Author's foreword: This is not going to be an easy or comforting story for me to write. Sara's Story exhausted me, mentally and emotionally. When it was done I tried my hand at a couple of short-shorts, but they weren't what I needed them to be. For those who aren't familiar with Sara's Story, it's here: http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/fiction/59942/saras-story-home...

There is more than enough cruelty in the world and the so-called authorities don't seem to be able to make a dent in the violence, hampered as they are by outmoded and unenforceable laws. There is a need, however unfortunate it might seem, for a force to begin to try to set things right, even if they must circumvent the “laws” by whatever means necessary.

I am including an “Extreme Violence” warning for this story as it will be quite violent in content and language. If your particular “triggers” are tripped by such things, please skip over this story. It was and is something that has finally tipped me over a mental block against violence and retribution, at least in story form. This may be too much for Top Shelf and I will fully understand if the admins either stipulate no comments, or decide to not even keep it available for reading... but I have to write it... Sara won't let me NOT write it.

The setting: A pleasant town somewhere in the United States... location doesn't really matter.
The particular place: A place called “The Home That Love Built.”
The situation: A gang attacked and caused the ultimate death of a young T-girl named “Sara” before she could reach the sanctuary of The Home.
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Sara's Story... Retribution at any cost?

Well, things did get very busy following the terrible events that happened to a poor girl who tried to come to The Home, but sadly, was too late. She died with me at her side, knowing that she was finally loved and cherished, and was buried as she wished to be... dressed to the nines and looking as lovely as any 16 year old could ever have hoped to be.

Her family, particularly her father, tried their damndest to interfere with Sara's interment and tombstone, but Sam, my lawyer, stood firm and, backed by the court, he blocked their every ploy to interfere.

In the days following Sara's burial things picked up at the Home with new girls checking in, other girls leaving for their new lives either in the work force or to school, sponsored and paid for by The Home. I had scheduled a meeting with the Mayor and the Chief of Police regarding the gangs and the South Side Bastards who were responsible for Sara'a beating, rape and eventual death.

I was forceful, but diplomatic as I talked to the two leading politicians of our city, letting them know that if something wasn't done and soon, I would take it upon myself and some... lets say unsavory people who society mostly frowns upon, but who owed me and Sam favors that one way or another, the SSB would have justice rained down upon them. Okay, I soft pedaled some of that, but the idea I gave them was, if they wouldn't do anything about it, I would!

As for myself and my own tenuous hold on health... well let's just say that I did what the doctors demanded of me. I took an anti-smoking drug, cut back on my cigarettes and delegated a lot more responsibility to Irene, Sandra and a couple others for the day-to-day running of the Home. I took some time to de-stress, visiting with the new residents of The Home and re-visiting some of the older ones, especially those who were transitioning back into mainstream society.

I can't tell you how much it made my time after Sara easier. It eased my mind and made my re-dedication to the reasons for the existence of the home that much clearer for me. Sam was invaluable as both my lawyer and my close dear friend. Whenever I needed something from him he was there almost before I could put down the phone and he always made sure I followed the doctors demands for my health.

However... deep inside me there was a raging fire that no amount of comfort could quell. I wanted the sons of bitches who'd done what they did to Sara to face justice in whatever way it could come to them. I wasn't convinced that the Police or the Mayor would or even could follow through with what they'd promised me, so I put out some feelers within the “community” asking for help with the task I'd promised Sara I'd do.

For some days there was no response from any of the “sources” that supposedly existed to bypass the inadequate means the Police had to deal with such things. Then, finally... a response!

“To the person who posted the need for a cleansing, I will contact you within the next week at a time and place of my choosing. If you are serious and willing to meet my price, I can and will solve your problems.”

This missive came in an anonymous envelope which appeared, as if by magic, at the front desk of the Home. No return address, no names, no nothing to let anyone know who it was from or where it came from. I was, of course, somewhat apprehensive about dealing with someone who seemed to be so secretive, so I called Sam and discussed it with him as a private lunch.

“ I don't know about this kind of thing Cathilynn. It could lead to more trouble than you or I can handle if anything illegal comes down behind it. It smacks of some kind of vigilante for hire type of deal and that's always a risky proposition. Keeping your name and the name of The Home out of it is paramount in my opinion and, if this person is caught, well... all hell could bust loose, sinking both you and me as well as The Home. You've put a lot into The Home, not just in personal wealth, but in emotional health. I'd hate to see the whole thing come crashing down on you and all the residents and staff, as well as on me as your legal representative.”

“I know all that Sam, and I appreciate your worry, but these sons of bitches need to be brought to justice somehow and I doubt the cops can do what needs to be done. They're too hamstrung by the law itself and the rules of evidence. We know who did this, as a group anyway, and they can't be allowed to think they got away with what they did, not only to Sara, but God only knows how many other crimes they've committed. Look, I'm not contracting murder here Sam. If I can just find someone who can collect enough evidence against this gang to bring them down, that'll be enough for me to feel like I've kept my promises to Sara!”

We threw the topic back and forth for over two hours over lunch and really came to no real conclusion, except that if I was to contact the mysterious person who'd left the note...Sam insisted that he accompany me to whatever meeting would be set up. If he wouldn't be allowed to come with me, then there could be no deal made. I agreed with Sam, not only for my own personal safety, but feeling very uneasy about something that could ruin not only myself, but The Home itself and all it was supposed to represent.

At the same time there was a burning need in me that demanded justice for not only Sara, but for every poor abused, abandoned or disadvantaged trans person out there. Violence, I believed was always the last resort for the uneducated or bigoted ones in the world to “solve” their perceived wrong things in their worldview, however twisted that view might actually be to decent people. Thus totally feeling ambivalent in the extreme, Sam and I decided to wait for the contact information that had been promised in the brief message. I hoped and prayed that whatever action was proposed by this mysterious person, would satisfy my need for closure and bring a measure of justice to the bastards who had so cruelly tortured and killed Sara, without bringing ruin on my dream that gave birth to The Home That Love Built.

As promised, the answer to the note came exactly one week later.
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From the author: It's up to you, the readers whether this story should continue or be tossed out as too extreme and forgotten as a failed effort. I can only say that it's going to be very violent and will run afoul of the notion/belief that death is never a solution for someone who has, by their actions, forfeited their breathing privileges.