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  "I've really read enough. This only proves..."

  "No, Em. You need to read the whole, sick, sad accounting. Marcus, you too."

  Marcus reluctantly takes a copy of the rag from his brother and begins reading.

  "...Was at the London concert before Christmas and I bumped into him, quite by chance. He smiled gently at me, and said, 'I remember you. You're Cara!'

  "I smiled tremblingly and nodded shyly. 'Yeah, I am. Then, I turned, as if looking for my good friend. I wanted him to see my trim, new body - you see, I had lost several stone and I wanted him to admire the new, smaller Cara.

  "I felt Marcus' eyes running up and down my body. I gave him a shy glance and saw the heat in his gaze. He whispered to me, 'My wife still has to perform another set after the intermission. Let's go this way...' He took me to a small closet-like room and stripped down. I saw his cock standing stiff and I knew he wanted me. Seeing his wanting made me want him, too, so I stripped my clothing off and he admired by body art. He gently lifted me to a work table and had his way with me. His cock was hard as it drove deeper into my loin. Much like a bus would drive into a bus station."

  I drop the rag as if it carries bubonic plague bacterium. I want to vomit, so I lean over and place my head between my legs, breathing deeply. A few seconds later, I hear Marcus drop his copy of the rag, then hear him run to the loo, where he slams and locks the door. Next, we all hear the unmistakable sounds of my husband retching as he loses his breakfast.

  "Guys, I know there's not a lot we can control in this whole nasty, sorry mess, but I'm sure we can control what comes out of this whack job. I'm going to talk to the barrister prosecuting her and Melanie and show her this tripe." I shudder as I pick up my copy of the rag in between my thumb and fingertip. Singlehandedly, she's making my poor husband and me look like witless losers."

  "Okay, then, after we have a shortened practice, you and Marcus go talk to the barrister. Before you go, though, I'm calling in reinforcements. The reporters out there aren't going away any time soon - not after this," Tim says.

  Marcus comes out, looking sweaty, pale and shaky.

  "Lord, that's...nasty." He gags again and I grab the rag, pulling it out of his vision.

  "Marcus, we're shortening practice. You and I are going to talk to the magistrate's barrister so we can get this kind of shit stopped. Cara's a loon," I say. I stand up and wrap my arms around my husband, who responds by wrapping his arms tightly around me.

  After several minutes, he's able to begin writing with Lizzie close by him. Now that we have security guards at each entrance, we all feel safer.

  Our short practice is intense and productive - because we don't have very much time, we know we have to work hard in the hours, days and weeks we have remaining until our tour begins.

  It's shortly after noon when we leave practice. On a break, Tim spoke to the security guards' supervisor. As a result, we now have a security guard trailing us as we leave the studio and drive to the magistrate's office.

  We wait, along with Lizzie, in the office. When we announce ourselves and show them why we need to speak to the barrister, the receptionist's eyes widen.

  "He's occupied right now, but I'm sure he can give you a few minutes. If you'll wait right over here?"

  Five minutes later, she comes out and tells us that he will be with us in a few minutes. A "few minutes" stretches out to more than twenty, but I'm willing to wait.

  Finally, we are escorted into his office. Marcus and I explain our reason for being there.

  "This was thrust upon us by a very dishonest, though enterprising 'reporter,' says Marcus. "When we showed up for Johanna's practice this morning, we had to read this rubbish, which literally made me sick. Is there any way you or the magistrate can get this nonsense stopped?" Marcus asks. The exasperation is clear, lining his voice.

  "I had heard of this, but this is the first I've gotten to read it, if I may." The barrister holds his hand out and I hand my copy of the rag to him. By the time he finishes, his face looks as though he has caught a very offensive body odor. His lips turn down at the corners and his nose is wrinkled.

  "I can call this...paper...and find out how this reporter got in to talk to this defendant." The barrister looks for, and finds the reporter's name. "I can petition the magistrate for a gag order that forbids all sides from speaking out on this case before and during trial. That includes you two," he says, pointing at us.

  "Sir, we just want to see this media attention die down. Seeing the reporters camped outside our house and the studio is very unsettling for my wife. Her band is preparing for a big European tour and she needs to be able to focus fully on practicing and learning new material," Marcus points out. "As for me, I am a freelance writer. I can work anywhere, but, for potential clients to see my name splashed all over the paper - that could affect my ability to get future writing work."

  "So, I take it, you don't want to say anything to any media, at all?"

  "No, sir! Definitely not!" I speak up. "I just want to practice for our tour and take care of our little girl."

  "Okay, then. I'll draft up an order and ask the magistrate to sign it. You do know I would have to include every media outlet, whether legitimate or otherwise, and enjoin them from reporting on this."

  We both nod.

  "My secretary will call you when the order has been signed. I can tell you that the magistrate is very disgusted by the level of reporting, so I believe he'll happily sign off on it."

  Marcus and I look at each other, feeling relief. Peace and quiet! They're within reach! Marcus and I communicate this message to each other, grinning in the meantime.

  "Thank you, sir!" I say, offering him my hand.

  He unbends long enough to smile back at me, give my hand a gentle shake and say, "My wife greatly enjoys your CDs. She was at you last Christmas concert and can't stop raving about the talent of your band."

  I know I can't offer anything to him, so I smile.

  "Our second CD is coming out by year's end, sir. Perhaps she would be able to buy a copy when it's in the stores."

  "Oh! I'll tell her - I know she'll quite look forward to buying a copy. Perhaps she'll buy several for her friends as well," says the barrister.

  "Excellent! Thank you!" I stand up to leave, then decide to ask the barrister one more question. "Sir, I don't know if you have any information on this, but - is it likely that Cara or her friend could be suffering from some mental condition?"

  "You're right. I can't say much. However, given what she said in this interview..." he says, picking the rag up delicately in between his thumb and forefinger. "I do have some very strong questions in that direction. It's something I intend to pursue. She's proved she can be dangerous, so I don't want to rule anything out."

  "Thank you, again. We'll let you get back to work," I say. Leaving, we return home. After everything that's been happening, we are very wary and we look all round us to make sure we're not being watched - or followed. Five minutes later, we pull in through the electronic gate.

  Chapter 14

  Inside the house, Marcus goes from window to window, peering outside. We don't rest easy until he comes into the baby's room with an expression of relief.

  "Nobody followed us. Now, I'm glad we exercised so much caution when we moved and didn't have a housewarming party. I know it was painful for you, your family and mine, but I think the alternative would have been far worse."

  I shiver. He's right, of course. I pull Lizzie's blanket up closer to her tiny chin and rest my hand on her back as she sleeps peacefully. Oh, for the innocence of a child!

  Marcus and I go back downstairs and sit, cuddling on our couch. As we sit, we offer comfort to each other, in our words and our embraces of each other.

  "She's locked up and they tell us that she's not being released. That's something," says Marcus.

  "There's one thing I wonder. We've seen her picture in your school yearbook. How could she think that you would be interested in her some f
ourteen years past secondary school, if you weren't interested in her during school?"

  "The human mind is a fearsome thing, Jo. Despite all evidence to the contrary, Cara believed that, if she lost even a fraction of the weight she needed to lose, I would somehow, magically fall in love with her. She convinced herself of this 'fact,' so much so that, I think she became delusional. As the barrister said, we don't know what kind of diagnosis she will be given, if any. What counts more than anything is that she is safely locked away behind bars - where she belongs. And her friend is, too. Neither one of them can do us any harm as long as they stay where they are. We also have to keep our guard high - keep a watch on when we are out and about and, more than anything make sure that nobody can get to our precious little girl."

  That's the day the phone calls from tabloids begin. Starting at the beginning of the day and continuing until well after we came home, they call us repeatedly. Of course, we have nothing to say to them - but because they mask their phone numbers, we don't know who's calling us. We resort to screening our calls. When a family member or friend calls and we hear their voice on our voice mail, we pick up immediately.

  Marcus calls the magistrate to register this newest development with them. Now that the gag order is in effect, the press is starving for any word from anyone involved in this sorry case. The calls disrupt Lizzie's sleep and she becomes a little crankypuss. Even when we dial the volume of the phone's ringer down, it's audible in her bedroom.

  As a result of Marcus' call to the magistrate, the press is forbidden from any contact with us, at all. Of course, we love these gag orders, so we say nothing when we're approached. The press doesn't give up - instead, they resort to camping out in front of our house or the studio to see if they can get any word from us.

  Tim and the boys are gathered in a small cluster when Marcus, Lizzie and I arrive for practice this morning. They go quiet as we open the studio door, so we know they're talking about us.

  I set Lizzie into her play pen as Marcus gets ready to start working.

  "Marcus, Johanna, we've been talking about your situation and we think we may have something of a temporary solution," Tim says.

  Of course, this grabs our attention. Marcus lifts the baby out of her pen and we join the boys.

  "What is it? Short of murder, that is," says Marcus darkly.

  "Nothing that extreme. We were thinking of giving the press what they want - then, at the end, unleashing a complete surprise on them and giving them exactly...nothing," says Tim mysteriously.

  I have to admit, I'm lost when he says this.

  "Tim, what do you mean?"

  "I mean, talk to the magistrate and see if he'll give you lot the right to meet with members of the press. Act like you're going to answer all their questions. Build up to a huge denouement. Then, at the end, when it looks like you're going to give them a huge scoop, give them the big zero. Of course, you'd have to decide ahead of time what you're going to say and how you're going to build up to that big zero."

  I look at Marcus, completely confused. The past few nights of interrupted sleep are telling on me.

  "I don't know, Tim. I'd need to think about this and talk to Marcus about it. Right now, thinking of anything beyond Lizzie's next nappy is too much for me."

  "Guys, can we think about this and decide if it would work? If we think it might, we'll talk more about it then," Marcus suggests.

  "Okay, Johanna, I know you're completely exhausted right now. Let me explain why and how we came up with this idea. The press are dancing you two a very un-merry jig right now. Every time they are stopped by an injunction or gag order, they pop up somewhere else you don't expect them to. This is what we're thinking: Talk to the barrister for the magistrate. Let him know what we've suggested. Which is this...Marcus would call the tabloids and rags that have been bothering you the most. Promise a huge scoop to them - provided they leave you alone after you talk to them. They're going to jump at that. Then, we all sit down and decide just what you will give them. We'll decide what we're going to use as bait for the Big Reveal. Then, as you're talking to them, you reel them in with harmless little tidbits. Start building up to that Big Reveal. Then, when it's time, wind them up and give them - absolutely nothing. And usher them back out the door, all the while reminding them of what they've promised you."

  I'm barely able to keep up as my heavy eyelids drift down. I look at Marcus and he's slowly nodding his head. He's able to keep up much better than I can.

  "Coffee. Or tea. Something to wake me up," I mutter.

  Laslow hears me and puts his hand out, indicating he's going to get me something. A few minutes later, I'm holding a big, steaming mug of strong tea. I sip slowly, savoring the heat and flavor. I feel more alert and as if I can actually hold two thoughts in my melted brain.

  "Okay, so let me see if I have this straight. You lot are suggesting that we promise a big scoop to the press, get together with them, give them small pieces that we wouldn't mind having out there? And then, we wind them up and make them think we're going to give them something huge...am I right?" At Tim's nod, I go on. "Then, when they think we're going to give them the biggest scoop of their careers, we give them nothing. How do we keep them away after that? They will be highly upset," I say.

  "That's where your prior arrangement with the barrister comes in. Marcus, you make them leave. You escort them out, all the while reminding them of their promise to you - that they will leave you alone. And, if they threaten to come after you for anything, any scoop, you tell them that you will complain to the barrister and magistrate if they don't stop."

  "Okay, I think we need to talk about this. Right now, she's totally exhausted because the phone calls stop Lizzie from sleeping. Which disrupts her - and our - night time sleeping habits."

  "Have you shut your phone off?"

  "Yes. They can't get in through the gate."

  "How do they keep Lizzie awake then?"

  "They leave voice mails, and even though we have the volume turned way down, those calls are still loud - it travels upstairs!"

  "Disconnect the house phone. We'll communicate with you via email or your cell phones. Have your families call only your cell phones or contact you via email. Just...disconnect that farkin' phone!" Tim says.

  "Johanna, what do you think?" Marcus asks me.

  "I...think I like the idea, but I need time to think it through first." While I feel more alert, my brain is still moving like stiff cement.

  From that impromptu meeting, we practice. The tea and, as always, the music engage me fully. I wake up while we're working on our European concert play sets. Linny goes for take away meals. Tim and Laslow watch for him and, as he knocks at the studio's door, they let him in and quickly shut and bolt the door against the hordes of press camped outside.

  "Argh, they're cockroaches! Johanna, we'll be more than happy to help you eliminate them - come up with a good come-on story and everything," says Linny.

  I'm opening up my order and sniffing in the delicious scents.

  "I'll think about it, Linny, but I need to think slowly. My brain is mush right now," I tell him.

  "Damn them. They're keeping my favorite niece from her beauty sleep," he says.

  "Thank you for that - by the way, she's your only niece. I will think about it because I want to see this nonsense ended."

  At home that night, Marcus shuts off and unplugs both the house phone and voice messaging system. Carrying them to a closet in his office, he stashes them and dusts his hands off, muttering to himself.

  "What was that, luv?" I ask him.

  "I just said, 'good riddance to bad rubbish.' I'm hoping you and Lizzie will be able to sleep better tonight. Thankfully, they don't have our cell...oh, fuck!"

  I look up in fear, my eyes widening.

  "What, Marcus? What?"

  "You've heard of the tabloids and their misuse of celebrities' phone records, haven't you?"

  "Who hasn't? Oh, my God! You're not thinking they could..."


  "I am," Marcus says as he makes a beeline for his computer.

  "What are you doing?"

  He sighs. "I'm sorry to say this, but we're going to have to deactivate our phones and accounts temporarily. At least until the trials end. We'll still be able to communicate, but it's going to be online. I'm going to vastly increase our security - your accounts as well as mine. I'll do the same for the boys on their computers, as well as your family's and mine," Marcus says.

  "How do you know they'll get to our phone accounts and records?" I ask. This is all moving much too fast for me!

  "D'you remember that school girl that was murdered? The reporters found her phone records and hacked into her text messaging. It was unholy hell on earth for her parents. That's not happening in our case. I know what they're capable of - and I know how to deflect them," Marcus says with determination. "Bring your laptop to me, please. I'm setting you up with password protection so that, even if those sorry bastards get your laptop, they can't get to anything you've got logged on it."

  "That's possible?" I ask, watching as Marcus brings up different security window and clicks on different options.

  "Yes, and it's not hard. It's another password to remember..."

  "Small price," I mutter. Leaning over, I press a kiss on my husband's bristly cheek.

  After he's set our computers up, we send quick emails to our families, letting them know what we're doing. Ten minutes later, my dad responds.

  To: JohannaH

  From: GWilliams

  Subject: Measures

  Good! I wasn't sure this would apply to you or Marcus, but apparently, it does. I've talked to your mum and we're all okay with having our computer security increased. So is your sister. When can you come by?

  My immediate response:

  To: GWilliams

  From: JohannaH

  Subject: Re: Measures

  Just spoke to Marcus. Tomorrow night, if that's okay with everyone. I'm totally exhausted tonight. We'll only be able to communicate via email. We're temporarily deactivating our cell phones; our house phone and voice mail system are both unplugged and stored away.