Image Credit:

Part Two – Sarah

They stopped for the night at a Holiday Inn Express on the outskirts of a nondescript town; they snagged a ground floor room that opened onto the parking lot. An hour out from the diner where they had lunch the man had to pull over so the librarian could upchuck her lunch.

“I told you it was too much,” she sobbed between heaves.

“It’s because you’re a drunk and can’t hold down your food,” the man countered.

It was just on dark when they got to the motel. They went through the drive-through at Micky D’s and got burgers and fries for dinner. The man stopped at a liquor store and got a half pint of Jack Daniel’s, a six pack of Miller Lite and a six pack of Coke.

They heaved their bags into the hotel room and ate their burgers. He washed his down with a beer and she with a tumbler of JD and Coke; the man told her straight spirits were off her menu. They turned on the TV to fill the awkward silence.

“We’re going to get fat eating all this junk food,” the librarian said.

The man ignored her.

“You shower first then me,” the man grunted when they’d finished eating.

The librarian squatted on the toilet and took care of her business and then took a long hot shower. She put on a little makeup, clean panties and bra and a long T-shirt rather than her usual negligee. When she came out of the bathroom a miasma of soap, shampoo and deodorant followed with her.

The man looked up from the file he was reading and was once again surprised out how different she looked out of her dowdy librarian clothes. Their eyes met briefly and they both quickly looked away.

The man poured her a half nip of JD and filled the tumbler with Coke and made a point of showing her that he was taking his phone, the liquor, and the car keys into the bathroom with him. She shrugged her shoulders and sipped her drink.

“Can I at least go outside for a smoke? It’s not like I can run away dressed like this,” the librarian said meekly.

“Sure you can. You can suck a fews dicks in parking lot too for all I care. Just don’t try to run,” the man walked into the bathroom and slammed the door.

The librarian flinched at the insult and padded outside on bare feet. She smoked two cigarettes and sipped her drink.

Two redneck looking guys were walking her way talking loud and weaving drunkenly and she decided it was time to go back inside.

She paled when she pushed against the door and realised she had locked herself out. She hammered on the door with her fists and was going to call out when she realised she didn’t even know the man’s name. She heard footsteps getting closer and then shadows fell on her.

“Well looky here! We got a damsel in distress,” one man said to the other.

“Well maybe we should help her,” the other man chuckled.

She could smell the booze and sweat on their bodies they were so close.

“Can we help you ma’am?” one of the men asked.

She shook her head and kept hammering on the door.

“Well it looks like whoever is in there doesn’t want to let you in,” one of the men chuckled.

“I don’t know why. You look like a fine filly to me. Turn her around Troy and let’s see if her face is as good as those long legs.”

The man called Troy gripped the librarian and spun her around away from the door, pushing her against the redbrick wall. The other man looked both ways and then around the parking lot to see if there was anyone out and about. There wasn’t, the place was deserted and except for the yellow courtesy lights placed strategically along the pathway outside the ground floor rooms the place was dark.

“She’s a pretty one Brett,” Troy had one hand on her shoulder and the other under her chin.

“And I bet she’s got a figure to go with it under that T-shirt,” Brett replied.

The librarian started to struggle and Troy squeezed her throat, cutting off her airway. She lashed out with her feet and Brett moved in and punched her in the belly knocking the wind out of her. She couldn’t breath and she was starting to black out. She stopped struggling because she simply didn’t have the energy to do so.

“That’s better,” Troy whispered in her ear and then he licked the side of face.

“She tastes nice too, freshly bathed” he chuckled.

“So anyway; where were we? Oh yeah, we was wondering about what’s under that T-shirt,” Brett said.

He produced a knife from his hip pocket and flicked a button and released a three inch blade. The librarian shook her head as Brett waved the knife under her nose.

“Now you behave and we won’t have to spoil that pretty face now will we Troy?” Brett said.

“It would be a shame,” Troy put his face to the librarian’s, who had just begun to breathe again.

He pressed his lips against hers and she started to struggle. Troy pinned her wrists against the redbrick and Brett put the knife in the neck of her T-shirt and cut down. The sharp knife cut down through the fabric in one slice and the T-shirt fell open. The tip of the blade had caught her belly and a thin line of bloody droplets began to form.

“Oops!” Brett laughed.

Then he tore off the remnants of her T-shirt leaving her naked except her underwear. She wore a matching set of pink satin bikini panties and bra.

“I like pink,” Troy sighed and began to kiss her again.

He forced his tongue into her mouth, his body pressing her against the wall while he held her wrists up high. She could feel his erection poking into her belly through his jeans. She felt the knife press into her side and she stopped struggling.

“That’s better. You be nice to Troy and we’ll be nice to you,” Brett moved the knife slowly along her skin up her side and across to her chest.

Troy moved away to let Brett put the knife between her bra cups and he cut the strap so the cups fell away exposing her breasts.

“She’s got nice titties. Just a handful but more than that is wasted I’ve always said,” Troy grinned.

He let go of her wrists and squeezed her breasts, using his lower body to hold her against the wall. He started kissing her again.

“Hurry up and fuck her Troy afore’ somebody comes. I wanna go too,” Brett whined.

Troy continued to kiss the struggling librarian whilst viciously squeezing her breasts. One hand moved down her body and grabbed hold of the side of her panties preparing to rip them off her. The librarian started to wriggle and writhe again but Troy held her pinned to the wall.

“This won’t take long darlin’. We’ll just rip off those pretty pink panties and…” he didn’t finish the sentence.

Troy’s eyes suddenly became vacant and his body went limp. The side of face was a sheet of red blood. He fell to the concrete with a thud.

The librarian covered her breasts and suddenly realised that the man was standing next to Troy’s prone body holding a tire iron.

“Now what did you have to do that for pilgrim? Now I’m just gonna have to stick you with this knife, stick her with my cock, and get the fuck out of here,” Brett hissed, assuming a knife fighter’s stance and waving the knife backwards and forwards.

“Oh fuck this!” the man pulled a small silver .22 from inside his jacket and shot Brett in the foot.

Brett started howling and dropped the knife, hopping around on his good foot holding the one shot.

“If you don’t shut the fuck up I’m going to use the tire iron on you too,” the man said mercilessly.

“Now you get your partner and you get the fuck out of here. You come back and it won’t be a two-two I shoot you with,” he growled.

“You come with me,” he pushed the librarian ahead of him, through the motel room door and locked and bolted it.

The librarian stood sobbing in the centre of the room while the man rummaged around in one his suitcases and pulled out a small valise which he unzipped and placed on the table. He took some gauze and poured antiseptic from a small bottle.

“Come over into the light,” he said, but the librarian remained sobbing in the middle of the room.

He walked over and slapped her across the face.

“Get a grip and get over here in the light!”

She walked over, teary faced, arms crossed across her chest.

The man ripped her arms away from her breasts and put them by her sides.

“I can’t fix what I can’t see,” he said and sat on a chair in front of her.

He dabbed the antiseptic soaked gauze on the thin knife cut running up her belly.

“Superficial. Won’t need stitches; probably won’t even scar,” he said robotically.

He opened a pre-packaged field dressing and put it on the wound and taped it in place. The librarian just stood there like a statue and let him work on her.

When he’d finished dressing her wound he poured two tumblers of Jack and gave her one. She started to gulp it and the man help the glass away from her mouth and she got the message. Sip it. She did.

“Finish your drink and get cleaned up. Don’t get the bandage wet,” he said.

He lit two cigarettes and she looked at him and shook her head and nodded at the no-smoking sign on the wall.

“Fuck it. They’ll never track my credit card down anyway,” he handed her a cigarette and she smoked it and sipped her drink.

It was only then that she realised that she was standing close to the man naked except for her panties. She saw him peeking at her breasts and body now and then but he made no untoward moves.

“Ok new rule. You don’t leave my presence from now on unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

She nodded and dropped her cigarette into her empty glass, went over and got clean underwear and took another shower.

When she came out the man was lying on the bed on top of the covers reading the file. She dug out another T-shirt and shucked into it, no longer concerned about being in front of him in her underwear. It was obvious he had only a passing interest in her.

She noticed a small pile of blankets and a pillow piled up on the floor against the far wall. He saw her looking

“You’re sleeping over there,” he pointed with his chin.

“I paid for the room so I get the bed,” he said.

“Can I have another drink?” she asked.

“One,” he nodded at the table indicating she should pour her own.

Which she did and then started to make up her bed on the floor. She looked over and studied the man. He knew what he was doing; he was comfortable in tight situations and he knew how to fight.

“I didn’t thank you,” she said as she climbed under the blankets.

“For what?” the man looked up from the file.

“For saving me from those men,” she replied.

“I couldn’t care less if they fucked you up the ass all night and left you in the gutter when they’d finished with you. But I need you. I need you for this job and I need you in one piece,” the man went back to his file.

The smile on the librarian’s face disappeared, replaced by her usual dour countenance. She looked longingly at the bottle of Jack Daniel’s on the table and pulled up the bed clothes. The man put the folder on the bedside table, checked the small pistol and put it on top of the file and turned out the lights.

The librarian came out of her slumber with a raging headache and realised that someone was kicking her. She opened one eye and the pain in her head increased. Her head was throbbing and she wanted to go back to sleep but someone was incessantly poking her in the side with a boot. She opened her eyes again and this time she saw the puddle of vomit beside her pillow and then she smelled it and began to dry reach.

“Don’t you vomit again you fucking rummy!” the man kicked her again.

“Get your drunken ass into the shower and clean yourself up you pathetic piece of shit,” punctuated with another kick.

She got to her knees and opened her eyes fully and saw the empty bottle of JD and four cans of Miller lying on the floor beside her blankets.

She tried to stand and nearly fell but the man grabbed her. He put an arm around her shoulder and led her to the bathroom and sat her down on the toilet.

“The rest is up to you sugar because I am definitely not giving you a bath,” he shook her as she started to nod off again.

She sat in the passenger seat looking pale and sickly trying to sleep as the big V8 engine in the Mustang ate up the miles. The man looked over at her with disgust. He stopped for gas while she was sleeping and he bought another half pint of Vodka, a bottle of orange juice and some Tylenol.

He drove on until he came to a deserted rest area and he pulled over. He crushed four of the Tylenol in a Styrofoam cup and mixed them with a double shot of vodka and topped it up with orange juice.

He got out and opened the passenger side door and shook the librarian.

“Get up and get out. Get some fresh air, we need to talk before we get to LA,” the man said.

She woke with a start and he reached across her and unbuckled her belt. She winced in pain and the man realised he was leaning on her knife wound. He helped her out of the car and led her to one of picnic tables and sat her down and went back to the car and bought the drink over. Her arms were folded on the table and she was resting her head on them.

“Here. Sip this. And I mean sip it,” he held the Styrofoam cup to her lips and she sipped while he held the cup.

He put his arm around her to steady her and held her to him while she sipped the drink until it was all gone. She rested her head on his shoulder and he could smell the shampoo on her hair. He absentmindedly stroked her hair and she smiled. He was about to smile himself and then he realised what he was doing.

He pushed her off him.

“You really are a drunk aren’t you,” he hissed.

“Can I have a cigarette?” she asked, feeling forlorn.

He lit two and gave her one.

“How can you live with yourself? Knowing who you are? Knowing what you are?” he looked at the tip of his cigarette.

“I don’t live with myself. I stopped living with myself just over twenty years ago. That’s when I became the librarian, keeping myself to myself, keeping silent and drowning my memories with drink every night,” she looked at the gravelly ground littered with decaying cigarette butts.

“I know who you were. That isn’t in the dossier but I know,” she could hear the hatred in his voice.

“You really do hate me don’t you?” the librarian said.

The man didn’t answer. He lit two more cigarettes and handed her one.

“Last one before we get to LA,” he said.

“They came for us at night. It was about a year after Amanda’s funeral. Or more precisely about a year after Tina Anderson disgraced them. They couldn’t get Tina so they came for me and Drew,” the librarian was drawing circles in a pile of cigarette ash on the table.

“I don’t wanna hear it,” the man said.

“You don’t wanna hear it! You don’t wanna hear it! Well fuck you!” the librarian screeched at him.

“You asked how I live with myself being what I am and being a hopeless drunk, well fuck you, I’m going to tell you anyway!”

“I haven’t spoken about it for nearly twenty years and you’re taking me back there! Back to Tina Anderson, whose fault it was anyway! Well fuck you Mister I’m going to tell it anyway and if you don’t like it drive off and leave me, or cover your ears!” she was sobbing now.

The man just stared off into the distance.

“It was Bing Holthouse and Bobby Fillay. The other two probably didn’t have the guts to go through with what Bing had planned, besides they still their families and their jobs,” the librarian continued her story.

“Tina had drugged those four boys and filmed their debauchery in her motel room. They didn’t know they were being secretly filmed by Devon Devine who cut the footage into a VHS video called Hotel Tranny Homo Hump Part Two.”

“She sent copies to their wives. It was supposed to be revenge for what they did to me on Prom night but it backfired. Gerry Kershaw and Ben Mowbray’s wives eventually forgave their husbands but Bing and Bobby’s wives just couldn’t. And beside losing their families Bing lost his trucking business and that put Bobby out of a job too because he worked for Bing.”

“They couldn’t stay in town. Word about the video got out and they couldn’t stand the humiliation. Tina did a great job of fucking them over but they didn’t come looking for her; those good old boys still blamed me.”

“I told you I don’t want hear this!” the man grunted.

The librarian ignored him and went on.

“Those boys knew that Devon was connected so they couldn’t get to him and by then Tina was living with him so she was untouchable too. Drew and I were oblivious to their plan.”

“Drew and I had settled into a town house in Berkeley; Drew had finished at Texas U and we both had our degrees. I was already making good money with a firm in the commercial market and Drew was doing ok. He was even playing in a local football team on weekends.”

“We wanted to get married but even with my new birth certificate I was reluctant to engage the legal system so we slipped into Okalahoma where it was legal and became common law man and wife and then came home.”

“I really don’t want to hear any more!” the man was getting angry.

“Anyway Bing and Drew came for us one night. They broke in while we were asleep; they both had guns.”

“They made Drew watch while they took turns violating me. They had a gun to his head so I did everything and anything they wanted,” she was crying now.

“When they couldn’t get it up any more and had finished with me Bing simply pulled the trigger and blew Drew’s brains out. I wished they had killed me too, I begged them to kill me but they had other plans. They wanted to use me some more. They were high and drunk and excited and killing Drew had made them more so.”

“Those fools would have likely got away with it had they killed me then and there, but they dragged me into the back seat of their pickup and Bing went to work on me again while Bobby drove. The cops shot Bobby to death in the front seat of that pickup when he pulled a gun after the cops pulled the truck over. That coward Bing Holthouse cried like a baby and begged for his life, scrambling out of the back seat of that pickup with his hands in the air and trousers around his ankles.”

“I testified at his trial and they put him away for life but that didn’t bring back Drew.”

“And so I moved to somewhere where no one knows about my past and I live my shitty life as a shitty librarian in a shitty town and I am working hard at drinking myself to death. Like you said, I’ll probably do the world a favour when I go.”

“That’s why I thought you’d come to kill me. I thought you were a relation or a friend of Bing or Bobby’s looking for revenge.”

Tears were streaming down the librarian’s face. She looked up and saw that the man was crying too; sobbing with big heaves and his head in his hands.

She slid over to comfort him. She was amazed that he had any compassion for her.

She put an arm around him and stroked his hair.

The man leapt up from his seat and pushed the librarian away from him.

“Don’t touch me!” he screamed.

He pushed her to ground.

“Don’t you ever fucking touch me!” he kicked her in the solar-plexus and her diaphragm spasmed and she couldn’t breathe.

She lay in the dust gasping and the man kicked her viciously in the buttocks. The man was till crying, his face red with rage.

He kicked her in the side and she rolled over on her back and looked up at him her face muddy with dusty tears. The man looked down at her with vehemence and hate, his fists were balled and his leg cocked back ready to kick her again.

“Do it! Finish it!” the librarian sobbed.

“I’ve had enough! Kill me! Kill me!” she bawled.

“I can’t!” the man sobbed and unclenched his fists.

“Why can’t you? Why? You hate me so much, why can’t you kill me?”

“Because Andrew Carter was my brother!” frustrated, he kicked dust at her and walked away.

The librarian lay in the dust sobbing until she couldn’t cry any more and then she tried to get to her feet. Her side hurt, her rump hurt, but most of all her belly hurt where he had kicked her in the solar plexus. She was able to sit up in the dust and she lifted her T-shirt and she saw the bandage was weeping fresh blood.

The man came back with his little valise which he unzipped and placed on the picnic table. He helped the librarian to her feet and led her back to the table. She winced with pain as she tried to remove her T-shirt and the man helped her take it off.

He took off the bloody bandage, cleaned the wound and put a fresh bandage on her belly. She grimaced at the cold bite of the antiseptic but remained speechless. He looked at her face and winced. He went back to the car and came back with a bottle of water and a washcloth.

The librarian reached for them and the man held them away from her.

“I’ll do it!” he said.

He wiped around her mouth and dabbed antiseptic on a cut on her lip and appraised his work.

“I’ve made a clean spot so I might as well finish,” he said and gently wiped her face clean.

When he finished she gave him a bitter smile.

“I loved your brother,” she said.

“So did I,” he replied and packed up the valise.

He gave her the remains of the water to drink and took everything else back to the car. He came back with another cup of vodka and orange juice.

He offered it to her and she shook her head.

“Go on drink it,” he said.

“No. Enough, enough,” she sighed.

“But I sure could use a cigarette,” she smiled and winced when her split slip stung.

He lit two cigarettes and offered her one. When she reached for it he moved her hand away and put the cigarette between her lips. His finger touched the side of her face and she cringed in anticipation of being struck.

The man delicately stroked the side of her face and then withdrew his hand.

“You always expect the worse don’t you?” he drew on his cigarette.

She looked into his cold blue eyes.

“That way I’m never disappointed,” she said.

The man went back to the car and came back with the file.

“Tina Anderson and Lyle Brinkman, AKA Devon Devine, own Xavier Productions. It’s a pornography business producing magazines and DVDs but like most porn businesses today its main income comes from online video streaming sales.”

The librarian nodded; she knew Tina was in the porn game but back then Tina was a performer, not a producer

“Tina still appears in some movies but she and Devon are now mainly in production. But their online porn business is failing; too many free sites. So they have started making ‘special’ movies; real perverted shit, you saw the clip.”

“Also they have teamed up with Raffe Ignesman who used to be an LA pimp back in the day but has made his way along the sewer and is now connected to organised crime and of course so is Devon. Raffe finds Devon young girls and boys to act in his films. The usual bullshit, find kids fleeing from their homes at bus stations or find runaways living on the streets, get them hooked on dope and hire their asses out to Devon and Tina. It’s also suspected that they are prostituting the girls and boys to sickos who have, shall we say, special needs.”

“These sickos pay a lot of money, so business for Devon, Tina, and Ruffe is good; but not so for Raffe’s charges who are really little more than sex slaves,” the man explained.

“Which is what happened to Stacy Patterson when she ran away from home,” the librarian said.

“Bingo, go to the top of the class,” the man smiled.

“At least that’s what I think happened. The problem is Xavier Productions is a legitimate company duly registered in the State of California. It pays taxes and its books are open to inspectors. I’ve looked and there is nothing illegal to be found,” the man lit them both cigarettes and passed her one.

This time when their fingers touched he didn’t flinch.

“All the sex slave stuff is obviously underground,” the librarian added.

“Bingo again,” the man said.

“And I come into this how? Sure I know Tina but I haven’t seen her for years,” the librarian asked.

“You used to be her lover?” the man looked at her inquiringly.

She blushed and looked down at her feet and then looked him in the eye.

“Yes I did. But that was before Drew and I…”

“I know. Before you and Drew reconciled after Amanda’s funeral,” he cut her off.

“So do you think you can rekindle your friendship?”

“I… I’m not sure…it’s so difficult..” the librarian began.

“Wait there’s more. You might have to…you know get involved in the business. Do stuff. Prove that you’re willing to actively participate in their sordid trade. What we call go deep undercover,” the man said.

The librarian looked down at her feet and then raised her face to his. She once again had that dull look in her dead eyes,

“Because of what I am. Because I’m a lush. Because of my past. Because I don’t matter to anyone,” she said mechanically.

The man stood up and pulled the librarian to her feet. He held her at arms distance and looked into her eyes.

“Because Stacy needs you. Because Sloane needs you,” he said earnestly.

“And because, regardless of what I think of you, my brother loved you.”

The librarian came out of her trancelike state and suddenly realised the man was holding her hands

“Ok. I can see that Tina might want to rekindle our friendship, maybe for old time’s sake. But why would she let me ‘participate in their sordid trade’ as you put it?”

The man pulled her closer. He was looking down at the ground and they were standing toe to toe. He raised his head and looked her in the eyes.

“Because of what you are,” he said.

“Because I’m transgender,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he whispered in return.

“Because there are sickos out there who have special needs,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he murmured.

He watched her eyes brim with tears and then run down her cheeks but she nodded her assent.

They stood in silence for a while, toe to toe, hand in hand.

“Did you really beg them to kill you?” he whispered.

She nodded and the tears fell from her face into the dust.

“Then can you do me favour?” he asked.

She nodded again.

“Can you stop begging me to do it. Regardless of what I think of you, my brother loved you,” he sighed.

He pulled her into his arms as she started to sob and he let her rest her head on his shoulder.

After a while he gently disengaged from her.

“We better get going,” he said.

She nodded and they threw the detritus of their visit to the trash cans.

As they were walking to the car the librarian suddenly stopped and the man turned around.

“What now?”

“Last night when I was banging on the motel room door. I was trying to call out to you to help me but then I realised I don’t even know your name,” she said.

The man shook his head in disbelief.

“Randy Carter,” he smiled.

“Sarah Carter, or at least I used to be,” she smiled and held out her hand.

The man shook it.

“Ok get in, we still got a ways to go,” Sarah reached for the door handle and Randy beat her to it and opened the door for her.

They stayed in another cheap motel on the outskirts of LA but Sarah couldn’t eat. She was suffering withdrawal and as much Randy insisted she wouldn’t take a drink. She spent most of the evening in the bathroom and when she came out she was pale and shaking and at the same time hot and sweaty.

She threw some blankets and a pillow on the floor in a dark corner of the room and curled up shivering but she eventually fell asleep. In the early hours of the morning she started to moan and Randy woke up and turned on the bedside light.

Sarah was having a nightmare. She had kicked off her bedclothes and was writhing on the floor; her hair plastered to her face.

Randy picked her up in his arms. She remained unconscious while he carried her to the bed, amazed at how frail she was.

He sat up most of the night putting cold compresses on her forehead until she eventually stopped sweating and moaning. He fell asleep beside her exhausted.

Sometime during the night she snuggled up to him in her sleep and put an arm around him. He woke up and tried to disengage but she hugged him closer and whimpered in her delirium.

“Drew?”

He patted her hand and went back to sleep.

To be continued…