Standing erect, she stretched and looked at the sky.  Full moon.  No wonder she felt so bad.  She hadn't eaten or done anything for almost a month.  Ok, she'd crawled into the old den and almost hibernated for a month.  Come to think of it, there had been that wood chuck that had come in.  That wasn't much of a meal, and she'd not fully aroused to consume him.  It was all surreal and foggy
    She saw her arm and shuddered.  It was dirty and emaciated.  Her skin hung loosely and the bones and tendons were visible.  She was a walking skeleton with fangs, dressed in dirty, ragged jeans and a thread bare blouse that was as tattered as her jeans.  The jeans, that had been form fitting, were now several sizes too large for her, as was the blouse.  "I feel like death warmed over," she thought.  "Shit," she exclaimed out loud.  "Cancel the warmed over part."  She sighed heavily and made her way down the side of hill to the gully.  There was a semi-dry stream bed at the bottom.  The presence of some liquid made it an attraction.  It was a simple way to find food without having to work for it too hard.

    She spit out some fur.  Damn stringy coyotes - all fur and bone.  She belched sour.  Not very satisfying, either.  She picked at the new tear in her jeans and wondered how long she'd been out here.  "Wonder if I'll ever leave."  She lay back and remembered going to work and getting a nice hot cup of coffee.  She remembered the distinctive smell of the library as she'd enter.  That seemed a life time ago.  It was a life time ago - maybe two or three. 
    Sitting up straight, she sniffed.  Yes, she was smelling wood smoke.  Standing, she carefully turned in a circle, identifying the direction the intriguing odor was coming from.  Odors could travel a long way in the desert, but for the first time in a long time, she was feeling an emotion other than depression.  It was interesting. 
    The fire was cheerful, but it was the smell of coffee that really disturbed her.  She sighed and felt the weight of years descend on her.  There was no one visible around the campsite.  "Curious," she thought.  She had the urge to just walk in and help herself to the coffee, but prudence ruled.  She waited, an almost unnoticeable feature just beyond the circle of light cast by the campfire. 
    Examining the site more carefully, she began to notice oddities.  There was an RV, but it was parked some distance away, near a hill side, and there was a camouflage net stretched over it.  The fire was low and carefully banked so as to be almost invisible.  It was her sense of smell that had led her here, not any visible clue.  In fact, she'd nearly walked into the fire when she'd first approached.  Closer examination revealed further signs of concealment.  "Odd," she mused.   "Wonder what I've stumbled on, here."
    She strained, expanding her vision as much as possible in the dim light.  The brown bottle near one of the sleeping bags, caused her to sharply inhale.  She hadn't had any alcohol in... well, in a very long time.  Simply not caring, she stood, strode over to the bottle and took it.  Casually returning to her place of concealment, she sat back down and examined her "booty." 
    "Oh," he exhaled, "I have a bottle of 12 year old scotch.  Bet I can do justice to this!"  She opened it and took a long pull.  The sharp burn to her throat was a surprise.  The fiery trail to her stomach was pure pleasure.  "Oh, that is good," she thought as she took another, this time, a more conservative sip.  She sighed in pure pleasure as she settled back to watch and wait. 
    She watched the stars wheel overhead and the full moon set.  A wind had started and a high cloud cover obscured most of the stars making the passing night very dark.  The sound of the wind over the scrub brush and the occasional howl of a coyote made a surreal patchwork of her existence.  After the first couple of gulps, she'd been carefully nursing the bottle.  She wanted to make it last as long as possible.
    The high pitched buzz of a two cycle engine announced that it was about to be "show" time.  Capping the bottle, she carefully put it where it was safe.  The pleasant glow she had from it, had put it high on her priority list of things to protect.  Two small ATVs pulled up and the drivers killed the engines.  
    "Told you they wouldn't stand a chance of catching us," said the taller man, stepping off of his machine.  "These babies can move!"
    "Yea, Vince, you were right on that one, and you were right about the security."  He laughed.  "There wasn't any!"
    "My biggest concern was that they'd get helicopters in the air before we got far enough out, but that would have taken coordination with the State Police and that wasn't likely."  He snickered.  "No risk, no reward, right?"
    "Right you are.  So, you said we're gonna hole up here for a week?"
    Vince nodded.  "I think that should do it.  First day, they'll probably have road blocks up, after that, for a few days, they'll be checking really close, but then they'll get careless.  In a week, we'll be old news.  We'll be able to waltz right out with free as can be and with the loot.  No problem!"  Vince rummaged around by the fire.  "Hey, Mark, where did you put the scotch?"
    "Should be right there.  It wasn't even open."
    Vince looked around some more.  "Damn, can't find that sucker anywhere.  You wanna go get another out of the RV?  I'd say a drink is called for, about now."
    Mark stood and shuffled over to the RV.  He vanished inside and returned with a fresh bottle.  Opening it, he held it up and said, "Cheers," and took a pull.
    "Hey, guy! Save some for me."
    Mark capped the bottle and tossed it to Vince. "I think we have enough for the two of us."
    Eliza grinned.  They had no idea that a third had joined their little party.  Based on what she'd overheard, she didn't have any plans to be kind and gentle with them.  Nice hot human blood washed down by 12 year old scotch.  For a self imposed desert exile, not bad.  "Not bad," she thought

    She groaned and rolled over, he sensation of sunlight causing a momentary thrill of terror.  Her eyes snapped open and she sat up.  The coolness of her bed room was an immediate comfort, except for that one annoying beam of sunlight.  This was not the first time that the errant ray had caused her to have nightmares of her desert experience.  Shaking her head, she stood and sighed.  "I wish I hadn't let Sam talk me into this," she muttered, preparing to dress for the evening's sojourn.
    Since Sam Burns had returned to duty, Eliza had hardly seen him.  He'd sent her an email requesting a meet at his place.  She'd complied, not realizing what she was going to agree to.    That evening, Burns described to her the difficulties he was having pursuing his investigation against "The Deacon."  He claimed, that those who knew, weren't talking, and those that would talk, didn't know.  He'd uncovered a "leather" bar that could be connected to some of The Deacon's activities.  His request to Eliza was that she go in, undercover.  The hope being she could over hear or see something that he could never hear or see. 
    Eliza had considered it, and other than associating with "that" kind of person, couldn't see any real downside.  She'd taken on the cult twice, and although she'd come out if it a little worse for wear, she'd won.  She doubted that they'd try anything like that in a public place - she hoped. 
    "Basil's Den of Sexual Malcontents" the garish neon sign flashed.  She didn't miss the BDSM reference and wondered if anyone did.  She pulled the rugged, studded door open and entered.  She found herself in quite room facing a desk behind which an elderly woman was standing.  The woman looked her up and down.  "You never been here before, have you," she addressed towards Eliza.
    Eliza shook her head and reflexively replied, "No Ma'am.  I heard about the Den last week and thought it could be interesting."  She wrinkled her nose and looked around the plain room.  "I guess I was wrong."
    The woman smiled sardonically.  "Oh it's a lot more interesting inside.  It's a members only club.  If you want to come in you'll have to purchase membership."
    "Oh," Eliza breathed?  "And how much is membership?"
    "You want to join as a single?"
    "Yes, I guess"
    "Single woman.  That's a dollar a year."  She handed Eliza a credit card sized piece of plastic with the clubs name on the front.  "Sign here."  She pointed at a blank area on the back and pushed a pen towards Eliza.  "You lose it, you'll have to buy another, so be real careful."  She laughed at her own joke. 
    Eliza grimaced and signed.  "Now what," she asked?
    "Just show me the card and through that door there," she said and pointed towards one side of the room. 
    Inside the club, she found herself in a bar like area where men and women wandered around in various states of dress or undress.  It was clearly clothing optional.  A sign on the wall informed that there was no liquor sales but that members could bring their own bottle, to be held by the "bar tender."  "Damn," she muttered.  "Looks like the only way I get a drink is to promote one.  Sam should have told me about that."
    "I didn't know about the BYOB rule," she told the bartender.  "How does a girl promote a drink?"
    She stepped back and looked Eliza up and down.  "Your cute, you shouldn't have a problem.  How do you swing?"  The blank look on Eliza's face and her lack of response cause the rather pretty bartender to smile.  "First time, huh?"
    Eliza nodded.
    "Are you dom or sub, straight or bent?  I know most of the people here and I could sort of make an introduction.  Single ladies are a real find, here, and you're gonna be real popular."  She grinned and winked at Eliza.
    "Ah," Eliza stammered.  "I guess I can go either way, I guess.  I didn't know this was going to be so difficult."
    "My name's Trish, and it's not really hard.  Just be yourself and have fun.  We have security, but we hardly ever need it.  You have any questions, just ask me and you stay right here.  I think I know just the guy for you."  Trish hustled to the other end of the long bar and engaged a couple at the other end in conversation.  Their glances toward her made it clear that she was the object of conversation.  Trish beckoned to Eliza, making it clear she wanted her to come down there. 
    Eliza had gone for the leather look, tonight.  A mid thigh leather skirt, boots, white semi-transparent silk blouse, a leather vest, and she blended in with those that were dressed, as were the couple Trish was introducing her to. 
    Eliza felt the glow of good liquor coursing through her body as she relaxed into the bonds that held her and waited for the next blow.  She heard the grunt that signaled a blow being delivered and then she felt the delicious sting of a soft leather cat on her bare buttocks.  She inhaled through pursed lips, partly out of the stinging pain and partly out of pleasure, she was having a hard time distinguishing them from each other at the moment.  She had her code word, but she'd not needed it, yet. 
    The couple Trish had introduced her to were a married team.  He was mildly dom and she was on the submissive side. Waiting for whatever came next, Eliza smiled.  She realized that she couldn't even remember their names.  Some undercover agent she was making.  She giggled.  Under cover or uncovered, this was certainly different.  A sensation on her thigh caused her to flinch and she tried to turn her head to see what was happening.  A blow to her head and a gruff, "Eyes to the front, Slave.  Noone told you that you could look." 
    "Yes, Master," she said meekly.  She giggled to herself, "This was sort of fun."  The sensation on her thigh started again and she realized it was the whip handle.  Her eyes widened and she felt flutter in her stomach as she realized what was going to happen.  She started to say the safety word but hesitated.  That hesitation was too much.  She found herself totally consumed by sensation, and for the first time, in a long time, gave herself to pure pleasure. 

    "No, I didn't see anything that would indicate a connection to the Deacon," Eliza stated firmly.  "I'm sure I could have done a better, but it was sort of short notice."  She sighed.  "Since I'm a member, I'll go back next week and be a bit more prepared.  At least I know what to expect, now."
    Sam Burns nodded.  "Guess we can't expect you to just walk in and be invited to view all their secrets."  He stood and topped off his glass of soda - no alcohol tonight.  He was working.  "I guess I had hoped."
    "Me too, but this undercover stuff is not as easy as I thought."
    Detective Burns burst out laughing.  "Everyone seems to think it's so easy."  He chuckled again.  "It's a craft and a skill.  It can be learned and some are a natural talent.  You went in there and you didn't get made as a plant.  I'd say that's damn good."
    Eliza smiled at the praise.  "It wasn't really all that bad.  It's a bunch of slightly weird people playing games and having slightly weird fun."
    "I'd heard it was a sex club."  He paused.  "That's not illegal in this state, as long as they don't sell liquor."
    Eliza interrupted him.  "They don't."
    Sam nodded.  "So we've been told.  Not only that, I've been totally unable to find any reason get any sort of warrant.  They wouldn't let me join..."
    "You.. You tried to join?" Eliza asked, laughing. 
    Sam flushed.  "Yea, they were very polite, but the told me that it was a private club and that I'd need to get three members to sponsor me.  Since I don't really know any members, that makes it difficult.  I tried sitting outside to see who came in, but their security, again, very politely asked me to leave and informed me that, since I wasn't a member or an applicant, I was trespassing."  He swirled his drink.  "I got the idea.  I'm the law, but they used the law to stop me."  The expression on his face clearly showed how irritated and unhappy he was about that.  "And then I asked you for your help."
    "I'm flattered, Sam.  I really am, and I'm going to get what we need."
    "What the law needs," he interrupted.
    "What we," Eliza emphasized, "need." 
    Sam grimaced but didn't say anything.  He had some idea that Eliza could out stubborn a cat, and he really needed her cooperation.  He'd run enough informants to know that you don't alienate those you need.  Intimidate, maybe, but so far, the only one intimidated in this relationship had been him, so he wasn't even going to consider going there. 
    Eliza very accurately read his expression and masked her satisfaction at the way things were going.  It had not been her intent, but she had the capability of the law enforcement agencies at her command through Detective Burns.  She was going to find out who was responsible for hurting Sofye and she was going to make them pay.  She was going to make them pay, like no one had ever paid before, she vowed. 

    The dark of the park was silent and peaceful.  The Pernod, an old friend, was comforting, but no comfort were the reports from Otaktay about Sofye.  "I need to spend more time with her."  She turned the printout in her hands and sighed.  "When she was here, she was at least maintaining her weight" She stared at the paper, crumpled it an threw it into the darkness.  "Damn!" she hissed.  "I'm going to take those bastards down.  I'm going to take them down, and one by one, end their stinking existence." 
    Staring into the darkness of the night, she was unaware of the passing time.  Visions of her encounters with the "group" danced in her head.  She could almost feel what they were doing to her.  At times it was her screaming, and at times it was Sofye.  The night turned red to her vision, and she felt like curling into a ball and weeping.  When it was Sofye that was screaming, her fists would clench so tightly that blood began to seep from her lacerated palms.  Her fixed stare and immobile face gave no clue to the inner turmoil and pain she was experiencing.  Her bleeding hands and corded muscles in her forearms offered a hint of the stress she was feeling. 
    Her eyes opened wide.  She opened her hands and raised them where she could see them.  The blood ran up her bare arms, but she didn't' seem to notice.  As she stared an her palms, her breathing rate accelerated.  Her fangs deployed and she began gasping for breath.  Her chest was heaving but no air was going into or out of her lungs.  Crossing her arms across her breasts, she grabbed her shoulders, threw her head back and fell backwards, unconscious.

    Something was wrong.  Her chest hurt, her head hurt and she wanted to curl up and die.  She tried to curl into a little ball, but felt her legs roughly yanked out straight and spread.  Forcing her eyes open, she saw why her chest was hurting.  A rather large man was kneeling next to her and holding her pinned with a hand on her breasts. 
    "I think she's waking up, Frank," the man holding her said. 
    "Good," was the reply.  "I like a little fight from 'em.  Make's more interesting," he said pushing her skirt up and ripping her panties from her body.
    "How come you get her first?  You always go first!"
    "Well, I did see her, first, now didn't I?" Frank replied.  "Besides, Deacon said I was in charge."
    "Yea, I guess." was the sullen reply. 
    Eliza was having trouble focusing.  The Pernod, coupled with whatever had happened to her, had profoundly affected her.  She closed her eyes.  "No, this isn't real.  This had got to be another one of those stupid dreams."  She tried to roll onto her side and curl up, but the hand on her breasts and the inability to draw her knees, made that impossible.  A searing pain between her legs brought her to full, if fuzzy, consciousness.  "Shit! I'm being raped!"
    For all the realization, she still hesitated.  She felt so weak, and even though she knew she should be fighting for her life, it still almost seemed like too much effort, and there was no immediate pain, other than that one surge. 
    "Hey!  She's awake and watching, Frank.  I think she might be liking it."
    "You're shittin' me," came the response.  Frank peered around the man holding her down and met her eyes.  She felt him push deep into her body as he asked, "You like this?  You want some more? 
    "I'm drunk," she thought.  "I'm dreaming.  This is not real."  The intense sensations she was experiencing, along with the Pernod, made thinking almost impossible.  She'd not been with a man for months and her body was involuntarily responding. 
    "Damn, she's hot," Frank gasped.  She getting wet and... and...."
    Eliza felt paralyzed.  A mixture of horror, disgust and lust filled her.  She couldn't concentrate and it felt so damn good.  She clenched her teeth and arched her back and let the orgasm consume her. 

    Eliza had been in the shower for over a half hour scrubbing herself raw.  The clothing she'd been wearing was stuffed in the trash.  The shower water finally ran cold but she kept washing herself.  She was shivering and shaking, but she just couldn't seem to get clean. 

    She sat at the table, sipping hot brandy.  She'd fed well.  After the first man had finished, the second has started.  He was cruel and brutal and enjoyed causing pain.  As it happened, that was not a good idea.  He'd grabbed her bare breasts and viciously mauled them.  The pain had been excruciating and had caused an instantaneous and very violent response.  The pain she'd inflicted on him far exceeded what he'd done to her.  Frank had run.  Her entire focus had been on the man who'd caused her such pain, and she'd spent far too long making his death an event he'd begged for. 
    When she'd come to her senses and disposed of the mutilated body, Frank was nowhere to be found, but she vowed to remember him.  Someday, some way, there would be an accounting.
    The brandy was cooling.  She slowly stood and put her drink in the microwave for 22 seconds.  She didn't want to evaporate the alcohol.  She had to talk to someone. This was too much.  Sam?  Could she call him?  She shuddered.  No way was she going to go through what had happened to her with him!
    Eliza found the phone in her hand and she'd called someone.  She couldn't remember who.  A soft feminine voice said, "Hello," in her ear.  "Hi, This is Eliza," she said brightly.  "Could you do me a favor?"  She bit her lip, waiting for the answer.
    "Sure, Eliza.  What do you need?"
    "Could you come over?  I want - I mean - I need..." she hesitated, her voice breaking. 
    "Shit!" the voice in her ear said.  "You stay right there, Eliza.  I'll be there in 20 minutes, ok?"
    "Ok," Eliza meekly responded and heard the click in her ear.  She held the phone out and looked at it as if it was some strange talking creature.  "Who was that?" she whispered.  Pushing the off button she lowered the phone to the table and picked up the blue cup containing the warm brandy.  It wasn't warm any more.  She briefly wondered how much time had passed when there was a sharp knock on the door.
    "Coming!" she called, as she stood and walked to the door.  She clutched her robe and opened the door, briefly wondering who was there, but not really caring.
    Serophia quickly stepped in and closed the door.  She grabbed Eliza by the shoulders and squarely faced her.  By now, most of Eliza's wounds had healed, but she still had some bruising and there were raw spots from where she'd scrubbed her self with the kitchen cleaner pad.  Serophia sharply inhaled and opened Eliza's robe to look at her body.  The remaining damage, there, was far more extensive and vivid.  Although it was healing, it told a graphic story that anyone could read.  Her eyes widened.  She carefully wrapped Eliza's robe around her and then slowly drew her stiff frame to her.  "It's ok, I'm here now.  You're going to be ok," she said hugging her gently.
    Eliza relaxed into the warm embrace and put her arms around Serophia.  She leaned her head onto Serophia's breast and sighed.  She closed her eyes and just drifted.  Her knees buckled, but Serophia easily picked her up and carried her to her bed.  Stretching her out and covering her, Serophia could only wonder what had done that much damage to her body.  She knew Eliza was preternaturally resilient.  She could only marvel at her survival.
    She sat next to the bed.  Patiently waiting for Eliza to awaken.