alas, another writing exercise hits. This story takes place some months after "glimmer of twilight" hope you enjoy it and thanks for reading and for the great feedback!

C.J. watched as the woman sat next to her sizing up her shoulder as a canvas for her latest creation.

She had just received the official clearance from the U.S. Attorney's office to have the tattoo done last week but had been planning it for months. Her shoulder had served as a part of a crime scene along with the rest of her body where evidence had to be collected, documented and catalogued for further use later on in the criminal proceedings against the men who came after her. On some days when evidence technicians had hovered over her, she hadn't felt human. When they photographed various parts of her as part of the documentation process, she had felt even less than that.

She wondered if her body had been catalogued in some filing cabinet away with a number designating its case number and all the evidence which had been extracted from it. She felt as if she had been surrounded by invisible crime scene tape, a piece of ground trod upon by teams of detectives and forensic experts trying to build a case against those who had harmed her. Well, with any of the evidence that hadn't been destroyed or lost during the time she had been in captivity which had been just over a month. Any DNA from the skin she had scraped from her rapist's body fighting him and any other trace of what he had done to her that had marked her body had been long gone. Rinsed away as she sat for hours in a shower after he left her or absorbed by her injured body only to prepare her for the next violation. Bruises and other marks on her skin faded after all as the days passed, much more quickly than memories.

Attracting the most attention from those who had examined her had been what marked her shoulder, providing proof positive that she had belonged to someone else. That human beings like her could be bought and sold from one man to the next with the exchange of cash. Not much of it remained to be studied, the brand that had been seared into the skin of her shoulder on one particularly bad night. The pain had been so fierce that she had passed out in the midst of it. When she woke up in the darkness in her cell, she felt the heat of it against her face.

Soon after she had escaped and it had gotten badly infected, nearly killing her as if punishing her for leaving him. In order to save her life, it had to be abraded off of her tender skin, normally an excruciating process for those who experienced it. She had been unconscious by then and felt none of it and by the time she had woken up, the redness had faded away to a pale pink beneath its bandage. All that had remained of the mark was a smudge; a shadow of what had been there that had been formless. Like a bruise that just never healed.

That smudge had been photographed from every angle, in every kind of lighting. A small ruler measuring centimeters had been placed next to it in several of the photos to provide context. She had never seen those photos as they were stacked with the rest of them in some boxes somewhere awaiting the day they would be shown inside a courtroom. She had heard from the prosecutors that there might be a grand jury convening at any time but had yet to be asked to testify as the feds star witness. There had been so many false starts that she never felt either hope or dread surge through her anymore and just did what they told her to do.

Even then she wouldn't look at the pictures, really look at them beyond what they asked of her on the witness stand.

The errand that had brought her to this woman had been her own decision and that made it feel like an act of rebellion against even those who had tried to help her. One that had made her smile after months spent with not much opportunity to do that, to outwardly express any happiness. Laughter being even more elusive than a smile.

"That's a nice design," the woman told her now, nodding, "We have to start by removing what's left of the old tattoo first before we put on what's new but it will look beautiful when we finish it."

C.J. looked up at her as she explained the process and how it would require a series of treatments to gradually fade the mark away, layer by layer. After all, as the artist explained, tattoos were more easily made than destroyed. C.J. understood that part of it. The same after all, was true about memories.

"That's fine," C.J. said, "I'd like to get it done as soon as possible."

All she had needed was permission from a branch of the federal government to do what she chose to do with her own body. That struck her as ironic because that same branch had set out to prosecute the men who had used her body as they saw fit. She wondered when it would ever be her own again and thought the tattoo would be the first stage towards taking it back.

She thanked the woman after making her appointment for next week to begin getting rid of what remained of her brand that had definitely overstayed its welcome.

After setting that up, she headed back to the woman's foundation to meet up with Rhonda and Fran to go out for some coffee. Both women looked relieved to see her and when she had asked them how their day had gone, Rhonda shook her head and said don't even ask. Fran as the director of the women's center had been working on some new software to intake new clients for some of the counseling programs. She had gotten married and now was expecting twins but neither event had slowed her down.

"It's been slow," she said, "because there have been so many more women who've needed our services than just several months ago."

That likely had been an outcome of the new advertising campaign that Chris had helped Fran launch which allowed the center to do outreach on every radio and television network in Houston and even in outlying areas. C.J. marveled at how much had been accomplished by the two women who she had met for the first time in Bannon County when all three of them had been exploited by men as part of a prostitution ring. They had survived that experience and it and it had bonded them together in some strange sort of sisterhood especially after Matt had decided to create a charitable foundation that helped women in crisis help themselves.

The three women left to go to their favorite coffee spot which as it turned out had just opened up six months earlier down the street. At this time of day, the morning crowd of caffeine addicts had cleared on out and the calm had just begun to settle over the cozy nook with books that lined the wall in shelves and portraits of famous local musicians. Chris waited for them in their corner booth.

C.J. slid into her seat with the others and they all ordered their favorite designer coffees. Chris looked like she really needed it this morning.

"He's driving me crazy," she said.

C.J. knew she meant Murray, who had as president of Houston Enterprises driven the conglomerate to new heights through his business acumen and his relentless energy. But he had also driven more than a few employees, Chris included, crazy in terms of trying to keep up with him.

"I don't know if I should have taken the vice presidency job," she said, "Dan and me, we want to start a family and then I'll just go on maternity leave anyway."

Fran snorted.

"Chris, you're great at your job," she said, "Murray just needs to get a hobby…"

"Better yet a girlfriend," Rhonda chimed in, "I mean when's the last time he's gotten any?"

None of the women could even guess the answer to that question.

"Anyone wants to take a guess," Rhonda continued as their coffees arrived.

The other women looked at each other and shook their heads.

"Party poopers."

Chris sipped her coffee carefully having switched to decaf recently and not really liking it.

"Murray's a great guy and he's really done great things for the company," she said, "He just seems too focused on work."

C.J. listened and almost felt like defending the company president. After all, she had dove right into her new career without a second thought and hadn't surfaced yet. She found it easier to think about work than everything else that had been going on in her life. Some might say that she hid behind her work so that she didn't have to face life but her complicated life with all its twists and turns had its way of finding her anyway.

"So how was your day," Chris asked C.J.

She told that she had started the day by showing up at her kickboxing class and had then handled a slew of phone calls from her work and then had gone to her appointment at the dermatologist that had been also happened to be a tattoo artist.

"Yeah, getting it removed is really tough," Rhonda said, "but it will be worth it, trust me."

Chris looked over at Rhonda.

"Speaking from experience right?"

Rhonda made a face.

"Let's just say that youthful romance leads one to do foolish things and leave it at that."

C.J. knew that from her own life. After all, she had fallen for a bad boy complete with a Harley when she had been a teenager. When she hadn't put out on a date with him at Passion Point, he had kicked her out of her car and she had been left to walk home to her uncle's ranch in the dark…at least until Matt had discovered her while driving home his date. She had learned from that experience and from the relationships both good and bad that had followed or so she had thought until she had hooked up with Robert Tyler.

The rising journalist until his career came to a crashing halt when he had been carted off to prison to do 20 to life for murder, kidnapping and other crimes all tied to his relentless ambition. But the worst man of all had been waiting in the shadows for his own plans for her. And when he finally made his move, her life had been irrevocably changed.

She looked at her coffee mug, not wanting to dwell on that not while she sat there with her friends.

"So what kind of tattoo are you getting anyway," Rhonda asked.

C.J. smiled, sipping her coffee.

"It's a surprise," she said, "You'll see it after it's done."

Rhonda sighed.

"Oh come on," she said, "It's just us. We're so sure it's going to be something really cool."

C.J. shrugged.

"I don't know about that," she said, "Well okay, I'll show you the design."

She pulled it out of her purse, a sheet of paper and then she unfolded it. Rhonda's eyes widened when she took a gander at it.

"Isn't that a frog?"

C.J. nodded and Chris looked closer at it.

"It's the Frog Prince," she said, "That thing tilted on his head's a crown isn't it?"

C.J. nodded again and Rhonda just looked at her, still not comprehending it.

"There must be a story behind this," she said, "Something you'll share with us right?"

C.J. looked at the three of them and took a deep breath.

"It's just that I've always loved frogs," she said, "Since I was a little girl, even when Eddie tried to put one down my dress…."

Rhonda made a face.

"Sounds like a charmer."

"Actually he's a renowned scientist now," C.J. said, "but besides horses, they've always been my favorite animals."

Chris nodded.

"I remember that," she said, "Doesn't Matt love them too? I remember hearing the story about Rupert, his champion frog jumper."

C.J. smiled at the memory.

"Yeah for a while, Rupert just didn't want to jump at all," she said, "Houston thought it was jet lag or maybe depression but Bo and Lamar's frog always had his measure until…"

Chris brightened.

"Your frog put the feminine wiles on Rupert and got him to jump and win the competition," she said, "Then the two of them lived happily ever after."

C.J. nodded and ended the story there. There was more to it of course like how she had dropped that line to Matt about needing to kiss a lot of frogs before finding her prince and then he had just laid one on her, his lips brushing against her own for just a moment. But wow, she felt her insides tingle down to her toes from his kiss. So much so, she had lost her train of thought along with her voice even after his mouth left hers and he looked at her face, a kaleidoscope of emotions that couldn't keep pace with the sensations running through her body.

For a split second, she had thought, okay she had hoped that he had felt the same excitement as her but then he waggled those damn eyebrows of hers and made a frog noise. She had still been out of breath but at that point, she did know that to him, it had been a joke. Something to knock her off balance perhaps but not out of any real attraction to her. Still the memory had remained with her.

"What are you smiling at," Rhonda said, "I mean it's a cute story but…"

Fran shot Rhonda a look.

"I think it sounds like there's more to it," she said, "but it's a start."

Rhonda turned to C.J.

"So you're holding out on your closest friends?"

C.J. just sipped from her mug slowly. Her feelings towards her best friend who sat somewhere in a car or office a thousand miles away were too complicated to explain so she had stopped trying. He had been there for her and with her during the months that she had been in hiding both from those trying to hurt her and those trying to help her. The only person she had even trusted during those crazy times had been Matt and he had nearly died for his efforts to bring an end to her nightmare.

But the most painful part of it remained that her nightmare hadn't ended on Sapphire Island and it hadn't ended when they had returned back to some semblance of their lives in Houston. She had hoped that she would be able to slip back into her own skin back where she had been before all this had happened but she now knew that to be naivety combined with wishful thinking on her part. The past few months had in their own way been the most challenging in her life. Not long ago, she and Matt had returned to a visit to the ranch in Colorado that had sheltered her during the first few months after her escape and it had been bittersweet. Complicated by the plethora of emotions that had been running through her as they often did these days. Her therapist had explained to her more than once that this had been the product of the months she had spent suppressing her feelings just to survive life on the run and to keep one step ahead of those pursuing her. Together they had worked hard to untangle them from each other like separating strands of hair that had become meshed in complicated knots.

Caught in the mix of all those emotions and the memories which carried them were her feelings about the best friend who had been by her side through the worst of it. And what had happened to her had been the last thing she believed herself to be capable of at this point. She shook her head to focus back on her friends, in the here and now rather than lingering on the past or ruminating on her uncertain future.

"How's the old guy doing anyway," Fran asked.

C.J. looked up at her.

"How's who doing?"

Fran smiled knowingly.

"Matt, who else," she said, "It's been a while since he's shown his face around here."

The other woman's words prickled at C.J. but she couldn't be sure why. He had told her that his caseload had picked up tremendously after Labor Day and he and Roy had struggled with the tide of calls for help coming from their clients. Business had been virtually stalled for months while they hadn't been in L.A. and as soon as Matt returned home, it had picked up steam quickly enough. His visits to Houston had become less frequent. This of course had to do with his increasing demands of his investigative agency and nothing between the two of them.

Except that wouldn't be exactly true, would it?

C.J. smiled, holding her mug.

"Houston's doing great but so is his agency," she said, "and that means more time spent working and less for other things."

Rhonda frowned.

"But you're out here," she said, "and if that's not enough, how about us?"

C.J. just shrugged, not able and not particularly willing to answer on behalf of a man over a thousand miles away from where they currently sat drinking coffee. Of course nothing had been wrong with him as he was the same man he had always been getting back into the swing of things back in the boisterous city filled with social galas and women to wear on his arm while making the rounds.

"Well he's got enough to keep him distracted in L.A. too," she said, "Parties, galas and get togethers."

Rhonda folded her arms.

"And we don't have that all here in Houston," she said, "We're not living in some hick town here."

C.J. sighed.

"Look, Houston's exactly where he wants to be," she said, "And he seems happy about it."

He hadn't been when they had last parted at the airport as she stood on the tarmac and watched him board his Lear Jet. That's when she had told him that it was time for him to start living again just like he had been doing before he had to help free her from her own nightmare. He had looked at her, almost helpless for a long moment as she had told him while he had embraced her for goodbye. She had thought for a while that maybe…but she had been so far away from reclaiming that part of her that had been ripped away. And she didn't want to keep Matt on a string while she underwent that lengthy process which included of all things getting herself a tattoo of a damn frog that would remind them both of a breezier time when they had been together.

"He's happiest when he's around you," Rhonda noted.

Boy that girl didn't pull her punches, did she? But C.J. just looked back at her and didn't break her poise because she had been down this road of questioning before mostly by herself. That she was absolutely sure she had made the right decision.

"He's just met a nice woman named Bianca," she said, "At some party or something."

A sophisticated blond socialite who spent most of her days doing lunches at the best eateries in Beverly Hills and jetted off to the top beaches in the world when she got bored. She had seen a photo of her on Matt's arm when they had been attending a fundraiser for a pediatric wing at a local hospital. Rhonda just looked at her silently and C.J. knew what she was thinking. It was what they all thought when they saw her that her friend had disappeared and had been replaced by a shadow.

Rhonda just sipped her coffee thoughtfully.

"I just thought the two of you…"

C.J. just shook her head.

"We're just close friends, that's all," she said, "Just like we've always been."

Fran looked over at Rhonda.

"So how are things with you and Jonathan," she asked, "Haven't exactly seen him around either."

Ouch, C.J. thought but she knew that Fran had asked that question to help deflect attention away from her poor excuse for a social life.

Rhonda paused.

"He's been…busy," she said, "He's got a lot on his mind now that he's quit working for the government."

"He should come here and work with Dan," Fran said, "He's got the right background for it and it's private sector work which means no bureaucrats…"

"Or traitorous agents under every rock," Rhonda finished, "Yeah it would be great if he'd work here because I miss him but he's got to figure out where he's going in life."

Yeah like her, C.J. thought understanding what her ex had been going through having to grapple with some truths which were as ugly some faced by her. And like her, Jonathan preferred to tackle his challenges alone, one of the few things they had in common. He did still keep in touch with the prosecutors assigned to her case having not cut his ties to his old life completely.

"You two are good together," she said finally, "and I do know he cares about you a lot."

Rhonda looked up at C.J. and smiled at her warmly.

"Thanks …"

But then again she was still Rhonda.

"You know that there's a guy out there who cares about you deeply that you can't keep pushing away," she said.

Both Chris and Fran stared at her in indignation.

"Rhonda give it a rest," Fran said sighing.

But C.J. to their surprise nodded at what Rhonda had said.

"No she's right," she said, "It's just a lot different for me. I've got so much work to do to rebuild my life and Houston's been great but he's got his own life to live."

"Is that what you told him," Rhonda asked.

And C.J. knew the woman had her there.

"Well, yeah I did," she said, "I love him but I love him enough to know when to let go of something."

Rhonda rolled her eyes at that.

"Sounds too damn noble to me," she said, "If you love someone, you just figure out how to make it work for both of you. That's what I'm learning anyway."

C.J. wished it were that simple but real life just hadn't worked that way for her and some journeys had to be taken on her own and reclaiming her identity fell in that category. She returned home each day wrung out like a rag in one way or another and even sleep hadn't proven to be much of an escape.

"It's just different…in ways I can't even explain or always understand," she admitted, "I look at myself in the mirror and I know myself but I don't feel like my own body belongs to me. That at any time, it can be taken away and used by someone else."

Rhonda shook her head.

"But you're home safe now…"

C.J. shook her head.

"There are still some powerful players out there," she said, "and they believe I belong to one of them."

"But…

"No, that puts my life and anyone close to me in danger," C.J. said, "I can't risk that with him. Even he doesn't understand what he would be facing."

And that wouldn't be the worst of it, because she had grown accustomed to the danger she faced and had taken steps to protect herself unwilling to depend on the federal government to keep her safe again. Her mind warned her of greater dangers than those from the outside if she ever became close to anyone again. The ones that were harder to share even with her closest friends.

"It's not fair," Rhonda said finally.

No it wasn't, C.J. thought and she had grappled with that for a long time but as her therapist had helped her see, there were many unfair things in life that couldn't be anticipated and prevented only survived. She couldn't dwell on them or she wouldn't be able to live but she could take steps, tentatively at first to rebuild her own life.

"It's just part of life," C.J. said, "and I'm starting to find the parts of it that are good again like my friends."

Chris reached out and squeezed her hand.

"We're all here," she said, "but I don't think you should shut him out either."

C.J. smiled, tears prickling in her eyes as she wished it were only that easy.

They all left the coffee place to go back to work but not before Rhonda came up with the brilliant idea of holding a party for her after she had gotten her tattoo done. Call it an unveiling of a work of art, she said and C.J. had thought it a great idea. They would hold it at that great Tex Mex restaurant that Rhonda had introduced them all to when she had returned back to Houston.

As she walked out of the coffee place back to her car, her cell phone buzzed. Caller ID showed it was the U.S. Attorney's office so she had to take it. One of the senior prosecutors had called her to tell her of a tentative scheduling date for a possible grand jury convening. Her breath sucked in hard as it always did when they gave her these updates but she knew more than likely it wouldn't come to fruition.

"We really think this one's going forward," the prosecutor told her.

When had she heard that before and how many times? At least a half dozen since the prosecutors had received the case investigative reports from the FBI and other agencies.

"We need you to come tomorrow to go over your testimony again…"

She sighed as she listened, not looking forward to that at all. Each time they reviewed it with her, detail by intricate detail, she revived not just her memories of what happened, but the experience itself and all its ghosts.

"Can you do that," the prosecutor said, "I know it's short notice…"

"Yes I can," she said, simply.

Another aspect of her life that hadn't been hers in a long time since she had learned that she would be the star witness in the feds case against the trafficking ring. She had to keep her mind sharp even when trying so hard not to remember what the men involved had done to her to be that perfect witness. Even her therapy had been geared in that direction so that she could control her emotions and channel them more effectively to be as effective on the witness stand as possible. Which is what they wanted, and what she wanted wasn't it?

But she feared the person she would be after she testified for the first time. Everything brought out in the open like being ripped apart all over again. When she explained how she had been raped beginning that first night, would the feel of his rough hands bruising her body, the stench of his cologne and his accented words return as if it were happening all over again? And what would happen if they did, how would she pull herself together to continue being what everyone wanted to put these evil men away forever? How would she talk about experiences that she had no context of anymore, no recollections of when her body had been cherished and loved by a man rather than violated as a piece of property claimed by someone who had remained in the shadows planning it for years?

"We'll see you at 9 a.m. at the federal building tomorrow," the man said.

The building where all of her meetings had taken place, though the location of the grand jury hearing itself would remain a secret until the last possible moment.

She told the prosecutor she would be there and clicked off her cell phone returning it to her purse, her mind swimming again with what lay ahead in her future. The process of this type of prosecution could take several years and after being reminded that her life would be on hold until its completion almost overwhelmed her. But she centered herself and took some deep breaths as she had been taught.

It was more likely than not that the grand jury proceeding planned would be cancelled like all the previous ones but she wouldn't know for sure until closer to the date. But she imagined herself sitting by herself on the witness stand in front of a jury and judge answering questions so that the jury could decide whether or not to issue indictments. The prosecutors felt especially with her testimony that the case had strengthened enough to reach that point but nothing was certain. She would be sitting there seeing pictures of herself as the crime scene with each body part of hers delineated mainly by what evidence had been recovered. And she would have to answer questions about those pictures too including about the night she had been branded.

She had shut that experience out of her mind along with the pain and smell of burning flesh, her own, which had reached her just before her world went dark. When she had finally looked, she had seen the mark of the Jaguar, the trafficker who had bought her to settle a debt with the man who kidnapped her and prepared her for him.

But the Jaguar's mark would be erased bit by bit like sand on a beach slowly being reclaimed by the incoming tides. And it would be replaced by a reminder, a totem perhaps of something much better, a reminder of the man she loved. A shared memory between them during better days that she hoped to realize again.

They had grown up together most of their lives, their friendship so deeply intertwined that it couldn't be remembered when her feelings began to change towards the one who loved frogs just as much as she did. With that, she drove back to her office where she would spend her day helping other women who had been trapped in nightmares like the one she fled. Until like her own, theirs began to recede bit by bit to be replaced by better dreams.

She thought about the day she would look at her shoulder and see something beautiful there. And yes, she would celebrate with her friends a victory over the men who had tried to control her and maybe, just maybe he would share that with her too.

Back in L.A., Matt sat back in his desk facing a pile of paperwork brought to him courtesy of Murray of course. He had been feeling tired lately and overwhelmed for the first time in his life by a career that had begun as a passionate calling. Locking his door hadn't helped and he had decided to take the rest of the day off and go sailing around the Santa Monica Bay, maybe all the way out to Catalina Island.

Trying his damnest not to think of her. The way that she had felt warm against him, molding her form against his while she had hugged him goodbye that last time. He had felt the dampness of her own tears against his face. He hadn't said much when she had tried to put some distance between them and many times since then, he wish he had said…or done well something. But what he had done was to find excuses to stay in L.A. whether than getting himself in his jet and flying over to visit her. He knew that she needed to find her own way back to where she felt comfortable and safe in her own skin and if that meant him staying away…he could live with that.

But damn if it weren't going to be one of the most difficult times of his life. Sighing, he went to the mini frig that he kept in his office during times he had to lock himself in it and poured himself some Scotch. Yes it was a bit early to imbibe but the memories had hit him hard. Because on that last night they had been sitting in her living room talking about everything and nothing and then they had kissed.

It had been sweet, layered with the right amount of heat and she had responded to what he had offered her. His mind had lingered back to the day when he had brushed his lips over her own in an impulsive act after he won the damn frog jumping contest and had then taken the easy way out.

But soon enough, he felt her go tense in her arms and pull away from him, sadness in her eyes. And underneath that, fear which had then become layered in apologies and explanations before he could say anything at all.

He sighed forcing himself back to the present reality, sipping his drink thoughtfully while keeping a wary eye on the stack of work on his desk. But then he reached inside of his pocket and pulled it out, rubbing it with his fingers and remembering while unable to take his eyes off of it.

A small and very much worn out stuffed frog.