The police officers who met Sarah on the street that evening next to her car were surprisingly sensitive to her disgust and fears. They removed the headless animal from her windshield and the younger , blond officer actually brought out from the patrol car some paper towels and window cleaner which he used to remove the blood.

She was still shaken while they interviewed her about the incident on the semi-lit sidewalk. Questions centered around who would want to do such a thing to her if it wasn't by chance a random act perpetrated by some sick teen or adult. Sarah knew a record of the act was necessary for any future case she would bring against either Jess or Derek, or both of them. However, when the officers pressured her as to why anyone she knew might want to torment her in such a vicious way, she remained non-compliant about names and details.

Part of this reluctance was due to the fact that she had not been able to reach her friend Carrie in San Francisco after discovering the horrible 'message' left on her car. The other reason was the sheer fear that other more threatening repercussions from these two men might ensue if they were questioned by this or any other police department.

Sarah simply told the two San Diego policemen that she indeed had had some "seriously unpleasant" issues with a man she had been recently dating, and that after confronting him about his "intolerant treatment" of her, it was possible he wanted to scare or threaten her.

The officers were adamant about her giving them a name or names, as they considered the information a legitimate lead to a suspect. However, when they advised her that she was not obliged by law to give this information, Sarah still decided to not mention Jess or Derek by name. As the original crime of making the hidden sex tape of her happened outside the U.S., it was yet another issue Sarah needed to discuss further with her FBI friend, just as soon as Carrie could be contacted.

Satisfied the officers had all the information they were going to get, they asked once more how she was, and if she was in a state to make it home, alright. When she assured them that she was, the younger of the two men gave her his police contact number, officially written on a business card, in case she wanted to change her mind about reporting more information. Sarah's disturbed mind—now assessing all men, generally gave her pause to think perhaps the young officer had more on his mind and that his offer to contact him later was more of a personal nature.

Driving away, Sarah hated herself for now thinking this way, but the whole issue of mistrust in Jess, after becoming so intimate with him, had taken a serious toll on her outlook of men in general. She now knew too well how women and girls could become psychically scarred for life after being raped or molested in any way by a man.

Whatever the motives of the young and handsome police officer were that evening—whether strictly an admirable protocol of police business, or some ulterior motive, it also gave Sarah the alarming notion that she may never find men desirable again. She realized with some dismay that  had she seen and talked to him in more cordial circumstances, and before leaving for England, his attractiveness might have been better appreciated. That she now may never feel that way again about men was disheartening.

While en route driving home on the busy, coastal thoroughfare, Sarah tried once again to reach Carrie with the contact number she had given her for emergencies. Finally, she picked up the call at the other end.

"Hello?"  The voice came as barely a whisper.

"Carrie?"

"Shhh. Wait. I'm . . . wait."

"Carrie . . ?"

"That you Sar . . ?  She was still whispering.

"Yes. . . What's the matter?"

She was becoming alarmed by the strange, hesitant responses.

"I'm on a stakeout . . . in LA. Watching a guy right now  . . . close to me. Difficult to speak. What's up sweetie?"

"Sorry, Carrie. I'll call back later . . ."

"OK. But this could take some time.  . . We're moving in on a big time pedophile. He's about ready to abduct a kid. You'll hear me go silent when he does . . ."

"Oh Jesus, Carrie!  . . . I'll call you later tonight. Just be careful!"

"No prob . . . you OK?"

"Well, not totally. But . . . later . . . bye!"

As Sarah hung up the phone, she once more realized how messed-up the world was. How much evil was going on just below the surface, every day. She thanked the stars for people like the police officers and brave women like Carrie who were out trying to keep it all from descending completely into a hellish world.

As she pulled up to the parking garage of her apartment complex, with its series of mailboxes in neat rows along the outside wall, she could see in the dim light there was a note or small package near her box. It was attached to the little door of her mailbox corresponding to Apt. 206. 

She left her car idling as she got out and produced her mail key to check the box and investigate what now looked to be a small brown lunch bag taped to it. Written on the outside of the bag in bold felt pen was her name, Sarah Bertram. There were few people—family mainly, who knew which anonymous mailbox was associated with her and her flat. This prompted Sarah to take the bag off the little door and cautiously open it.

She suddenly screamed and dropped the damp sack onto driveway. Inside, she discovered the only missing part of the gristly cat which had been slaughtered and left on her car hours before—this time its bloodied and sightless head!

She quickly entered her car, drove into the brightly-lit garage and ran to the elevator. Stepping out of it on the first floor, she moved gingerly across the upper walkway to her apartment.  Sarah fumbled with her keys and opened her front door. Hitting all the lights in the darkened rooms she slowly passed to the back bedroom and closed the door behind her. Standing in the door-sill of her bathroom, she got out her smartphone and dialed Carrie again—this time not concerned with what FBI activity she might be in the midst of.

She waited for the phone to pick up, but it rang incessantly.

Standing in front of the well-lit sink and mirror, Sarah looked at herself in the glass and could she that her image was of a woman now pale and in a disturbed state of pure terror. But in the refection, there behind her, to her greater horror, she could she there was someone lying motionless in her bed!

She screamed several times at the top of her lungs but the person's body, of whose head was covered by the sheet was seemingly lifeless!

Sarah took deep breaths as she approached the bed in small, halting steps. She had to see for herself who it was, so motionless and totally under the covers. Poised to dial 911 on speed-dial, her finger hovered above the 'Call' button as she reached out, prepared to slowly pull back the covers concealing who ever was lying un-moving in her bed.

"Jess?. . . Is that you? . . . Jess . . ?

When Sarah could stand the silence and frozen moments no more, she took the edge of the sheet tightly in her fingers and pulled it agonizingly down.

There, looking up to the ceiling in a frozen stare of death was Derek!  His ugly face was paler than in life, and his long gray hair was splayed out onto her pillow as if blowing in a non-existent wind.

Feeling she would immediately faint from the shock, Sarah turned and ran out of her bedroom, out of her apartment, and all the way down the street to the little corner market. For there she knew she could remain in the presence of sane and familiar faces until the police would finally arrive.

* * *