TEASER

Laying on the alley floor, shivering in spite of the mild night air, Mel curled herself into a fetal position. She groaned softly, only peripherally aware that the fight was won. Now that it was, though, the pain was no longer taking a back seat, and she was reluctant to check the extent of the damage. Realizing that this was no way to handle herself, she slid her hands through the tear in her shirt, probing. The knife had cut deep, but the damage was not extensive in spite of that fact. Closing her eyes and ignoring the sharp bite of pain the examination caused, she focused instead on the healing.

Under Cole’s tutelage, she had learned a great deal about both the practice and the theory of the process. For Cirronians, it was almost philosophical, a Communion between the injured person and the healer, given and received in love. Maybe for that reason, Mel always had more trouble healing herself than she did healing Cole. In any event, the healings she performed on herself were never quite as complete or perfect. While no longer bleeding heavily, the deep gash was not entirely healed, either. Blood still seeped through, especially if she pressed too hard.

Panting, she pulled herself to her feet, leaning heavily on the wall as she did so. Her mind was clouded with pain and blood loss, but she still knew that she needed to get back to the bar, to remove herself from the proximity of a body that had, until recently, belonged to a man that others had seen her leaving the Watchfire with.

She nodded to herself and started limping back in that direction, stopping in her tracks when she realized that she was covered in blood. It would never do to enter the bar in such a state, so she turned into a side alley. She could go in through the back, no key required courtesy of Cole’s training, pull on the heavy coat that he always left there, and then return to the apartment via the stairs to change her shirt.

Easiest thing in the world, she told herself firmly, ignoring the nagging pain of her injury. Pleased with the idea, she almost overlooked the implications of the encounter. When they DID occur to her, she uttered a string of words that her grandmother would have grounded her for.

The fugitives knew that something was wrong with Cole! Her assailant had said so. That was very bad news. She would have to guard them both a lot more closely than usual until he was better

"Wonderful," she muttered, shaking her head.

She returned to the Watchfire slowly, hugging shadows, and doing her best not to attract notice. Her mind still spinning from the revelation that the fugitives knew, she let herself in the back, stopping for several minutes to rest in the storeroom before proceeding. She pulled on the jacket, which was one of Cole's, so it went almost to her knees, covering all the blood once she pulled it closed and slipped her hands into the pockets.

“Mel, there you are!” Maggie murmured when she limped into the barroom through the storage room. “What happened?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Mel shook her head. “Everything’s fine.”

Maggie hesitated for a moment before nodding. Her eyes swept over Mel, taking in her slumped, limping form and the fact that she was wearing Cole’s jacket. “You should get upstairs, sweetheart,” she said finally.

Mel smiled gratefully, nodding faintly and weaving her way through the crowd, locking the door behind her and hurrying up the stairs, ignoring it when her body protested over the effort. She heaved a sigh of relief as she slipped into the apartment and closed and locked that door behind her as well.

She dropped Cole’s jacket on the kitchen counter and walked into the bathroom, pulling her shirt off and double-checking the wound to be sure that she had not missed any spots. There was still a pretty nasty cut, she noted, frowning, but nothing life-threatening. Shrugging and deciding it would heal by itself with time, she dampened her shirt in the sink and used it to clean away the blood on her stomach.

"Pants might be salvageable," she muttered to herself as she walked into her bedroom, wearing only pants and a bra and holding the blood-stained, ripped shirt in one hand. In the excitement, she had completely forgotten leaving Cole there to rest.

"Mel!" he exclaimed, sitting up quickly at the sight of her. His hands were immediately on her stomach, healing the rest of the damage. The effort left him doubled over and panting. "Wh... what happened?" he gasped.

Mel, who had never seen healing someone have quite this effect on him, stared uncertainly for a moment before sitting on the edge of the bed next to him and gently rubbing his back, murmuring reassuringly. Her healings were not always perfect, them failing something she could understand, but Cole... Cole had healed far worse injuries effortlessly. His fatigue would have to be extreme for him to have been so drained healing an already partially-healed wound.

"Shh. It's okay. It's going to be okay," she promised.

"What happened?" he repeated weakly, leaning into her.

"Nothing that you need to worry about, Cole," she reassured him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

"I don't believe you, Mel," he mumbled, shaking his head.

"A fugitive tried to pick a fight. It happens, Cole, but it's nothing for you to worry about. Not right now."

Cole looked up at her, horrified. "He came here and he HURT you?" he whispered, his eyes swimming with tears.

Mel nodded slowly. "Yeah, Cole, he did. But it's okay. I used every trick you showed me and I Collected him."

Cole nodded slowly. "That's good, Mel, but... why would he come here?"

She sighed and considered not telling him, then decided that he had a right, and a very real NEED, to know. As long as she could have relied on being able to keep Cole's condition a secret, business could have carried on much as usual. Thanks to the training he had been giving her, Mel could have gone after many fugitives herself as Cole focused on the recovery process and no one would have been the wiser. Now, though...

She hated to tell him, but she could not, in good conscious, see how to avoid it, either. Sighing and closing her eyes, she wrapped both arms around him, holding him close and trying to comfort him as he had so often comforted her in the past.

"They... they know, Cole,” she whispered. “Somehow, the fugitives know that you're sick."

END TEASER
ACT 1

"Depression?” Mara repeated, blinking in surprise. “Shall I inform the others, Doctor Lana?"

"Mmm... Not just yet," Lana told her. "I really feel like handling this myself for some reason. Daggon has been such a thorn in my side and in Zin's for so long that... well, I just don't feel right allowing anyone else to handle his death. "

Lana silently scrutinized her assistant for a long moment. Intellectually, Mara was not exactly on par with herself or Doctor Zin, but her loyalty had always been unwavering and her she had unquestioning accepted Lana’s teachings regarding Zin’s divinity. Nor was her human host unattractive. Perhaps a little tall and well-fleshed for Zin’s taste, but still likely to appeal to him, at least until Lana could find him a better mistress or win his favor herself. She smiled and nodded.

“Mara, dear, your loyalty to myself and Zin has always been without question.”

“Of course, Doctor Lana.” Mara inclined her head. “It honors me to serve one such as Him.”

Lana smiled faintly. “His previous mistress recently fell to the Tracker, Mara. Were you aware?”

“No, Doctor.” Mara shook her head faintly, her expression blatantly curious as to why Lana had brought the matter up.

“He will need another, Mara,” Lana explained simply. “Would it suit you?”

“But... I had assumed that you--”

She shook her head imperceptibly. “Zin has never so favored me, dear. It is unimportant. He has been a year without the touch of a woman and must grow impatient. If you wish, I will recommend you for the duty as one who has always been a good and faithful servant.”

“You honor me,” Mara murmured, smiling shyly.

“Loyalty to Him has many rewards. In gratitude for your unwavering commitment, I will advance your name to him when he returns to our midst.”

“I am grateful.”

“I thought the honor would not be lost on you.” Lana grinned at her. Of the opinion that Zin’s mistress should also possess her own opinion of Haag, she continued. “Haag, of course, would probably fail to even ACKNOWLEDGE your loyal service.”

"Haag?" Mara scoffed. "Orsusian scum..."

"Mmm." Lana nodded her agreement. Orsusians were nothing but a bunch of backwater primitives. They had their uses, to be sure, but overall, they tended to think too highly of themselves, especially that fool Haag. "He spent too many years in uniform, I think. Tight collar, cuts off circulation to the brain. He... lacks vision."

"He's too cautious."

Lana nodded absently. "That as well, yes. What he calls discretion, I'm inclined to view as cowardice. His lack of progress in London has been... notable."

"Yet you continue to let him live," Mara noted quietly.

"He continues to have his uses to me. And it would take a dreadfully long time to train a replacement for him."

She shrugged helplessly, not bothering to point out to Mara that it would be dangerous to have Haag killed without Zin’s backing, especially after Magan’s attempt had failed. Still, she was confident that she would soon have Zin’s full permission to have Haag put out of the way. And, if she was fortunate, his permission to end his life with her own hand.

Mara chuckled softly, shaking her head. “If I may be so bold, I do not foresee him troubling you for much longer once you have liberated Doctor Zin.”

“You may have something there, Mara, dear.” Lana smiled at her. “You will, of course, be so good as to inform me when there is news of Tesyn?”

“Of course, Doctor.” Mara inclined her head.

“Good woman. And inform Neko that the drilling will be complete by month’s end. He’ll need to be in the city before we break through.”

“I’ll tell him,” Mara promised, rising and bowing.

“Thank you.” Lana smiled and nodded. “You may go now, but why don’t you join me for supper tomorrow?”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Mara bowed again, then left.

Lana’s smile faded, replaced by a calculating expression. Mara would do nicely, she had no doubt. Her calculating look grew more pronounced as her eyes fell on the calendar on her desk. She had spent too much time around Zin in the past to be unaware of the significance of a date only two days from today's. "Happy anniversary, Daggon," she murmured, smiling faintly.

***

“Anniversary?” Mel whispered, brushing Cole’s hair back and staring down at him. “What, your wedding anniversary?”

Cole closed his eyes and shook his head.

Mel’s eyes widened as realization set in. “The anniversary of... of the murders?”

He nodded once, not opening his eyes. “Ten years tomorrow,” he sighed, rolling onto his side and pulling himself into a ball.

“God, Cole...” She shook her head and squeezed his shoulder. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I’ve been trying not to think about it.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Ten years. It gets worse ever time...”

“And you’ve never let yourself grieve? Not in all that time?” she asked, leaning over his huddled form and wrapping her arms around him as well as she could, as if she could shelter him from his grief and from the evils of the universe.

“It hurts to think about.”

She bit back tears, half pulling him into her lap. “I know it does, but it can be so much harder in the long run if you DON’T let yourself feel that pain.”

“Why does it have to be so hard?” he asked plaintively.

Mel winced at the childlike pain in his tone, shaking her head and rocking him. “I wish I had an answer for you, baby,” she sighed, not even noticing her unconscious use of the endearment. “Life can be so damned painful and... sometimes it seems like there’s no point at all to it, but...” She shook her head and planted a tender kiss on his cheek. “You aren’t alone, Cole,” she promised, her words laden with emotion and intensity.

Cole turned his head, staring up at her with wide eyes. “Mel,” he whispered, reaching up and loosely cupping her face in one hand. “Mel...”

“You aren’t alone,” she repeated more firmly, planting an impulsive kiss on those amazing lips of his. Lifting her face only marginally, she whispered, “I will NEVER leave you.”

He smiled weakly up at her, his lower lip trembling. She did not understand. They ALL left, always. Everyone he had ever loved had been taken from him, starting with his baby sister when he had been just a boy, then his parents, friends in the Tracker Corps, sweet Ashi and lovely Nallia...

She regarded him sadly, shaking her head as he visibly struggled to control his tears. “Cry, Cole. It helps. It really does.”

Cole spared her a grateful look, burying his face in her lap and letting out a heartrending sob. The pain engendered in that cry rocked Mel to the soul. Staggered, she leaned over him, holding him close and clinging to him.

As he cried, she shed tears of her own. Or perhaps, as she suspected afterwards, they had simply been more of his. Certainly the force of his grief was powerful enough that it could have been dictating her actions. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to grieve along with him for the beautiful, amazing creature he had lost. It would not even have surprised her if, later, someone had pointed out that, of the two of them, SHE had been the one chanting Nallia’s name over and over as two grieved as one.

Eventually sleep came to Cole, granting Mel some relief from the soul-killing sense of emptiness that had consumed her. Lying alone in the dark and holding the object of her affections close, she knew without knowing how that the emotions had not been hers, and that seemed perfectly natural to her: an aftereffect of the drug, maybe, or a side-effect of their growing emotional intimacy.

Cole had once mentioned in an offhanded way that there were times when a Cirronian could sense a loved one’s emotions. He had not mentioned that a bystander might feel them herself, become a conduit for them, but it seemed like a natural extension to Mel. She would keep the experience between the two of them, but she was certain that that was exactly what had happened, that she had become a medium for Cole’s anguish.

Cole had been bottling up his grief for almost ten years now, and it had been building inside of him for the entire time, like some poison in his system. And when it had finally come to a head, he had been unable to purge it himself.

He had needed another outlet to vent the emotions safely, and Mel had been there. Two years ago, the thought would have horrified Mel, left her feeling used. Now, she was simply grateful that some of that horrible pressure was off of him. She did her best not to think about what other emotions she might be able to share as strongly with Cole. If he would ever let THOSE walls down...

Physically and emotionally exhausted, she arranged Cole comfortably on the bed and curled up next to him, turning the experience over in her mind. Wrapping her arms around him and closing her eyes, her mind was filled with memories that were not her own.

Laughing black eyes, deep-set in a delicate face.

A willowy Cirronian, luminous and graceful, her pale glow almost lavender under Migar’s red light as she led a group of children in song.

An ethereal voice lifted in wordless song as she cradled her baby girl close.

Wide eyes and a shy expression as the most amazing man she had ever met made his feelings known.

“Nallia,” Mel breathed, snuggling closer to Cole. “No wonder he loves you so much,” she whispered, smiling and shaking her head as sleep began to claim her. “You are BEAUTIFUL...”

***

Cole woke in the darkness, a little disoriented by the simple act of waking. Mel was still in his arms, he realized as the fog cleared from his brain. Her pretty eyes were as tear-swollen as he knew his own must have been. Sighing, he gently smoothed one fingertip over the reddened tissue, soothing away the worst of the irritation. She stirred in her sleep, smiling.

She was beautiful in the silvery-blue moonlight that filtered in through the bedroom window and reflected off her pale skin, making it seem to glow. Not that she was ever anything BUT beautiful, but that color... That was the color of joy, physical and emotional. The color a Cirronian turned after a particularly intense joining, after the more intense blue-white glow had faded out. It was a beautiful color, especially on his Mel.

Nor was that glow the only beautiful thing about her. Her lips were set in a half-smile, her entire expression calm. And those wild curls of hers framed her face like a halo, seeming to glow themselves in the moonlight. Even the way she lay in his arms, leaning slightly into his chest was beautiful to him. It could almost have been the real thing, he and Mel in the aftermath of a mating union instead of just a trick of light and circumstance.

He frowned in confusion, trying to figure out why there were tears on her pretty face. It took him some time to realize that they were his.

“No more,” he whispered, pleading with anyone who would listen. “Not tonight...”

She would leave him, too. She would be taken away, exactly as everyone else he had ever loved had been. Part of him wanted to wake her and hold her soft, fragile body against his, loving her and making love to her for as long as he was privileged to. Another part of his mind cautioned that this would only intensify his feelings for her and urged retreat.

He was too tired to do anything BUT follow the path of least resistance, so he ignored the desire to physically sanctify his bond with Mel. Sighing, he closed his eyes and, for the second time that night, cried himself to sleep.

END ACT 1
ACT 2

Mel woke feeling faintly unsettled. Next to her, Cole continued to slumber, his face still faintly troubled, but not as badly as it had been the night before. Since his sleep was so obviously untroubled, she decided not to wake him. It was probably something he needed badly after the physical and psychological difficulties of the past few days.

Reluctant to leave the shelter of his strong arms, she lay there for some time after she woke, closing her eyes and enjoying everything about his gentle embrace. She could feel that familiar, soothing heat pouring off of his body to engulf her, could smell that spicy-sweet aroma that was so uniquely Cole. In fact, that smell permeated the entire bed, the way a lover’s unique scent might.

“Don’t go there, Mel,” she ordered herself softly, slipping out of arms that seemed reluctant to release her and dressing quickly. Sighing softly, she dropped onto the bed, staring down at him and wondering, “What am I going to do with you?”

Cole stirred slightly but did not wake. Shaking her head, Mel lightly smoothed his hair back and then went downstairs.

“Morning, Mel!” Maggie greeted her, relief obvious in her voice to see Mel at this early hour. “How is... everything?”

Mel smiled faintly. “I’m fine and Cole’s fine, Maggie. Thanks.”

“There was... a cop here this morning, Mel,” Maggie said softly. “Something about a body they found a few blocks away. Wanted to know if I’d seen him in the bar.”

The Enixian... Mel’s smile faded. “Maggie?”

“I took a good long look at the picture, told her I might have seen him, but bars get so crowded and dark, and all the customers start blurring together after twenty or thirty years and what’s an old woman to do?” Maggie patted her shoulder, her expression falsely guileless. “I don’t think anyone else saw you leave with him, so that should settle that.”

“I could kiss you.”

“You’re not my type, Mel,” Maggie teased, grinning. “Save it for Cole.” Her smile faded faintly at mention of the Cirronian. “How is he?”

“Uh, he’s resting now.” Mel shrugged. “He had a good cry last night. I think that might help.”

“It usually does,” she agreed. “He’s always struck me as the sort of boy who keeps most things bottled up. That isn’t healthy.”

“No, it really isn’t,” Mel agreed quietly, pouring herself a drink. “He’ll be better now,” she said firmly, more to convince herself than Maggie.

“Seems to me like he’s bottling up a lot more than stress, Mel,” Maggie added quietly.

“Don’t start, Maggie,” she suggested, shaking her head firmly.

“What DOES a Cirronian hallucinate about while telepathically linked with a woman?” Maggie asked quietly, ignoring her protest. Both Cole and MEL repressed too much for their own good and it was starting to tell. “Come on, Mel. You know as well as I do--”

“It doesn’t MATTER what I know!” Mel snapped. “Damn it, Maggie, don’t you understand what’s at stake here?”

“Of course I do, sweetie,” Maggie sighed, hugging her. So much for that tactic. There were times when she missed Jess with her infectious enthusiasm for life. No doubt the young Englishwoman could have gotten Mel to talk where Maggie herself was failing. Those two were like sisters. “But I’ve also been alive long enough to know that it’s hard enough going through life, especially a life like yours, without someone special there to help you through.”

“Cole and I are always there for each other,” Mel informed her tersely. “You know I love you, Maggie, but you need to drop this. I mean it. What’s between Cole and I is... it’s between Cole and I.” She shook her head, a little startled by her need to reject the obvious to someone who knew better.

Maggie sighed softly, nodding faintly. “Okay. But I’m here if you need to talk about things.”

“I know. And I DO appreciate it.” She sighed and shook her head, intending to drop the matter at that. She found herself speaking again before she could stop herself, giving voice to her anxiety. “He needs help, Maggie. I mean, yeah, it’s great that he’s started to be able to give vent to some of the grief and anger he’s been bottling up for the past ten years, but he STILL needs help...”

“Adelaide spent years in therapy after Allan was killed,” she contributed quietly. “There’s no shame in it.”

“I know. Cole knows, too. It’s just... it’s hard for him to talk about. I mean, I had to get the whole story from NESTOV. But... he needs to talk to someone.”

“What about that friend of Vic’s?”

She nodded. “Vic’s coming by this morning to discuss that with Cole.”

Maggie nodded faintly. “You know, it’s good to see those two working together for a change. I always used to worry about how Vic felt towards Cole.”

“Yeah, you weren’t the only one.” Mel nodded faintly and the two set up the bar in companionable silence until Vic arrived.

“Hey, Mel,” Vic greeted her without preamble. “Phil says that he wants to see Cole yesterday. He’s pretty worried.”

“I know, Vic. I really want to see him getting help for this, too. It’s something he needs right now, I think.”

“It is,” Vic assured her. Or, at least, he assumed that was why Phil had called him bright and early to remind him to talk to Mel and Cole. “Can I talk to him?”

She shook her head. “He’s resting now. He’s really worn out.”

“He okay?”

“He will be,” she promised. She would do whatever it took to be sure of it. “Get you a cup of coffee?” she offered.

“Ah, thanks, Mel.” Vic nodded gratefully and settled down at the bar.

“How’s Agent Hess?” she asked, pouring a mug of coffee and handing it to him.

“Out of the hospital.” He smiled warmly at her. “She’s a lot better.”

“I’m glad.”

“So am I.”

He covered her hand with one of his own, grinning up at her. He had seriously considered ending their arrangement then and there when Gabe had been dropped by a sniper’s bullet. On her way to Synagogue no less. THAT had been the real insult as far as the recovering Agent was concerned. But she had been adamant that she could not stop helping him now, not when someone so obviously wanted her to. It meant that they were close to something, and she was not about to back down from it, in spite of his arguments that she should.

In fact, she was more resolved now than she had been before. Gently quieting his protests, she had pointed out reasonably that life in a Federal prison facility suddenly did not seem like that high a stake to a woman who had come close to death. She had also muttered something about perhaps having been given this particular mission by God himself, along with an off-handed comment that she thought she had seen an angel in the hospital, helping her to recover. That one had nearly knocked Vic off his barstool, and he made a mental note not to introduce Gabe to the redheaded angel who had saved her life any time soon.

The door opened and a young man walked in. Maggie approached him. “Help you?” she asked.

Mel shifted uneasily, rising. The man’s life-force was undeniably human, but life-force and manner still made her incredibly nervous. He spoke to Maggie in low tones, handing her an envelope before turning and leaving.

“Maggie?” Vic asked, approaching her.

“He said to give this to Cole,” she said, holding up the envelope, her expression troubled and uncertain.

“Put it down, Maggie,” Mel ordered immediately.

With anthrax attacks once again making the news in the Midwest, Maggie did not have to be told twice. She dropped the manila envelope onto the bar and took a quick step backwards, her eyes wide and her hands held well away from her body.

“Let’s get your hands washed,” Vic suggested gently, his mind on the same page as theirs. Nothing else was above the fugitives, after all, why should biological attacks be?

“If there was anything on the paper, you are all infected already,” a low voice contributed from the stairwell.

“Cole?” Mel asked uncertainly, staring at him with wide eyes.

“It is a message for me?” he asked, walking to the bar and retrieving the offending article.

He opened the envelope and pulled out the single sheet of paper inside, neatly penned on a piece of Zin Industries letterhead. His expression shifted from apathetic to furious in a split-second as he crumpled the note in his hand and slammed his fist against the bar. The wood laminate buckled and cracked under the force of the blow.

“I will kill her,” he announced simply, dropping the ball of paper, turning, and stalking back up the stairs.

As Vic and Maggie stared after him with wide eyes, Mel retrieved the note, scanning it quickly.

~*~*~*~
My dear Professor Daggon,
I write merely to bid you the happiest of anniversaries. Almost ten years now, is it not? It would have been most unspeakably rude of me to forget a date of such import, for I am sure that it can not be far from YOUR mind.
Have you ever noticed that history is in the habit of repeating itself? I know I most certainly have...
All in His service,
Doctor Indri La’na

He shall rise again
~*~*~*~

“Cole wants that bitch dead, he’s going to have to get in line,” she snapped, crumpling the note again and tossing it in the direction of the trashcan before turning and stalking up the stairs herself.

“What was that?” Maggie asked uneasily.

“I don’t know.” Vic shook his head and picked up the note, reading it and shaking his head. “This make any sense to you?”

Maggie glanced over it, shaking her head wearily. “Mel said something about it being ten years. I’d guess it has to do with the murders.”

“Phil asked me if there was an anniversary coming up. I guess this qualifies. I should call him.”

“Use the bar phone,” Maggie offered, handing it to him and filling two glasses with scotch. “I know it’s early still, but I think we could both use a drink.”

“Amen to that,” Vic agreed, accepting both glass and phone gratefully.

END ACT 2
ACT 3

“Phil’s talking about involuntary hospitalization,” Vic told Mel as she spooned ice-cream into the Cirronian’s mouth.

Lana’s letter had been all it had taken to push him just a few steps over the line. He had gone from bad to worse in minutes, withdrawing almost completely into himself. So Vic had gone to speak to Phil, leaving Mel to take care of Cole.

“I can NOT do that, Vic.” Mel shook her head, nudging a spoonful of cookies and cream into the mouth of a man who only accepted it because it was the path of least resistance.

“Mel, I’m not sure you have a choice,” Vic told her softly. “I mean look at him! He’s all but catatonic!”

Mel slammed the bowl of ice-cream down on the side table, glaring at him. “Gee, Vic, thanks so much for reminding me! I’d almost managed to forget that fact between having to give him a BATH and now!” she snapped.

She closed her eyes against the memory. In the few hours since reading that horrible note from Lana, Cole had gone downhill faster than she would have thought possible. It had fallen to her to take care of him: feeding him, bathing him, changing him into clean clothes, helping him in the bathroom...

Next to her, Cole whimpered at her angry tone.

”Oh, don’t be upset, baby,” she murmured, touching his cheek. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” She smiled reassuringly as he turned vacant, uncertain eyes on her. “It’s okay,” she repeated.

Vic sighed softly. The Cirronian was, indeed, in pretty bad shape. “Mel, we may HAVE to hospitalize him for his own good...”

“No, Vic!” she said firmly. “No. It’d be too dangerous. Do you know what Lana would do with the knowledge that he was in the hospital?”

“Mel,” Cole breathed, reaching up to catch her wrist. “She’d hurt you. She’d hurt you...”

Mel stared up at him, her eyes wide. It was the most reaction they had gotten out of him since the note.

“God, what’s wrong with his hand?” Vic demanded, gaping.

“Wh--” She stared down at Cole’s hand, her eyes widening. His fingers were black and swollen. “He must have hurt it when he hit the bar,” she said, carefully disengaging his hand from her arm. “Here, Cole. Let me look. Why didn’t you tell me your hand hurt?” she asked gently.

“Didn’t notice, Mel,” he answered sluggishly.

“God,” Vic whispered. “We should get him to a doctor, get that looked at.”

“I’ll do it,” she said, gently probing at the swollen hand. Cole did not so much as flinch, not even when she wrapped her hand around the three broken fingers. “Don’t worry,” she told Vic, reaching up and cupping Cole’s cheek in one hand. “I can fix this.”

Vic nodded slowly. If she could help Gabe, she could help Cole. At least as far as a damaged hand went. He frowned when the Cirronian completely failed to react to the healing, not even batting an eyelash. Mel kept holding his hand in hers, just staring at the Cirronian with big, sad eyes. The human Detective sighed softly, rising and patting her shoulder.

“Phil wants to come talk to him.”

“No hospitals, Vic. I mean it,” she said firmly.

“I’ll tell him.” Vic nodded faintly. “He just wants to TALK to Cole, that’s all. He’s a good guy, Mel. He just wants to help.”

She nodded slowly. “No hospital,” she repeated quietly, not looking at him. “He can’t be in one of those places again...”

“I’ll tell Phil,” he promised, squeezing her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Mel. We’ll sort this out.” He glanced from Mel to Cole. “I won’t bring him here unless he’s willing to promise not to try to get Cole committed.”

“Thank you.” Mel rose and gave him a quick hug. “I can’t tell you how much your help means to me... All of it.”

”Just hang in there,” Vic murmured, holding her tightly for a moment before dropping his hands. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised.

Mel glanced down at Cole who did not even seem to have noticed that she was no longer sitting next to him.

“Soon,” she repeated quietly as Vic left, sitting down again and retrieving the ice-cream she had been feeding Cole. “Want a little more, honey?” she offered, lifting the spoon to his face.

Cole shook his head faintly, turning it away from the proffered food. “Tired now,” he answered dully.

“Okay. Let’s get you back to bed,” she sighed, half-dragging him to his feet and helping him into the bedroom. “Cole, a friend of Vic’s wants to talk to you tonight. You don’t mind that, do you?”

He shook his head, curling up in a ball on the bed and resting his head on her leg. “I’m too tired to talk...”

“Okay. Then you can just rest for now,” she promised, absently rubbing his back. “But I want you to talk to this man later. He’s a friend of Vic’s. He wants to help you.”

“Help me,” Cole repeated, staring thoughtfully up at her. “I... need help,” he murmured.

“Yes, you do,” she agreed. “And we’re going to get it for you.”

“I need... more help than you can give me,” he said, staring up at her with confused eyes.

“No!” Mel protested, amazed that words of almost two years ago, spoken in a moment of frustration and confusion, could come back to haunt her so forcefully. “No, Cole. No.” She shook her head firmly. “You DO need help, but... we will get it for you. We’ll do whatever we have to to help you. It’s going to be okay. We’ll take care of you,” she promised, gently caressing his face. “You believe me, don’t you?”

Cole stared up at her, smiling weakly and, for the first time in their relationship, willfully lying to her. “Yes, Mel. I believe you,” he whispered. “Can I sleep now?”

“Sure, Cole,” she murmured, reassured by his words. “You want me to stay?”

He nodded shyly.

“Okay.” She smiled and leaned back against the headboard, gathering him into her arms. “Get some rest.”

“Rest,” he agreed, snuggling against her. “Sleeping is good, Mel. When you sleep, you don’t feel...”

***

“‘When you sleep, you don’t feel’?” Vic repeated into the phone, glancing at Phil to gauge his reaction. “Yeah, Mel. We’ll get there as quick as we can. Just stay calm.” He listened for a moment, sighing and hanging up. He immediately dialed another number.

“Watchfire,” the voice answered.

“Gail, it’s Vic. Maggie there?” he asked.

“Yeah, Vic. Just a second.”

“Thanks.”

“Vic?” Maggie asked.

“Yeah, Maggie. Do me a favor and go check on Mel. I just got off the phone with her and she’s frantic.”

“Damn.” There was a short pause, then, “Vic, Mel said you knew a psychiatrist?”

“Yeah, Maggie. We’re on our way there now to see Cole.”

“Good. See if you can’t get him to talk to Mel, too.”

Vic sighed and nodded to himself. “Yeah, Maggie. Will do. Don’t worry. We’ll get them help.”

“Good. I’ll stay with Mel until you get there.”

“Thanks, Maggie.”

“No problem, Vic. Bye.”

“Bye.” Vic sighed and hung up, glancing at Phil who was riffling his desk in search of appointment book.

Finding it, he pocketed it and his cell phone. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“Good deal. Just remember--”

Phil sighed and nodded. “No attempts at involuntary hospitalization,” he agreed, following Vic out of this office. “You know, the fact that you have to make me promise that tells me that it’s probably needed.”

“Phil, there are circumstances here that you really don’t understand. Cole can NOT go into a hospital. Mel and I are both in agreement on that. Too much is at stake...”

Phil’s eyes narrowed. “He must have a damned important job. Hope it’s not important enough that you’re willing to kill him over it.”

“Phil!” Vic protested.

”Face it, Vic,” Phil cut him off, shaking his head. “This man is sick and you know it. You’re worried sick that he’s going to get himself killed but you’re refusing him treatment that he probably needs.”

“There’s more to it than that,” Vic sighed, shaking his head. “Please, Phil...”

The psychologist regarded his old friend thoughtfully for a long moment before nodding. He knew Vic well enough to know that his friends meant the world to him. He would not willingly endanger one, which lead Phil to believe that he perceived some danger to Cole in being hospitalized. That would be easy enough to diffuse at the same time as he eased the girlfriend’s anxieties on that score.

“We’ll take care of him,” he promised Vic, patting his arm and grabbing his cane. “Let’s go.”

Unnoticed by either as they passed, a police-clerk in sunglasses picked up a phone and dialed.

“Zin Industries. Doctor Lana’s office.”

“Mara, give me Lana. I have news.”

“One moment, please, Sovra.”

The Enixian rolled his eyes at the elevator music that accompanied his time on hold, amused by Lana’s attempts to ‘legitimize’ their operation.

“Speak, Sovra,” Lana’s voice interrupted his reverie.

Glancing around to make sure no one was in earshot, he switched to Enixian and informed her that they were considering involuntary hospitalization for the Tracker. He was rewarded for his news by the sound of Lana’s laughter.

“Splendid, Sovra. You shall be rewarded for your diligence in uncovering this most promising development. Victory over your foes.”

“And you over yours, Doctor. Good day.”

“Oh, yes,” Lana agreed mildly. “It is a VERY good day.”

END ACT 3
ACT 4

“Doctor, the team is ready for your inspection,” Mara informed her, leaning into the office.

“Already?” Lana raised an eyebrow and glanced at the clock. “Admirable efficiency, my dear.” She smiled and rose, gesturing for Mara to lead the way. “Doctor Zin would be impressed,” she murmured to the young woman, patting her shoulder as she followed.

Mara smiled shyly over her shoulder at Lana. “I endeavor to please.”

“Good woman.” Lana nodded sharply. “It is a trait which Doctor Zin approves of greatly.” Pausing in the hall, she added, “And any trait that pleases Doctor Zin pleases me also. You make him a happy man and you will be well-rewarded by us BOTH.”

“Of course.” Mara bowed her head.

“People accuse me of being many things. In the interest of our friendship, allow me to respond to charges I seldom dignify even with acknowledgement. I am guilty, as they say, of being ruthless and amoral. I have used my sexuality as a weapon to His benefit, so I suppose the accusations of whoredom are not entirely misplaced either. I am even ambitious. But I have NEVER sought power in my own right. ALL is for Him, Mara. You understand?”

“Of course, Doctor.”

“Good.” Lana patted her cheek. “You have been most accommodating to me as of late, and it is much appreciated. Without your assistance and administrative competence, I might never have made it so far. Zin will be in our hands in a matter of weeks.”

Mara smiled. “Truly it is good news.”

“It is,” Lana agreed mildly. “I have been unusually secretive lately, even with those I trust. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

Mara hesitated. It had not been lost on her that Lana had asked her to assemble an extraction-squad without telling her why. That WAS unusual, even if she was sure that Lana had her reasons. She always did, after all. Mara could only hope that Lana’s faith in her was not wavering.

“Of course you noticed,” Lana murmured when Mara hesitated. “You are perceptive or I never would have made you my assistant. And you are discreet or I never would have kept you,” she added. “Your discretion is appreciated, I assure you.” She drew Mara close, lowering her voice. “There is talk of involuntarily committing the Tracker, Mara.”

“You’re kidding?” she breathed, her eyes widening.

Lana shook her head gravely. “Now, whether this occurs or not is completely irrelevant to us.”

“It is?” she asked, frowning.

“Oh, certainly.” Lana nodded. “He is unstable enough for this to be a consideration, therefore it is entirely safe to assume that he will make no concerted effort to oppose us, yes?”

Mara smiled incredulously, nodding.

“Which means that the only other threat against us is--”

Mara’s smiled widened. “The mongrel...”

Lana chuckled and nodded, pointing at Mara with an expression of obvious approval. “There you go.”

“The extraction-squad’s objective!” Mara realized.

“Now you have it.” Lana patted her shoulder. “Show me your choices.”

“This way.” Mara gestured towards the boardroom. “Two sets of Orsusians, a Dessarian, and a Vardian.”

Lana considered for a moment before nodding sharply. “It is not traditional, but there is wisdom in such a makeup.”

“I thought you might approve,” Mara murmured, holding the door for her.

The team was waiting inside, already fully equipped and prepped. The Orsusians were all large, but the Vardian was of an average build and the Dessarian actually small in size. Muscle in the Orsusians, brains in the Vardian, and a Dessarian with a dart-gun to hide in the shadows should anything go wrong.

”VERY good, Mara,” she murmured, patting the younger woman’s shoulder again. “I stand impressed.”

She scanned the small party, taking her time to scrutinize each member. She knew them all by name and reputation, but none personally.

Two of the Orsusians were petty thugs, violent mafia enforcers. The other two were military by background, good at following orders and knowing when and when NOT to exercise force. The Dessarian was a standard Dessarian mercenary, adept at little more than hiding in shadows and shooting straight, but loyal all the same. And then the Vardian...

”Sera,” she acknowledged him, inclining her head.

A soldier by profession, that was only because he had been ejected from school for numerous brawls before he could finish his history studies. A few years spent in the military as an aide de camp and one of the wrestling matches he was forever getting into had ended in his opponent’s death. He had avoided Sar-Top only by flight and attached himself to an Orsusian mercenary firm, after which he had been contracted to Zin.

He was a competent strategist and leader, but not much else if his records were accurate. Still, in spite of his substandard intellect and short temper, he was undeniably loyal. Within the narrow limitations of a simple retrieval, he could be expected to perform admirably.

“Your parameters are simple,” she informed the group at large. “Sera is to lead; his orders are mine and mine are Doctor Zin’s. You will go to the Watchfire bar.” She dropped a folder on the table and slid it to Sera. “You will take the mongrel female whose picture you will find in the dossier. You will take her alive and she is to be brought to me intact. I want no harm to come to her. Confrontation with the Tracker is to be avoided at all costs. Go!” she ordered.

Mara watched them go wordlessly, Sera picking up the folder and nodding to them as he left.

“You seem unsettled, Mara,” Lana observed mildly.

“If the Tracker is vulnerable--” she began.

“Vulnerable, yes, but not necessarily beyond help. In defense of his mate, he may yet rouse himself. Once she is taken, he will be more vulnerable.”

“Of course.” Mara bowed her head contritely. “And... your orders not to harm the female?”

Lana chuckled and patted Mara’s back. “She is my backup plan, in case the Tracker does not crack as easily as I predict. Think nothing of it,” she murmured. Grinning and winking at Mara, she turned to leave, pausing at the door. “Call Neko in London. My engineers report themselves ahead of schedule and he will be required no fewer than three days before their revised estimate. Have him instate a loyal Lieutenant in his place and then join us here.”

“Of course, Doctor. Will there be anything else?”

“Not tonight, Mara. Soon, though.” She grinned over her shoulder at Mara before leaving, muttering under her breath, “VERY soon...”

***

“Mel, Vic wanted me to come get you,” Gail announced, standing in the hallway outside the bedroom. She glanced at Cole, sleeping against Mel. “He okay?” she asked uncertainly.

“He’ll be fine, Gail,” Mel assured her, gently shifting Cole out of her lap. “He just needs to rest.” She started to rise, then paused. “Could you stay with him?”

Gail nodded slowly, taking a hesitant step forward.

“He just doesn’t like being alone,” Mel explained, rising and squeezing the girl’s shoulder. “Gail, it’s COLE. He’s harmless.”

“I know he is,” Gail agreed quietly. “It’s just... he’s been so DIFFERENT lately.”

“I know he has, but he’s still just Cole. He’d never hurt any of us.”

Gail smiled tremulously. “Okay, Mel. What should I do?”

“Just sit with him. And if he wakes up, just tell him it’s okay and I’m downstairs, then call me.”

“Will do, Mel.” Gail nodded faintly, pulling a chair next to the bed.

“Thanks, Gail. And call if it looks like he’s having bad dreams or anything.”

Gail nodded faintly, settling down next to the bed as Mel bustled from the room. Sighing softly, she took Cole’s hand in hers.

“Guess you’re pretty sick, huh?” she asked quietly, staring down at him. “Vic’s down there with some shrink, so I guess they’re going to get you help, but...” She shook her head. “You’re the best thing ever happened to Mel if even HALF of what Maggie and Jess say is true.”

She sighed and placed Cole’s hand on his chest, rising and staring out the bedroom window to the streets below. The sky was starting to darken as it always did at this hour in the winter, cars drove by, and there was a handful of people on the streets, talking in a close huddle. Shaking her head at the way the world outside could keep going on as usual when one or two people’s lives were falling apart from within, she sighed and sat down again, her eyes on the sleeping Cole.

***

“Hey, Mel, sweetie!” Vic greeted her as she crossed the bar. He rose and hugged her quickly, leading her to the table he was sharing with Phil.

“Miss Porter,” he greeted her, rising slowly and shaking her hand. “Good to finally meet you. Vic speaks of you--”

“Patient/client,” Vic muttered in his ear.

Phil grinned and shook his head, grasping Mel’s hand. “He speaks most highly of you. And he’s worried.”

“He shouldn’t be worried about me,” Mel answered, squeezing his hand and smiling wanly.

“So I hear. Let’s sit down and discuss this. Is Cole here?”

“He’s asleep,” Mel told him, sitting down across from him. “He’s been really tired lately.”

“Changes in sleeping pattern are frequently a symptom of depression,” Phil told her. “I hear he has some other symptoms, too?”

“He cried himself to sleep last night and he...” She shook her head. “He just isn’t being Cole. Does that make any sense?”

“It actually does,” he murmured soothingly, reaching across the table and patting her hand. “Vic was telling me all about Cole and his symptoms, and I’ve seen cases like this a lot. We CAN help him, though.”

“You sure?”

“Well, we can certainly try,” he promised, smiling reassuringly. “There are a lot of options in the treatment of depression, everything from therapy and medication to hospital--”

“Vic, you promised!”

“So did Phil!” Vic answered, glaring at him.

“Hey! Take it easy, you two,” he suggested, holding up his hands. “It doesn’t have to be involuntary and it doesn’t--” He paused. “Miss Porter?” he asked, aware that she was staring at the bar rather than paying any attention to him.

Mel rose slowly, ignoring him, her eyes riveted on the man Maggie was serving. She waved her arms over her head to get Maggie’s attention without alerting the fugitive and found herself roughly borne to the floor by another.

She managed to Collect him before they even hit the ground, but by the time she had jumped to her feet, the man at the bar was on the other side of it now, holding a knife to Maggie’s throat.

“Nobody moves!” the fugitive ordered.

END ACT 4
TAG

Within moments, three more men had poured into the bar, two immediately moving to herd the bar’s handful of patrons into the alcove, the other watching the proceedings from the door, scowling at Mel.

Mel grabbed Vic’s wrist as he reached for his gun, shaking her head faintly. “Don’t,” she whispered.

“Mel,” he began, glancing over his shoulder to Phil, who was staring at the spectacle with wide eyes.

“Damn it, Sera, that isn’t her!” the one at the door snapped at the man holding Maggie.

“I know.” The Vardian smiled maliciously at Mel. “But did you see the look on her face when she saw this one bleed?”

“Son of a... Let her go,” Mel ordered, taking a slow step forward. She winced as the blade bit deeper into Maggie’s throat.

Maggie closed her eyes, her lips moving in a silent prayer.

“Let her go,” Mel repeated more firmly. “No one has to get hurt here.”

“Mel!” Vic protested, grabbing her arm as she took another step forward.

He looked down in surprise at a sharp stinging pain in his arm. A little feathered dart was embedded there. He had time to register surprise over that fact and then he hit the ground.

Phil scuttled to his side. “He’s breathing,” he announced after a moment, mostly to calm the panicked patrons.

“Good,” Mel murmured, nodding and swallowing hard. She stared at the Vardian. “They said your name’s Sera? You’re here for me? So let’s not involve any civilians in this. Let’s just go,” she suggested, walking slowly towards the bar. “It’s okay, Maggie,” she added soothingly as the woman’s eyes shot open and she regarded Mel in alarm.

“Don’t, Mel,” Maggie pled, shaking her head as much as the knife allowed.

“Tell Cole I love him,” Mel said softly, taking another step towards the bar. “Let her go, Sera. She’s not a part of this.”

“Minimum of civilian casualties, Sera,” the one who had yelled at Sera earlier reminded him.

Mel watched the blade waver, nodding encouragingly. In spite of the dead body on the floor, none of the fugitives had realized that she was holding her Collector. Cole was upstairs, helpless. If they were here for her instead of him, she would go, but not without a fight.

As Sera started to push Maggie away, she stomped hard on his foot, dropping to the ground and rolling away before he could retaliate. Mel seized the opportunity, diving over the bar and bearing the fugitive to the ground with the force of her own momentum.

Maggie watched the Collection with a horrified look, but kept her head and grabbed her gun from its place behind the bar. She loaded it quickly enough that Mel knew that her claim of being proficient with the weapon was no idle boast, pulling back the hammer and looking to Mel for guidance. Mel’s problem was that she had absolutely no idea what form that guidance should take. She was used to facing the fugitives in ones or twos, usually with Cole to back her up. What she was NOT used to was having an armed human looking to her for directions.

“Just back me up,” she mouthed, aware that there was a commotion on the other side of the bar as the fugitives became aware that neither Mel nor Sera were getting up.

“You, Tahla!” the one by the door could be heard to order. “Check it out.”

Maggie and Mel glanced at each other. Maggie nodded once, flipping on her gun’s safety and laying it aside as heavy feet approached the bar. When Tahla leaned over the bar to see what had transpired, each woman grabbed a shoulder, hauling him over the bar’s surface and to the floor below. As Mel Collected him, she became aware of another scuffle nearby.

The one fugitive left watching the bar’s patrons turned the moment he became aware of his twin’s absence, cursing. Phil lifted his cane, gripping it tightly by the handle, and swung it like a bat, taking the fugitive in the shoulders. A move that should have sent their captor crashing to the ground seemed only to anger him, and he grabbed the psychologist, throwing him across the bar. Later when he remembered the event, he would find himself only able to thank God that the bar’s far wall was lined with couches, one of which neatly broke his fall.

From his position there, he had a good view for everything that happened next. Mel dove out from behind the bar, rushing the man at the door who raised his gun and fired a dart into her shoulder. It took two more darts to bring her down. The older of the two barmaids raised her gun and fired three times at that one, each shot finding its mark. The man ignored them, bending and scooping up Mel.

“Come!” he shouted to the other one. Both were gone before anyone could react, taking Mel with them.

Maggie cursed, loudly and fluently, pocketing her gun and walking to the stairwell in time to prevent Gail, peering cautiously out, to open the door fully.

“I thought I heard shots,” Gail murmured, glancing uneasily at the gun in Maggie’s hand.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Maggie assured her. “I need you to go upstairs and stay there. Don’t answer the door for anyone. Go.” The last was half order and half plea, and Gail was too startled to do anything BUT comply.

Maggie turned quickly, locking the door as she pulled it shut and glancing around the bar. “Who’s hurt?” she asked, taking charge. “You, call the cops,” she added, pointing to a patron at random.

***

Vic recovered from the effects of the dart with more than a little help from a pitcher of ice water and flatly refused to allow himself to be taken to the hospital. Like Maggie, who staunchly declined all treatment beyond a few stitches administered at the scene, all he wanted was for the paramedics, and more especially the police, to LEAVE so they could go upstairs and check on Cole. Looking rattled, Phil was quietly trying to calm the patrons.

The police processing the scene and taking statements looked equally rattled. All knew Mel, Maggie, or Vic personally; many were friends with more than one of them. Most were Watchfire regulars.

“Where’s Gail?” one of them asked Maggie, glancing around the bar as he questioned her.

“It was dead here. Mel sent her home,” Maggie said quietly, sipping a large brandy and fingering Mel’s Collector in her apron pocket.

“And that friend of hers? The big fellow?”

“Out of town. Computer trade show in Seattle.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding. “You sure you won’t let someone bring you to the hospital, Maggie?” he asked, lightly touching her bandaged throat.

“No, Craig.” She shook her head. “I just want to get home, get some rest. I’m going to have to tell Gail what happened tomorrow and I want to have my wits about me.”

“I can go tell her,” he offered.

“No.” She shook her head again. “Both those girls are like daughters to me. I wouldn’t feel right having someone else tell her.”

“All right.” He nodded and squeezed her shoulder. “You take care of yourself, Maggie. Call if there’s anything I can do for you.”

“Thanks, Craig.” Maggie patted his hand lightly and watched him move off. Aware that Vic was watching her, she asked, “What?”

“I just had no idea you were so good at that.” He shook his head.

“What, lying to the police?” she asked quietly. “I learned from the best. Adelaide may have had a heart of gold, Vic, but she was also a free spirit of the first order.” Grinning faintly, in need of anything to think about other than what had happened to Mel, she added, “Did you know she served your grandfather his first drink? Of course, him being a cop and that being Prohibition, only that brother of his knew about it...”

“My... grandfather?” Vic asked, blinking.

“Oh, yeah. He and Dom were a regular pair of barflies. But, then, Bruno boys always did have a soft spot for Porter women, so that might have had something to do with it, too.”

Vic frowned deeply, staring at her. “How can you be so...”

“I’m not, Vic. Not even a little,” Maggie sighed, her shoulders sagging. She suddenly felt weak, ineffectual, and absolutely ancient. “I’ve been too old for this sort of thing for a long time now. I just... I don’t want to think about it any more, not ever again.”

“I know the feeling,” he sighed, slipping an arm around her shoulder. “We’ll get her back, Maggie. I promise.”

She nodded weakly, watching the last of the police officers and Detectives leave. “I just hope Cole still has it in him to help her,” she whispered.

“Maybe it’s time I have that talk with Cole?” a quiet voice offered.

Both looked up at Phil in surprise. Neither had realized that they were not alone in the bar.

“Sounds to me like he’s about to need a psychologist worse now than before,” Phil contributed.

Vic glanced at Maggie who nodded weakly, rising. “You going to be able to make it up the stairs okay?”

“Might take me a few minutes, but I’ve had eighteen years of practice hauling this useless thing up staircases,” he told her, patting his bad leg. “Let’s go.”

They found Gail in Mel’s bedroom with Cole, clutching a butcher knife to her chest and staring fearfully at the door.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Maggie promised her, retrieving the knife and laying it aside before pulling her into a hug. “You’re okay. No one’s going to hurt you.”

“What happened?” Gail asked in a shaky voice. “I heard shots and... Maggie, you’re bleeding!”

“It’s nothing, just a nick,” Maggie assured her. “Sit, Gail. We need to tell you and Cole something.”

She nodded slowly, sitting down next to Cole and taking his hand in hers. “He snapped out of it for a second, asked for Mel and... someone else. I didn’t catch the name.”

“Nallia...” Cole breathed, squeezing her hand. “Nallia and Mel. Mel, Maggie. Where is she?”

“Cole, son, listen to me,” Maggie said, kneeling next to the bed. “Something’s happened. They... they got Mel, took her off somewhere.”

Cole’s low wail in response to this news brought tears to all of their eyes.

“What do we do, man?” Vic asked. “Where would they take her? How do we get her back?” He frowned when Cole did not immediately answer. “Cole?”

Still no answer. The Cirronian did not even seem aware that a question had been asked of him. He stared blankly at the ceiling, not even batting an eyelash when Vic backhanded him, frustrated by his refusal to answer when Mel was in such serious need of help.

“Vic!” Phil protested, grabbing his hand and shaking his head. “That’s not going to help. Here, let me have a look at him.”

“Maggie?” Gail whispered.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Maggie whispered, steering her to the other side of the bed and making her sit. “Some men took Mel, but we’re going to get her back. You remember Isabel. You know we can.”

Gail closed her eyes and nodded faintly.

“Good girl.” Maggie smiled reassuringly at her, then glanced at Phil.

Her smile faded as she watched him produce a pocket-knife and lightly poke Cole’s arm without producing a reaction. A lighter, lit before his eyes produced a similar lack of response. Phil shook his head and fell back, his expression pained.

“Tell me that he was not that woman’s only hope of rescue,” he murmured to Vic.

Vic closed his eyes and shook his head. “Phil,” he pled.

“I’m sorry, Vic, but this guy... he’s catatonic. I don’t think he has the first clue what’s going on anymore.”

“Tell me you can bring him back?”

Phil bowed his head, his expression apologetic. “I never thought I’d have to say this about anyone who was still breathing, Vic, but this man is beyond help. I don’t think ANYONE can bring him back...”

END TAG
The End of Virtual Season I

RavenKat

Return to the Virtual Season

Go to Virtual Season II

Return to the Watchfire Annexx

Return to Mehri's Mountain