We have you passing counterfeit currency. We have you in possession of over fifty thousand dollars of more counterfeit currency. That’s a slam dunk in court. Presto, you go away for fifteen years. But don’t worry, your brother and sisters will be right there with you for company. Maybe they’ll even let you form a choir. You know, like the Von Trapp singers in Sound of Music?”“But we didn’t make that money!” I croaked.“You’re not being charged for printing it, just passing it. Two different animals,” he said.“What about Tom and Jerry?” I moaned. The thought of fifteen years in prison felt like fifteen tons of sand on top of me. I’d be thirty-one-years old when I got out! My life would be over! “They had more! They had a whole briefcase full of it!”He sat back down.“Well, as far as that goes, I’d rather have them in custody than a bunch of kids. But nobody seems to be interested in helping us find them.”“I am!“ I gasped.He put one fingertip on his lips, as if he was thinking about that. But her mind had gone berserk. Against the walls of reason it had beat its head and cried foul, violation and numbing fear. It wasn’t right and she was drowning in the sea of insanity. Her soul was being torn into painful tatters by her joyful heart and tortured mind. Was she a loving bride or a whore who traded her life for dark pleasure? She had moaned both in pain and pleasure as he had taken her over the edge and with her pulsed with the receding delights that still had made them catch their breath. As he fell asleep he had whispered against her hair that he loved her and come morning she would see that everything would be fine. He would explain come morning. But it had been too late by then. Her crazed mind demanded restitution. It judged her harshly, called her a skank, a hussy, a bitch so hot for sex that she had willingly traded away her self respect. Her fingers had slowly crept under the pillow and felt the hard cold strength of the shotgun. Pulling it out she let her.
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