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It's early morning on December 4, 1969.

Debra Johnson sits on a narrow cot and shivers uncontrollably.

The air is frigid and Johnson is only wearing a thin robe, but that's not why she's shivering.

Johnson stares at her arms and legs.

Her brown skin has been sprayed with dark red blood.

She rubs herself, trying to get the blood off.

Her hands shake with desperation, but it's like she's stained.

It won't come off.

And now more than anything she wants to scream to escape this nightmare.

But there's nothing she can do, trap behind the metal bars in this cell.

Johnson has been sitting in this Chicago police station since just before dawn.

That's when the cops shoved her in the cell.

She's been waiting ever since and trying to find some way to get out.

But she knows she's all alone except for someone else who's been keeping her company.

With a trembling hand, Johnson touches her swollen belly.

She waits to feel something, some sign that her baby is still with her.

But she doesn't feel anything moving.

A tear rolls down her cheek as she pinches her eyes shut.

First they got Fred, the lover of her life and her fiance.

She still can't believe it.

He's gone.

...