Remedy

No sooner met but they looked, no sooner looked but they loved, no sooner loved but they sighed, no sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason, no sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy…" As You Like It

Prologue

May 1995

The black and white marionette bobbed up and down, wooden sticks knocking, as a few children gathered to listen to the puppet maker sing songs and act the part of a clown. It had been an unusually warm day and the sun was just beginning to make its slow descent behind thickly forested hills in the distance. The wide stone bridge loomed before him, the largest of its three towers rising ahead of him, standing sentry over the serene river and the divine swans that nested there. Shane remembered when this once quiet hamlet had been the perfect cover for clandestine tete-a-tetes during the early eighties. Now, after the fall of the Berlin Wall and the ensuing Velvet Revolution, the Charles Bridge was packed with tourists, and this gem of a city was once again bustling with young artists, musicians, and college students. His heels clicked over the broken cobblestones as he casually strolled across, his thick, dark hair contrasting with his bright white shirt open at the collar. He flung a navy Armani suit coat over his shoulder and smiled in passing at the charcoal drawings, watercolor paintings, and guitarists he passed on the way. Kimberly and the children would love it here, he mused. He recalled a particularly interesting conversation he had had with young Andrew on his birthday. His son's fondest wish at nine years old was to join a rock band. Though the thought surprised him a little, he did recall trying desperately to learn the violin at his age and failing miserably. He suspected, however, that Andrew had been unduly influenced by his uncle -- Kimberly's younger brother Bo. Shane almost laughed out loud remembering a certain American superstar singing his way across the English countryside all those years ago. He couldn't wait to give Andrew his welcoming present when he came for his usual summer visit to Donovan Manor: a fully loaded, cherry wood Gibson Les Paul guitar. He had sworn Kim to secrecy and, in the meantime, had agreed to pay for lessons.

Despite the divorce and years of separation, he and Kimberly had a fairly comfortable relationship now. It hadn't been easy at first. He had been especially worried at the events that transpired after he left Salem three years ago. But long conversations with Kim's sister-in-law Marlena had assured him that she was being properly cared for and needed time to recover from the psychological scars of her past – too long unattended to. In fact, as a practicing psychiatrist, Marlena had specifically requested Shane not rush to Kim's side and try to, in her words, "fix everything." Staying away had been one of the most difficult things he'd ever had to do. The continued presence of Kim's husband Phillip would have to do. Shane had to admit: the bloke had stuck around a lot longer than he'd expected him to. He had to grudgingly give him credit for that. And subsequent late night conversations with Kimberly had convinced Shane that allowing her the time to heal had been wise advice. Still, it had been hard to feel her going through all that from a considerable distance – even harder to know she no longer needed him. He sighed and turned for a quick survey of the street behind him, the metaphor forming in his mind. Yes. They had crossed that bridge years before. Kimberly had moved on. He just had to accept that fact.

He picked up the pace as he passed in front of the Old Town Hall, looking up to catch a glimpse of the Orloj astronomical clock, its famous wooden apostles silent now behind a shiny gold and blue clock face, awaiting their chance for an appearance at the top of the hour. He glanced at his watch. Right on time. He spied the canopied café tucked away from the main square and ducked behind the crowds of bustling tourists, catching snippets of Mahler and Verdi wafting through open upstairs windows ringed with bright spring flowers. He picked up a local newspaper left on a wooden bench and found a small table in the shade facing a side street. He removed his sunglasses, nodded to the waitress, and opened the paper.

He didn't have long to wait. He had just finished a slightly overcooked espresso, when a faded light blue Peugeot blinked its lights twice and he stood, knocking over the small wrought iron chair – his signal. He stooped to right the chair, paid for the coffee and, tucking the newspaper under one arm, crossed the street and climbed into the backseat beside an aging, grey man.

"Good to see you, old boy," the man said in a familiar, clipped accent.

"Sir, wh--?" Shane's head slumped forward with the force of the blow, and the car sped off.


Two weeks later, Los Angeles

"Are you sure, Peachy?" Kimberly wound the phone cord around her well-manicured finger and stared out the kitchen window as she listened to Shane's long-time ISA partner relay the details of his disappearance. She didn't know how she was going to explain this to their children – especially Andrew. He had been looking forward to this summer so much. He idolized his father and, and try as he might, Phillip could never quite fill the void. "Well, please let me know if you find out anything," her voice was tinged with worry. It wasn't like Shane not to at least try to contact her. "I know, I know." Tears filled Kimberly's eyes as sentiments from one of the wisest women she had ever met reached across the miles to hold her in a reassuring embrace. "I love you, too. My best to Kate and the grandkids. Bye." She hung up and ran a hand through her wavy blond hair. Great. One more thing to add to this banner of a year. She glanced over at the kitchen table strewn with nearly week-old mail and other papers. It wasn't like her to put things off. Sooner or later she would have to actually read the fine print in her divorce decree.

She sighed. It didn't matter much, anyway. She didn't want anything from Phillip. They had parted amicably enough, but she hated reliving her mistakes. And that's just what Phillip had been -- a mistake. It had been so easy at first to lean on him. He was so accommodating, so constant, so…there. Upon returning to L.A., she really felt they had a future together. At last, someone stable, who would cherish her and never ask too many questions, never get too close. Someone safe. But he didn't like that tepid position in her life any more than she enjoyed sharing hers with someone who never challenged her. The further along she got in her therapy, the more she was discovering how very much she missed the person she had once been. How curious, adventurous, brave -- how very unsafe -- she used to be. The thought excited her and terrified her at the same time. But she knew she had to find that woman again and stop settling for the false security of a man she didn't love which, she realized now, had only served as a replacement for the walls she had once constructed around her heart to keep anyone from getting in in the first place.

So, as not to spoil everyone's holidays this year, they had waited until after Christmas to share the news of their separation. It had surprised no one, but it shook the children a little. She had meant to tell Shane but thought it best to wait till summer break…or, she admitted to herself alone, for the right time to level the news on him and gauge his reaction. In the meantime, she had her work and was just beginning to get her bearings as a consultant for the L.A. police department. In fact, she had spent the morning talking to a young girl and her mother, convincing them to testify. Mostly, she found the work rewarding, having been instrumental in putting several pedophiles and even one serial rapist behind bars. And she was enjoying her advanced studies in psychology, as well. She even picked up her camera on occasion and ventured out to the beach or up the coast on those rare days of freedom she had off and snapped rolls and rolls of film, not as yet caring when she would have the time to develop them.

Her mind drifted back to her conversation with Peachy. Shane was missing. No one in the ISA was giving Peachy straight answers and even Kim knew what that meant: he was either dead or the ISA was deliberately hiding something. She had been down that road before and knew not to trust the official word, as did Peachy, but she sensed that something was wrong. Even after all this time and all the hurt he has caused her, she still felt connected to him.

She started sifting through the mail, distractedly formulating excuses in her mind to use with Andrew and Jeannie as to why they were not to visit their father in England in three weeks' time. She stopped, having landed on a single postcard with no return address. It pictured a fog-filled cobblestone street lit by a single old iron street lamp and a certain stone bridge rising up in the background. She flipped it over. A single word appeared on the back: "Love..." She was used to these postcards from Shane's missions. He liked to have the children follow where he was -- sort of like their very own game of "Where's Waldo?" They would get out the world map and pinpoint his travels. It was harmless enough. But this time was different. This was just the sort of clue she needed. She picked up the phone and called her sister Kayla, then made her travel arrangements. She knew what she had to do. She was going to Prague.