Cottonwood House III

The Hand You're Dealt

Chapter 10

Grissom's Ultimate Gamble

It's dark in my office and I'm half hidden in the shadows by the shelves where I keep my specimens when Sara walks in. She turns her head and says something to me, but I can't make out what it is, it sounds like I'm under water, my hearing must have dropped out again. Sara doesn't seem surprised at my lack of comprehension or response, just smiles in a way that could be sad, distant or just resigned. I guess we must be going through one of our rough patches, though I somehow can't remember what I did to alienate her this time and, as usual, I feel at a loss when it comes to breaking the ice that seems to form a wall between us.

I still haven't moved when Sara, having dropped the envelope she was carrying onto my in-tray, walks back past me and, bizarrely, plunges me into even deeper darkness by hitting the light switch on her way out of the office's door.

Stunned, I seem to hover in space for minutes on end, unable to move or make a sound as I contemplate what has just occurred. Then, just as I begin to wonder why it hasn't occurred to me to at least go and switch the light back on, even if going after Sara is more than I can manage right now, Catherine comes into the room. She smiles and greets me but again I can't make out what is being said. Catherine doesn't seem any more bothered at my lack of reply than Sara was, she just carries on and takes a seat at my desk, turning the lamp there on as she does. I try to move forward or make a noise in order to find out why she's here and why she's sitting on my side of the desk like it belongs to her, but again I can't persuade my mouth or limbs to co-operate. What's stopping me?

Now a tiny glint of light catches my eye, a reflection perhaps? It could be that I'm confused about where I'm standing; maybe I'm actually just outside my office on the other side of one of the glass walls. Still finding myself unable to move or speak I force my eyes to focus just in front of me and a ghostly image emerges. It seems to be me, at least the colour of the irises I'm looking at are a very familiar greyish blue, but that's where the recognition ends, not because my face has undergone some radical change but because, shockingly, there is no face surrounding those eyes at all, and the only grey curls visible behind them are the convoluted labyrinth that is the surface of a human brain. Suddenly what has happened hits me with sickening certainty, except I can't really be nauseous, because I'm not standing next to my shelf of specimens, I'm actually placed on it; the dulling of sound isn't caused by the return of my otosclerotic symptoms or even by actually being under water, but because I'm immersed in formalin; and I'm not looking at my reflection in a glass wall; because my brain, complete with attached optic nerve and eyeballs, is no longer inside my body but is floating in a large jar in which it has been placed to preserve it. A vague awareness of having been attacked in some way, a hospital room and devastating injury is at the back of my mind. Am I dead? My will has always been clear that I wanted my body to be left to science, but I thought that would mean I'd end up as a specimen on a body farm or being used as a learning tool for medical students, I certainly never thought I'd end up a display item in my own office; and certainly not that I'd still be fully aware when it happened. Catherine and Sara were probably only talking to my jar in the same way I have, when no-one was watching, uttered a brief 'good evening' to 'Miss Piggy' before starting work for the night, a black humoured conceit of life where patently there is not. Perhaps nobody realised that, after whatever it was exactly that happened to me, my eyes and at least some of my brain were the only things that continued to work? An even more important question is how can I let anyone know I'm in here? Like this I don't even have eyelids I can blink to try and gain attention. Am I destined to an eternity of this existence with only my thoughts and imaginary scenarios to distract and sustain me? How long before I go completely mad?

I can feel myself slipping towards panic, but the situation is absurd and, when I think about it, there's a growing sense of familiarity about all this. Slowly realisation dawns on me and I finally conclude that I'm having a nightmare. It's one that I've had more times than I care to count since I woke from my coma, although Sara has rarely featured until quite recently. To my relief, like any dream, once its nature becomes apparent the scenario starts to fall apart and my eyes, thankfully still fully protected by their lids, flicker open to the welcome darkness of my room.

Unfortunately, merely opening my eyes doesn't seem to immediately dispel my feelings of unease, in fact I'm still overwhelmed by a sense of foreboding, the only thing I can think of is that everything will be alright if I can just turn on the light and dispel both real and imagined darkness at once.

However, much as I flail about, I somehow can't raise myself up high enough to hit the light-switch above my head and I know I'm beginning to hyperventilate. Has my recovery been a dream? Am I still struggling against complete paralysis?

Those thoughts add to my increasing sense of panic. The blackness of the unlit room smothers me and my heart beats ever faster. But then, just as I'm starting to think that I'm heading for a heart attack, I realise something; the switch I've been trying to reach isn't there anymore, or rather it's me that isn't where that particular switch is, because the point I've been desperately reaching for is exactly where my bedroom light switch was in my old town house, somewhere I haven't stayed overnight for over two years now; and that's a major tell that I still haven't reached full consciousness. Although the anxiety I feel in these situations can sometimes be so great that I don't register what reaching in that direction means until it's too late, the realisation has come to me quicker this time and with the revelation I somehow get unstuck, remember that I am actually in Sara's guest room, find the lamp that is placed beside my bed and then get my un-co-operative right hand to somehow flop in a way that's enough to operate the switch on its base.

As welcome light forms a circle of safety around the lamp's base I collapse back on the bed, shaking and breathing heavily. I try to calm myself by going over the medical explanation for the feelings I have just experienced, ones that I found far more terrifying than the 'disembodied brain' episode that preceded it.

When we sleep there's a sort of safety device in our heads that prevents us from acting out our dreams. For some people this doesn't always cut in properly and, when it doesn't, that's when sleepwalking occurs. In other people it works too well and prevents them moving even while they're coming to full consciousness and often it's accompanied by feelings of fright, awareness of unknown 'presences' and sometimes pressure like something's sitting on the person's chest. In fact the similarities in descriptions mean that these episodes are often thought to be the real explanation for some reports of alien abduction. Even for those who don't think there is any extra terrestrial involvement there's a good reason why these half dreams are known as 'night terrors' and in my case, having experienced paralysis in my waking life, the memories evoked make the after effects even harder to dispel.

Although I did get bad dreams in the past I never experienced these truly frightening episodes before I suffered traumatic brain injury, but I have ever since and I know that they're more likely when I've had to take extra pain relief or been particularly tired before settling down, both of which apply today. I run a hand over my face, thinking about the situation logically has only helped a little and, tired as I may be, I know it will be at least an hour before I feel safe to settle again. Even without the remaining sense of dread I know that on the rare occasions when I have fallen back to sleep immediately it's often resulted in another night terror straight after the first.

My breathing has finally eased to the point that I can hear sounds from outside the bedroom door. I know that I can make pretty loud noises when I have night mares or terrors from the fact that Lucy sometimes gets to my bedside before I've roused myself enough to hit the call button to summon her, but I really hope that I'm hearing Hank rearranging himself in his bed in the hallway and I haven't woken Sara.

"Hank, stay!" I hear in an undertone, "if Gil's asleep I don't want you waking him by jumping on the bed. Now lie down!"

Well, I may not have wanted to disturb her, but I'm insanely relieved when, after a gentle tap on the door, Sara slides quietly into the room.

"Gil, are you OK?" she asks, once she's seen that I'm definitely not asleep.

I don't try to answer her question; I just point over her shoulder at the room's main light switch and then up at the pendant light hanging from the centre of the ceiling. Taking my hint, Sara flips the switch and floods the room with light, an action that reverses the one she performed earlier in my dream.

Unfortunately the light which has finally cast out the oppressive shadows has also revealed my trembling and probably ghost white appearance to Sara.

"Honey, are you OK? I thought I heard a yell and when I got into the hallway there was light shining under you door."

No, I'm not all right, I need a hug, but then Sara will think I'm... I stop myself, Sara and I made a deal about accepting the things we need from each other and, even if we hadn't now isn't the time to come over all independent and bull headed, Sara would see through me in a moment and feel hurt. I reach out my hand towards my friend and, when she steps closer to take it, pull her nearer the bed.

"'Ug?" The 'word' comes out even more plaintively than I thought it would. Sara smiles and then sits on the bed, bringing her legs up so that she's half sitting half lying beside me. She's wearing a tank top with pyjama bottoms and her feet are bare. Feeling her arms go around my own t-shirted torso I try to relax into her embrace, but it takes time and some gentle back rubbing before I finally stop shivering.

"Did you have a nightmare?"

I respond with a 'sort of' grimace.

"Would it be difficult to give me some idea what it was about?"

I nod sadly, in the days when I could talk I often resisted, not wanting to burden her with my worries and now that I've finally realised that I have to offer my trust to the same level I want her to give me hers I am, literally, lost for words.

"Well, I know it must have been a bad one, I've never known you react this badly or take as long to recover."

I nod my confirmation of Sara's statement. Either the nightmare or the night terror would have been bad enough, to have one immediately follow the other was almost unbearable. I wrap my arms tighter around Sara and rest my forehead in the angle between Sara's neck and her shoulder like a young child might, demonstrating both my need and my gratitude for her presence right now.

"I love you Gil and I'll be here for you as long and as much as you want me to be."

I know you are Sara, and I think you've finally accepted that I need to be here for you as well. Taking a deep breath I lift my head and gaze into Sara's face, aware that the last sensations of panic are leaving me. Suddenly an idea leaps into my head. It's a risky one and even before it's completely formed I can feel negative thoughts starting to push away the notion. This time, though, I'm determined not to listen; I'm supposed to be more impulsive now, to let my emotions overcome me more easily and more often. Today has been a good day as far as Sara and I are concerned, nightmares or not, and I want to do something to mark it.

"Gil, are you OK?" Sara asks, looking concerned.

I nod and then point at my overnight bag.

"You want your stuff?"

I nod again and Sara reaches out and lifts it over so it's on the bed beside me. Then she helps me sit up, shoving a few pillows behind my back to keep me in place. My fingers run over the outside pockets of the bag and I'm relieved when I locate the one I want and to find that its contents are still there. One-handed I tug open the zipper and pull out a small, creased, faded, but still intact, padded envelope.

Looking at it briefly my heart climbs its way up into my throat before I force myself to complete my intention and pass it over to Sara.

"For me?"

I tap the envelope where it says 'Ms S. Sidle'. The words are written about a third of the way from the top so there's plenty of room for an address but none has ever been added.

"You want me to open this?"

She's asking me if I'm sure about her having whatever's in there and, actually I'm not, but I nod my head anyway, no point going back now.

Sara pulls on the end of the thin red strip and the packet is open, as simple as that. Over two years ago I sealed it, wanting, then as now, to be sure that I wouldn't keep second guessing my decisions. When I did that I didn't expect it to be so long before Sara saw the contents. I also wasn't expecting to be able to witness her reaction when she did. Now I will, I just hope Sara doesn't notice that I'm trembling again, filled with a whole new sense of anxious anticipation.

Intent on discovering what it is that I've handed her Sara doesn't even glance at me while I watch her slender fingers reach inside the envelope and extract its contents. She removes a folded square of paper held together by a rubber band that has become so desiccated that it crumbles as soon as Sara tries to slip her finger underneath to take it off.

Sara shoots me a puzzled glance when that happens and her movement causes the thing that was tucked inside the paper, a small item encased in bubble wrap, to fall out onto the duvet. Instinctively I reach out to grab it with my right hand but all I end up doing is covering the object a fraction of a second before Sara can scoop it up.

"You want me to look at this first?" Sara indicates the paper still in her hand. I nod, it's not what was really in my head when I went to grab the smaller packet, that was more an urge to hide the most important content of the envelope, a last minute panicked attempt to hold back the force I've just unleashed, but it does make sense for Sara to examine the paper first.

Unfolding the sheet Sara glances at it and quickly turns to look me in the face.

"This is your handwriting."

Yes, it is, I nod; and yes, that does mean I prepared this envelope and its contents before I had my head smashed into with a tyre iron; mentally I follow the reasoning that must be going on in Sara's head, although I doubt she thinks of what happened to me in quite such stark terms. We both look down at the paper that Sara is carefully smoothing out and I wonder if seeing the fluent script makes Sara feel as sad as I do, knowing that neither my words nor my handwriting will ever flow so easily again.

Sara's finger actually seems to caress the written words, then pauses briefly below the line where I wrote the date, less than two weeks after she walked out of my life, if I remember correctly, and nearly two and a half years ago now. Before she can begin to read the body of the text I touch her arm gently to get her attention then use a few gestures to try and explain what I want.

"You'd like me to read this aloud?"

I confirm her interpretation of my signals, I wrote the letter so long ago that I need to hear it again to be sure I remember the contents correctly and so I can try and intervene if I've got it wrong and the words aren't as appropriate as I hope. I also want to see Sara's reactions and to know which of my words she's responding to. Sara looks down again, ready to begin and I find myself automatically reaching for a spare cushion, hugging it to my chest for comfort.

"'Dearest Sara,'" she starts to read and I recall that at the time I didn't even dare insert the word 'My' before that salutation.

"'I'm writing this letter in the hope that it won't be long before you settle somewhere for long enough to have a reliable postal address and feel able to trust me with it, knowing that I have promised only to come to you when you tell me you are ready.'"

Sara pauses and looks at me, "I'm sorry Gil, I never meant you to feel that I didn't trust you. It sounds like a cliché, but the only person I didn't trust right then was me. I guess I was right in that too; I was making some really stupid decisions at the time wasn't I? And that meant I lost the support you were offering and that I wasn't there when you needed me. That's something I'm always going to regret, now that I understand how stupid I was being."

All I can do is shake my head, regret is an emotion of the past, it needs to be set aside in order to move on, but even if I had a way to explain that to Sara it's something that she really needs to learn for herself, just like I had to in order to deal with what happened to me. At least from what I've learned about her time away she's well on her way to making the life changes she needs to if we're going to make a success of this. Sara smiles at me softly before bowing her head over my letter once more.

"'I know that I probably shouldn't entrust something as valuable as the enclosed to the regular mail service,'" she reads, "'but I want you to have this as soon as possible, without scaring you by having unexpected couriers knocking at your door, so I have to hope that making the package as inconspicuous as possible will act as some kind of security. I guess the fact that I'm going to be carrying around with me everywhere until I have a chance to pass it on to you won't do any harm as far as that's concerned.'"

Sara picks up the empty envelope in her free hand, "well, I guess that worked, this looks as though you've had it with you pretty much ever since you wrote it," she jokes. Sara scans my face and, looking back at hers, I can almost see the moment when she realises that is exactly what has happened. The packet became almost like a talisman in the weeks immediately after Sara left and was kept with my other property at the hospital because I had it with me when I was admitted. Fortunately Catherine was her usual thorough self and checked all the pockets before she consigned my ruined court suit to the trash. While she had no way of getting any information out of me about the package's contents she did ask if it was anything important and, from the certainty of my blinked 'yes' she made sure it was kept safely in the top drawer of my bedside locker until the contents of that were packed and then moved with me to Cottonwood House. It's lived in the outer pocket of the bag that always hangs from the handles of my wheelchair since the day I took delivery of both chair and bag, even once I'd stopped believing that I'd ever see Sara again. Even though she can't read the details from my expression the truth of what I said in the letter is obvious and Sara's face becomes more solemn. "What would matter so much to you that you'd carry it like that," she muses aloud, "yet you were prepared to drop it in a mail box as soon as you had an address where it would reach me?"

All I can do is smile and tap the letter gently, all will be revealed, she just has to continue reading.

"'Please understand that I'm not trying to pressurise you with the nature of what I'm sending you, it's just that, when we never managed to find time to go shopping together, I took the risk and ordered it before you left and, now that it's ready, I'd rather it was in your hands than mine.'"

The light is starting to dawn for Sara, I can see it in her face, but there was also a wince when the letter referred to our failed attempts to go shopping or spend much quality time of any sort together in those few weeks before Sara finally left. I remember being very confused at the time, unsure if things were simply difficult because we were trying to adjust to being on different shifts and had less free time when we were both awake to schedule any outings, or if Sara was having second thoughts about marrying me and was trying to back away from that, or even away from our relationship altogether. By the time I'd overcome my lack of instinct where other's thoughts and feelings are concerned and figured out that Sara might actually be getting seriously depressed and tried to do something about it by attempting to get her to talk to me and by ordering the gift that now lies beneath my right hand, it was already too late and Sara was in the process of leaving.

Now that Sara has pretty much guessed what's coming next she dives back in and hurries to read aloud the next paragraph.

"'I realise that you have a lot to think about right now, so I want you to know that the ring comes without any commitment, on your side at least, but I do hope you'll keep it and, better still, wear it so that you will always be aware that my thoughts and heart go with you, wherever you are. The only thing that I ask is that you wear it on your right hand or on a chain around your neck and then, if and when the time comes, you'll allow me the honour of placing it on your left ring finger.'"

Sara looks stunned, even though she almost certainly knew what was coming. Moving the cushion that I'm using like armour so I can keep it in place with my right arm, I use my left hand to push the small bubble wrap square across the duvet towards Sara. There's more of the letter that she still needs to read, but she may as well see the ring now, it's too late to go back and any further suspense would be without benefit.

It's hardly the way I saw it, once I'd got over the shock of suggesting to Sara that marriage should be our next step. I knew it had hardly been a romantic moment, no fancy words, no bended knee and me almost as speechless as Sara until that bee gave us something else to concentrate on, so I'd wanted the presentation of the ring to be more traditional, even if we'd chosen the ring together I'd planned on a good meal at a place where we could dress up and repeating my request for Sara's hand while ignoring the complaints that I'd inevitably getting from my ageing knees as they endured a cold, hard, floor. Yet, here we are; both in our nightwear, the ring long ago divested of its velvet box in favour of less conspicuous packaging material and I've spent enough time on the floor today not to want to repeat the exercise, even if Sara has declared my hand sufficiently recovered for me not to need the sling anymore. I do the most chivalrous thing I can instead and, while Sara picks away at the tape sealing the plastic wrapping I rearrange the duvet so that it covers Sara's bare feet which must be getting a little chilly by now. The actions required doing that help to cover my concern that Sara will hate my taste in jewellery; we didn't even get around to discussing stones or metals, let alone specific designs, so I was pretty much making a stab in the dark when I made my selection.

A gasp from Sara brings my head up quickly. At least the expression on her face shows that the sound wasn't one of horror, although her mouth is slightly open from what appears to be shock. The oblique angle of the light from the still lit bedside lamp combines with the brighter glow from above and brings to life the cluster of small diamonds that surround the central stone. The ring itself, currently held between Sara's finger and thumb, is regular gold but the diamonds are set in white gold to make the 'petals' of the 'daisy cluster' as the store assistant described it. In keeping with the theme the central stone is set in regular yellow gold to represent the middle of the flower.

"A ruby," Sara states, finding her voice, "I hadn't even thought about one of those, but it works." She turns the ring to look at it from different angles and I'm pleased with how the deep red stone complements her fair skin. "You know, being oval, it almost looks like a ladybug that's landed on a diamond flower." She looks up and catches me grinning, that's what persuaded me to choose this piece above all the others, I'd briefly thought of some kind of butterfly motif, but memories of processing the jewellery collection of Sara's look alike, Debbie Marlin, made me reject the idea.

"I was going to ask for a sapphire or blue topaz to match your eyes, but this is beautiful."

I hope Sara means that but, just in case she's only saying that to please me, I decide to bring her attention back to my letter. I don't remember my exact words but I'm sure I said something to try and reassure Sara that she didn't have to accept my choice if she didn't want to. Sara reluctantly places the ring back down on the bed and resumes reading.

"'I know that the design is not exactly traditional and maybe that's for the best right now, but if you still want us to choose something together like we'd originally planned then I'm happy to do that, although I hope you'll still want to keep this one as a token of my feelings towards you, however our futures may turn out.'" Sara reaches the end of the text and looks at me, perhaps that glint in her eye is a small tear as she speaks aloud the last few words; "'Always yours, Gilbert.'"

"S-ara." I reach to touch the spot of moisture as it begins to escape towards her cheekbone.

Sara leans forward and kisses me on the mouth. It's the first time we've kissed there since she came back and it's chaste, a gentle touch involving only our lips.

"Since when have I been fixated on 'traditional', Gilbert Grissom?" she asks with a smile once the kiss is over. "And I have absolutely no intention of giving this ring back to you.

"However, I would very much like us to look at some jewellery stores together, when you feel up to a trip like that."

I try to hide my disappointment that Sara mustn't be quite as pleased with my choice of ring as she's making out, then I realise; that isn't the worst of it, if Sara wants us to go and pick another ring, then she hasn't completely understood that I'm giving her this ring now as a symbol of the commitment we're making to be more open to each other, to establish proper give and take between us, and then see where that takes us. In the letter I was offering to let her choose another ring to use for our actual engagement and an engagement is something I still don't think I'll be ready to consider again until I'm confident that Sara knows what she's getting herself into.

Sara is watching me and I can see her concern growing, my thoughts must be showing all over my face.

"Gil, I meant that I'd like us to pick out a nice chain for me to wear this ring on, it deserves something better than a plain thing that I might have somewhere in my jewellery box, that's all. I wasn't suggesting you pay for another ring when this one is so beautiful and truly perfect as a gift from you. I understand that you can't have that much money available to you now that you can't work, especially after giving me that big cheque."

OK, so she hasn't quite read my mind because money has been the least of my worries since I was hurt. Ecklie stepped up for once and pushed for me to get the maximum, 'injured in the line of duty' pay-out from my employees' insurance and I also had some personal policies that covered critical injury. The sale of my old house released a big sum that has just been sitting in the bank, so giving Sara a share of that for being the person who made my house a proper home was an easy decision. All in all I'm pretty wealthy now, so it's a good job I have someone I know to be as trustworthy as Jim Brass to take care of it all for me, even if he does sometimes joke about touring Europe at my expense.

I smile at Sara and shake my head, holding my arms wide apart to try and signal vast numbers of dollars. Her response has cheered me up because the mention of a chain to hang her ring on has reassured me that Sara understands that even though I've presented her with a ring, I haven't just proposed marriage again. It's also a relief to know that Sara really wouldn't mind being seen in public with me as I am now.

"Well, that's a big grin," Sara says, displaying one of her own, "can I take that as a sign that you're over you nightmare now? Because much as I'd love to celebrate right now it's almost two a.m., and we should both be trying to get some sleep if we want to do much tomorrow morning before Lucy collects you after lunch." She starts to get off the bed, carefully collecting the various bits of packaging, the letter and the ring as she does so.

I'm all prepared to settle when Sara helps me ease back to a horizontal position, removing the extra pillows that I was leaning on and I accept her goodnight kiss contentedly, knowing that the gamble I took by giving her my letter and the ring has been a success, even if it will be some time before I find out the real extent of any 'winnings'. Then Sara starts to leave and the sight of her at the door, with an envelope in one hand and the other reaching for the light-switch, brings the memory of my dream flooding back. My incoherent but clearly anxious grunt halts Sara before I'm left with only the bedside lamp for company and she comes back towards me.

"You look scared again Bug Guy, don't you want me to go?"

I shake my head and, in another impetuous move, I lift the duvet in invitation.

Sara tilts her head to one side in consideration, "Are you sure?"

I blink that I am, maybe it's not my brightest idea considering how adamant I've been that we should just be friends for now, but what I want tonight is the comfort of Sara being close beside me while I try to go back to sleep.

"We'll, I did once invite you to spend the night with me to help me deal with my nightmares, I guess I'd be a hypocrite to refuse when you ask the same thing, especially as we understand each other a lot better than we did then, don't we?"

I just smile at her, remembering my shock on that occasion.

"OK then, but no funny business, Doctor Grissom, do you understand?"

I grin at Sara's way of telling me she's aware of the terms on which I'm asking her to stay and pull back the duvet a little further. Moments later Sara joins me.

It takes a while for us to settle on a comfortable position. Usually I sleep with my deaf ear uppermost and my right hand on my pillow where it's least likely to end up in a position when the circulation could get cut off without me noticing, but tonight I want to be able to hear if Sara says something to me and with another person in the bed I have to be even more careful that my hand won't get crushed. In the end we settle on the 'spoons' position lying on our left sides, unconventionally Sara is behind me but, because we're much the same height, it seems to work.

Sara wraps one arm around me and I place my left hand on top of hers where it rests on my stomach. I know that she must be able to feel the scars there through the thin fabric of my T-shirt but it no longer bothers me. With time Sara will get to see all the consequences of what happened to me and I'm no longer going to try and protect her from those things. Together we'll tackle every obstacle when we come to it. At last, after all these years, we're finally travelling the same road and facing in the same direction, wherever our final destination might be.

Interlacing my fingers with Sara's I realise that, for the first time since my world collapsed around me, I finally feel happy and optimistic about the future and, judging by the kiss she just placed on the back of my neck, so does she. Life is never completely perfect but right now it feels damn close.

A/N As for where Grissom and Sara's journey will end up, you're going to have to decide that for yourselves, because that's where I'm leaving the Cottonwood House Universe. I have my own 'journey' to get on with, including some real life stuff to catch up on. I do intend to be back writing CSI: fan fiction sometime in the Spring, but I will be exploring something new next time, not producing another sequel, so please don't ask!

Thanks to all of you who have read, reviewed and encouraged during the writing of this story and the rest of the series, particularly Auntie_J and SylvieT.

Moonstarer.