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Kathryn Cox

She was last seen in 2006 at a college party.

0 · 326 views · located in The Abandoned Slums

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by Ylanne

Groups

Registered citizen of the Terran National Government

Description

Image

History

NO: M-943-09-06
TYPE: KIDNAPPING
DETECTIVE: Wakefield

VICTIM

LAST: Cox
FIRST: Kathryn
MIDDLE: Marie
RACE: Wht
SEX: F
HGT: 5'5"
WGT: 115
SKIN: Olive
HAIR: Brn
EYES: Grn
DOB: 08/20/1986
POB: Newark, NJ

NARRATIVE

Victim's university ID last logged entering Foster Hall at 10:48PM on Friday 09/15/2006. Multiple witnesses corroborate that the victim was attending a party in a suite on the second floor of Foster Hall hosted by senior pre-med students for all undergraduate pre-med students. Several witnesses state that victim consumed over five drinks of "jungle juice." Victim last seen at 1:45AM on Saturday 09/16/2006 outside Foster Hall on the Drew University campus, corroborated by three witnesses who were also attending the party. Victim's roommate did not see her return to her dorm in Brown Hall the rest of the night, in the morning, or during the day. Victim's student ID card is not logged entering or exiting any buildings after 1:45AM on Saturday. Victim did not report to classes on Monday 09/18/2006. Victim's mother was unable to reach the victim on Saturday or Sunday by cell phone or email. Posts to Facebook end after a 2:14AM status update on Saturday 09/16/2006 reading "ttlly hammrdd wth." Last text message sent at 2:15AM on Saturday 09/16/2006 to roommate, reading "hheyyy, mhgt b lat, @ prty call u ltr." Victim's mother reported victim missing Tuesday 09/19/2006. Campus police called to investigate.

Initial crime scene examination around Foster and Brown suggested foul play. Victim's university ID found under thick bush beneath window against wall of Brown Hall, along with trace evidence of chloroform. Missing person designation changed to kidnapping on Wednesday 09/27/2006. Unsub phoned victim's parents' home on Friday 09/29/2006 at 8:36PM.

INTERVIEWS

Brooke Hollahan, victim's roommate (09/20/2006, 09/29/2006)
Laura Cox, victim's mother (09/19/2006, 09/20/2006, 09/26/2006, 09/28/2006, 10/01/2006, 10/13/2006, 11/28/2006, 02/16/2007, 07/22/2007)
Richard Cox, victim's father (09/19/2006, 09/20/2006, 09/28/2006, 02/16/2007, 07/22/2007)
Elizabeth Cox, victim's older sister (09/19/2006, 09/20/2006, 09/28/2006, 09/30/2006, 02/16/2007, 07/22/2007)
Javier Santos, Drew University student (09/21/2006)
Kimberly Nguyen, Drew University student (09/22/2006)
Petra Debensky, Drew University student (09/23/2006)
Adam Gaitan, Drew University student (09/21/2006)
Hasan Abuhamid, Drew University student (09/22/2006)
Kevin Gallagher, Drew University student (09/21/2006)
Janessa Kent, Drew University student (09/23/2006, 09/28/2006)
Matthew O'Farrell, Drew University student (09/21/2006)
Joseph Titon, Drew University faculty (09/22/2006)

EVIDENCE

M-943-09-06-01 - chemical sample, outside Brown Hall, chloroform
M-943-09-06-02 - university ID card
M-943-09-06-03 - blue threads belonging to victim's jeans
M-943-09-06-04 - pink threads belonging to victim's shirt
M-943-09-06-05 - university lanyard
M-943-09-06-06 - hairs belonging to victim
M-943-09-06-07 - phone call to victim's parents home

RECORDING OF PHONE CALL

UNSUB: Don't try looking for her.
LAURA COX: Who is this?
UNSUB: If you tell the police anything, we will know. If you tell the police anything, we will kill her.
LC: Goddamn you, where the hell is my daughter?
UNSUB: Remember what I said.
LC: Where is my daughter?
UNSUB: Goodbye.
[end recording]

So begins...

Kathryn Cox's Story

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#, as written by Ylanne
Kathryn Cox is also present.

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It was dimly lit here, and the fourteen of them were forced to share one cramped bathroom for all their needs, either cosmetic or bodily. The toilet clogged more often than not, creating an unbearably stench that rose into the thick walls and settled like an unwelcome smog in their quarters. The bedframes were constructed of rusting metal, with thin rubber mattresses, with four or so women sharing each bed, sleeping on their sides so that they would fit. They saw customers in a separate part of the building, downstairs, where they could, for however short a time between clients, enjoy the luxuries of soft beds and firm pillows, reliable electricity and air conditioning. Ah, yes. Air conditioning.

Upstairs, the circuitry would have to be re-wired to allow for reliable electricity and lighting, and heaven forbid if the brothel owner, a short-tempered man who liked to dress in European suits as if he were “classy” and talk to the women in a breathy, tension-filled voice, would pay for anything beyond what would make the men happy. How Kathryn hated the men. They came here because they knew they could get what they wanted without shelling out enormous amounts of money to some shithole on the other side of town. The owner, known only as Thomas, paid well to keep the local police away. Some of their clients, Kathryn had observed with patent disgust, were off-duty officers themselves, and they were as sweaty and demanding as the other men, as dirty and as lusty.

All she wanted was to be home. Hell, she’d even take Organic Chemistry with Professor Scheller again if she could get out of here. She’d take Orgo a hundred times over one night of this.

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Kathryn Cox stared suspiciously at the Japanese-appearing woman, sitting cross-legged on the floor and leaning against one of the bed. “I think we all do, Keiko,” she said. “I don’t think there’s a single person in here who doesn’t want out.”

“Well,” said a taller woman, older, lithe, with painted eyes, “I don’t mind. We have two square meals. A roof. Clothes. Candy sometimes. I say it’s better than living on the street, no?”

“Shut up, Chloe,” Kathryn shot back. “And it’s Kathryn,” she said, introducing herself.

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“Officer ‘Smiles?’” asked Kathryn, the corners of her lips twitching. “I fucking hate that man.” She reached for a hairbrush from a beat-up cardboard box beside the bed, pulling it futilely through her thick masses of curls. The only reason any of the women ever looked halfway decent was to please the clients, to make the clients crave them even more. And so Thomas had thoughtfully supplied them with an endless array of cosmetics and hair products and perfurmes. Each evening, the women dutifully painted their faces, taking turns to squint into either the cracked bathroom mirror or the one on the dusty, chipped bureau, before straightening or curling their hair, spraying clouds of perfume, and adorning themselves in scanty, colorful clothing.

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Kathryn Cox rolled her eyes, climbing to her feet, unnoticed among the women in tired conversation before collapsing into sleep for the better part of the day. “I’ve been here since 2007. I was somewhere else 2006. That’s when I was last at home too.” She narrowed her eyes. “What are you looking for?” asked Kathryn. “Don’t be stupid; Thomas’s men have guns, machine guns, knives, all sorts of weapons. What are you trying to do, get us both killed?”

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Kathryn Cox laughed quietly, bitterness seeping into what would normally have been a lighthearted sound. “You’d have to be stupid to have faith in the police. If I could access a cell phone, a computer, anything like that, I could get a message to my parents. I can only hope they still care. Either that or they think I ran off with a male stripper or something.” Kathryn rolled her eyes again. “Oh, the irony.” She patted the wall. “I don’t think you’re going to find anything Keiko. Walls are solid.”

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“They’re probably far more focused on their dicks than their brains, Keiko,” said Kathryn with all the cynicism of a well-trained weatherman. “But seriously. How do you think Thomas communicates with people? The son of a bitch has got to have friends. Family. At the very least he has people handling his... business.” Her lower lip curled over at that word and she practically spat it. Kathryn sank to the floor again, leaning against the dresser, with her knees drawn up to her chin. In the low light, she looked like she could have been a college student again, as if the stress-induced age lines and cynicism had fallen from her face.

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Kathryn Cox raised an eyebrow. “Did you manage to actually GET a cell phone? If so, I’ll worship your feet for the rest of my goddamned life. That is, if it can get us out of here.” She glanced hurriedly at the other women, most of whom were deep in sleep now, no longer able or willing to stay awake past the “working night.” “I’d do practically anything to get a chance to escape. A viable chance. But I don’t want to die.”

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“Damn.” Kathryn stared. She’d heard about such things being done in experimental procedures, of course. How could she have avoided the conversations and discussions about them? She went to all the symposia, the lectures, everything. “What the hell is that, exactly?” She leaned forward, curious, and touched a finger lightly to the metal ports, shivering at the contact. Kathryn thought they looked almost like they had been taken straight out of a badly written science-fiction novel.

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Kathryn’s eyes bugged for a moment. Professor Meeks would have DIED to see a prosthetic like that. “THAT’s a prosthetic?” Then something else Keiko had said sunk in. “Where you come from?” Kathryn frowned, remembering to keep her voice down so the other women wouldn’t wake. “You mean you don’t come from the United States? Or Asia? I didn’t know they had that kind of technology in Asia... Japan... or wherever it is you’re from.” She hated to sound this uneducated but when it came to international affairs, she was apparently hopeless.

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Kathryn rubbed tired eyes, but was unable to look away. Fascinated as she always had been by the acquisition of new knowledge, she hauled herself to her feet, pulling one of the rickety old chairs from the corner of the room beside the corner of the bed where Keiko was sitting, the four women tucked under the blankets dead to the world. “It’s not like Thomas gives us any TV time or the paper, you know,” she said, pushing her hair back from her face.

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“The who were doing what to the planet?” Kathryn blinked at Keiko. “I’m sorry. I’m -- I’m a bit lost. You’re telling me that the American government has been having contact with alien races? Are you sure you haven’t been reading too many speculative fiction novels or conspiracy theorists? Because last I checked, there wasn’t evidence of life anywhere besides, well, here...” Kathryn would seem woefully uneducated, but it was through no fault of her own. The existence of the Aschen had been classified for a time after the American government had made contact, and it wasn’t like extraterrestrial relations were a topic in which Kathryn had any expertise.

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“Well if we don’t have the technology to seek out other types of living beings, I don’t see how we would have known about them,” said Kathryn. “Either that or the conspiracy theorists were right.” What neither Keiko nor Kathryn knew was that there were still large populations of people living in many of the former American cities, those who were not selected for relocation and those who had elected voluntarily to stay behind. “If there are other planets out there, they’ve got to have governments and armies, too, right? And possibly better medical tech -- well, clearly they do. You’ve got to get us help.”

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“You want me to fight you?” Kathryn stared incredulously at Keiko. “Are you kidding me?” She glanced toward the sleeping woman, as if afraid she had awoken one of them, and lowered her voice again. “What happens in those few seconds when they grab their guns or start shooting? I don’t want to die, Keiko.”

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“Do you even know if we HAVE neighbors? If the walls are lined to prevent cell signals, what’s to prevent them from insulating against sounds?” Kathryn shook her head. “I don’t like it.” She paused, taking in Keiko’s face in the dim light. She hated it. She wanted the place to burn. The walls, the floors, the beds, the clothes. All of it. Kathryn took a deep, shuddering breath. “But I’m willing to try.” She rose to her feet and drew her arm back, bringing her fist forward to connect powerfully with the side of Keiko’s face. “YOU BITCH!” she screamed, quite convincingly.

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“Yours, was it?” Kathryn staggered back with the force of one of Keiko’s blows, grabbing for the other woman’s hair to drag her closer. Small cries of alarm erupted in the room, as bleary eyes slid open and the other women started. Downstairs, there was a rustling. “You fucking bitch!” Kathryn clawed at the other woman’s face. Oh, it looked real all right.

“Hey!” shouted a male voice from down the stairs. “Keep it down, dammit!” Kathryn threw Keiko a panicked look.

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Kathryn made strangling sounds, her eyes bugging, seizing mightily in a very convincing imitation of a strangled person, as she hissed hoarse curses audible to the other women. This better work, she thought furiously to herself. One of the other women screamed. “Get the hell up here, Dave; the Jap is killing her! Hurry up, dammit!”

A pair of footsteps pounded up the stairs and a meaty hand threw the door open. Two harried, taut-faced men burst into the room, both armed with handguns. “Hey, get off her!”

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The first of the two guards howled in pain, collapsing to his knees as Keiko choked him. Kathryn stared in wide-eyed horror, entirely unsure what to do. The women were all awake now; there was nothing to keep any of them asleep. “You put the gun down, or I start shooting,” answered the other man, snarling as he kept a safe distance away from Keiko and his companion. “I swear to you I’ll start shooting.”

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Down, yes, but he was not dead. He let loose a feral snarl, and fired off two shots in Keiko’s direction, when the woman was within a closer range, less chance that he would miss. The women moved, then, surging toward the door.

“What are you doing?” hissed one of the younger girls. “Are you going to get us all killed? You killed him? Oh my god, you killed him; Thomas is going to kill us; are you fucking mad?”

“Hurry up, we don’t have much time,” Kathryn said, throwing one last look into the darkened quarters where she had been sleeping for years now.

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Kathryn took the gun numbly, a look of horror slowly spreading across her face. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this?” she whispered, following quickly after Keiko, giving the body a wide berth. The hallway’s walls were close together, with rickety wooden stairs leading downstairs to the area where clients were received. When a customer arrived, a bell rang, and the women were supposed to line up at the bottom of the stairs so he could choose one of them for his pleasures.

“The fuck?” A man’s voice rose from outside, audible through an open window, sharp and commanding, and the sounds of several sets of feet announced the awakening of the brothel’s other resident employees.

“What if they’re outside, too?” asked Kathryn, with growing fear. She stayed behind Keiko on the stairs, crouching as if she could blend into the wall. “What do we do then? I think we’re going to die, Keiko... I don’t think we’re going to make it past the reception area.” The hall opened to a separate reception area, which has a door locking the women in during the day. The men saw the women beyond that door.

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“You--you did--you did what?” Kathryn worked her jaw, her face having grown suddenly pallid, the gun cold in her hands and unfamiliar. “W -- oh god. What are you doing?”

“Gunshots. There were fucking gunshots. What the fuck is goin --” The door to the outdoors, on the other side of the wall separating them from the lobby, burst open, and the entire armed team of guards complete with automatic weaponry came into the building. “We have orders; don’t let any of them escape, and if we have to, shoot to kill.”

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One of the men sprayed the wall with bullets, as a warning. "If you want to live, you'll surrender now." Thus came the ultimatum. It was delivered like a smoldering gauntlet on a drawbridge, a challenge issued to ensure that they would not pass past the bottom of the stairs into the reception area.

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Kathryn edged up the stairs back into the room where the other women had been hiding behind the walls and doors. Chloe shot her a murderous glare. “Are you trying to get us all killed?” she hissed.

“I had nothing to do with it!” Kathryn protested in hushed tones.

Downstairs, the men opened the door to the stairs into the reception area, quickly securing the pistol, and keeping their weapons aimed at Keiko. “Secure her,” said the guard who was apparently in charge, jerking his head toward the woman. Two of the men rushed toward Keiko, moving to tackle her to the floor and secure her in metal handcuffs. Where Thomas had access to military grade equipment, Kathryn couldn’t have fathomed, but... He did seem to have his hands all over the city.

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One of the men raised his weapon to strike Keiko with it, when the leader stopped him. “Don’t damage the goods where the customers will see. Take her to the isolation room and leave her there.” In the basement, also lead-lined, without windows, and separate from the rest of the “home,” the concrete cell was where they kept the women who needed to be disciplined. There were rumors that Thomas occasionally made “visits” to the women confined there, but nothing confirmed of course. Only one woman was ever kept there at a time, and the last woman had been there for nearly three weeks before she found a way to kill herself.

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About two hours after Keiko had first been thrown into the punishment room, Thomas Harding arrived at the property along with his senior management staff. He threw aside the front door, and headed toward the basement, followed by a heavily muscled thug wearing a scowl. Thomas himself was a man of average physical presence, with short brown hair and a mole on his ear. Keiko had been left in handcuffs alone in the punishment room, without access to anyone or anything. "Open the door," he ordered the thug, who turned a key in the padlock on the door.