The Journey Home

Chapter Twenty-Six

The hood-like black mask around his face hampered his breathingand it only angered him more, feeding into Raphael's already brimming circled, stalking, low to the ground, eyes on his opponent. Coleman lanterns, burning at the edges of the roughly drawn, dirt ring made the fighters inside the ring visible to the small crowd pressing in at them in anticipation. The tightly fitting black clothing Raphael wore hid his color, and the details of his body, but not his general form. The man before him was dressed in Levi's and a ripped T-shirt, his bare hands raised in a boxing stance.

Outside the ring, the men with money and women and jewelry, stood among the men in dirty overalls who shouted for blood.

Without warning Raphael moved in. Two powerful and lightening quick blows nearlyknockedthe larger man down, his legs buckling beneath him. The crowd roared their approval. The fighter shook his head, clearing the fog. He circled Raphael warily, respectfully increasing the distance between the two.

"Take him out, Rick!" shouted someone over the mayhem from the night shadows outside the ring.

"Kill that freak!" yelled another.

Other fans at ringside quieted, watching the short, stocky, powerhouse fighter intently.

"Gonna be short fight," they muttered.

"Who is that guy, anyway?"

Raphael moved in again, and faster than "Rick" could react, landed a left hook to his jaw, jerking his head sideways, followed by a brutal right into the ribs. As the man crumbled, Raphael's blindingly quick spin kick sent him sprawling across the ring.

He didn't get up.

A moment of near quiet fell over the stunned crowd. As the count began they raised their voices again, pressing forward like a wave.

The referee, who by his massive build was likely bouncer at a biker bar, turned away from the man on the ground. Several others rushed in to attend to him. The ref put a hand on Raph's shoulder. Raphael spun around and only barely stopped himself before decking the referee. Lifting Raph's hand in a gesture of victory, he shouted "The Winner... by knock out...Raphael!"

Money changed hands. Two men took Raphael off to the side, as the roaring thundered in his ears, and too many people crowded around. He fought the need to break away and bolt.

Too many people…

Hiram was at his side, an arm around him, pulling him away from two others who were shouting things that made no sense to Raphael.

"What'd we make?" asked Raph, his voice muffled under the mask. His breath came hard, not from exertion, but from the discomfort and fear of being so surrounded.

"Plenty. But you could make more. They love you—eh?"

Someone was pulling Hi aside and shouting in his ear.

"Yeah, yeah-" Hiram listened a moment, nodding. He turned back to Raph, groping to find him. Raphael grabbed his arm, jerking him closer and shoving someone else back. People, all around him, closing in.

"I'm gettin' outta here..." Raphael hissed.

"This way." Hiram pulled Raphael away from the press of bodies, back to the sheds that served as makeshift dressing rooms. It was dark inside, lit with a single bare bulb. It smelled of old urine and vomit.

"Sit down," said Hi, handing Raph a water bottle. Someone pounded on the door. "Go away. I'll be out in a minute!" he shouted.

Hi put a hand on Raphs' shoulder and Raphael recoiled.

"You ok, kid?" asked Hi. "Did he even get a hit?"

"No. Never touched me."

"Ok. You wait here. I'll be back. You wanna go again?"

"What've they got?"

"Don't know yet. Probably the guy that takes the next match. Probably be Smithy."

"Who?"

"Simon Smith. Big black kid. Real bad ass. Wait here. I'll be back."

Raphael sat uncomfortably perched on the broken stool. He stood up angrily and paced around the small space, feeling suffocated. He wanted to tear the mask off his face, but for fear of someone other than Hiram walking in on him, he didn't.

There was a quick knock at the door and it burst open.

Raphael jumped, ready to strike, and seeing Hiram's small frame, relaxed a bit.

"They're goin' nuts out there," Hi said excitedly. "They wanna put you up against two guys. Some of the money here didn't like how quick match that went."

"Screw 'em."

"We could clean up. Can you beat two at once?"

Raphael snorted. "Two more like that? Sheeit…"

"You'll do it?"

"What the hell…" He knew he wasn't even remotely done yet. He needed to beat the crap out of more bodies; he needed to spill blood. If he could make someone else bleed, or if he could just bleed, the pain would run out, into the dirt, run like blood…

Hi had his hand on the door. "This is gonna be a circus, y'know. I'm goin' out, see what kinda business I can get goin'. We got at least an hour or so. You need anything?"

"No."

"I'll be back." Hiram groped his way out the door, the voices of men greeting him as he stepped outside.

The referee and three others pressed around him, moving him out to the center of the ring. He jerked away from the sweaty hands on him, hands on his shoulders, hands on his back, hands that would feel the hardness there and know it wasn't a man's back.

Raphael turned around slowly in the center of the ring, eyes on the crowd, heart pounding. They yelled at him; some jeered and booed over the roar. The lanterns burned bright, shining on him, and obscuring the faces in the crowd from his vision with their glare. It made him want to yell back, scream in their faces, but he knew too, that that was what they wanted. Better to stand, blood roaring in his ears, and let the sound of the mob wash over him. As driven as he felt, Raphael the Warrior had at least that degree of control.

Two men entered the ring from either side and Raphael suddenly felt better. This, he knew. This, he understood.

Raphael dropped into a fighting stance, a feral grin baring his teeth. The two men, raising their ungloved fists, closed in. Raphael circled, stepping slowly, with reptilian deliberateness, hypnotically snake-like. He struck suddenly, flying at the closest fighter and landing a sidekick into his ribs. Spinning around before the second man could reach him, Raphael swept him off his feet. He finished him with a savage chop. The first man staggered to a stand and jumped him, trying to catch Raph in a bear hug from behind. With sheer strength Raphael broke his hold, grabbed the man's head behind him and threw him over his shoulders onto the ground.

Down on one knee, Raphael had the man's jaw in his hands, ready to snap his neck when the burly referee and Hi both grabbed him. He bolted up, threw them off and retreated back, hearing the screaming crowd around him, remembering where he was. He raised his hands at Hiram, signaling he was ok; he was backing off.

Raphael paced the ring like a caged animal as the referee counted down. One man didn't move, the other, the one whose neck Raph had nearly broken, stayed down by choice.

"The winner- " shouted the referee, "-by knock out and by domination-"

Raphael ducked away, avoiding the referee's outstretched hand.

Hiram was yelling and Raph crossed the ring to him, one eye on the howling crowd. He put a hand on Hi's shoulder and Hi grabbed Raph's arm.

"What the hell are you doing?" the old man shouted. "You kill one of these boys and the money's liable to take you out."

"Yeah, bring it on," growled Raphael, his eyes on the roiling mass of humanity.

"...RA-PHA-EL!" shouted the ref and the crowd roared.

"Hey! Hey!" Hi grabbed Raphael's face. "You listen to me. I don't wanna see you gettin' killed. You do what I say, we make money, and you stay alive!"

"Yeah, yeah. Don't sweat it…." Raphael finally looked into Hiram's face and saw the fear. "Hey. I'm not gonna do anything stupid. We done? Or they got any more for me?"

"Come here, get over to the side-"

Raphael guided him to the sidelines. Those other men that wouldn't stay back pressed in around them, all talking at Hi, slapping Raphael on the back, congratulating him. He cringed away from their touch.

Someone grabbed Hi, talking excitedly in his ear. A rat-faced man had his nose an inch from Raphael's, shouting something and hitting him on the back. Raphael grabbed his hand, locking the wrist joint, and snarled. The rat man squealed like a pig in a snare, buckling to his knees in Raph's grip.

Another hand was on Raphael's arm and he jerked back, breaking free of the tight knot of sweaty men. He saw Hi groping for him. He moved around the outside, avoiding the others and grabbed Hi's arm, pulling him to him.

Hiram shouted over the bedlam. "They want to up the ante. They want blood." Hi wiped his mouth. "What you've done is got some people mad. And that's ok, but it sets up this situation with the crowd," Hiram was still shouting to be heard. "They want to see you fall."

"Yeah? How they gonna do that?"

"Hold on. Another thing is, someone says you're wearing armor."

"It's not. I told ya-"

"Yeah, I know, some bone deformity. They ain't buyin' it. They want weapons."

Raphael grinned. "Cool."

"Not you. For them. Three guys. With maces. You're empty handed."

Raphael sucked in his cheeks. "Will they be upset if I take 'em away?"

"Once you're in that ring you do whatever you want."

"Whatever?"

"Don't kill anyone."

"But they can kill me?"

Hiram stopped, staring sightlessly just past Raphael's face. He scratched his sallow cheek. "You wanna go for this, you do whatever you need to."

The conference room looked no different than any other room in the facility. The windowless walls, stainless steel and white, surrounded a long black table gleaming in the indirect lighting.

Dr. Stephan Emmerson faced his colleagues, a panel of three men and two women. His hands moved over the black file on the table before him.

"Ladies, and gentlemen," he began. "I have called you to this meeting because a matter of some urgency has arisen and it appears we have a small window in time in which to act. I had not planned to share my findings this early in my investigation, however, we have reached an impasse with the samples I have been provided. Let me preface this by saying that the information that they have given us may prove to be valuable beyond anything we could have imagined. I am not often given to hyperbole, but I would like to say that this could truly be the most important, if not disturbing, scientific discovery in the past 50 years. Prior to this last month, we have had no verified sightings of these creatures and they had been filed along with Big Foot and the Loch Ness Sea monster. We now have tangible evidence of their existence.

"As you know, these samples were gathered during last month's investigation of a farmhouse in rural Massachusetts where an attempt was made to capture a live specimen. Our investigators were able to gather these blood samples, which were reported to have come from wounds inflicted on the creature in their efforts to take it alive. It was believed there were two specimens present at the time, the alpha male and the beta male, and that these samples were derived from the beta. The determination of our classification of this social ordering of these creatures has been based on chance observation of the behavior during the Massachusetts investigation and serves only to distinguish one creature from the other. It may prove to be inaccurate. Four individuals have been identified thus far, and we have not made a gender determination on two of them. We believe both specimens identified at the Massachusetts site to be male, though we only have proof of that for one: the subject of the present investigation.

"We have before us here are the results of extensive laboratory work done on a sample of blood taken from a specimen said to possess reptilian physiology, with upright carriage and bipedal locomotion. Direct observation suggests they are approximately five feet tall, weighing between 150 and 170 pounds. Please refer to the illustration on page 7 of your files."

The panel members leafed through their files and Dr. Emmerson took a sip of water.

"Initially, the most important discovery we made was that these samples indicate the creature's cells contain 46 chromosomes, which as you know is the same number of chromosomes as those found in Homo sapiens. If you will again refer to the notes before you, you will see we have begun a rudimentary analysis of the DNA derived from the blood samples. The genetic mapping is moving along slowly, but the chart on page 64B will illustrate our progress thus far. The configuration of the amino acids, within the DNA strands, indicate exposure to an extremely powerful mutagenic agent. Because of this, the working theory with regards to these organisms is that they are in fact mutations, and not something that has evolved slowly over time here and remained hidden, nor some extraterrestrial importation."

A murmur of uneasy chuckling moved through the room. Dr. Emmerson cleared his throat.

"This brings us to the impasse I mentioned. At present, with the knowledge we have available to us, we have not been able to sustain cell growth from the cell samples that we have. We have been able to begin the process, and a small population of cells has been generated each time, but the cultures die after reaching a specific mass.

"Further, attempts to implant the nuclei into a number of viable cells, including female reptile and mammalian ovum, has consistently resulted in the death of the cell. Results of these experiments are outlined in the body of your files.

"The conclusion we must tentatively draw from this is that the cells in our sample are non-viable, and the current hypothesis being that this is due to the mutation. For the present, whether or not we will be able to go forward in this area rests solely on our acquisition of a live specimen. I cannot begin to impress upon you the importance of this, not only for our purposes and the furthering of knowledge in the field of genetics, but for countless other research endeavors in all fields of biology. Until then, the conclusion remains that due to the mutative nature of these cells, these creatures are not reproductively viable.

"So, the requests I have made to those in the other divisions of our agency are obvious. Happily they are consistent with the intentions of DARPA. We must see that efforts continue forward to locate and make a live capture of one of these creatures."

Dust and smoke rolled through the night air, lit eerily from beneath by lantern light. In the last hour while plans for the next fight were being laid, more and more people had arrived, many in late model, expensive cars. It seemed the word was spreading and the fight had been delayed to allow for those who lived at some distance. The mood of the clamorous crowd was reaching a dangerous fever pitch of anticipation. When Raphael stepped back into the ring the sound was deafening.

He stood, his head lowered, glowering at the crowd that, to a man, seemed to be crying for his blood. A low chant had started to one side of the ring.

"Die freak! Die freak! Die freak!"

Raphael ran a tongue over his mouth. It was dry. He hated the waiting, as he watched the crowd heave and move like a single massive organism. At the same time, it excited him. He liked the out-of-control feeling he felt from these people. He liked the blood lust.

The referee stepped into the ring, waving for quiet. He bellowed Raphael's name, and then three others. From three different points on the ring, the men entered. Two were white, and large framed. They each held a heavy weapon, a thick pole with great spiked balls on the ends.

Across from them the third entered. He was dark and lithe looking. In his hands he held a heavy chain with two lead balls on either end. He spun one end, the ball whistling in the air. The referee left the ring and the three human combatants surrounded Raphael, slowly closing in.

Raphael stood motionless, his head still down, following the men with his eyes. They didn't see his mouth draw back into the savage grimace. They didn't see Raphael move at all until he sprang at the closest fighter, catching his weapon arm at an impossible angle and breaking it. The man screamed and Raphael ripped the mace from his hands. Spinning around, wielding the mace in both hands, Raphael smashed the ball of the weapon into shoulder of the second mace-fighter. The man staggered under the force of the blow as the short bola fighter rushed in from behind. He caught Raphael around the neck with the chain and yanked hard. Raphael half-turned, grabbed the chain and instead of pulling back, came suddenly toward him: not what the man had expected. The turtle leaped, landing feet first on the bola fighter's chest, knocking him flat and driving the breath out of his body. The man lay writhing on the ground, his mouth gaping for air as Raphael jerked free the weapon.

Raphael turned, facing the last fighter, the mace in one hand, the bola spinning slowly in the other. The man, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, gripped his mace in his one good hand and licked his lips, readying himself.

Two more men slipped into the ring from behind Raphael and rushed him. They grabbed his arms on either side as the mace fighter moved in, swinging. Taken off-guard, Raphael roared in outrage as the two men pinned him in place.

Raphael almost blocked the blow to his head, strong arming one of his captors, pulling him in front like a shield. The spiked ball ripped across his skull anyway, tearing the hood of the mask. The next blow coming back the other way struck his jaw, sending a shower of blood from Raph's mouth across the ring. Raphael staggered back, held up by the men at either side.

He looked up dizzily as the mace came at him again through the fog. Grunting, Raphael heaved his feet up in front of him, capturing the weapon between his legs before it could strike again. He jerked down hard, forcing the man holding the weapon in close.

Drawing from within himself a savage strength, Raphael hauled his two captors forward, ramming them into the mace fighter. Their hold broken just enough, Raphael ripped his arm free from one and shattered the face of the other with his fist. The second he swept to the ground, slamming his heel down into the hapless man's solar plexus. Neither man got back up. One coiled into a ball gasping for air, the other rolled on the ground, holding his face and screaming.

The mace fighter reclaimed his grip on his weapon and swung it around, trying to smash Raphael's head again. Raphael caught the staff, and with a twisting jerk, took possession.

The mace fighter backed away, keeping low, panic in his eyes as they darted over the ground searching for a weapon.

With an enraged growl Raphael threw down the mace and jumped on his opponent. He and the man went down, rolling in the dirt, and Raphael landed on top. The sai suddenly flashed in the lantern light.

Lying on his back, cold steel at his throat, the man stared into the face of his opponent in horror. The mask was ripped, the face beneath was not wholly human, huge teeth bared in some mad animal snarl.

"You give?" said the animal thing, his breath hot on the man's face.

All he could do was nod, a shaky, jerky sort of movement, afraid even to swallow.

Raphael could hear the crowd shouting around him now. He looked up, the blood running in his eyes, cutting his vision.

"Anyone else?" he roared hoarsely over the cacophony.

Pandemonium broke loose.

The referee was standing near waving his arms signaling the quit, trying to get his attention. The ref's eyes were on the placement of the sai at the fallen man's throat. He was not about to lay a hand on Raphael until he made eye contact.

When he did, Raphael stepped off his opponent. The referee reached for Raphael's hand, to raise it in victory, but Raphael jerked it away. As the crowd screamed and howled around him, Raphael turned his back and walked out of the ring, the path parting before him like the Red Sea.

Hi was at his side, gripping his arm, pressing a towel to his bloodied face and head. "You done good, kid. I know they wanted you dead, and you showed 'em. You did us proud."

Raphael impatiently tore the towel from Hi's hand and kept walking as some of the braver men and women began to close in around them again. One huge man in a gaudy dark blue suit blocked their path. On his arm was a busty blond wearing three pounds of makeup and little else. The crowd backed away around them.

"Hiram," the man greeted them, taking Hi's hand. His bulk dwarfed both Raphael and Hi. "Looks like you got yourself a winner."

Hi fingered the big man's ring and grinned. "Mr. Barcelona. Good to see ya."

"Kid," said Barcelona to Raphael. "You made me good money tonight. I like to bet on the long shots, and ya came through for me."

Raphael blinked, looking up, trying to focus on the man's face. He wiped the blood from his eyes again with the towel.

"This is Marsha," said the man, giving the woman a rough squeeze. "She wants ta thank ya for me. Got a room for ya in town." Barcelona jerked his head to one side. "My car's waitin' over there."

Raphael looked at the woman. Her thickly black-lined eyes were heavy–lidded and drugged looking. Her breasts pushing up from her black dress looked stiff and plastic. She pouted her red lips at him.

Raphael's stomach turned over.

"Yeah…um. Thanks. No, that's ok." He turned away, dragging Hi along with him. The knot of people around them closed in again, talking at them, arguing with each other.

"Ya shouldn't a' done that, kid," whispered Hiram, glancing back nervously. "That's Jimmy Barcelona. Jimmy The Bull Barcelona. You don't wanna insult that man."

Raphael could only shake his head wordlessly, for a moment overwhelmed by far too many conflicting emotions and sensations.

"Listen. Hold on." Hi was dragging in Raph's arm. "Look kid, that coulda been a great opportunity for ya. You should go on back and make nice."

Raphael exhaled sharply. He kept moving, pressing through the crowd, ducking anyone who looked like they wanted to talk to him. "Look. There's no 'opportunities' for me, ok? Just forget it."

Dr. Emmerson rubbed his face wearily, realizing at last how exhausted he was. He pulled off his coat and opened the closet, hanging it up. Even the small cot-like bunk in his private apartment sounded wonderful now, as much as he would have preferred to go home. He wasn't entirely sure he agreed with DARPA's policy of keeping personnel on site while working on a project, but he could understand it. He and his wife had barely gotten moved into their new home when he was called in to begin work, and he had been here ever since.

The machine by his bed was flashing and he played the message. It was the front office with a message from his wife saying their daughter was home. Dr. Emmerson sat on the bunk and looked at the time. Too late to call now. He would have to get back to her in the morning.

A movement caught his eye and he looked up toward the doorway. The dark figure standing there made him jump.

"Good God!" He gasped in a breath.

"I apologize," said the man in the doorway. "I know it's late. I saw your light on and was just wondering how the meeting went."

Dr. Emmerson recovered from the surprise of his unexpected visitor. "It went well. I believe we will get the funding we need to pursue this project."

The man in the doorway nodded slowly, the overhead light glinting off his dark glasses. He smiled. "Glad to hear it. Well, I can see your tired. We can talk in the morning. Good night." He started to turn to go, then paused. "Steve, don't worry about the funding. I can assure you the money will be there for you." He gestured to indicate the upstairs offices. "They have a great deal invested in the success of this work."

Dr. Emmerson ran a hand over his mouth and nodded. There was something about this man that always unnerved him. Something that felt odd. He always seemed to know what was going on with everyone's business. Maybe it was his strangely abbreviated name, or the vagueness about his actual position. Or maybe it was simply that he always wore those damn dark glasses.

"Ok. Well, that's reassuring," said Dr. Emmerson. "That has been the impression I've had since I came on board here. There does seem to be a lot of positive commitment."

"I'm pleased you are happy here. Well, goodnight, Steve."

"Goodnight, N."

The train rocked over the tracks, the gentle rumble and clack soothing the two travelers in the night. Raphael tilted his head back, leaning up against the cool, steel wall of the boxcar, and let the cold beer pour over his throat.

"Ahhh…" he sighed.

"You sure you don't want more of this?" Hi offered him his whiskey bottle.

Raphael cringed and shook his head. Three good swigs off Hi's whiskey had taken the edge off the pain in his head and jaw. Now all he wanted was to kick back with something that tasted decent.

"Have it your way." Hi took another long swallow. "Here's to you, kid. To Raphael an' his future career." He wiped his mouth and screwed the top back on.

"Yeah," said Raph, with not a lot of enthusiasm.

"You know kid, I'm pretty pissed at you still."

"What for?"

"Turnin' down that Barcelona broad."

Raphael snorted with indifference. "Deal with it."

"Hey, I'd have enjoyed a night in a nice hotel room, ya know? Damned self-centered of you."

"Yeah." Raphael closed his eyes.

"Yeah. Ungrateful, too."

"Bite me, Hi. I did all the work. You got your money."

Hi was drunk enough to keep after the issue. "What was it, huh? You don't like broads?"

Raphael drew in a long breath and exhaled slowly. He was tired enough not to care if Hi was trying to insult him. "No. S'not that. I like women."

"Just not that one?"

"Well, she was pretty raw lookin'."

Hi chortled. "You got someone at home?"

Raphael shook his head, forgetting for a moment that Hi couldn't see the response.

"Where is home, anyway? You from Brooklyn or somethin'? You sound like it."

"Somewhere like that," Raph said softly, distracted. The face he had been fighting to drive out of his mind was suddenly hanging before him, laughing, her amber gold skin glowing, coils of coppery tendrils framing her face. "Shit." Raphael sat up straighter. "Hey, give me a hit off that."

Hi handed him the bottle and Raphael glugged down half of it before Hi could wrest it back.

"Damn! I thought you didn't like the hard stuff."

"Changed my mind."

They rode silently on for a while lulled by the soft motion of the train and the rhythmic sound of the wheels rolling over the track.

Hi was snoring when Raphael spoke. "You ever do anything really stupid?"

Hi grunted.

"I think I did somethin' real stupid." Raphael's voice was low and very soft, talking more to himself than to his half-conscious traveling companion. He swallowed. "I think I really fucked up."

Hi didn't answer.

"I didn't think about it. I was just so pissed. I didn't think about it at all then. But, I saw his face."

"Hrmph?" asked Hi.

"My brother's face. I saw the look on his face. When he looked at her. An' y'know, I think he really… loved her. And I screwed it up for him." Raphael rubbed his face with his hands. "Shit."

"Wha're you talkin' about?" mumbled Hi.

"I gotta go home."

"Wha-?" Hi pulled himself up. "We're goin' to Chicago."

"No," Raphael shook his head. "I can't. I gotta go home." He started to stand, unsteady on his feet, and heaved over toward the doorway.

"You oughta wait 'til the train stops," Hi suggested with remarkable clarity.

"Huh? Oh. Yeah. Guess so." Raphael sat back down clumsily. "Maybe I'll be sober by then too."

"Not if I can help it." Hi lay down, curling his frail body into a ball and bringing his blanket over him. "Look, kid. Chicago's right on the way anyway. There's a lotta money to be made. You got talent."

Raphael sank back against the wall. "No," he muttered. "I gotta get home."

"So how ya doin' Mikey?" Donatello flopped down on the porch next to his brother.

"Not bad." Mike was softly petting the large gray cat curled in his lap. "You?"

Don shrugged. "I'm ok."

They sat quietly for a moment.

"Feels weird here," said Mike thoughtfully.

Don gave Mike an ironic smile. "You mean with Raph still gone and Leo not hardly here?"

"Yeah. We've been home for two weeks and it's like he hasn't said a word about anything. But also…I dunno. Feels funny. April's all weirded out about something. Casey's pacing around like a caged tiger. I dunno."

"Well, it's weird everywhere," said Don. "You see the latest?" He handed Mike a copy of the Post.

"Whoa," Mike scanned the headlines. "Stuff's hittin' the fan in the Big Apple."

"Third day in a row they're talking about escalating street gang fights."

The screen door squeaked and Leonardo stepped out onto the porch and the morning sunshine. He breathed in deeply the morning air, walked to the railing and rested his elbows on it. Leo gazed out over the rose bushes into the front garden.

"Hey, Leo."

"Hey."

"You see this?" Mike handed Leo the newspaper.

Leonardo frowned, skimming the article. "Hm."

"What do you think?"

"I don't know." Leo handed Don back the paper.

Mike and Don exchanged looks.

"Hey Leo, you ok?" asked Mike, looking up at him.

Leonardo's mouth pulled back into a small smile. He shook his head. Swinging under the railing Leo sat down on the porch with a light clunk of his shell. He drew in a long breath. "I wish Raph would come home. Or at least that we knew where he was so we could go get him."

"You worried about him?" asked Mike.

Leonardo nodded slowly. "Yeah. I don't…I don't like what happened. I need to tell him..." Leo sighed. "There's a lot of things I need to tell him."

Don scratched his chin. "Like what?"

Leonardo kept his eyes fixed on the garden. "Like that I was wrong. And I'm sorry."

"Raph was wrong, too," Don pointed out.

"That's not the point."

"So," said Mike. "When Raph gets home you're gonna apologize, and then…"

"Then I'm heading back to California."

Mike's eyes widened. "What did Splinter say? I mean, does he know?"

Leo shook his head. "I'll tell him. I'll tell him before I go. But I'm going, no matter what."

"No matter what he says?"

Leo nodded.

"I know she's waiting for you, Leo," said Mike. "She loves you."

Leonardo looked down, the muscle in his jaw moving. Mike watched him, waiting, seeing the pain in his brother's face.

"You know," said Leo softly. "I never told her."

"Told her what?" asked Don.

"Those words. I never said it." Leo closed his eyes. "What the hell is the matter with me, I couldn't tell her that?"

"What?" asked Don, looking perplexed.

"I never told her I love her."

"You should eat, child."

"I'm not hungry."

"A bite." The older woman set a steaming bowl of soup in front of Lia on the wooden table. Lia sniffed it and suddenly felt queasy.

"I'm sorry 'Nonna. It's hard for me to eat so early."

"It is not early anymore."

Lia propped her elbows on the table and covered her face with her hands, sighing wearily. Her sleep-tangled hair fell in disarray. "I was dreaming about Alex."

"He still haunts your dreams?" Belladonna stood still, her hands quiet at her sides, lost in the folds of her long dress.

"It was different this time. Not frightening. It was almost as if we were reconciling something." Lia dropped her hands and shook back her hair. "I don't remember exactly what happened, but that was the feeling of it." She looked around the bright little kitchen. "Where's Rose?"

"Outside. In the garden."

Belladonna turned to the pot simmering on the huge white enameled wood stove that dominated the room. She stirred the soup one more time and then cut the fire.

Lia closed her eyes. "I'll clean up. You go on, 'Nonna. I'll finish up the kitchen. I'm sorry I slept so late."

"You sleep long hours these summer days."

Lia nodded. "I know. I'm sorry."

The wisewoman regarded her for a long moment, her feathery brows knitting together over piercing deep black eyes. She lifted Lia's face with one hand and gazed into her eyes.

"Hah," she said softly, and withdrew. Belladonna lifted her gathering basket from the iron hook by the back door and went outside.

Lia sat staring at her bowl, bits of greens and vegetables floating in a rich broth. The nausea swept over her again. She looked up, trying to focus on the bunches of herbs hanging on the rafters drying. The next wave came and she knew she couldn't keep it down. She ran outside just in time to throw up in the mint plants by the back door.

"Oh God….Oh, dear Goddess," she gasped leaning over, bracing one arm against the rock wall of the cabin, the other hand holding back her hair. Lia sat heavily down on the back step and wiped her mouth. She stared into the flowerbed before her, breathing hard.

"Oh, no. Please, no…don't let this be…."