Sara preferred stealthy surveillance, but she was in a rush to learn about Abby and Bill’s therapist, Catherine Anne DeLenquant.   Sara had done her usual electronic peeping into the lives of those who interested her because she hoped she could learn enough about both Bill and Abby to see if the plan had an acceptable chance at success.  DeLenquant’s name had come up several times in billing records but things had only gotten interesting when Sara had accessed Bill’s saved on-line internet chats.  It was amazing how often people used their computers to save the tools of their own destruction. 

Just the professional title of fetish therapist, in and of itself, would have been enough to pique Sara’s personal and professional interest, but the connection to Bill and Abby made further digging imperative.  This woman could well be a lead followed by the police after all was said and done. 

The therapist constituted a loose end and Sara’s mother had, oh-so-carefully, pounded in the value of dealing with loose ends as soon as possible.  After using emails, to back track to DeLenquant’s system, Sara had electronically invaded the personal system and found shocking revelations as to Bill’s emotional, sexual and physical abuse.  That had been all Sara needed, but the therapist had drawn Sara’s attention and in time Sara would have to get to know more about this woman.  The disclosures about the therapist’s immoral romp had been sufficient to convince Sara that Abby was a perfect person for her and Eddie’s plans. 

Sara stored away the fact that the therapist bitch was busy fucking her clients for her own illegal purposes.  Sara hadn’t needed to delve past the first ten clients that the therapist had fucked over time.  That was more than enough information to hold the therapist as bay if the police had come to her door. 

After downloading Catherine Anne’s entire hard drive to her secure system, Sara decided to meet the woman in person.  It had been a gut instinct.  A self protection move that Sara didn’t question.  She simply selected one of the therapist’s old clients as a likely party to provide Sara a recommendation, and within two days was sitting in the doctor’s office waiting room.  As Sara sat waiting for the meeting she recalled her mother’s musing that it was ever so ironic that if you broke down the word therapist, it came out The Rapist.  It did, indeed, fit this woman. 

 

The unsuspecting therapist stepped confidently into the waiting room and greeted the apparently damaged, tearful young woman.  She took Sara’s hand and felt something intangible that made Catherine Anne shiver.  The touch and the face didn’t match.  Maybe her eyes were too alert to be all that damaged.  Catherine Anne felt scrutinized and evaluated.  The first impression, forced her to deepen her evaluative gaze.  Frozen in time and space the two women sized each other up like prom queen candidates who each were secretly packing heat.  Neither liked the other and Catherine Anne, trapped by the appointment time, felt a professional responsibility to at least do the initial session.  It hadn’t taken Catherine Anne more than seconds to decide to reject this woman and never see her again.

 

On first glance, Sara thought that she could almost read the therapist’s mind.  This would be the last paid session between the two.  That was perfectly fine with Sara.  Sara already had learned all she really needed to.  Sara knew with the certainly of a pope who believes in God, that they would meet again, and a price would be paid.  Sara hated people who used their position to use others. 

Sara drove away from the meeting knowing exactly how things would play out and Sara was a woman who so loved it when a plan came together.  The hunt started anew.

 

Read Dead Play from the Beginning HERE