even though the memories made her shudder, she had to gather every ounce of strength and speak of things so far back in her mind she would need a chisel to set them free. She folded her arms across her chest, took a breath.

"...What I remember is the joy I felt when Steven agreed to take the new litters of kittens to town. We never discussed why, just knew it had to be done. They would be lying beside their momma, drinking milk, purring and snuggling one day, and then next they'd be gone. I can't say why, but I knew it was Claude. " She squeezed her arms, shivering.

Ryan was there with a hand on her shoulder. She heard him breathe, felt his passion. "It's important, Emily, for you to remember. You can't keep it to yourself any longer."

She closed her eyes, let the air fill her lungs, and then slowly let it out.

"That's it, Emily. Let them go. Let the memories go." He stood for a moment longer, then his hand slipped from her shoulder and he continued his pace.

Emily breathed in, over and again, breathing, letting her mind drift. The memories came finally, and then she was ready to claim them, ready to tell.

"I heard his footsteps. I saw... I-I saw Claude carrying a gunnysack from the barn. The bag was jumping. And I... I knew what was inside." Tears dropped from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. "I heard... I heard them crying." She swiped her cheeks on her shoulders. "They were fighting for their lives as Claude slinked around the barn toward the stream." Her shoulders were shaking now as she wept. She wanted to stop.

"Go on, Emily," Ryan urged. He lifted a handkerchief from his shirt pocket, wiped his forehead, and then began to pace again, his feet tap, tap, tapping across the concrete floor. She followed his movement back and forth, realizing this man was suffering too, just so that he might help her.

She wiped each cheek with a forearm and continued. "As I followed him, I... I could hear. I... I could almost feel how frightened they were fighting in that sack, wanting out... I..." She released a sob.

Ryan stopped circling. "What happened, Emily?"

"I... I hid in the bushes and watched him place the sack in the water. I waited for him to leave, and then I tore over there and pulled the sack out. I was so happy... so happy they would live. I dropped to the ground yanking at the sack, trying to free them. Then... I-I heard footsteps. I looked up and he was glaring down at me like... like I was the one doing something wrong. I picked up the sack and started to run, but he caught me, and flung it aside. I heard the kittens crying as he grabbed me by the hair and dragged me to the water. Then... then he pushed my head under.

"I was gasping for air when he pulled me out. He dropped me on the ground. I was sitting there, catching my breath when I saw him going for the kittens again. I ripped right over there and I dug my teeth into Claude's hand, good and ready to tear him apart. I was screaming and kicking and I don't know what would've happened if Steven hadn't shown up.

"Claude started making all kinds of excuses, trying to cover it up. But Steven knew. We all knew. That's when Steven started taking the stray cats to town."

Ryan sat beside her and placed a hand across her back. "That's a good start, Emily. A great ending. You okay?"

"Yeah, I am."

"Claude did some things that were... well, they were despicable." He sat for a few moments. Then he pulled his hand from her back, stood, and went to lean against the bars.

"When you get on the stand, I want you to let yourself go in the same way that you did right here. Let your memories flow. Sometimes, it's easier to forget, but sometimes we have to remember. Whatever you feel the need to say, do it without holding back. I'm not going to ask you about the rape until you're on the stand. But you might think about it, now, before the trial."

She wasn't sure why he decided to wait, but she was glad. "Thank you."

After he left, she lay back on the cot and listened to the curses from across the way, the banging of doors, the hurried footsteps.

Sometime late in the afternoon, a guard pushed an envelope through the bars.

She brought it back to the cot and pulled out a letter.

Dear Emily, When you feel helpless like you must feel now, just know that you have those who love you. Father and I will always be here for you. Please find peace in knowing that things will get better, and that you will smile again.

Forever your sister Rose