A/N: HA! Bet you thought it would never get here! Ahem. Sorry this took so long, folks, but I think my muse and the pc faerie are in cahoots. This is not a good thing…and neither is saying 'cahoots' come to think of it, but onwards and upwards… or downwards. I never can tell.
Hope you enjoy - and, as usual, this chapter is rated for language…and maybe some gore. Okay, there's gore. You'd have found out pretty quickly anyway.
(Disclaimer: Don't own anything Supernatural. The following story, and the characters of Riley and Dee belong to me.)
Requiem.
Chapter Thirteen.
Thursday, 1.01pm
"Eenie-meenie-miney-moe. Catch a puppet by the toe. If it squeals, kill it slow. Eenie-meenie-miney-moe."
She tore into the bloodied muscle, her fingers ripping into the organ as the last of the ancient words spewed from her. The maniacal giggle and nonsensical mutterings at her side were becoming a distraction. A minor one, but a distraction nonetheless.
"Eenie-meenie-miney-moe. Catch a puppet by the toe. If it squeals, kill it slow. Eenie-meenie-miney-moe."
She tore the heart in two, the rending of flesh bringing a smile to her lips, a fire to her eyes. So many puppets with which to play. Her smile widened, who would be her next choice? Who would she manoeuvre into perfect position? Who would she torment next?
The heart no longer ran with blood, she dug her fingers deeper, squeezing every last stinking drop from it as she decided her next move in this game of chess.
"Eenie-meenie-miney-moe. Catch a puppet by the toe. If it squeals, kill it slow. Eenie-meenie-miney-moe."
Eenie-meenie-miney-moe, indeed, she thought to herself, smiling as she selected her next pawn. She was slowly bringing them all together, toying with them as they'd toyed with her. Teasing her with promises of life and dominion before ripping them away, forcing her to wait until her promised one was ready once more. She would not be denied again. She was owed. And each one of them would pay their dues.
She dropped the ravaged heart, the fire engulfing the offering. The muscle hissed as thick tendrils churned darkly from the pyre, spiralling frenziedly in and around itself as it fought skywards. The murmurs gurgling within the inky maelstrom were a jumbled mess of disjointed words in disjointed voices, a swirling mass of half-finished vows and empty promises in the yearned-for whispers of the dead.
The scream of the chosen voice as it burst to the fore brought an excitable shiver to her. A fire-like ecstasy burned through her as she watched the solemnly hollow words twist into the peacefully blue sky. She raised crimson fingers to ruby lips, the sweet taste of fear-filled blood sliding deliciously over her tongue as she watched the words begin their toxic journey, carried to a vulnerable mind on jasmine-scented winds.
The night would belong to her.
Thursday, 1.51pm.
Warm afternoon sun drifted into the yard, the slowly shifting beams casting long, fiery shadows across the patchwork grass. The air was charged with the familiar pre-hunt electricity, only this time it held a darker edge. They were hunting one of their own - an unwilling clean-up crew forced to ensure an act of betrayal committed thirty years ago was seen through to its murderous end.
They'd been played beautifully.
Sam studied Dean carefully as he tried to pass this realisation onto his brother. But no amount of reasoning, soft or loud, seemed to get through. He was pretty damn sure nothing was.
"Are you even listening, Dean!"
The voices that buzzed in and around his head were nothing but white noise. A now muffled drone that darted about him, trying to find a way in, a way to get to him. But he was onto them. He knew what they were trying to do, knew what they were after. They wouldn't get it. They couldn't steal his focus. It wasn't theirs. It was his. No one else's. His.
Mine.
Sam knew the look his brother was wearing. The determined set of his jaw meant there was no changing his mind, the deliberate selection of weapons leaving little doubt as to the outcome. But it was the almost glazed look about his brother's eyes that bothered Sam. This was more than the autopilot he'd seen Dean operate under before, it was almost as if Dean was being ...he shook his head, nah.
"Dean, look at me, dude."
His vision was narrowed – he could see hands at the end of a dark tunnel, moving with perfect precision over weapon after weapon. Assembling an arsenal. The hands looked disjointed, like they belonged to someone else, but the fluid movements and ease with which they checked and loaded each purposefully selected instrument meant they could only be his. His hands. His pistols. His shotguns. His rifles. His.
Mine.
Sam stepped closer, casting Dean's arsenal in shadow, "Come on, man," he pleaded, putting a hand to his brother's shoulder. His frustration rose, and he tightened his grip when he got no response, "For Christ's sake, Dean!" he yelled, trying to get his brother's attention, but none of it registered. Dean's focus never wavered.
"Dean, listen to me!"
The attention seeking grabs to his shoulders were faint annoyances, nothing more. They wouldn't stop him. They wouldn't even slow him down. He grabbed his bags and slammed the Landy's back doors. He would take Dee down with her own weapons. Part of his mind registered that bad cliché, but all he was concerned about was killing the bitch that had shot his brother. His baby brother. His responsibility. His.
Mine.
Sam kicked out at the ground, swearing as he followed Dean. This was all going to shit. The minute Bobby had sworn Riley was alive, Dean hadn't said a word; he'd stared long and hard at Bobby before pushing the man from him and slamming through the front door. He hadn't slowed since. "Just slow down for a second…" He looked towards Bobby for help, but he was still on the porch arguing with Virginia. This was ridiculous, and no goddamn way to go into a hunt…especially one like this.
"Dean!"
His boots kicked up dust as he stalked towards the Impala, the ghost of a smile touching his lips as he spied his baby. They were on the hunt again. He threw the bags into the trunk, slamming it shut with comforting finality. It would end now. And it would be ended by him. No one else. This was his hunt. Not Bobby's. Not Sam's. His.
Mine.
Sam blocked Dean's path to the wheel, bracing himself for anything. "If you think you're doing this alone, think again, dude." There was no way in hell he was letting Dean run solo on this one. He wouldn't let his brother carry this hunt, this kill on his shoulders alone.
"This isn't just your hunt, its mine too. You hear me, Dean? Mine. "
He didn't notice that one word that kept whispering through him, but when echoed by his brother, it brought it to life. His lips silently formed the word with each possessive caress, the seductive mantra weaving the strings that would command his actions from here on in. His actions. His decisions. His.
Mine.
Sam stood his ground - his height advantage meant little against his brother, especially when Dean was like this. But there was little else he could do. Time was against them and they were operating with information that was suspicious at best. They were going in, and they were going in blind. Awesome.
"Dean," he gritted his teeth, "you're not going anywhere."
He barely noticed that the word now carried its own desperate urgency. But it was reflected in the tension that was building in his shoulders, in the clenching of his fists each time it sighed through him. That one word that had been sealed in blood last night, each pulse through his barely healed neck punctuating the offering, a gentle reminder of what was at stake here. Dee was going after Riley. And no one messed with Riley. His throat pulsed. No one.
Mine.
Sam shifted his weight as we watched the tension build within his brother - they couldn't go anywhere without some kind of plan. It was suicide. He took a deep breath, if Dean didn't listen to him this time, he was gonna have to put him on his ass. More fun.
He took a careful step towards his brother, "Dean, we need to think this through carefully. We're not going after an amateur here. This is her domain, hers, not ours." He raised his hands, "We're going, I get that, but if we don't do this properly," he paused, "then Riley's not gonna be the only one that's dead, dude."
Sam studied his brother, looking for some kind of sign, anything that would tell him Dean had heard him. He wanted some kind of reaction from the barely controlled time-bomb that was ticking-down in front of him. His gut tightened and his frown deepened as Dean suddenly came to life. His jaw relaxed and his shoulders fell to their familiar slouch, his eyes now holding the mischievous glint Sam was used to.
"We're not playing by her rules, Sammy." He gave his brother his trademark grin, "We're playing by ours."
Thursday, 4.37pm.
The crimson droplet pushed its way out of her, hanging precariously over the lip of flesh before beginning its slow meander down her skin. She watched transfixed as the drop forged its own path, fighting for independence from the more zealous streams around it. But it couldn't deny its fate. The unyielding pull of the source was undeniable, and the weaker stream was swallowed by the stronger, its independence slowly disappearing. Its will now that of its master.
She raised her hand, her finger pushing the flesh aside as it bumped over her ribs, the blood now flowing steadily. She was mesmerised. But something wasn't right. She remembered blood. A lot of blood. More blood than this. But not here…the wound wasn't here...it was…
Her gaze flicked up as a vaguely familiar sound cracked through her world. She knew that sound. Why did she know that sound? Her eyes dropped to the wound again, the flesh peeling back around her finger…but it wasn't a finger she remembered in the wound, it was a … She frowned as that sound rang out again. She should know what that was.
It was starting to bother her.
She looked back to the fleshy mess, not sure whether to smile or frown. Smile, yes - the blood was now a river…like it had been… like she remembered. But 'no' because her chest was heaving, her lungs now burning, sweat beaded her brow as she tried to catch her breath, the muscles in her legs screaming for reprieve. Why was that?
Her eyes snapped up at the now all-too-familiar unfamiliar sound. Crack. That was it. That was the sound. Her focus was drawn again to the wound in her side, and there was no indecision this time as her brow furrowed. She wondered at the dirt and debris that was now stuck in and around the flesh. Seconds ago it was a startlingly bright mess of pinks, whites and reds, now it was tainted. Tainted…she was…
She flinched this time as the shot rang out, her vision swimming as she tried to block the searing pain that ripped through her side. She shook her head, brushed the stinging tears from her eyes and took a steadying breath. She cracked her neck, the pain in her side now forgotten as she tightened her grip on her rifle. She made a slight adjustment to her position over the cabin, the leaf-litter crunching underneath her. It was time to see what Riley was up to.
The rifle was snug against her shoulder as she put her eye to the scope, quickly scanning the carnage below. He was right. But he was always right. The proof was laid out in fatal confirmation for her. Riley would stop at nothing to uncover her secret - the three dead cops attested to that. And if Riley found out before it was time, she'd lose everything. And she wouldn't. Not this time. Not again.
But Riley wasn't the only one who could undo everything. There were three more who stood in her way. Three more that needed to be dealt with. She smiled to herself. It was time to go fishing. And she knew just where to find her bait. She'd heard the cabin door slam, Riley's distinctive yells from within barely drowning out those of another.
She nodded to the faint whispering in her ear, smiled softly at the gentle fingers that ran down her cheek. She knew he was right. She rose from her position, slinging her rifle over her shoulder as she advanced on the cabin, his words now the foundation on which she built her plan. Riley was injured, she was weak and she was vulnerable. The perfect prey. Prey she would dangle in front of her other targets. She would exploit her enemy's weaknesses - guilt, righteousness and love were powerful weapons, and she would use them as lethally as she used all her others.
She allowed the shadow of a smile to touch her lips as she drew up behind the cabin; the brothers Winchester were each other's ammunition. Hit one, hit the other. And inside was a way to get to one of them. And where one went, so did the other. The old man? He wouldn't let them out of his sight.
It was all falling perfectly into place. Just like he said it would. She nodded to the lips that whispered against her ear as she crept silently up the back stairs, her pistols nestled snugly in her hands. The right side of her mouth twitched as she heard Riley's muffled voice through the door.
The twitch turned into the ghost of a smile as she heard a shot ring out. He was right. He was always right.
The meek shall not inherit the earth.
Thursday, 4.33pm
Riley studied the cop in front of her - just shy of six foot, military-cut dark brown hair, and hate-filled brown eyes. He was grinding his teeth, his hand closing ever tighter around the scruff of her t-shirt as he tried to control his breathing. He was weighing up whether he could get away with a 'resisting arrest' beating or not.
"Do it," Riley challenged quietly, subtly shifting her weight onto the balls of her feet. "You know there'll be no witnesses." She leaned in, softly coaxing the decision from him. "Do it," she whispered. "Do it."
He smiled as he raised his fist.
So did she.
Riley winked at the cop as his arm started its downward arc, her smile widening when she saw him hesitate. It was just a fraction of a second, but it was all she needed. She pushed off her feet, catching the cop off-guard and breaking his nose. He stumbled back, muffling a yell as he put a hand to his face. She'd timed the head-butt perfectly. She dropped the surprised cop at her side with a knee to his balls and waited for 'broken-nose' to regroup. It didn't take long.
She took a steadying breath as he roared. Perfect.
He charged.
Okaaay, risky but perfect. But there was no way she was getting into a squad car. No way. She needed this idiot off his game, needed him too pissed to think through what he was doing. She needed that advantage. Hell, she needed any damn advantage she could get right now.
Wait...wait… He had to be almost upon her for this to...
She flinched as her world turned red.
The cop slammed into her, the shot that had blown his brains out not stopping his momentum. She was pinned to the truck as his legs pumped once...twice...before his body finally realised it was dead. He slid painfully slowly from her, leaving a bloodied, wet trail in his wake.
Riley dropped, using the cop's body as cover as she slipped under the pick-up. What the fuck was going on? What the FUCK was going on!
Her head snapped to her left as the body of the other cop slumped to the ground, his head lolling towards her, his mouth open in protest against the bullet hole that now sat between surprised eyes.
She knew of only one person who could take that shot.
Dee.
Two perfect shots like that? It couldn't be anyone else. It was insane. Like everything else that had been going on. It was fucking insane. Nothing made sense anymore. Up was down, left was right…and Dee was taking out cops now? Jesus, Jesus, Jesus….what the fuck was going on!
She turned to a yell from the cabin, instinctively shouting her own warning.
"TAKE COVER! TAKE COVER!"
She swore in frustration as she saw a pair of feet hit the ground running, heading towards the slain cops. Her yells were ignored as the man ran recklessly towards the pick-up and into the line of fire.
"Shiiiiiiiit!"
She kicked out at the dirt as another body crashed to the ground. Idiot! Idiot! Idiot! She took a shuddering breath. Think, Riley! Okay, okay, so that's three down, one to go. Or was that two? Was Dee trying to get her out of this...or was she saving her for last? There's a thinker.
She took a calming breath. Either way, the first thing she had to do was get out of these handcuffs, she'd wasted too much time already. She shifted towards the cop's body, praying the keys were in the only pocket she had access to. Please, please, please, please... She fished around awkwardly, trying not to think about where her hand was. Please, please, please... if the keys weren't in here, she was...shit.
Fuck it. She had to move. Dee already was. It wasn't just that she knew how her friend worked, she could tell by the way the last body had hit the ground that Dee was moving, and moving fast - improving her position on her next target. Question was, was it her or the cop inside.
Riley wriggled to the side of the pick-up that was closest to the cabin. Until she knew exactly what was going on, the house was the safest place to be right now. Awesome. Just freakin' awesome. She looked at her run to it - thirty feet, easy as…unless you had a sniper on your arse. Or did she?
She took a deep breath. Only one way to find out.
Rolling from under the pick-up, she got quickly to her feet and sprinted towards the cabin, her heart hammering in her chest as the house seemed to get further and further away instead of closer. Why did that always happen? And why did it always feel like she was running in slow motion? Stop asking questions and RUN, you silly bitch!
She prayed her knee wouldn't give out as she finally came to within range of the porch and launched herself towards it, her heart skipping a beat when one of the railings disintegrated as she sailed by. Well that answered one question.
She landed heavily, a blinding pain skewering through her ribs as she rolled towards the temporary sanctuary of the door. Half-way there. Dee had taken a shot at her, but she was half-way there. Now all she had to do was figure out a way to get inside without the last cop putting one between her eyes. She did a quick body check - no new wounds. She was surprised. Surprised she was still alive and surprised that Dee had missed.
But she was more surprised when the door opened and an arm reached out, dragging her inside and slamming the door behind her.
Thursday, 5.17pm.
Sam turned in slow circles, his gaze flicking rapidly between the blood-strewn yard and the tree-line; the unnatural silence that hung over the property and surrounding woods making him tighten his grip on his pistol. He finally looked over to Dean, "Whose rules?"
Dean glanced up from the body of the cop he was crouched over - right between the eyes. He stood slowly, his finger held firm and steady on the trigger of his pistol, his eyes taking in everything around him. Three dead cops, a partially open cabin door and no time.
He glanced at Sam and motioned towards the house. They kept low, guns at the ready as they moved quickly across the yard. Dean noted the boot impressions in the dirt and the destroyed porch railing as he made his way up the stairs. Hit or miss? he wondered as he stole across the porch, Sam covering his back.
They flanked the door, a quick glance and nod to his brother and Dean toed it open. He stepped into the doorway, blinking just once as he looked down the barrel of his pistol at what had once been a man. "We got one more," he whispered as he moved cautiously into the room.
"Jesus..."
"Sweep first," Dean said quietly, motioning towards the back of the cabin.
Sam stepped carefully around the blood-splatter and followed his brother down the hallway, Dean checking the rooms on the left, while he took the right. Nothing.
"We can't have missed her by much, Dean. The bodies are still war…" Sam whispered.
"She was here," Dean interrupted, turning from the room. "They both were."
"This is bad shit, Dean," Sam whispered as he followed his brother back down the hallway. "Whole other level kind of bad shit now."
"Now?" asked Dean as he stepped back into the abattoir. His eyes moved expertly over the room. "We're missing something," he muttered.
"Dean, we don't have time for this!" Sam hissed. "When do you think those guys last radioed in?" He went to the window and glanced outside - they didn't have time for a proper search and they sure as shit didn't have time to play guessing games in a slaughterhouse. He turned his attention to the mess that was Henry Bowman; you didn't need to be a genius to see this had been done to effect maximum impact. There wasn't one part of the body that had been spared. And perfectly positioned like that? Whoever did this was playing with them. But which one of them?
"Dean, if we're caught here, we're screwed."
Ignoring Sam's protests, Dean moved cautiously towards the seated corpse - he could see the slow torture behind the frenzied final attack, the brutality inflicted before the blessed release of death. Whoever had done this had taken their time, taken pleasure in it. He took a shallow breath before glancing inside the man's chest; they'd also taken something else. "What a surprise."
Sam could barely drag his eyes from Henry Bowman's new necktie, he'd never seen one before. He didn't want to see another. "And someone didn't want him talking."
Dean's stared dully at his brother, "Thank you, Captain Obvious."
"How can this not freak you out, Dean! There are four dead cops here! And not just dead either. Executed. We're not just talking supernatural shit anymore. We need to get out of here and we need to get the hell out now." He grabbed Dean by the scruff of his jacket and pushed him towards the door.
Dean shrugged out of Sam's grasp, "We're missing something, Sam." He turned in circles, scanning the room again, "A big something," he mumbled. He spied what looked like smeared finger marks along the wall near Bowman's broken fingers. He crouched, "Something was…rubbed out, I think."
"I swear to Christ, dude…"
"Okay, okay," Dean sighed as he rose. "Can't read it anyway." He knew they needed to get out of here, but something was bugging the shit out him - he frowned as he headed towards the door, there was a big freakin' elephant in the room and it wasn't dead-man-sitting. Three dead cops and…he stopped short, Sam cussing as he walked into the back of him.
"Fuck me, Dean!"
"Where's the other one?" Dean asked softly. He turned to Sam. "These guys ride in pairs, Sammy. So where the hell's the other one?"
"We'll add it to the list of missing things!" Sam angered. "Now lets go!"
Dean pushed Sam back, stepping past him towards the door and checking outside. "Keep low and move fast, Sammy. Stay close," Dean ordered as he moved quickly across the porch and into the yard. Dee could be anywhere in these woods, they were easy targets and her aim was nowhere near off. Question was, would she shoot to kill them just yet.
The games had only just begun.
Sam followed Dean across the yard, his eyes moving constantly. The threat could damn well come from anywhere. He glanced at the Chevy as he passed and stopped suddenly, taking a step back. He cocked his head left then right as he stared at the driver's side window. That's not right…
Dean turned when he heard his brother stop, swearing to himself when he saw Sam standing goddamn tall in the middle of the yard, staring at the Chevy like he was freakin' 'Rain Man'. He ran back and grabbed Sam by the arm, "Now who's dragging their ass," he angered. He pushed Sam towards the gate, cuffing him upside the head for good measure.
"No, look…" Sam insisted, pushing back at Dean as he pointed at the window, his finger following the barely discernible but dripping outline. He dropped his gaze to the almost faceless cop at his feet before following the blood trail back up to the window. "Riley was standing right here when it happened. The cops had her, Dean." He pointed to the cop, "And this poor bastard was the first shot." He turned to his brother, "She must have been covered in him."
The subtle clenching of his jaw was the only change in Dean's demeanour. Mine. He pushed at Sam again. "Like you said, Sammy. We're caught here, we're screwed."
"No, Dean! This changes everything!"
"It doesn't change a damn thing," he said through clenched teeth. Mine. "Not a damn thing." He grabbed Sam again, "Now get your…"
He dropped his hold on his brother, glancing quickly at Sam as he grabbed his phone from his jacket. He snapped it open, he didn't need to look at the caller ID to know who was on the other end.
"Where the hell is Riley, bitch."
"Dean, Dean, Dean. Why all the hostility?"
"Maybe because you're a psycho bitch with sociopathic tendencies, but I'm just thinking out loud here."
He returned the punch Sam gave him as Dee's throaty laugh filtered through the line – there was no mistaking the undercurrent of madness. It held its own shady presence behind that familiar sound and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
"Come on, old son, you can do better than that." Her laugh snaked through the phone again, "It's easy to recognise your own kind, Dean." Her voice was barely a whisper as it grazed across the line, forcing him to listen closely. "To see so plainly in others what you won't acknowledge in yourself?" He could hear the smile in her voice, "Kindred spirits, Dean. Admit it and I may just answer your question."
He could hear the taunt in her voice, picture the look on her face - she didn't have Riley, she was toying with him. Well two could play at that game. "Kindred spirits?" He laughed softly, "Would you like fries with your delusion?"
"Aaah, but it's not me that's been deluded, Yankee. Just take a look around you…" he heard her smile, "G'orn…"
His heart skipped a beat, his senses going into overdrive as he kept everything else about him relaxed. He turned slowly, catching Sam's eye as he scanned the woods, "I'm looking, and this is some hole you've dug for yourself." He shook his head with a laugh, "Dee, Dee, Dee," he tutted, "taking out cops now?" He laughed again, dropping his voice to a harsh whisper, "Didn't your mother teach you anything?"
He ignored Sam's furious eyes and mumbled curses - he was drawn completely to the silence that screamed through the other end of the line. The laugh started slowly, slithering through the connection, and Dean's blood ran cold as he heard the madness shifting darkly behind the earthy laugh he was used to. The sudden disintegration of the laugh and return to the menacing silence brought the twitch of a smile to his lips, confirming he'd hit home.
Mine.
"What are the voices telling you, Winchester?"
The last question was barely a whisper, but it dripped venom from every word. The click of the phone disconnecting letting him know she'd hit back. He looked at his brother,
"Run, Sammy…"
Thursday, 5.28pm.
Riley charged through the thick scrub, a low-hanging branch scraping painfully across her check as she slid down the embankment and raced up the other side. Every ragged breath tore into her side, every step sent shooting pain through her knee, but she couldn't stop. She could hear the branches breaking behind her, the crunching of leaf-litter under fast moving feet.
She moved deeper into the woods, she needed the shadows, she needed the darkness as her ally. She took almost unseen paths that would best cover her trail as she travelled further into the forest. She needed a place to hide, to regroup, but she was running out of time. She had to stay alive until she could get back to Bobby's, get back to Dean. She needed to get back to Dean. She had to stay on the move until night fell, darkness would level the playing field…if she made it that far.
She shook her head in denial, no, she wasn't going out like this. Not handcuffed and on the run. But she understood she was on her own now. The two people she relied on most were gone. One was dead, the other hunting her. She kicked angrily at a tree as she passed, Jack would know what to do, he always knew what to do. But he wasn't here. She had to live this nightmare alone.
She was only vaguely aware of the words that slipped from her lips as she cut back and forth through the woods, the almost forgotten lullaby rising from the depths of her memories and finding their own voice.
"Salt along windows, holy water for demons. Bright shiny daggers and guns are my weapons. Vampires and djinns, my sword I will swing. These are a few of my favourite things."
She burst through thick scrub and ducked around a large tree, scraping her shoulder as she began a clumsy, frenzied climb up a densely-foliaged foothill. She remembered her father singing his version of the song to her when she'd woken from a nightmare as a child, rocking her as he taught her what she needed to stay alive. It calmed her. It had always calmed her.
"Brown wooden stakes and silver tipped bullets. Rifles and shotguns for hunting my targets. Machetes and latin and bow I will bring. These are a few of my favourite things."
Her breathing was coming in ragged rasps, burning through her bruised throat as the words were now pushed out on exhausted breaths.
"My favourite things…"
She had to keep going, she could hear the crashing of undergrowth behind her as she was hunted.
"Favourite things..."
She scrambled over loose earth, slipping a little before regaining her balance.
"My favourite..."
She couldn't get caught, not now. She had to get to Dean before they got to her.
"Mine."
He was coming for Dean.
"Mine."
Thursday, 4.59pm.
Bobby looked up from his hands, "You're sure."
Ginny nodded slowly, "It's their best chance." She sighed softly, "It may be their only chance." She looked Bobby in the eye, "I know what I saw."
Bobby stood, for the first time in a long time he felt old. "You understand if something happens to my boys…"
Ginny stood and pushed back her shoulders, nodding decisively. "I'll stand still while you do it."
To be continued…