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A blinding flash, bright as the sun, scorching. Her entire being, accelerating at a lunatic pace, flung away, discarded, then… nothing.

The sound was insistent, a soft incessant beeping that just wouldn’t go away and leave her in peace, demanded her attention. But she didn’t want to attend to it, whatever it was. She wanted to sleep, drift back into blessed nothingness. It wasn’t her alarm clock. That Satanic device clamored like a cat with its tail caught in the screen door.

Katherine opened her eyes, or at least her left eye. Her right eye wouldn’t open. There was pressure on that eyelid, something covered it. She tried to brush the offending item away but her arm wouldn’t move. She lay on her back and tried to fathom what was going on. She was twenty-eight years old, in perfect health, why wouldn’t her body respond?

A low humming came from behind her along with the soft, rhythmical beeping. She heard voices and rolled her head to the side to look for them. The dim light in the room cloaked her surroundings like a faded negative. A metal railing gradually came into view, just inches from her face. More voices, soft and muted, and she caught a glimpse of someone dressed in white as they hurried by. She tried to lift her head but it was too heavy. A clear tube ran from a plastic bag, suspended next to her bed, down to her left hand.

Oh, God! What happened? It was difficult to think. She’d been at a party, at the officer’s club, celebrating a birthday. Whose birthday she couldn’t remember, not her own she was sure. She’d been seated at the bar, with the other female officers, the men crowded in behind them, trying not to embarrass herself, say something stupid or out of place, desperate to fit in. A bright flash, and after that… a bomb, it had to have been a bomb, a terrorist attack. How many of the others had been hurt and how badly? Most of them were married and had families, children, lives outside the military.

How severely was she injured? What if they discharged her because of it? Tears started to trickle down the side of her face.

The pressure on her eye increased steadily and her head throbbed. She tried to move her right arm again and thought she felt her fingers curl. After what seemed like a major effort, she managed to lift her left arm several inches, then let it drop, exhausted. She waited a few minutes to regain her strength and tried to move her legs. She wasn’t positive, but felt they moved some. Or did they? Could her mind be playing an evil trick on her? Did she even still have legs? Her heart pounded in her chest, breath came in gulps.

Captain Katherine Younger, United States Army, was terrified.

The army was her career, more, it was her home. That hadn’t been her intention when she’d first enlisted on her eighteenth birthday. Enlistment was just a way to get clear of the horror of her home life. Yet she quickly found that military life appealed to her with its focus on discipline and duty. The lanky, ungainly, dark-haired girl from rural Missouri grew into a confident soldier. She worked her way through the enlisted ranks and applied for Officer’s Candidate School, where upon graduating, she officially became an officer and a gentleman. It was a term she didn’t take lightly, despite its incongruity.

Now this.

She hadn’t wanted to attend the party, wouldn’t have, had it not been for her commanding officer. In her latest fitness report, Colonel Smith had nothing but praise for her, giving her high marks on all aspects of her job. She expected nothing less, worked hard to achieve those ratings. His only criticism was of a personal nature. He’d noticed she didn’t have any friends and that the other officers considered her aloof, a lone wolf. That wasn’t a healthy state of affairs and he urged her to put more effort into cultivating friendships. One of these officers might someday become her commanding officer or be in a position to help her career.

It was pointless to tell him that, as a woman, she had to work twice as hard as the men to achieve advancement which left her little time for personal friendships. Nor that she was severely lacking in social graces and terrified that if other officers got too close, they might discover that she was nothing but a rube, despite the BA degree she’d earned. That her favorite entertainers were Loretta Lynn, Johnny Cash, Waylan Jennings and Willie Nelson. No one would want to talk shop. Some of those officers had been to West Point. Still, she’d accepted an invitation to this birthday party even though it had left her stomach churning for days.

Katherine prayed that her injuries wouldn’t get her discharged for being unfit to perform her duties. Alternately, she prayed that if they were that severe, that she’d die, preferably now. Neither prayer was answered.

After spending most of 1986 in military hospitals, first in the Middle East, then Germany, and finally the United States, she found herself in a VA hospital in Manhattan. There she underwent surgery to repair her right eye socket so it would hold the glass eye they’d fashioned for her. The docs were really proud of that glass eye, claiming they’d had a lot of trouble matching the hazel color of her left pupil. She cried the first time she saw herself in the mirror. The eye was hideous. Her poorly repaired socket barely held it in. Plus the damn thing never moved, remained pointed in whichever direction it was aimed when she got it in. And the color no more matched her eye than did her anus. Her eyebrow was gone. She insisted upon a black eye-patch to wear. That didn’t sit well with the chief surgeon who took it as an insult. She wanted to tell him that if he’d been a more competent surgeon, she wouldn’t need the patch, but didn’t. After all, he was a lieutenant colonel.

The eye-patch covered her eye socket but did nothing for the three ugly scars on her forehead, which she covered with bangs, or the scar on her right cheek. There were other scars, on her right breast and arm. The doctors estimated she’d lost forty percent of the use of that arm, couldn’t lift it above her shoulder. They recommended additional therapy but held out little hope of any improvement. “Your days as a pitcher are through,” one of them said, trying to lighten her mood with his wit.

A chaplain came to talk to her about her mental and emotional scars. He suggested she find Jesus. She didn’t bother looking for him.

On the day they discharged her from the hospital, they also discharged her from the army. It was an honorable discharge and came with a nearly full disability pension. Even though she’d been expecting this, she wept bitterly when it became official. She’d been disowned by the only family she’d ever felt a part of.

The disability pension, when added to her savings, would be enough to live on, especially if she returned to southwest Missouri. That she had no intentions of doing—ever. She’d left home only days after graduating high school and vowed never to return. She had relatives scattered all over the Ozarks. Yet, she didn’t consider ignorant, in-breeding, meth-head ex-cons and current cons, to be family. At least they were no family she ever cared to be a part of again. An uncle had raped her when she was thirteen. Her mother had blamed her for it, called her a little whore and beat her.

She had no intentions of remaining in New York either—the city was too big. At the Greyhound Bus station she told the attendant she wanted a ticket on the next bus, it didn’t matter what its destination was. That request might have appeared odd in other cities, but not New York. “We have a bus departing for Albany in fifteen minutes,” the bored clerk responded.

“I’ll take it.”

It was dark by then which allowed her to curl up on one of the back seats and avoid the stares of other passengers. She was tired, hadn’t been able to sleep more than a couple of hours a night. Knew she wouldn’t tonight either. No one sat down next to her and wanted to gab, which was good as she was in no mood to speak to anyone. So she stared out the window and watched the lights go by.

What was she going to do now? The army had saved her life, given her a purpose, made her someone. With her career taken from her, she feared the darker side of her soul. She’d never been able to completely escape the curse of her genes. On leaves, furloughs, with nowhere to go, nothing to do, she’d found herself seated in honky-tonks. She really didn’t want to be there, but couldn’t resist the pull. Picked up by men, women, groups, she’d willingly go to motels, homes, the backseat of cars and engage in all kinds of demeaning, perverted sex acts, violated over and over, meek, obedient. Then return to base, loathing herself for the trailer trash she was and throw herself back into her career. It was fortunate she’d never contracted any diseases that couldn’t be cleared up with a dose or two of penicillin.

In Albany, she got a room for the remainder of the night at the YWCA. In the morning she went to the state employment office to look for a job. She dressed in one of the two conservative business suits she’d purchased before leaving the Big Apple. She tried to ignore the looks of others in the waiting room by thumbing through a magazine. However, she couldn’t miss the quick intake of breath and shock on the woman’s face who would be her file worker when she sat down at the woman’s desk. The woman quickly covered her discomfort with a plastic smile and introduced herself as Rita Osmond. “What type of work or you looking for?”

“Office work.”

Rita frowned and began to fill out a form. “Have you ever done office work?”

“Yes.” Enlisted females did all sorts of menial tasks.

“Can you type?”

“Of course.”

“How many words a minute?” Rita looked askance at her answer, obviously not believing her. “Can you take dictation?”

“Yes.” She’d never done so, but had a class on shorthand in high school. She could get a book and bone up on it if needed. “I can also answer phones, file and make coffee.”

Rita smiled weakly in reply and then set up a couple of interviews for her.

Katherine went on the interviews and got nowhere. Both personnel managers looked shocked upon meeting her. The first blew her off in a short, ten minute interview. The second had the decency to go through the entire process before telling her they had another candidate they felt was more qualified, because of prior work experience. However, they would keep her application on file and notify her if anything came up. She thanked him for his consideration and left.

That was how it went, day after day. She’d go on interviews and know instantly she had no chance of getting the job. She’d let her hair grow out while in the hospital and wore it over her forehead to conceal the worst of the scars. There was nothing she could do about the eye-patch or the scar on her cheek. Couldn’t anyone look past her face to see she was infinitely qualified to do these jobs? The pain of continued rejections was worse than the physical pain of her wounding.

One afternoon, after leaving another quickie interview, she purchased a 9mm Beretta at a pawn shop, a weapon she was intimately familiar with. She bought a cleaning kit and a box of soft-nosed ammunition at a sporting goods store. One bullet was all she needed, but they didn’t sell them that way.

At the dumpy hotel she’d moved into, she changed into jeans and a T-shirt, took the gun apart, cleaned, lubricated, reassembled it and filled the fifteen round magazine. She popped the first shell back out. Using a pocketknife, she cut a small cross into the nose of the bullet then put it back into the magazine. If she was going to do this she was going to make damn sure of the results.

After inserting the magazine, she stuck the gun under her mattress. Not an ideal place to hide it in a hotel such as this, but no one had bothered her room. Besides, the gun wouldn’t be there long.

She poured herself a glass of wine, swung her legs around and leaned against the wall. The bed had no headboard. She went through her options again. Continue on, going out on one futile interview after another, or she could try another city. She didn’t think that would improve her chances any. The personnel managers would still focus on her disfigurement and decide they had more qualified applicants. She’d decided on seeking office work because that was where she had the most marketable skills. Obviously retail sales was out and she’d never pass the physical for law enforcement. Actually, she thought she’d make a good office manager, but figured she’d have to work her way up to that position.

Factory work was a possibility, running a machine or hanging fenders on cars. That type of mind-numbing work didn’t appeal to her at all. She could find another small town where the cost of living was low and survive on her pension. But what kind of life would that be? She’d always had trouble making friends before being wounded. How much harder would it be now? She’d end up a recluse, living alone, that strange woman that parents warned their kids to stay away from.

She was so tired. The insomnia refused to let up. The more she drank the more the Beretta sounded like the best option. Place the barrel in her mouth, invert the gun so it’d be pointing at her brain, squeeze the trigger and the modified ammunition would do the rest. It’d leave quite a mess, but that’d be someone else’s problem.

She sat, sipped her wine and finished off the bottle. Not to build up courage, she didn’t need to be drunk to kill herself. In the end, she decided to give the employment agency one last shot in the morning. If it didn’t work out, and she didn’t expect it to, then she’d take the Beretta and go for a walk in the woods.

The next morning, she got up early, showered, washed and dried her hair, applied her makeup and donned the better of her two suits. It was a black skirt and jacket combo with a burnt orange blouse and black heels. She rode the bus to the employment agency and noted the look on Rita’s face when she entered the lobby. Obviously the woman was hoping she’d just go away.

When it came her turn, she sat across from Rita for what would be the last time. Rita was sorry but didn’t have anything for her today. Katherine thanked her for her time and got up to return to her hotel and the Beretta. She wouldn’t bother with a note. No one other than the police would care, and they’d only want to know why to complete a blank space on their report.

As she turned to leave, they were interrupted by one of Rita’s co-workers. “Excuse me Rita, but if you don’t mind, I might have something of interest.”

The look of relief on Rita’s face clearly said she didn’t mind. “Not at all, Seth.”

Seth introduced himself but gave no last name. He was short, thin, mid-thirties with light-brown hair cut like John Lennon’s. He even wore a pair of wire-framed, oval glasses. He looked like a phony and spoke with all the sincerity of a used car salesman. He took Katherine by an elbow and steered her toward his desk. She took an instant dislike to him. She hated to be man-handled.

She sat and watched while he made a big production of digging through some papers before retrieving one. “Ahhh… here we are. What I have is office work.” He looked at her and smiled thinly. Was he expecting a compliment? When she didn’t respond, he went on. “Governor Davidson is looking for another clerk. She seems to go through them pretty fast. I think, given your background, you’d be perfect for the position.”

That struck her as odd. Most personnel managers cited her military background as not having prepared her for secretarial work. Something was off here. Still, when he asked if she’d like him to schedule an appointment, she replied, “Yes, please.” He immediately did so for two this afternoon. She thanked him, took the address for the governor’s downtown office, shook hands and left.

Seth watched her go, then leaned back in his chair and congratulated himself for his quick thinking and brilliance. This is perfect, absolutely fucking perfect. He knew about the woman’s military background as all employment agents commiserated with one another over especially hard to place candidates. So he sent this baby killer out to see their fascist, bitch governor. The governor was always carrying on about how tough the veterans had it and how the state and country needed to do more for them and blah, blah, blah. Okay you hypocritical whore, put your money where your mouth is. No way anyone who works with the public will hire this freak. It would give him a good story to tell his buddies, about how our crocodile-tear crying governor refused to hire a vet because she has a couple of scars on her face. He couldn’t wait.

After grabbing a light lunch, Katherine arrived early for her interview only to find two other applicants waiting in front of her. She took a seat in the lobby and tried to ignore their stares, burying her nose in another magazine. When she happened to glance up, one of the women tried to affect a look of sympathy. That was an expression she detested more than shock.

She had to wait more than two hours as the interviews were running behind and each lasted better than forty-five minutes. At least that left her alone for the last hour and she was able to relax a little. She wondered if she should remove the other fourteen rounds from the Beretta on the off chance it might be a criminal that found her body. No point providing him with a loaded gun. She’d give that some thought on the bus ride back to her hotel.

A middle-aged woman, a bit on the plump side, with shoulder-length, strawberry-blonde hair, entered the lobby and called her name. Katherine stood and shook hands with the woman who introduced herself as the governor’s chief of staff, Sadie Anderson. She’d be conducting the interview and apologized for running late. Sadie was good. Her smile hadn’t wavered at all.

Katherine followed Sadie to her office where they sat on either side of her desk. Sadie read through her resume. “I see you were a captain in the army, having worked your way up from the enlisted ranks. Impressive. Where were you wounded?”

“Saudi Arabia, I was part of a military mission to help them modernize their army. I was injured by a terrorist bomb.”

“The one in the officer’s club?”

“Yes.”

Sadie nodded and continued reading. “Earned a BA in American History while on duty. Why American History?”

Katherine shrugged. “It’s just a subject I’ve always been interested in.”

“Ever think about teaching?’

“No.”

It was clear to Sadie that Katherine Younger was way overqualified. The position was basic office work. Although given Governor Davidson’s quirkiness it could develop into anything. The governor would like the history degree. American History had been the governor’s minor in college. She was astounded at the number of words per minute the woman claimed to be able to type. She’d have to give her a typing test for her own curiosity. She sat the resume down and started to say something, when her office door burst open and a tall, blonde woman stormed in.

“Goddamn it, Sadie! Didn’t I tell you to—Dear God, what happened to you?” she said when she got a look at Katherine.

“This is Katherine Younger, an applicant for our office worker’s position,” Sadie said. “And,” she continued, turning back to Katherine, “this wild woman, who can’t be bothered with knocking, is Governor Alexandra Boise Davidson.” She looked back at the governor. “Katherine was a captain in the army, serving in the Middle East when she was wounded by a terrorist’s bomb.”

“The one in the officer’s club last year?”

“Yes,” both Katherine and Sadie said simultaneously.

“You poor dear.”

“What didn’t you tell me?” Sadie said.

“What?”

“You stormed in here complaining about something you did or didn’t tell me. What was it?”

“Oh… not important.”

The governor picked up Katherine’s resume and scanned it quickly. She let it drop onto the table, nodded at Katherine and walked back out. Just before she closed the door, she made eye contact with her chief of staff.

Well hell, no point continuing with this interview. But she’d be damned if she’d let the governor push her around. This was her responsibility and she intended to give this candidate a complete interview just like all the others. Besides, she really wanted to see if Katherine could type as many words a minute as she claimed. It turned out that she could, and nary a mistake. Very impressive.

Sadie was about to wrap up the interview when the governor buzzed her. “Sadie, come in here for a minute please.”

Sadie apologized for the interruption, said she’d be right back and left the room.

She entered the governor’s office and closed the door.

“Well?” Governor Davidson said.

“Well what?” she countered.

The governor rolled her eyes. “Have you hired her yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Why on earth not?”

“I hadn’t completed my interview.” Governor Davidson stared at her. “Alex, Katherine is grossly overqualified for this position.”

“Oh… so the money’s not enough. What are we offering?”

“Twenty-eight—”

“Make it thirty-five.”

“I don’t think money is an issue here.”

“Then what is? Don’t you think she can do the job?”

“Of course she can do the job. I—”

“Then what’s the problem? Her facial scars?”

“You know me better than that!” Heat flushed through her veins.

“Then quit fucking around and get back in there and hire her before someone else grabs her up.”

“Yes, mam.” She left the room shaking her head. She couldn’t imagine how Katherine could be satisfied doing this type of menial work. She returned to her office, sat down and folded her hands in front of her. “Quite frankly, I feel you are overqualified for the position we have,” she began, looking straight at her. “I don’t know how fulfilled you’ll be doing basic clerical work. Be that as it may, if you want the job, I’m prepared to offer you a salary of twenty-eight thousand a year. You’ll have full medical coverage and two weeks paid vacation after six months.”

“The governor told you to hire me, didn’t she?”

“Yes, she did.”

“Is it because she feels sorry for me?”

“All right, let’s get one thing straight right now. Governor Davidson never feels sorry for anyone—ever.”

“Then why did she tell you to hire me?”

“I don’t know. You’d have to ask her that question.” They stared at each other for several moments. Finally, Sadie reached over and cued the intercom. “Governor, would you mind coming in here for a minute?”

Almost immediately the door opened and the governor strode in. “Yes?”

“Katherine seems to think you’re only offering her this job because you feel sorry for her.”

“Un-huh,” Governor Davidson said, turned and faced Katherine. “I see.” She sat on the edge of the desk, folded her arms across her chest and made eye contact. “Let me explain why I’m offering you this job. I read on your resume that you were a captain, having worked your way up from private. Also that you earned a college degree in your spare time. That tells me several things. First and foremost that you are a competent and motivated individual who is not afraid of hard work. And, having been an officer, I assume you can not only give orders but follow them as well. It has been my experience that former military tend to be more dependable than most civilians. They don’t need to take a couple of sick days every month. They also tend to be loyal and know how to keep their mouths shut. Working here you will hear things that are not to leave this office. Finally, having served in the army, you’ve probably run into your share of prima donnas. I’m not the easiest person to work for.”

“Sometimes you can be a downright bitch.” Sadie said.

“I’ll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself,” the governor said, scowling at her chief of staff. She turned back to Katherine. “I prefer employees with thick skins. The job pays thirty-five thousand a year. Are you interested?” She saw Katherine glance at Sadie. “Yes, I know she offered you less, but I really want you to come to work for me, so I’m making it thirty-five. How about it?”

“I’ll take the job,” Katherine said.

“Splendid, when can you start?”

“Right now.”

“Wonderful. Sadie will introduce you to the rest of our staff. Welcome aboard.” The governor stood and extended her hand. Katherine stood and shook it.

“Welcome to the Looney bin,” Sadie said under her breath, but not low enough.

“Sadie likes to try and keep things loose around here. Sometimes she goes too far.” The governor started through the door, but turned and came back. “Oh, shit,” she said.

“Now what?” Sadie said.

“I just realized we now have two Katherine’s working for us, although the other spells her name with a C. We call her Cathy. You really don’t look like a Kathy.”

“Kate?” Sadie said.

Governor Davidson noticed Katherine’s left eye narrow at that suggestion. “I don’t think so. I’m going to call you Kat, with a K. Okay with that?”

“I’m fine with that.”

“Great, then Kat it is.”

The following weekend, Kat, she actually liked that nickname, moved out of the hotel and into a dinky, grossly overpriced, furnished apartment. She took the Beretta with her, wrapped it in a plastic bag, and stuffed it under the mattress of her new bed. Most home invasions and rapes occurred at night. Before stowing the Beretta, she removed the magazine, took out the first bullet and replaced it with another. Should she ever be forced to shoot an intruder, she didn’t want the hassle of explaining to the police why she’d used a dum-dum.