Chapter 1
Sobek had changed. It was a very troubled young Vulcan who came to live with Spock's family in Arizona. After losing his father in a tsunami, he had been rejected by his mother and his betrothed for associating with Yanashites. But even before those unfortunate occurrences, Sobek had grown strangely distant toward Spock, rejecting several invitations to his home and Yanashite functions.
Though it was now clear that he had lost all interest in the Shiav, Sobek was not behaving in a traditional way, either. Lauren called him "moody", and with good reason. Nothing satisfied him. He did not like his new school. At home he had been given use of the guest room, and he spent most of his free time there. Sensitive to his grief, Spock attempted to counsel him and include Sobek in every family activity, but the youth consistently resisted Spock's efforts.
All this presented a serious problem. Unless Sobek's attitude changed, he would never become a Yanashite and partake of the Living Water which preserved Vulcan males from the worst effects of pon farr. Soon he would be sixteen. He was a robust young man whose first mating crisis might come at any time, and though Lauren had experimented with a supplement for Spock's use, the capsules had not worked very well, even on a bonded half-human. Here on Earth there were no unattached Vulcan females of an appropriate age to bond with Sobek. Spock had checked Earth's databank.
One night after James and Teresa were in bed, Spock asked Lauren to come outside. Her leg, crushed in the Big Quake, had healed to the point where she no longer needed a brace. She limped only slightly as they walked under a bright spring moon to the very back of their acre.
There, far from inquisitive ears, Spock told her, "We must discuss Sobek."
The subject matter did not surprise her. She merely nodded and said, "I don't like the look in his eyes."
Spock explained his deepest concern and finished by disclosing, "I will take Sobek back to Vulcan with me. Perhaps his mother and his young bondmate will not accept him, but he's still a minor. I can place him in the keeping of the State."
At the thought of Spock's impending departure, tears glistened in Lauren's eyes, but she merely said, "Well, that's good news. Maybe he misses Vulcan. Maybe that's his whole problem. Why don't you go tell him now?"
Spock doubted that Sobek was merely homesick, but he no longer knew the young Vulcan's mind. After returning to the house, he acted on Lauren's advice and went to Sobek's door. Contemporary music could be heard from inside, so he knocked loudly enough to be heard.
Sobek came to the door, his expression guarded.
"We need to speak," Spock said.
Once inside, Sobek lowered the music's volume. Spock suggested that they sit down, and steeling himself, spoke as plainly as a Vulcan father to his maturing son.
Sobek seemed more resentful than embarrassed by the biological discussion. "You think I'll hurt your wife," he accused. "That's why you want me out of here."
There was no denying that very real concern. With deep regret Spock said, "I have no other choice. You must travel with me to Vulcan, and as matters now stand, you will not be returning."
Sobek's hands clenched and anger flared from his brown eyes, but he accepted the verdict in silence.
oooo
The following morning was jewel-like in its beauty. A rather poetic thought, but Spock knew his mother would have been pleased by it. In his re-education she had wanted him to "appreciate beauty and poetry and laughter".
It was Saturday and the children were home from school. As he stood out front in the sun, his thoughts strayed to last night's conversation with Sobek. It had not ended satisfactorily, so Spock would try speaking to him, once again, after he returned from today's trip to the Vatican. For now he watched Lauren crouch beside a hole in which she was incorporating organic material for a rosebush as pink as her flushed cheeks.
She glanced up at him and smiled. "Paco better not eat these, or we'll have roast burro for dinner."
"Mom!" protested Teresa, who was kneeling beside her, watching.
Lauren's smile widened. It was good to see her relaxed and happy after all the turmoil of the quakes. This past week she had been cleared for duty and was enjoying the research at Starfleet's Phoenix medical center.
Eyeing his suit, she asked him, "All ready to go?"
"Almost." It would be his last trip to Rome before he returned to Vulcan, and this time he was taking James along. Lauren had suggested the idea as a way to strengthen Spock's bond with the boy. All James ever talked about was Jim Kirk's ranch in Idaho.
Rechecking the data on his wrist phone, Spock discovered that rain was now forecast in Rome. As he went into the house for his overcoat, Teresa followed along and stopped him in the living room with a hug.
"Daddy, can't I go, too?" she begged. "Can't I?"
All week she had been pleading with him.
"Today is your brother's turn," Spock said yet again. "Next time I will take you."
She tipped back her head and gazed up at him sadly. "I'll miss you."
"I'll be back in a few hours," he reminded her, fingering the wavy hair as golden as her mother's.
"No, I mean when you go to Vulcan."
"I will miss you, too, "Spock told her. Knowing that Simon had decided to remain at Julliard, he said, "I will miss each and every one of you."
"But me most of all," she said with a squeeze. Then she sobered. "Don't go. I have a bad feeling…"
"Not Robby again," Spock said, referring to Teresa's mysterious visitor back at the beach house in California.
"No, not him. Just a funny feeling, that's all."
Endeavoring to make light of it, he said, "If it is funny, you should be laughing."
She understood his attempt at humor and giggled. They always seemed to understand one another.
"Would you like to fetch my overcoat?" he asked.
"Sure!"
As she ran off, James appeared in his suit, satisfactorily groomed.
"Have you seen Sobek?" Spock asked him, for the Vulcan had not come to breakfast.
"No," James replied.
Spock considered having a brief word with Sobek now, but he knew they must leave or risk arriving late at the Vatican.
Teresa arrived with his coat and presented her cheek for a kiss. With his Vulcan upbringing, affectionate displays came hard for Spock. Feeling awkward, he touched his lips to her face, then they were out the door.
Lauren came over as they were about to board the skimmer, her arms lifted, her hands caked with dirt. Out of consideration for his clothes, Spock refused her embrace.
She pretended to be annoyed. "Fussy Vulcan! Get out of here and try to be back in time for dinner. T'Beth and Aaron are driving in from Scottsdale with some kind of news."
Spock settled behind the controls, and the skimmer arced toward the Phoenix Transporter Depot.
Lauren watched the skimmer until it disappeared into the distance. A lonely ache settled into her heart, but she forced herself out of the mood. Spock was not leaving for Vulcan yet. He was coming back.
After the rosebush was planted, she left Teresa in the yard and went inside to wash her hands. Finishing up at the kitchen sink, she turned to reach for a towel.
A person was standing a few feet away.
Startled, Lauren jumped a little, then felt foolish. "Sobek! You scared me for a second."
He did not smile, but these days he never did. The young Vulcan's face was even icier than usual and something about his eyes was downright menacing. Instinctively Lauren backed a step and bumped into the counter.
"You are all the same," Sobek said through his teeth. "On Vulcan they did not want me because I was going to be a Yanashite. Now you are sending me away because I am not going to be a Yanashite."
"Sobek…" but she did not know what more to say.
"He thinks I will hurt you."
"Of course you won't," Lauren said, but her pulse was racing.
Sobek's hand moved and she saw the long, sharp kitchen knife gripped tightly by his fingers. Her heart lurched and began to slam wildly. She thought of Teresa outside and hoped against hope that her daughter would stay put.
"Sobek…" The name caught in her throat. "Sobek, listen…"
He lunged for her.
She brought her arms up and tried to fend him off, but she was no match for his alien strength. The knife sank into her chest. She cried out. His hand clamped over her mouth. He shoved her to the floor and as she struggled, the blade found her body again and again…
Outside, Teresa stopped what she doing and listened. The sound—it had been terrible—almost like a strangled scream.
All morning she had felt uneasy and now a chill of fear shook her as she called, "Mom…?"
She heard the chickens out back. She heard a neighbor's dog barking.
"Mom!" she shouted again, louder. Then, though her father was gone, "Daddy!"
No one answered.
Something told her to run, but she somehow knew that her mother was in danger. For a full minute she wavered. Then as if by their own accord, her legs slowly moved her toward the house...
There was a line at the depot. Travel was always heavy on weekends, and it took several minutes for Spock and James to reach the counter. Overcoat held in one arm, Spock was about to give the clerk his itinerary code when a shockwave of terror struck him. For a moment he stood frozen, unable to speak or move.
"Sir?" said the clerk. "Sir, I need to know your destination."
Abruptly something inside Spock severed. Pain locked the breath in his lungs and he slumped over the counter in shock.
"Father!" Jamie's voice seemed very distant.
The woman behind the counter reached out and touched Spock on the shoulder. "Sir, are you alright?"
With an effort he straightened and fought to clear his mind. The precious connection to his bondmate had broken. All at once Lauren was gone, leaving in her place a raw wound.
"Father, Father, what's wrong?"
Spock tried to think logically. He was holding up the line of travelers. Meanwhile, Pope Augustine was awaiting him at Vatican City. It would not look well for the Yanashite envoy to be late.
"Sir…"
Using his wrist phone, he quickly called home. No one answered. Perhaps Lauren was still outside, but it was at most a dim hope. Grasping his son's hand, he started for the door. And stopped. No, a transporter would be faster. Hurrying back to the counter, he pushed aside the person who had been next in line.
"Excuse me," he said, "but this is an emergency."
They transported directly to the front yard. Spock came out of the beam and handed James his overcoat. The boy was fighting back tears of confusion and disappointment.
Urgently Spock told him, "Stay here. I'm going into the house alone. Do not follow me under any circumstances. If I don't come back soon, go to the neighbor's house. Go to anyone's house, but not here. Do you understand?"
James nodded his head and sniffled. "But why?"
Spock turned from his son and looked at the Spanish style dwelling that had been their home since December. The pain inside him twisted. His stomach churned. Then swiftly he went inside and locked the door behind him.
A most unpleasant odor hung in the air. Though his mind immediately categorized it as blood, his heart refused its implications.
"Lauren!" The cry tore at his throat. "Teresa!"
Stillness answered.
Slowly now, Spock began to cross the living room, glancing here and there, but finding nothing out of the ordinary. Calling out once again, he approached the kitchen door. There in the doorway he came to a halt and stared. Young Sobek was sitting on the floor, his back propped against some cabinets, his head lolled to one side.
Spock saw the knife in his limp hand, the deeply sliced wrists, the green blood pooled over the floor.
The bleeding had stopped. Sobek was dead.
Dreading what else he would find, Spock fully entered the kitchen.
Lauren lay crumpled on the floor by the sink. Teresa was sprawled beside her. Their clothes were red with blood, their faces gray, their eyes open wide from the horror of their last moments.
For a while Spock just stared, uncomprehending, his mind empty of all thought. Then step by step he walked toward them and dropping down on his knees, gathered their lifeless bodies and clutched them close.
oooo
"Father," T'Beth called softly into her spare bedroom.
The door was ajar. A few dim shafts of light escaped the shuttered window blinds. She could see him sitting in the corner chair, his dark head bowed.
T'Beth felt like a child again, gathering the courage to enter the darkened room where her grandmother lay deathly ill. "Father," she repeated, and went in.
The remote stranger in the chair did not look at her. Crouching down before him, she placed a hand on his knee, hoping to establish eye contact. For the briefest instant he glanced at her without expression, then looked away.
T'Beth felt tears starting to well up again and fought the tightness in her throat. "It's time for the funeral Mass. Are you coming?"
She already knew the answer. The slight negative shake of his head did not surprise her.
Giving his knee a squeeze, she stood and straightened her Starfleet uniform. "I just thought you might have changed your mind. Aaron will stay here with you. Aaron and Bethany."
Gazing into empty space, he said, "Gardenias."
Her heart lurched. Those flowers had been Lauren's favorite. She even wore them at their wedding. "Yes, there'll be gardenias. Lots of them—for Lauren and for Teresa."
Then tears began to stream down and she rushed out. The grisly murders were a fresh, crushing pain, made worse by her father's withdrawal. Sometimes she felt as if she had lost all three of them.
T'Beth took Simon and James with her to St. Luke Church in Phoenix. A hearse was parked out at the curb. The boys' uncle, Father Laurence Fielding, met them at the main door wearing black vestments and embraced each one of them. He had traveled all the way from Gamma Vertas IV to offer his sister's funeral Mass.
Inside, the church was crowded with Starfleet uniforms and neighbors and children from the parish school. T'Beth grasped Jamie's hand and with Simon beside her, walked to the front where family and close friends sat. They squeezed into a pew with Lauren's mother, Doctor McCoy, and the Kirks.
From somewhere behind, she heard a voice whispering, "Where is he? Isn't Spock coming?"
An organ was playing a somber hymn. T'Beth tried to concentrate on the flowers—her prominently displayed gardenias and other arrangements sent by mourners. Then they stood as Mass began, and two pink caskets were rolled into the area directly in front of the sanctuary. Father Larry blessed the caskets with holy water. At that point T'Beth and her brothers came forward and covered them with the white cloths that signified baptismal garments. They had been encouraged to place some devotional object atop the cloths. James put Teresa's First Communion rosary on her undersized casket, and on Lauren's casket T'Beth placed a chipped statue of Jesus that had survived the San Francisco earthquake.
After the reading of the Gospel, Father Larry eulogized his twin sister "Laurie" and his niece. His voice choked at the end as he recited the bedtime prayer Lauren had written for her children.
"Lord of Heaven, as I sleep,
Let my dreams be pure and sweet.
Bless those who are dear to me,
And keep us ever close to Thee."
And in conclusion he added, "Laurie, Teresa, you have passed to a place where no one can ever hurt you again, to a place of purity and sweetness. God bless you, who are so dear to us."
The remainder of the service passed in a blur of tears. After Mass, they accompanied the caskets to the Catholic cemetery for the prayers of interment. Then it was over.
James sobbed in the car as T'Beth drove back to her home in Scottsdale.
"It will be alright," she told him.
"No," he cried, "no, it won't!"
"They're with God. You heard your Uncle Larry."
But he would not be consoled.
"Pray for them," Simon said low. "And pray for Father, too."
A grim group gathered together at the house. T'Beth set out food and left Aaron in charge of the liquor. She would have very much liked a drink, but poured herself soda instead. In a corner of the living room, Father Larry held his mother—Lauren's mother—while she broke down and wept. There were tears on his face, too.
Antonia Kirk stayed close by Jim, grief-stricken over her dear friend's death. "When I think of the way I shouted at Laurie last summer…"
"When Teresa sent those flowers to T'Beth," Jim somberly recalled, "in my name…"
Antonia said, "She meant well, the poor child. Remember the way her father stood with her?"
"Spock always did."
T'Beth heard Simon raise his voice in irritation, and turned around. Her seventeen-year-old brother was trying to wheedle an alcoholic drink out of Aaron.
Sighing, she went over and said, "Aaron, why not give him some wine. A little wine won't hurt, will it?"
She wondered if her father would approve. Did it matter? Everybody was too dazed by grief to care, wandering around in their own private hell. The one person who could have drawn them together sat like a granite statue in the back room.
Holding a glass of bourbon, Doctor McCoy slipped an arm around her waist and asked, "Where is he?"
"Off in a bedroom." She nodded toward the hall. "It's as if something inside him is broken. That's how it's been ever since he found them. He was covered in their blood, so at first the police thought he did it. Can you imagine? By law there'll still be an inquest, but everyone knows it was a murder-suicide."
McCoy looked every year of his age as he drew in a slow breath, then let it out. "It was all over the news. Lurid. Like a scandal."
T'Beth took a swallow of her soda. "Yeah. They were really playing the Vulcan angle, the Yanashite angle. It makes me sick. All it does is stir up crazies like CUE."
"Clean Up Earth," McCoy said sourly. "Don't get me started on that hate group." He sighed deeply. "I want to see Spock."
T'Beth led him down the hallway and found the bedroom door closed. Knocking lightly, she opened it. Seeing that her father was still in the chair, she left them alone together.
For a moment McCoy stood in the dim light by the door, then he went over to the Vulcan. "Well, old friend…" he said. Spock focused on the turnbuckle at the shoulder of McCoy's uniform. "It doesn't get any rougher than this. Laurie was quite a lady. And Teresa…" Swallowing hard, he held out the bourbon to Spock. "Here, have a drink. It sometimes helps."
The Vulcan stared at it.
McCoy drew out his medscanner and passed it over the rigid figure.
The neutral look on Spock's face changed to annoyance and he said, "There is nothing the hell wrong with me."
McCoy checked the scanner. Its readings were, in fact, quite normal for a Vulcan. Putting a hand on Spock's shoulder, he said, "Good. Get angry. It's natural."
McCoy left the glass of bourbon within reach, just in case.
Back in the living room, people continued to mill around, speaking of Lauren and Teresa in hushed tones. And of Spock.
After McCoy returned with a negative report, it took Jim some time to gather his courage and venture down the hallway. He sat on Spock's bed and faced the Vulcan in his chair, but Spock did not give him so much as a glance. Jim had been thinking a lot of his own son David, murdered by the Klingons. Though he had grieved afterward, he knew it did not compare to what Spock was going through now. Jim had hardly known David, but Lauren had been Spock's wife and bondmate for eighteen years. And among all of Spock's children, Jim knew that Teresa had touched him in a special way.
"Spock," he began, "Antonia and I are so sorry. She can't seem to stop crying. Lauren was such a good friend to her. And Teresa…" Picturing his own little Tru back home, he felt his control slipping. "Teresa was as sweet as they come. Toni's praying for her, for both of them."
Spock's haunted eyes moved, but he did not look in Jim's direction.
Jim sensed that he was getting nowhere and decided to wrap it up. "I'll leave you alone, but first I need to know something. About Jamie. Would you like me to take him for a while? We could even enroll him in school at Pinehaven."
Spock turned suddenly and looked straight at him. "Take the boy. He has always preferred you."
Jim could hardly believe his ears. "That's not true. It's the ranch he likes. The horses."
The Vulcan's gaze seared him.
Shaken, Jim headed back to the living room, took T'Beth aside, and repeated what her father had said. The former Starfleet admiral, the former captain of a starship admitted, "I don't know what to do. Should I go ahead and take Jamie? I swear, Spock looked as if he hated me."
T'Beth felt the weight of responsibility mounting until she feared it would crush her. Since the murders, Father had been worse than useless. All of the funeral arrangements had fallen to her. She was the one who—with Aaron—had gone to the mortuary and performed the wrenching identification of the bodies. And of course she had to deal with the scene of the crime, contacting the cleaning service, entering the kitchen with their representative and showing them what needed to be done. Remembering it all, she closed her eyes and felt tears sliding down her cheeks. The glass dropped from her fingers and shattered on the floor.
Then somehow her husband's arms were around her. For a long moment she held him tight while anger began to build. Abruptly she broke free and strode down the hallway.
"Look," she would say to her father, "Jamie is your son, not Jim's! He's my brother! We're too worn out for all of this! You aren't the only one hurting!" Then she would get him out of that damn chair, even if she had to drag him out.
T'Beth flung open the door and turned to confront him.
The chair was empty. He was gone.
oooo
Spock pressed his hands to the door's entry pad, and the lock disengaged. He could hear the phone chiming inside the house, but he did not go in. Standing on the porch, it seemed to him that his heart had slowed dangerously, thudding heavily, in an almost human beat. The sensation made him dizzy and nauseous. Closing his eyes, he leaned against the cool wood of the door.
The sound of a child's laughter roused him.
"Daddy…"
Teresa!
He whirled and stood staring into the vacant front yard. Each ragged breath tore at the band of grief that was cinched tightly around his chest. It took a full minute to pull himself together. Then he entered the house, and this time even his acute Vulcan sense could detect no smell of blood. The service T'Beth hired had done a thorough job. He thought of Lauren and Teresa's lifeblood scoured up by strangers and dumped like something dirty into the trash.
"Daddy…"
Again he heard the sweet voice, but this time only in his memory.
"Daddy, can't I go, too?"
She had wanted so badly to accompany him. If only he had let her come. But no. He had put her off with a clumsy kiss until "next time". Only for Teresa there would be no "next time". He had ignored her tender pleading. He had walked away and left her to die horribly.
Tears pricked the back of his eyes. He fought them.
"Fussy Vulcan."
Lauren. Aisha. To think that he had refused her embrace. What did it matter that her hands were dirty? He had never loved her enough…never loved either of them enough. He had welcomed a murderer into their home. He had angered Sobek and so they paid with their lives.
The phone's sudden chime startled him. Numbly he walked over to it and read the caller ID. Aaron and Cristabeth Pascal. He turned off the ringer so he would not be bothered again.
Once more the house was still.
Spock turned and made his way to the kitchen in slow stages, stopping twice. Then somehow he was standing where he had found them, their bodies sprawled on the floor, torn and bloody.
A chill shook him. Once more, his heart slowed. He felt the dizzy, sick feeling returning and went to the sink. Gripping the edge of the counter, he stared into the basin and noticed an infinitesimal trace of dirt that had not quite washed down the drain. Reaching out, he touched it and rubbed the fine grit between his fingers. Soil from planting the rosebush. She had come here to wash her hands—the same dirty hands he had pushed away from him. Fussy Vulcan. She had only wanted to wash her hands…
The burden of grief sent Spock to the floor. There was no strength left to fight it, or the tears, which he had kept so carefully in check. For a long time he lay weeping on the cold, hard tile, floundering alone in a sea of pain, so very alone.
Where was the strength he had experienced on Vulcan when it seemed that Simon would be murdered? That day, he had faced his own death as well—fearlessly, buoyed by a faith that now seemed distant and unreal. Was that the crucial difference? Living had always been harder for him than dying, and bereft of faith, this burden of grief felt like a living death.
Is this what Sobek had been feeling? Is this what drove him to murder? To suicide?
oooo
In her living room, T'Beth paced back and forth while Aaron sat in a chair, looking on. Evening had fallen and the house was empty of guests. Bethany was snug in her bed, asleep. On T'Beth's advice, Jamie had returned to the ranch with Jim, taking Simon along for a few days' visit before going back to Juilliard. She thought it might do the boys good to be together, away from Phoenix, away from their father.
"This is crazy," she said. "If I hadn't checked the satellite image and seen Spock's skimmer on the pad, I wouldn't have believed he's back at that house. We should never have brought that skimmer over here."
"We can't hold him prisoner," Aaron pointed out.
Stopping short, she stared at him. How could be so calm? "What the heck is he doing over there? Why won't he answer the phone? What if…" She choked on the words and carefully started over. "Aaron, I just lost Lauren and my baby sister. I can't stand to lose him, too. What if he…"
"Spock won't," Aaron said firmly. "He's a Yanashite, remember?"
How odd that Aaron would choose her father's faith as an argument against suicide. Although Spock did not know it, Aaron had always considered his venture into religion as an abdication of scientific principles, as a kind of professional failure. In Aaron's eyes, a true scientist would never embrace the "god myth".
Aaron rose and drew her into an embrace. She desperately needed the closeness. She felt so cold and frightened that she began to tremble.
"He's so changed," she said. "It's as if I don't know him anymore."
Aaron's hand caressed her back with slow, soothing strokes. "It's the grief. He's strong. He'll come through it."
"But…"
He drew back a little and the tenderness in his brown eyes helped to ward off the chill. "Amoureux," he said, using the French endearment that always charmed her. "You are not his mother."
She sighed. "No. He's lost her, too."
Without acknowledging her words, he continued. "You, however, are soon to be someone's mother, and for that reason you must try not to upset yourself."
Her hand moved to her flat belly and she thought of the new life growing within her. Aaron's child. Only the two of them knew. They had planned to tell Father and Lauren on the day of the murders.
Gently Aaron kissed the side of her mouth, so that his beard tickled her. Then again, fully on the lips. T'Beth responded in a way that reminded her that she was still very much alive.
"I'll check on him." he promised. "Tomorrow."
They turned out the lights and went to bed.