Moira

There was a thud. Moira Malone's body finally gave in and fainted. The news was more than her fragile brain could handle.

* *

Water. Cool liquid sprayed against her face. Moira blinked and found herself on the sofa while Heather splashed water onto her. She sat up angrily and forced the lawyer away.

"Get away from me, you heartless bitch," she screamed. "You used me. All you wanted was to blackmail me."

"I know you feel angry right now, and you're perfectly entitled to," Heather said. "All I want you to do is take a deep breath and remember your family. Remember your husband and your children who you love so much and sacrificed your identity for. Imagine what would happen to them if your secret got out."

"I opened my heart to you," Moira sobbed on. "... and you crushed it all for the sake of some murderer? I told you things I've held inside me for so long. Can you even imagine how hard that was?"

"No, I can't," said Heather. "I'm really sorry to do this to you. It's just how the world works, use or be used."

"Was any of it real?"

"Would it make you feel better if I said yes?" Heather asked coldly. "No, right? Did you really think everything fell together so neatly for you and me to meet? A sudden last-second preaching tour for your husband and someone waiting at your favourite lesbian bar to pick you up. Too much coincidence, Moira. I've had my people watching you for a while. They were there the last time your husband went out of town and you made your trip to Manhattan. They saw you go straight to Henrietta and they saw you get picked up. After I knew this dirty little secret, the rest was easy. Everything that happened was part of a bigger plan leading to this moment. Now you have a choice to make -- what is more important to you, keeping your family or pursuing an impossible ideal of justice?"

Moira stood with her mouth hanging open. The words refused to register in her brain. Heather went on.

"I'm sorry, Moira. I was only doing my job. It's probably the most immoral job in the world."

"Then why do it?"

"It's all I know."

Heather walked over to her and put her wedding ring in her hand. She held it tightly for a few seconds. The wheels in her mind turned and she weighed everything. Heather watched her quietly. Moira twirled the ring between her fingers, lost in thought for a long moment. Slowly, painfully, she slipped it on. Heather looked on and nodded gently.

"You made the right choice," she said. "You will receive your subpoena soon to appear in court. If you want, we can go over your testimony. If it makes you feel any better, Vincent Cardoza was scum and had it coming."

Moira looked at Heather wearing the same look of disenchantment from the bar.

"My research tells me you're a religious woman, Moira," said Heather. "Will you say a prayer for my soul when you get home?"

"No."

"I didn't think so. Come on then. I'll drop you off at Grand Central."

"I'll go myself," Moira said. Heather smiled and showed her to the door. She turned to leave, but paused after a few paces.

Heather stood at her doorway and watched silently. She saw Moira's back turn very slowly and she had taken off her veneer of haughty self-righteousness. Once more, she looked lonely and disconsolate.

"Heather," she said. "I don't care that you used me. Can we do this again? Please?"

She walked over, cradled Moira's face in her hands, and looked into her sad eyes.

"You poor woman," Heather said softly. "You'd rather be with someone like me than be alone. I meant what I said earlier, Moira. Relationships don't work for me. Trust me, the best thing you can do for yourself right now is get as far away from me as you can."

Moira sniffled into her handkerchief.

"Wait a second. I'll be right back."

Heather returned with a bottle of Desyrel and a scrap of paper with a number hastily scrawled on it. She gave both to Moira.

"This will get you through the night better than Prozac," said Heather. She paused before adding. "Trust me, I know. The number is of one of my former clients. He can write very authentic looking forged prescriptions. I'll tell him to waive the fee for you, as a personal favour to me."

"How do you know I won't go to the police with this?" asked Moira taking both items in her hand.

"Something tells me your need for the drugs is bigger than your need for revenge," Heather smirked.

Moira put both in her purse. Heather stared at her face longingly. Out of nowhere, she wrapped her arms around Moira's neck and kissed her tenderly. All the walls to her stone cold heart fell for an instant as her tongue gently explored Moira's mouth, savouring the intimacy.

"Now please go."

She nodded and left. There was a steadfast world weariness in her stride now. She now had even more reason to hate the world than before. Her phone rang.

"Hello, Peyton. Yeah... I'm on my way back.... What? Fine. I guess it'll just be Thai food again for the two of us."

* *

EPILOGUE

"Hi, Mr Zucker. I took care of the prosecution's star witness like you asked. Her testimony will be of great help to us when the time comes."

"What did you do, if I may ask?"

"It's one of those things you're really better off not knowing."

There was a hearty chuckle on the other end.

"I didn't think you'd actually go through with it. I mean, I knew you were making plans and using firm resources to keep tabs on that woman, but I thought you'd go for my idea instead."

"You wanted me to put her on the stand and let her tell the truth before destroying her credibility as a witness by revealing her dirty little secret in open court? That might've worked too. I simply thought we could win this case without resorting to a smear campaign."

"So let me get this straight, Heather. This woman walked away thinking you're the most evil creature on the planet and all you did was essentially save her from having her life ripped to shreds in open court in front of the media?"

"No good deed, eh?"

"Indeed. I'll tell Mr. Lombardini that he needn't worry about his son's fate any longer. It's a big win for us. Good job, Heather. I have something to ask you."

"Shoot."

"Will you ever truly become the despicable lawyer most people think you are?"

"You don't think I am?"

"Not even close, Heather. Not even close. Anyway, once again, good work. I'll see you at noon tomorrow on that anti-trust matter."

Heather Franklin swiped her phone shut and stood in front of a heavy metal door. It was the seedy underbelly of a very popular and outwardly respectable nightclub. The sliding grate opened and a pair of cobalt blue eyes stared out at her.

"You're late, bitch," snarled a voice. "You know what that means."

"Yes, Mistress."

The door opened and Heather silently took off her clothes and walked to the solitary bed at the centre of the dimly lit room. Various sizes and shapes of paddles, whips, crops and a multitude of other painful implements hung from the walls. The woman lay Heather down on her front and secured her arms and legs to the four corners. She then roamed around the bed, studying her helpless subject.

"Do you remember your safe word, Heather?"

"Have I ever used it before?" retorted Heather. Mistress glared her down.

"Cheeky, eh? We'll sort that out soon enough. Let's see what we have here."

Her practised eye roamed over Heather's back intently studying every scar. She let her fingertip trace one of them all the way from her waist to her neck. Heather flinched.

"Are you sure you want this?" Mistress asked. "You don't look like you've healed properly since last time."

"I'm sure I want this. I deserve it, Mistress."

The Mistress let out a shrill laugh and picked up her favourite crop. She let the twisted leather edge run over Heather's back.

"I've been doing this for a long time and I've seen plenty of men and the occasional woman who wanted the crop. Some enjoyed it, some needed it, some craved it. You're the first who thinks they deserve it."

The Mistress stopped and rolled up the crop handle in her hand, ready to begin.

"One of these days, I'll probably go too far if you keep asking for this. Until then, I'll like hearing the sound of leather on skin."

"Fucking start it all ready, Mistress bitch."

"Such language, such insubordination. You're really asking for an extra dose tonight, Heather," the Mistress tutted. "Bite down hard because this will hurt."

"It had better," muttered Heather before sinking her teeth into the loose gag.

The first few cracks awoke her nervous system. The crop rose high in the air and thundered down on different parts of her back. Partly healed wounds opened up and new ones broke the skin.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Her nervous system was on fire. Pain raged through every bit of her. Pain on top of unhealed pain until pain was as close to love as she dared to go,

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Pain was what she inflicted onto people every day at her job. She sat in her corner office with her seven figure salary and rained down inhuman injustices onto others.

CRACK!

This was for the oil companies she defended when they destroyed entire ecosystems.

CRACK!

This was for the chemical companies she defended when they knowingly polluted ground water leading to mass poisoning.

CRACK!

This was for the pharmaceutical companies she defended for peddling untested drugs in the market and harming many consumers.

CRACK!

This was for the insurance companies whose claims she helped deny.

CRACK!

Murderers.

CRACK!

Rapists.

CRACK!

Frauds.

Embezzlers.

CRACK!

Drug dealers.

Gang members.

Mafia.

Heather eventually gave up counting. There were simply too many. Too many bad people walked free because of her efforts and even more would tomorrow. It was simply the way it was.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Heather closed her eyes contentedly and lay still while a barrage of shots viciously lashed across his spine. She only smiled when she could feel her blood drip down the sides of her back onto the bed.

* *

If you want to read more stories about Heather Franklin, try "How To Catch A Falling Star" and "The Day The Music Died".