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STANDARD DISCLAIMER
===================

The following piece of fiction is intended as ADULT entertainment and
has only been posted to an appropriate group on the Internet. If it is
found in any other place, it is not the responsibility of the author.

If you are not an ADULT of legal age, you should avoid this text and
find something more appropriate to read

All characters in this story are fictitious, and any similarity to
persons living or dead is purely coincidental. The author does not
necessarily condone or endorse any of the activities detailed in this
story, some of which are dangerous and/or illegal. Do not, under any
circumstances, try this at home.

CainePaine
CainePaine@gmail.com

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Seated across from the victim at the cold, austere table, Detective Morrow reaches out and compassionately hands Melissa the now near-empty box of tissues. The steady, banal ticking of the interview room's presiding wall-clock does nothing to banish the terrible, raw emotions unleashed over the last hour, that still seem to hang heavily in the coffee-scented air. During this uncomfortable pause in the victim's statement, the detective rapidly blinks away her not-yet-formed tears, on the verge herself of breaking down in sympathetic shock. She scolds herself for being mentally, uncharacteristically thrown off balance by the frank descriptions of Melissa Fete's prolonged suffering, and attempts to distance her emotional core far away from the younger woman's abhorrent recollections.

"You're doing great, Melissa. Try to speak a little more loudly, so the microphone records everything." She silently gives thanks for her voice not cracking.

"I'm s... sorry," Melissa replies, still too quietly, as she dabs at her leaky nose with the proffered tissue, her face puffy from crying.

"Do you feel comfortable going on?" the detective belatedly remembers to temper her voice with warmth, trying to ignore her own shocked discomfort, knowing that the 24 year old has had little kindness or mercy shown to her these last few years, prior to her unexpected release.

The girl sniffs and nods her head, still looking down at the steel-gray table. Morrow is fully aware that the difficult interview is forcing the young woman to expose her fragile psyche once again to those monsters' diabolical transgressions against her innocence, forcing her to relive every nightmare, forcing her to recall in vivid detail every evil act committed by those sadistic freaks.

But it has to be this way. It may be that some memory, some seemingly innocuous piece of information can help track down the perpetrators, and bring them to the much-deserved, but woefully inadequate justice they long ago earned.

Even more urgent, however, is that this victim's statement may be the only key to saving the others, the other three kidnapped women, almost certainly still trapped in the shocking hell from which this lucky one was bizarrely permitted to escape.

Detective Morrow notices that Melissa has hardly mentioned the others, though, only speaking of her own personal torments. The detective remains curious as to the reason, and hopes to carefully, tactfully lead the victim to complete disclosure in time.

"They were looking for a blonde," Melissa continues. "That's why they picked me." She subconsciously reaches up and strokes the straight, light-blonde hair barely reaching her thin shoulders, eyes still locked on the scarred table in front of her, remembering. "Akio, because they wanted an Asian... Jessica has red hair... and Sophie is their brunette. They told us that's how they chose all of us. We were their four peas. They called us th... I'm sorry... they called us their little *cunt* quartet..."

The detective remains silent, regarding the poor girl across from her with unjudging eyes, allowing the victim to set her own pace.

"I was angry at my parents after I found out. I asked, but they wouldn't let me dye my hair… pink, like my friend Beth's. I had just started my freshman year at college, and I wanted to try something new. Maybe if mom and dad had let me, they would have taken somebody else."

Melissa pauses in her account, eyes staring blankly, unmoving. She seems lost in some remembrance.

Morrow has a daughter too, just turned 14, and she darkly considers what she would to the animals if... if... No, she blanks out the thoughts. She cannot go down that path. She has to do everything in her power to