FORTUNE'S WHEEL

by Dubricus

Derek Rayne is lured into a Bahamian vacation. Prolog thru Pt 22 in 4 chapters.

1. FORTUNE'S WHEEL

*Title: Fortune's Wheel: Part 4 of the "Time Chronicles"

*Author/pseudonym: Susan Lay & Dubricus

*Email address: sldl22638@blueyonder.co.uk; dubricus@hotmail.com

*Website: - Merlynn's Maze

*Rating: R; language; adult situations [aka sex]

*Angst Rating: low

*Focus: Derek with some Nick

*Status: Complete in 22 parts; first posted Sept. 2000.

*Episode spoilers: "The Beast Within" & "Trapped"

*Summary: Following his "Interlude" in the desert Southwest, Derek Emrys Rayne is lured into a Bahamian vacation with an "old friend". Along with fun and sun, he learns to cope with a new "talent" and deals with some nefarious doings at a local casino.

*Special warnings: This story is part of the life of Dr. Derek Emrys Rayne & is Part 4 of "the Time Chronicles". Earlier stories were A Killing Time, Death Watch, & Interlude.

We never intended for our "saga" to become as complex as it has. It just sort of grew. I intend to post here, at the FanFiction.net, what I can. However, several of our stories grew to be so large that it is not practical. Some also have photos that accompany the text.

Therefore, I would strongly urge a visit to Merlynn's Maze, where you will also find a "Who's Who" & a "What's What" section, entitled Faith Hath Need of the Whole Truth, along with photos taken by the authors of the real Angel Island, San Francisco environs, & Hatley Castle.

*Disclaimer: This story is an original work of amateur fiction, & is written purely for the private entertainment of P:TL fans. This story is no way affiliated with the Trilogy Entertainment Group, MGM Worldwide Television or the Sci-Fi Channel. No monetary gain is intended.

---

FORTUNE'S WHEEL: Part 4 of the "Time Chronicles"

by Dubricus & Susan Lay (Sept. 2000)

Part 1 - Prologue

Journal of Derek Rayne

21 April 2000 - Friday evening
Pasadena, California

On the second day of our recuperation following Nick's near-escape at Kwahu Canyon, I received a very unexpected call - from Maggie Hamilton. She had telephoned the House to ask if I could fly down and Alex told her we were at Luke Grayfox's. She said she has a case coming into her courtroom and needs a bit of background information - just for her own edification to allow her to make more enlightened rulings. For some reason she thought I would be the perfect source. She didn't elaborate at the time, and so far has not deigned to mention it further. All she says is "Later, Sweet Pea... you just rest up and let me get through these files... then we'll get down to talkin' turkey."

Ordinarily, I should not have been so passively patient, but Alex warned us that Cross is being a pest and I'm not sufficiently ready to go home in any case - too many issues I've not yet sorted out... what are my own memories and feelings vs. echoes from that "other-self". Then there is Alex... and I'm still tired... sometimes beyond expression. I'll think I'm OK, then all my energy is suddenly gone... simply vanished. It's very hard to bear. When is it ever going to get better? Soon, I hope. I have the sense that some profound event is at hand, or some momentous game is afoot. My "Sight" has shown me nothing, and yet....

Besides, I'm afraid I'd lose my temper with that Scottish "baardelul" and things might go flying, literally. He'd run straight to the Ruling Council with that bit of news. I don't want the Legacy to know of this new appearance of my PK - at least, not yet. I need to master it. It's worrisome that it's made a reappearance - more than worrisome. It comes when it will be needed, and when it is needed seems to be in true catastrophe. What lies ahead for me, my House, my world? I truly dread to think. I'm not sure how much more I can endure, but never mind - what will be, will be - and that too shall pass. It is the way of the Universe.

We left Luke's yesterday morning - came down through Shiprock to Kayenta and Tuba City to pick up I-40 at Flagstaff, then stayed at Kingman and got in early this afternoon. I'd forgotten how bad the air smells when you come down from the Cajon Pass toward San Bernardino - it's that slight ocean dampness and haze mixed with smog that's been pushed back against the mountains. When you hit that after being accustomed to the dry, clear air of the high desert, you hit a stench. Fortunately, you don't get it when you come into LA from the north. The heavy traffic was headed out toward Vegas so we made good time coming in.

Nick's presence is wearing on me again. I feel as guilty as hell about the way I feel. I wouldn't have survived my expedition to the cliff dwelling without him and he might have died because of me. I was a fool to think I was up to making that trip alone. And yet.... he's always here - watching - ever helpful. I am not made of spun glass nor am I a hundred years old. Maybe I'm just tired from the drive. Mustangs don't allow much elbow room, nor do fully occupied Arizona motels.

Maggie looks good. Like Shakespeare's Cleopatra, "Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety." A bit more grey in that auburn mop than I recall, but then I've much more grey too. It seems to have been a fortnight of reunions. First Luke - God, his kids have grown in number and size - now Maggie. For an oddball, I've been gifted with good friends. I wonder why - I'm certainly not the most likeable or outgoing person. She hasn't changed, but I fear I have. We're now awkward with each other - entirely my fault. My "Sight" is there, and whole, but some part of my soul is wanting to pull away from others. It's as if I must reconnect with everyone. I've done so with Nick and Luke, but it's been difficult. I want to hide away. I'm feeling everything too much. It's like nails on a blackboard to me.

I keep thinking, "This is Maggie, for God's sake." How long have we known each other? We've been friends, lovers - no holds, no strings. She's one of the few people, besides Mother and William, who would tell me when to cut the crap, but she could prick my ego and have me laughing about it. Where did that go? Am I so changed? I'm just feeling sorry for myself. I must try harder to regain what was lost.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

Part 2

Maggie's Den - Sunday

Judge Margaret Hamilton looked over her reading glasses to watch her heavily pregnant St. Bernard, Marigold, diligently paw the carpeting behind the sofa. Every now and again the dog would stop to nudge some imaginary blanket or clump of dirt with her nose. Smiling in amusement, Maggie knew she would have to sacrifice some pillows and towels to the under construction "birthing nest". Marigold had a perfectly fine dog bed, one in every room, in fact, but as soon-to-be mothers are wont to do, she had decided to find somewhere more "suitable"... and this was it.

The judge turned her attention back to her work, and a few minutes later, made her final note on the legal brief she had been dissecting, pulled off her glasses, and closed the file. It was a difficult case... a brutal gang murder, but she feared that the defendant, though an adult, had an IQ far below his age. It was the only one that she was currently adjudicating that could have presented a problem, but delaying the trial would benefit all parties, and fortunately all agreed. The other cases could be easily delayed or shifted to other judges. She smiled to herself... the benefit of being presiding judge.

Gazing out the sliding glass doors at the sparkling windows on the opposite mountainside, Maggie pushed herself back from her desk, then looked around at the chaos that had claimed her den, her sanctuary. It was always a mess, with law books and case files piled on every available surface, but it was "her" mess, and she knew where every item lay hidden. Her visitors had been here less than two days and already they had made an impact. Not that she would have had it any other way. To see Derek on the road to recovery was worth any price.

They were still dancing round each other at the moment... almost like doing an out-of-sync Texas Two-step, she thought... neither sure what to say, nor how to act. She missed that comfortable, "down home" feeling with him, and was determined to get it back.

His new "talent" was a little disconcerting. As she bent to retrieve the latest victim, a five-pound law book, she remembered sitting in the kitchen over breakfast, when all the pots and pans had begun to vibrate and the microwave had threatened to walk off the counter.

"Earthquake!" she had cried, ready to dive under the table if the tremor grew stronger. Nick had grinned, while Derek had looked thoroughly abashed.

"It's not a quake," the younger man explained, "just Derek's new parlor game."

This game was proving difficult for her friend. He was struggling hard to gain control of the psychokinesis, but the more he tried, the more slippery it became.

Maggie glanced over at her younger houseguest. Nick Boyle was sitting in her most comfortable, leather chair, looking anything but comfortable. He shuffled restlessly and visibly winced with his face screwed tight, while her other guest, Derek Rayne, sat at the piano replaying a set of scales... B flat, yet again.

For a moment Marigold gave up digging her pit to China and ambled over to sit beside the pianist. She turned her brown, soulful eyes on him and began to howl in joyful accompaniment.

For Nick, it was the last straw. He rose, slammed his newspaper down on the chair and tromped off toward the front door.

Maggie left the duet to their practice. She found Nick standing on the porch, staring dejectedly toward the palm lined street and the emerald lawn with its neat flowerbeds basking in the late morning sun.

She was old enough to understand men. Rather than saying anything, she picked up the jug she kept beside the steps and began watering her hanging plants... waiting for him to say something.

Glancing towards her, he finally asked, "How can you stand that? He's played that same damned scale for two hours now. I'm not sure what's worse... the constant repetition or the 'Hound of the Baskervilles' as a backup singer." He rubbed his face with his hands, then shook his head to clear his aching ears.

"Sorry," Maggie replied, extracting ear plugs. "What'd you say, Sugar?"

Realising Maggie's secret, the young man grinned ruefully. "I wondered how you could stand the noise."

Maggie's Texas drawl was at its most sweet, and its most biting. "Nick, sweetie... the last time I saw that man he was damned near a shriveled up corpse lyin' in his shroud. I don't give a rat's ass if nothin' but noise comes outta that thing, or if I have to listen to scales till the cows come home."

Blushing in shame at his own crass thoughtlessness, Nick hung his head for a moment.

"'Sides," she continued, "that danged thing hasn't seen that much use since it sat in Granpap's saloon. But, I do understand what you mean." She sidled up to him, patted his hand, then turned it over to drop another pair of earplugs into his open palm. "And here's a little cure-all for what ails you!" With a chuckle, they exchanged knowing grins.

"What we really need to do, Mr. Boyle, is get him away... really away... a complete break... lots of sun... sand...." Her eyebrows rose suggestively, to indicate what else she had in mind. "Between us, we can surely think of something."

Nick nodded in agreement. "His recovery has been amazing... but a vacation... no worries... no Legacy... no Luna Foundation... no piano.... It might be just what the doctor ordered."

Folding her arms, Maggie casually leaned against the porch's railing and all trace of Texas dropped away. "We've got the obsessive, perfectionist element of his personality to the fore at the moment. What he needs is some honest to goodness fun. I want to see him, head back, roaring with laughter. Then I'll know we've got all our boy back." She looked up to see a quizzical expression flit through Nick's hazel eyes. Chuckling, she added, "I know... it's a recessive gene with him, but take my word, Sugar... it's there."

The judge paused for a moment then smiled wickedly. "Darlin', I didn't clear my court docket for nothin'. I got a lot of judges real peeved at me. But hell, being presiding judge oughta count for something.

"You need to get in that pretty, little car of yours and go do some shopping... buy a few clothes... think tropical paradise. I'll handle the rest... like...." She didn't finish her sentence. The conversation was interrupted by the sound of shattering glass. The scales stopped... so did the howling.

"There goes another of Grandpappy's crystal, whisky glasses," Maggie murmured. "I'm startin' to recognise that tune. I think I'd better put the decanter away. I'd hate to lose all that gold lettering from the 'Yellow Rose Saloon and Pleasure Palace'."

An embarrassed precept opened the door to join his friends. The remains of a whisky tumbler lay in his large hands. "I'm so sorry, Maggie. I'll replace everything."

"Darlin', now don't you worry... not about that ol' thing." She teased her friend as she relieved him of the broken remnants. "It's not like it was new!"

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

Part 3

Afternoon...

Derek woke, feeling comfortable and safe. He inhaled deeply... orange blossoms. Where was he? Stretching his long legs, he luxuriated in the feel and the smell of clean, crisp, cotton sheets. He decided to drag his eyes open. Maggie's house... her guestroom. He smiled at the decor... very modern... clean... very Maggie.

He turned his head to gaze at the window. The sky was a deep turquoise and the bougainvillea shone bright magenta in the golden-orange light of late afternoon. Derek glanced at the bedside clock... 3:23 p.m. He had napped for over two hours. He was half disappointed that Maggie hadn't joined him in bed... half relieved. He hadn't been intimate with her, he snorted and grimaced... with anyone... for a long time... in memory not since the night Megan Torrance, the Megan of the "other" world, the sassy "print journalist," had died because of Derek Rayne. In his own, real, physical life... when?... He couldn't recall. With a deep sigh, he stretched and yawned. Glancing beneath the sheets, he surveyed his naked body and muttered, "I hope you gentlemen can still rise to the occasion should duty call."

The precept rolled from his bed, quickly showered, and dressed, then wandered into the kitchen in search of his friends. Maggie was sitting at the table pouring over a gaudy magazine that she hastily shoved to one side as he entered. He sat opposite, toying with his precept's ring, searching for conversation. This was Maggie, one of his oldest, dearest friends... his sometime lover... and he didn't know what to say.

"Where's Nick?" he finally asked, glancing around for his watchdog. His "Sight" sensed his friend's complete absence... and oddly, missed it, but was glad of it at the same time.

"He took a drive... said he noticed an odd vibration and wanted to give that little, red cherry a run up and down a few hills," Maggie informed him with a bald-faced lie. "I'll make you a sandwich. I thought we'd have a barbecue this evening... once Nick gets back.... I've got all the fixin's and a nice Sunday evening needs the smell of mesquite and good beef on the grill.... Be just like back home."

Nodding, Derek watched as she bustled about the kitchen. He secretly smiled at the slim, almost boyish figure and the fuzzy, auburn hair that could be a rat's nest or a sleek, French twist. She and Nick seemed to be getting on well, he thought. Not too well... he fervently hoped, remembering the furtive glances and whispered conversations that stopped when he entered the room.

"No!" he admonished himself. His friends wouldn't betray him. Maggie wouldn't rob the cradle. Then he wondered at his own arrogance, how would it be a betrayal? Maggie wasn't his. She was a free soul... mature, beautiful, intelligent, funny... any man would find her attractive. Nick was younger, but a mature man. He'd grown up and grown into his own... especially during the past year.

"You like Nick." It was a statement, rather than a question.

"Sure do, Sugar. Such a fine lookin' man and he's growed up real nice," she called over her shoulder, from the depths of the refrigerator. "That's your influence, I think. Have you taught him everything you know?" she asked lightly. "All those benefits of a European education?" She placed a very full plate down in front of the precept and poured them both steaming mugs of coffee.

"Not quite," Derek replied drily. "I like to think there are some areas where experience and technique still count."

"Y'all might be right... but all that thrustin', youthful energy and vigor... in the hands of a skilled teacher. My... my... that's a winnin' combination."

Sputtering into his coffee, Derek cocked an eyebrow. "In the hands of a skilled teacher," he echoed with a smile.

Maggie met his gaze without a blink, saw the twinkle of amusement, and smiled back. Her friend... the Derek Rayne only she knew... was still there. He just needed a little coaxing, and out he'd come... just like a shy puppy.

"Now... 'bout you and me takin' a little sunshine break. There must be something I can do to make you change your mind. I've got a friend who introduced me to the cutest, little place in the islands... right on the beach... it's gorgeous... and private... just the birds and the bees... and this is just the right time of year... no hurricanes."

Derek wondered how many times Maggie and her "friend" had shared this cute, little place. "I'm sorry, Maggie.... When I have more time, I promise we'll get away... soon... but right now, my plate's just too full... and I don't mean of sandwiches. I've got so much to get caught up on," he explained. "Besides, Ingrid is using the jet for church business... I promised it to her... actually to the archbishop... I couldn't break my word."

"OK, Darlin', but you remember... you owe me. We never did make it to Ayers Rock." Maggie sighed heavily in acquiescence. "Maybe I could get the LAPD to arrest you and get you remanded into my custody. You know all about that trick.

Her Texas drawl suddenly vanished. "Now.... if you'll excuse me, I have some calls to make." She rose, stood over him, and gently kissed him the top of his head. As she walked toward the door, she turned back. "Marigold could do with a little exercise. Would you take her for a short walk? She'll know when she's had enough... just let her stop and smell for a while... that's the highlight of her day. Then she'll be ready to come back."

Derek nodded... relieved that the subject of a vacation had been dropped. This convalescent state of his had its compensations, he happily noted... far fewer arguments.

"Of course, your honor, I'll take her now," he said as he gathered the sandwiches in a paper towel. "We can share these on the way."

"Sugar... they go in your mouth... not hers," Maggie reminded him forcefully.

+

the Den...

Weighing the phone in her hand, Maggie hesitated slightly about making her call. Alex Moreau was strongly attracted to Derek... that was something her woman's intuition told her. It also told her that neither of them had done anything about it.... Yet.

She smiled to herself... Derek's sense of honor and desire for order in his House would hold him back... his fear of loss... and the plain, old male fear of commitment. She hadn't known a man yet that didn't have that phobia buried deep down. But what about Alex? "What keeps that filly in the startin' gate?" she mused to herself.

Even though they'd plotted to get Derek to Pasadena for a few more days of peace and quiet, and they had joked about an escape to a tropical paradise... that's what it had been... joking. What would Alex think when she got a call asking her to connive in a plot to get Derek away to a very real Carribean island... to have some fun... and... both women would know what was included in that "fun".

At last, she sighed. "It ain't like she don't know what Derek and I do every now and again... but... be jesus... I ain't ever had to ask for help before." She took a deep steadying breath and pressed the autodial button.

"Alex Moreau," a hollow voice answered.

"Alex, Hi... it's Margaret Hamilton... Maggie."

"Is everything OK? Derek and Nick... they're OK?"

"Yes, they're both fine, really," she hastily reassured the other woman. "Derek is driving Nick... and me... nuts at the moment. He's trying so hard to get better... you know... to get back to what he was." She smiled and so did her voice. "Sweet thing that he is, but I declare if he mangles his way through that song from the Sting one more time, either I'll throttle him or Scott Joplin will come back from the grave to do it!" She paused. Now for the tricky bit, she thought as she twisted her phone's cord round her finger.

Alex noticed the hesitation. "What is it? Can I help in some way?"

"You sure can, honey," Maggie quickly replied. "I need a lil', bitty, ol' favor. His mind's on work, and goin' home... but, I intend to kidnap our boy and hustle his sweet, little fanny off to that paradise we were talking about. I'll kick start his 'love of life' back into gear. 'Sides... I got to get him out of here or I won't have a single piece of crystal or bone china left. I hold my breath every time the plate glass doors start to rattle. He's worse than a six pointer on the Richter scale."

"Yesss...." Alex wasn't altogether sure she liked the sound of this. "Love of life" or "love life"? she wondered. She knew Maggie and Derek had been on-again-off-again lovers, but with the horrors of past year... the certain knowledge that she had lost her teacher, her mentor, her friend, her... what else was he? What else could he be if she tried, if she made him try? What was it that she really felt about Derek Rayne? She was in the throes of a dilemma and Maggie, back on the scene, would be a complication she didn't need.

"Don't you worry, honey," Maggie hastily added as the lull grew. "I love that man... but I'm not 'in love' with him, nor he with me... never been. We have fun... and I pluck that rooster's tail feathers when he gets too cocky. We've got no strings... no commitments.... just a forty-five-year-old judge and a forty-six-year-old 'whatever he is'. We're both too set in our ways for anything else. 'Sides... Marigold might give up her side of the bed every so often, but I don't think she'd care to make a habit out of it. I promise to send him home all spic n'span... all his plumbin' and natural instincts in real good workin' order!"

Maggie could hear the wheels and cogs in Alex's brain considering her statement. "What do you want me to do?" the younger woman finally asked.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

Part 4

Sunday evening...

A warm, easterly breeze wafted the delicious aroma of beef grilling over mesquite chips around the flagstone patio. The house lights twinkled on the opposite side of the Arroyo Seco, while off in the distance, a stream of headlights crossed the freeway bridge that spanned the canyon south of the Rose Bowl. Somewhere in the dusk a mockingbird sang for a mate, and higher up the mountainside a dog, or a coyote, howled in what seemed like loneliness.

Sprawled in the grass, Marigold raised her immense head at the mournful sound and gave a quiet whimper, but soon turned her nose back to the upcoming meal. Her tail slowly beat the ground in anticipation. Her mistress smiled as she watched her two men, each insisting that they should carry out the duties of head chef. "What is it with barbecues?" Maggie asked. "Y'all suddenly experts? I'll bet I'm the only one here that's ever slung grub at a real Texas cook out."

Determined to relax, Derek was beaming affably. He was going to allow nothing to tread on his mood. "Many times, at home, I helped with the barbecues, and I hardly ever burned the meat," he stated with aplomb.

"...and did you have a lot of barbecues in Holland?" Nick asked as he flipped a steak. "It's a great American tradition... not Dutch... American! You guys outta stick to da cheese!"

"Cheese?" Derek spluttered in mock indignation. "Dat's the only Dutch cuisine you know! Besides the Raynes have a long heritage of Southern cooking."

"Who did the cooking?" The younger man countered. "The hired help?"

Maggie wandered over to link arms with Derek. "Come on, Darlin', let the boy have his fun... you and me can take a stroll... enjoy this glorious, Southern California evenin'. Betcha don't get weather like this up north."

Derek treated her to a warm grin, and she wondered what had brought about this happy transformation. "Say... just how many beers you had, Sugar?"

"It's not the beers.... Come with me." He dragged her towards the den. "Open the patio doors," he instructed, "so Nick can hear."

Maggie and Nick exchanged panicked glances. Caught without their earplugs, they both gritted their teeth, even as they presented cheesy grins to their friend.

Derek sat at the upright, flexed his long fingers, looked up to make sure they were watching, then treated them to a Liberace smile, and began to play. First, The Entertainer, the Joplin ragtime tune that had given him such fits, then another composition. Both were flawless performances.

"Sooo, practice makes perfect?" he asked Maggie as his eyebrows rose appealingly in hopes of receiving overwhelming praise.

"Wonderful, Dr. Rayne, really... wonderful." agreed Maggie, beaming as broadly as the pianist.

"Shall I play you another?" he eagerly asked as he decided to keep them both in agony for a little longer. Did they really think he had not seen the yellow plastic in their ears?

"No, you don't want to wear yourself out. Besides the steaks are ready," Nick hastily interjected. "But that was great... just like old times. What was that last one? I sorta remember Mom humming that."

"Dein Ist Mein Ganzes Herz... 'You Are My Heart's Delight'." Derek informed him as he rejoined his audience on the patio. "It's always been a favorite of mine."

Maggie glanced over at Nick, who was forking large steaks onto plates. "Smells scrumptious. Slice me off a hunk of that plump one for my hungry girl...," she said, pointing to one particularly juicy specimen. "...and gimme one of those tortillas.... Can't sit here and eat all this good stuff and leave her just watchin' and sniffin'.... Her favorite thing in the whole world is a good taco al carbon with fresh salsa. The vet says no, but a bite or two won't hurt. You want another beer, honey?" she asked the chef.

"Sure, I'll take another," Nick replied as he cut a large piece of meat from the bone, sliced it into strips, and plopped it onto the flour tortilla. "We can't let Derek get too far ahead." He was delighted to see his precept so happy. It was almost worth the hours of torture they had endured listening to the interminable scales. Maybe... just maybe... the road ahead was leveling out.

+

Later...

"Phew!" Nick exhaled as he lay back in the grass. "That was some dinner!" Stretching, he felt almost uncomfortably full. He rolled over and reached into the ice chest to pull out a wet, chilled can of Coke, which he downed and followed with an amazing burp. "'Scuse me."

"That's all right, hon... more room out than in," said Maggie.

None of them felt the urge to move from their comfortable spot. Instead they lounged companionably on the grass. No longer masked by the aroma of seared meat and the sharp, sweet smell of mesquite, the fragrance of spring honeysuckle and pungent eucalyptus rose from the canyon below.

"More wine?" she asked, at last breaking the friendly silence. "There's just a smidgen left in the bottle."

Derek extended his glass. "That was... goot," he agreed. "Even if Nick did undercook the meat."

"Sugar, sometimes a nice, pink, tender hunk of beef is the best thing in the world," said Maggie as she poured the dark burgundy. "I know I never can resist bitin' into a nice juicy weenie... you never want a good ol' dog burnt and shriveled like an old piece of shoe leather."

Even in the dim light that shone from the patio, the judge was certain that both men had blushed. Smiling, she leaned against Derek and enjoyed the warmth of his body. He slipped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze.

"Y'all hear about the little, old lady from Pasadena?" She felt the precept shake his head no and continued. "Seems like this little, old lady had been to the grocery store. She came out and found these four big, tattooed, 'low-rider' types in her car. She dropped her sacks and pulled a pistol out of her pocket, then started screaming at them that she knew how to use it, and would.... 'So get out of the car, now!' she hollered.

"These four big bruisers hauled ass and ran like hell. So the lady picked up her groceries, loaded them in the car, and climbed in. Then she discovered a little, bitty problem: her key wouldn't fit the ignition. She got out, looked up and down the row of parked cars, and saw an identical car four or five spaces further down.

"She reloaded her bags into her car and drove to the police station. The desk sergeant that she told the story to nearly busted a gut laughing, then pointed to the other end of the counter where four brawny, Latino, construction workers were reporting a car jacking.... 'Man,' she heard one say, 'she was one mean, arbuela loca'... crazy, old, white woman packin' a piece. We ran like hell.'

"No charges were filed and she gave them a lift back to their car." Maggie laughed a deep, hearty laugh. "True story... swear to God. Here in Pasadena. It's one of those 'only in California' stories. One day I'm going to write a book." Poking Derek in the ribs with her elbow, she said, "Your turn, Darlin'."

Nick chortled, "Derek... tell a joke? I bet he don't know one."

"I do," the older man protested. "I know lots of jokes. I just can't think of any at the moment."

"Yeah!" Nick mocked good-naturedly. They all knew Derek had a sense of humour, but it was a private thing that rarely made an appearance.

"Wait.... I remember one." Derek closed his eyes and concentrated, hard.

"Boy! This should be good, if it takes that much effort," Nick whispered in a noisy aside to Maggie.

With a pseudo-glower, the precept ignored him. "What did one skeleton say to the other?" He looked around expectantly.

"OK... what did it say?" Nick asked, playing along.

"If we had any guts, we'd get out of here!" Derek ended with a flourish.

"Darlin', that was awful," Maggie giggled, "really awful. Maybe it was better in Dutch."

"I have another." The older man was on a roll. "Why is a graveyard such a noisy place?" He looked at them with a happy grin on his face. "Because of all the coffin."

He eagerly tried again. "Where does Dracula keep his savings?" The precept turned expectantly to Maggie, who could only shake her head as tears trickled down her face. These were the worst jokes she had heard since grade school... no... since kindergarten.

"In a blood bank," the precept happily pronounced. "What ghosts haunt hospitals?... Surgical spirits!"

"Mercy," Nick groaned. "Please, say you don't know any more."

"But I do... I do know more," Derek laughed. "But they go downhill from there."

"Derek... Honey... all your jokes... they all seem to revolve around ghosts and goblins and long-legged beasties."

"But, of course... it is my work... so I find it funny!" he said in plain, sincere innocence, then leaned over and gently kissed Maggie's forehead.

"Don't give up your day job, sweetie," she whispered. "You'd starve as a stand-up comic."

Derek chuckled at some vague half-memory of a "stand-up comedian". He then looked into his friend's blue eyes and his mind wandered... suddenly the air was filled with explosive sounds of popping and fizzing. Nick jumped to his feet as he was showered with beer and sticky cola. Every can in the ice chest had blown its pop-top and liquid was spraying like an out of control sprinkler.

As Marigold tucked her tail and scurried to safety under a table, the younger man surveyed his soaked clothes and watched the bubbling fountain shoot skyward.

"Derek, Darlin! I wonder what's on your lil' ol' pea pickin' brain!" Maggie asked in wicked delight. She sensed, rather than saw, the precept blush.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

Part 5

the next morning...

"I don't see why you want me to come?" Derek groaned miserably. It was a beautiful morning and his head ached from last night's party. He had been looking forward to a leisurely walk with Marigold, who let out a small whimper and returned to her "nest" in disappointment.

"Come on, Sugar," Maggie wheedled. Was she hearing the whine of a petulant, little Derek buried somewhere deep inside this grown up version? "Nick's gonna do the drivin'," she continued. "All I want you to do is keep me company. I have to pick my law clerk up. Hallie's been to Atlanta to visit the folks. I promised. Then the four of us can grab lunch. I know of a great little place down that way... and I think Nick and Hallie might just hit it off."

The older man sighed loudly. "We're not all squeezing into Nick's car, I hope," he muttered, not at all happy with the turn of events. But Maggie was his hostess... good manners prevented him from doing anything other than accompanying her.

"No, we're taking my car," she confirmed, "Nick's getting it out of the garage now. I want his opinion on a little noise I've been hearing down around the right, front wheel." They both heard the honking of the car's horn. "Impatient, ain't he! You be a good girl, Marigold," said Maggie as she bent to give the big head an affectionate rub. "We don't want any puppies poppin' out without Mommy here, do we?"

* * *

Nick admired the big Lincoln's handling as he maneuvered the car along the narrow Arroyo Seco Parkway, Los Angeles' first freeway. Sycamores and small bungalows flanked either side and climbed the mountainsides. It was like driving an armchair and had "judge" written all over it, but the challenge presented by his "pretty, little car" was missing.

Feeling a bit like a chauffeur, he glanced in the rearview mirror. Maggie was keeping Derek entertained with stories of her courtroom experiences until they at last climbed upward and the glistening spires of downtown LA suddenly loomed ahead.

"Nick, Sweetie... this is a tricky spot... edge right or you'll be goin' down at Hill Street straight into downtown," Maggie instructed, then shifted gears to point out the new landmarks in an ever-changing city... anything to keep the precept's mind occupied so that he wouldn't put two and two together and come up with a massive Four!

"You haven't been down here since they opened Staples Center, have you?... big ol' thing. Did I tell you the latest LAPD scandal?..." she rattled on. "Nick, honey.... Get off at Manchester or Century... don't take the freeway... I need to make a stop. I promised Hallie I'd pick a few things up for her."

Nick allowed the Texas drawl to fade to a perpetual murmur as he concentrated on the slow, southbound traffic. He wondered if Derek was hearing any of it any longer or had he simply put his mind in neutral and told his head to nod occasionally and his mouth to emit a quiet, "Hummm... ummm."

At last the former SEAL exited the clogged Harbor Freeway and headed west on the broad surface streets of South Central Los Angeles. In the backseat he heard Maggie yammering on, "Now right through here's where they had the riots," she said, "but you know that. You were down here right after that to fetch Nick when he had that spot of trouble with the law."

Nick smiled at the memory. He'd been "fetched" all right... kidnaped was more the word... right into the Legacy with the good judge's help... best thing that had ever happened to him.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, as they neared the airport, Maggie glanced out her window, and spotted what she wanted. "Honey, can you stop at that drug store?"

"OK, boss," Nick muttered. Ignoring the sharp glance, he grimaced at the thought of the unfortunate members of the criminal fraternity that found themselves before this judge. He'd been there and done that until she had recused herself from his case."

Nick pulled into a tight space. Derek got out and hurried around to open the other door for Maggie. She grinned to herself... European courtesy, you couldn't beat it!

"I'll come with you.... I want to stretch my legs," he shouted as an immense 747 roared overhead, so low that all the details of the undercarriage were plainly visible. Maggie clutched her hair as the jet's spiraling backwash whipped the fresh ocean air into a mini-tornado. "Darlin'," she shouted back, "you don't have to do that." Then, seeing his determination, she decided to try another proven tactic.

As the automatic door opened, she leaned close and whispered, "I'm buyin' female stuff." Her eyes widened knowingly. "Stuff men don't want to know about! Why don't you go buy us a lottery ticket. Today might be your lucky day."

Embarrassed, now that he had insisted on accompanying her, Derek wandered over to the lottery machine. He rummaged in his pocket, looked at the touch screen, then enquiringly at the clerk, who stood behind the photo counter filing her hot pink nails.

"What do I do?" he asked in bewilderment. He had never before purchased a lottery ticket and it all seemed quite confusing.

The young woman glanced skywards... why did she always get them! Strange accent, must be some foreigner. "You mark your numbers on that slip of paper... like this," she explained in exaggeratedly slow, but Spanish flavored English.

"What numbers?" he asked, looking to her for guidance.

"Tell you what... why don't you go for a 'Quik Pick'?" she suggested. "Just put your dollar in the slot and touch that little symbol for 'Super Lotto Plus', then when the screen changes, press the 'Quik Pick' sign. The machine will pick the numbers for you and spit the ticket out that door at the bottom."

"Computers!" he groaned, but catching sight of her irritated expression, quickly changed his mind. "Jah... that sounds a goot idea."

From down the aisle, Maggie half-listened to the conversation as she made her selection... a box of condoms, large, with "spiraled ridges for added pleasure," she read on the package. She smiled. "We'll see," she murmured. "Better take two."

She also bought some toothpaste, two toothbrushes, shaving things.... She hadn't dared remove anything from the guest bathroom... Derek would have noticed immediately... and on a whim she grabbed a disposable camera and a magazine from the rack beside the cashier.

Like every man she had ever taken shopping... Derek was waiting for her beside the door... clutching his ticket and a newspaper, and ready to go.

"What numbers did you get, Sweet Pea?"

"Sweat Pea!" He grimaced. The precept had long ago given up trying to break Maggie Hamilton, Texan, of her "honeys" and "sugars" and "Sweet Peas." It was as much a part of her as her wicked, earthy wit and her love of her dogs. It only vanished when Judge Margaret Hamilton emerged in full force. He squinted at pale numbers on the orange and white ticket and read, "16-30-35-43-46 and the 'mega number' is 4. What do you think?"

"Don't give up the day job, Darlin'. It won't get you any further than your jokes." She patted his arm affectionately and gave it a tug. "Come on, let's go before that boy gets impatient!"

+

LAX

With a determined look on her face, Maggie linked her arm through Derek's and steered him along the crowded concourse of domestic carriers. Nick, who had told them he'd wait in the car, followed discreetly behind, out of the precept's sight, with two suitcases and two overnight bags precariously balanced on a trolley.

"Where did you say you'd meet her?" Derek asked, very confused at the way this trip to the airport was going. "This is departures... not arrivals. Shouldn't we be headed towards?..." His exasperated complaint was interrupted.

"Darlin', trust me. Things have changed since you were here last. I know a short cut... this is home turf."

Moments later, they halted at the United check-in desk. Miraculously there was no line. Maggie rummaged in her sizeable purse and produced two tickets, and as a precaution, two passports, then imperiously beckoned Nick forward.

"How did you get my passport?" Derek sputtered in shock. "I left that in San Francisco."

"Judge Margaret Hamilton is not without resources," she replied, drawing herself to her full height, "even in Babylon by the Bay." Maggie smiled an enigmatic smile that rivaled Derek's at his inscrutable best.

The former SEAL grinned widely and wished he had a camera... the look on his friend's face was priceless. It ranged from confusion to panic... something akin a deer caught in semi's headlights.

The very fact that he had permitted his face to reveal anything grated at Derek. With a sharp glower first at Nick, then at Maggie, he snapped, "This is entrapment... a petty, underhanded conspiracy!" But his spear of momentary anger bounced from the wall of Maggie's irrepressible personality.

"The professor gets an A plus," the judge retorted. "Yes, Darlin'... it is a conspiracy... to get you to take a real vacation... fun... sun... sand... and sex, with me.... But if you're not interested...."

In that instant, with a turn of her head, a wicked grin, and a sweep of her hand through her nutmeg hair, it suddenly dawned on Nick who Maggie Hamilton reminded him of... Katherine Hepburn... in some scene where she'd cut Spencer Tracy or Cary Grant down to size.

Derek saw the expression on Maggie's face... he loved that "playful wickedness" in her character. He sensed the concern of both his friends. They were determined he should take this trip.... He felt their absolute certainty that he needed it. Go with the flow, Rayne, he told himself. They might just be right. A break would be good... still... simply on the principle of the thing, he couldn't let such behavior slide by without receiving a barb or two.

"Margaret... might I remind you that you are a judge, sworn to uphold the law and to dispense justice. You profess to love the law... yet you insult it... and you insult me, Madam. This is no less than kidnaping.... And you, Sir," he said, turning toward Nick. "This is insubordination at the very least... treason and mutiny at most. When I return we will have words. You take my meaning!"

Nick did take his meaning, but decided the price would be worth paying. The irony of Derek Rayne criticising them for bending rules wasn't lost on him, nor he suspected, on his precept. The truth of it was... what rules had been bent? Only that of failing to consult the god-almighty precept, Derek Rayne.

"Shit, what's he gonna do, shoot me!" Still, that's my precept, he grinned... all that self-righteous bluster. He is getting better!

The two conspirators then heard Derek mutter under his breath, "You should have asked." Both felt a twinge of guilt as they caught a slight tenor of hurt lying beneath the words.

"What?... and miss all the fun of having our heads bitten off?" Maggie countered as her hand slipped around the precept. "Besides, I did consult you... what did you think all those brochures were about? I sure as hell wasn't lookin' for a retirement home... for me... or you." Her hand found what it sought.

Suddenly Derek jumped and turned to the judge in shock. "Maggie!" he exclaimed.

"Just checkin', Darlin'," she innocently replied, as she propelled the precept toward the gate. "Don't you worry, Punkin," she called back to Nick. "I'll take real good care of him... if you'll take good care of Marigold. I hope she's not early like last time... neither of wants anything premature on our hands!"

The look on Maggie's face was a combination of "the cat that ate the canary" and no small dose of lust. As for the precept... he had surrendered for the moment, and turned with a shrug and a wry grin to wave good-bye. The last glimpse Nick saw of them was as they joined a line at the far end of the boarding ramp and were swallowed up by the crowd. They were traveling "tourist"! Nick snorted with pleasure... Derek Rayne... kidnaped to travel tourist... he'll love that! Had Maggie done that to Derek on purpose, he wondered... to pluck a few tail feathers... and teach him how the common folk lived?

"Poor guy don't stand a chance," Nick murmured in delight as he eagerly strode back toward the parking structure with his keys jangling in his hand. "Course... she's got a bear cub on her hands compared to the grizzly she'll have before the day's out." Somehow he suspected that Maggie could handle it. It's an interesting match, he thought for a moment, but it wouldn't last two weeks as a marriage. Then his mind shifted toward the long, slow drive home and the blissful image of an empty house... nothing to do but work on the Mustang and keep an eye on Marigold. He smiled at the thought of a blissful absence of an improving pianist... peace and quiet.... "Amen and hallelujah!" he said happily to the empty, concrete stairwell as yet another jet rumbled in take-off.

$$$$$$$$$$$

Part 6

Miami, Florida... evening

"That was the worse flight I have ever taken! Mijn Gott, how many people did they cram into that flying cigar tube? Surely too many to be safe," Derek muttered. "My knees are going to be purple... and how long did we wait on the damned runway in Dallas? How can they treat people that way?" He looked across the taxi at Maggie who was studiously watching the passing sights and totally ignoring his complaints.

The precept paused in his litany to try to get his bearings... to no avail. He recognized nothing. "Now where are we going?" he growled. "I've not been to Miami since before Father died. Margaret, I don't like playing blind man's bluff."

The taxi driver glanced over his shoulder and thought about announcing their prospective destination, but decided that was the wife's prerogative. He wished her well... this guy was a bear with a sore head.

"Hush now, Darlin'. The flight was cramped right enough. It's Spring break... lots of people are headin' for the Florida sunshine and Disney World." In the orange glow of streetlights, she gazed over to catch sight of the precept's furrowed brow as he stared from the window. He was chewing on his inner cheek and had called her "Margaret," which Maggie knew was the final step before a full out explosion. It was time for the placatory approach.

"It was a long, tiresome flight, but we're here now," she said with a voice as sweet as the smell of Texas bluebells. "We'll have a nice supper, an early night, and finish our trip bright eyed and bushy tailed tomorrow. You'll see... a nice, hot bath and a full tummy'll set you right in no time."

+

Hotel Excelsior, Miami Beach

At last the cab pulled up outside the Hotel Excelsior. Seeing the marquee, Derek snorted and recalled a previous 'Excelsior' that had failed to live up to its name. Sloan had always said "the classier the name, the more bedbugs." He caught Maggie's expression, and decided to hold his tongue for the moment.

Twenty minutes later, he had to confess that the management of the Excelsior had performed to a level equal to its name. Check-in had been rapid and without complication. A private elevator had whisked them to the penthouse level and the porter, a veteran who had seen many an exhausted, bickering couple, had the sense to keep his mouth shut, rather than indulging in the usual rote recitation of the hotel's amenities.

As the door swung open, the precept peered inside, determined to find problems... simply on the principle of the thing. "It's not so bad," he finally admitted... grudgingly.

"You're damned right 'it's not so bad'," Maggie snapped under her breath. "You have no idea how many strings I had to pull and how many markers I had to call in to get this 'not so bad room'." Dammit! She'd had it!.... She was tired and hungry and she stunk. Was Derek Rayne worth all this grief, she wondered.

The very wise and silent porter deposited their overnight bags on the tiled floor of the foyer. "Shall I unpack for you, sir?" he finally asked.

Derek turned to tip the man. "No... thank you... Maury," he replied, reading the man's badge.

"Thank you, sir!" said the elderly man, noting the generous tip. "Anything you need, sir, call room service," he instructed as he stepped into the suite to give a quick tour. "There's fruits and goodies for you in the gift basket. The wet bar is fully stocked and there's champagne chilling in the refrigerator, courtesy Excelsior management."

Walking across the plush carpeting, he pushed open the door to one of the bedrooms. "The other one is identical... and the bath has a Jacuzzi. If you should care to get out... the supper club has a decent floor show... and the restaurant's not bad. Just avoid the shellfish... it's not the chef's forte," Maury informed them conspiratorially. "I'm sure I don't need to warn you about the street or the beach... it's a big city and tourists are targets."

Derek suppressed a grin... the hotel management might have expected a more ringing endorsement, but Maury had probably been around so long that little impressed him save a whopping, good tip. "We'll call for you, should we need anything at all," the precept said solemnly as he watched the man leave.

Relieved to see the heavy, wooden door close on the outside world, Derek tossed his jacket on a chair and trailed off to the bedroom, where he flopped onto the king-sized bed. "Peace and quiet," he murmured. All those people on the plane, each with their own worries and joys, had been suffocating. He had struggled to maintain his "barrier," to keep his "Sight" from overwhelming him with their emotions, but it had left him drained, foul tempered, and with a nagging headache. All he wanted to do now was relax and sleep... yes... deep, blissful sleep.

* * *

Maggie wandered to the table to inspect the gift basket, which was wonderful... full of fascinating, little treasures... cheeses and chocolates... real truffles... crackers and small jars of caviar and jams... tiny bottles of expensive liqueurs... all, of course, emblazoned with Hotel Excelsior. Her vacation budget was going to be blown for the next decade. C'est la vie, she thought, as she turned to glance out the plate glass window at the well-lit beach below and the dark sea beyond. Off shore lay a long rectangle of lights... a cruise ship headed into port.

Drawing the drapes, she continued her exploration. She was delighted with the bathroom. It was deliciously decadent, maroon and silver décor with art deco tiling, whispers of old Miami Beach. But best of all there was a huge, pink marble bath. She selected a bottle of bath essence... opened it and sniffed... Estee Lauder... hmmm... nice... and turned on the taps.

"Darlin'," she called as she undressed. "I'm takin' a bath... how about you joinin' me? Tub's plenty big!... Might be more fun if it wasn't!..."

No answer... this wasn't the response she wanted. Was the damned man still sulking? Maggie donned the ubiquitous white, terry robe with the Excelsior "E" embroidered on the pocket and padded off toward the bedroom. "Darlin'" was fast asleep, and snoring fit to bust. "Sheeeit!" Maggie cursed. That was definitely not the response she had wanted. Still... he did look so tired... poor baby.

She gently slipped off his shoes and undid his shirt and belt. Looking down at the innocence of his sleeping face, she smiled and resisted the urge to plant a kiss on those parted lips, "You sleep, Darlin'" she whispered as she brushed aside that ever-unruly lock that had dropped over his brow. "Sleep," she murmured again, then returned to her waiting bath.

* * *

Maggie luxuriated in the deep, pulsing water. Heat enveloped her and eased her aches and pains. She stretched her legs out, breathed deeply, and closed her eyes. Losing all sense of time, she drifted on a haze of perfumed steam.

"Noo!... Gott!... Neen!... Alstublieft!" Maggie's eyes shot open. "Please, no!" That was Derek! What the hell was wrong? She leapt from the bath, grabbed the robe, and hurried to the bedroom.

Derek still lay on the bed, asleep, but in the grips of a nightmare. He was panting heavily. Sweat beaded on his face. Dark pools of crimson stained his shirt. His expression was one of pain and sheer terror. "No!" he screamed as he twisted and turned, fighting to escape from some horror.

"Derek, honey." Maggie knelt on the bed beside him and gently shook him, trying to wake him.

Glass shattered behind her... she turned to see the gilt, bedroom mirror crack from side to side. It then fragmented into a spider's web of splintering glass. Irrationally, Maggie's mind latched onto the lines, The mirror crack'd from side to side. 'The curse is come upon me!' cried the Lady of Shalott.

The plate glass windows in both rooms began to vibrate... clattering, humming worse than the Northridge quake. Then the phone hurtled across the room to crash against the wall, while the bedside water carafe flew straight upward and smashed into the ceiling above the bed. Maggie cried out in pain as a sliver of glass stung her forehead.

"Derek... Derek, honey, wake up!" She cried, shaking him again. Her own heart threatened to pound its way out of her chest.

"What!" The hazel eyes flew open... all became instantly quiet. The precept gasped.... What had happened? He had been back at the portal, but it hadn't been the same... now what? "Maggie... what happened?"

Panting, he gazed around at the chaos in the room, then noticed the trickle of blood running down the side of his friend's face. "My Gott, Maggie?" He pushed himself up and stretched a finger toward the scarlet trail. "I've hurt you."

"Hush Darlin'... hush," she murmured, pulling him close, feeling him tremble. "It's just a scratch, that's all. I get worse playing with Marigold. Everything's OK, no real harm done. You had... a dream... a nightmare. Sshhh...," she crooned. Her mind whirled at what had just happened. "You've got a little nose bleed... here." She dabbed at his nose with the sleeve of her robe. "Lean over," she instructed. "Put your head down." She knew Derek was reliving something from the past... something hellish. All she wanted to do was hold him close, and tell him everything would be OK. "Please God, let that be true," she murmured.

The precept had by now collected most of his wits. He was still trembling, but his breathing was less ragged. He exhaled heavily as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand and absorbed the full devastation of the suite. "Let me see the cut," he demanded, pushing her hair aside. With relief, he discovered it was a small nick above her eyebrow, a place guaranteed to spew blood like an open artery, but not likely to scar, nor cause any real harm. He shuddered to think how much worse it could have been. What was he becoming?

There was a loud pounding on the suite's door. "What's happening? You folks need help?" Maggie recognised Maury's voice.

Derek pushed himself to the edge of the bed. "Better let him in." he said dejectedly, sitting on the edge and cradling his head in his hands.

Maggie nodded, tightened her robe, and hurried to open the door. Maury rushed in and whistled when he saw the state of the suite... the bedroom especially. "The police are gonna have to be called about this, ma'am," he said quietly. Noticing the blood on her face and robe, he winced. "Did he do that... the bastard?"

"No, Maury... no.... You don't understand." Maggie leapt to Derek's defense. "It was a bad dream... a nightmare. He didn't know what was happening."

The porter looked over at the man who was obviously still struggling with his inner demons. "Was he in Vietnam," he asked, "or Kuwait?"

"No, but he's fought his own battles... against foes just as deadly," Maggie quietly replied. "Now... let's not make too much fuss about all this. I'll pay for all the damage, and with a little extra for the... 'inconvenience'. I imagine you've seen worse with rock bands. But we need to keep this to ourselves? Here's my card...."

As Maury looked at the business card, his eyes widened. "OK, don't you worry, 'Judge' Hamilton. Is he a cop or something?" he asked, sensing the truth of her statement.

"Or something," she confirmed.

"I'll sort it out," he said, but looking around, added, "You folks are gonna have to move to another room. You can't sleep in this. We're pretty full, but...."

Maggie cast an anxious glance toward the precept, who now seemed to be regaining control... his breathing had evened, his color was returning, the trembling had stopped. She shook her head. "We'll be OK," she assured the porter. "We'll just move to the other bedroom."

"OK," Maury decided, "but why don't you go get some fresh air, maybe a bite to eat, while I get housekeeping to clean up the glass... by the time you get back this will be sorted out."

"Maury, bless you. You're a real gentleman, I won't forget this.... If you ever get to LA and need a ticket fixed, I'm your gal." Maggie kissed the elderly man on his cheek, both embarrassing him, and pleasing him. He offered her a bashful grin and left on his errand of mercy.

Returning to the bedroom, she said, "Come on Darlin'," and dragged Derek towards the bathroom. "We both need to get cleaned up, then we'll go for a walk around the pool and have some supper. Everything is gonna' be fine, Sugar."

Derek managed a weak half-smile. "I hope so, Maggie. Gott, I hope so. What if I can't control this? What if I'd really hurt you? What if that had happened on the plane? Don't let me sleep on the plane tomorrow... promise."

"I won't... I promise, Darlin'."