Illya Kuryakin was exhausted. He'd been running too hard for too long. His sides ached and his legs screamed with every movement. He fell, but somehow managed to get back up, staggering, but always moving forward. The door was ahead of him, always seemingly just a stride away.

With a final gasp, he pushed himself forward and the door knob was suddenly in his hands. He twisted it, swore, and twisted it again. With a groan, it turned and Illya pulled the door open.

Body parts, many in advanced cases of decay fell upon. Illya batted them aside until the sheer number of them knocked him from his feet.

A head bounced down the pile and came to rest, features up, to stare at him. It was Napoleon and Illya cried out.

He sat up in bed and looked around, dazed, then clenched his teeth at the cramp in his leg.

"Another leg cramp?" Napoleon mumbled from his sanctuary beneath pillows and bed clothes. "I told you that you need more potassium."

"Yeah," Illya grumbled. Rather than giving the images in his head any more credit, he hobbled to the bathroom and sat on the toilet to massage his calf. Once or twice a year his legs acted up. He blamed the long hours in the kitchen, but the truth was, he was spending less and less time on his feet and more time at his desk. He was drowning in paperwork.

"Just like the old days," he muttered and started a bath. He shaved while the tub was filling, only remembering about half way through to add the Epson salts to the running water.

He brushed his teeth, then shut off the water and eased down into the tub. He remembered many past baths like this, but the hot water didn't seem to help as much as it used to. If he'd known he was going to live this long, he'd have been easier on his body.

He snickered at that. "Right, sure I would have."

"Talking to yourself now?" Napoleon came in and used the toilet.

"Only if I want a fool's answer." Illya wrung out a wash cloth and draped it over his eyes. He felt the water slosh and knew Napoleon was joining him. When they remodeled, he insisted that they not replace his tub. It was huge, deep and more than big enough for two. He had good memories attached to this tub.

He gritted his teeth as Napoleon's fingers started to work the calf muscle of one leg. "It's been a while since you've had one of these."

"I know. It's not a lack of potassium or anything else I can think of."

"Stress, then?"

"What stress? Just because the entire future of the restaurant rides on my shoulders…" Illya blew out a mouthful of air as if that would release some of the nervous energy he had.

"And Matt's. He pulls his own weight, Illya." Napoleon switched legs, gently rubbing and massaging the tight muscle. "He'd be happy to help you with the new menu. You just have to ask."

"I know, it's just that Matt already carries so much of the burden these days. I feel that it's my responsibility to put together the menu."

"And everything else. You know, it's also a self-imposed deadline. If you go one or two weeks over, no one would notice."

"Oh, someone would. Someone always notices." Illya sat up, pulled his leg away from Napoleon and the washcloth dropped unnoticed. "There's something else."

"Nightmares?" Napoleon smiled at Illya's astonished expression and rescued the washcloth.

"How did you know?"

"When the cats come to sleep on my side of the bed, that's usually an indication that you're restless. The only time you are restless is when you have nightmares." He wrung out the terry cloth and offered it back.

"My apologies to both you and the cats." Illya took it with a wry smile. "Yeah, bad ones. I can't figure it out."

"Tell me?"

"I'm at the storage facility… you know, the one I took you to."

"Do you still have that?" Napoleon's hand slowly snaked up Illya's leg.

"I just never got around to cancelling it and I started thinking it would be a good place to spend some time away from the restaurant and get my thoughts focused. I try here, but there are… distractions."

Napoleon's hand paused ever so slightly. "So shoot me, I find you irresistible in your checkered pants and stained apron."

Illya caught Napoleon's fingers and raised them to his lips. "I know. Anyhow, suddenly, I'm being chased. By what or who, I have no idea. I get to the storage shed and when I open it, all these body parts fall out."

"Ugh…"

"Worse is when a head bounces out."

"Mine?"

Illya nodded. "Yeah."

"Talk about heads will roll."

"You can joke about it, Napoleon, but it was very graphic and felt very real."

"I can assure you that my head is still firmly attached, at least for the time being." Napoleon climbed out of the rapidly cooling tub and reached for a towel. "So why don't you drive over there this morning?"

Illya followed suit and took a towel when it was offered. "I don't know. The last time I was there was a couple of months ago, the flies were terrible and there were a few folks milling about that I didn't feel like dealing with."

"Tell you what. After breakfast, why don't we drive over there? I'll help you clear it out and then we can go from there. And I promise that I will leave you alone for the rest of the day with no pestering." He held up his right hand in a Boy Scout salute. "I swear."

Illya flipped his towel around Napoleon's waist and pulled him close. "And if I want to be pestered?" Illya's voice dropped to a murmur and his eyes offered an invitation.

"Then that will fall squarely upon your shoulders." He leaned in for a kiss. "Let's make that much later this morning."

"I don't know why we couldn't have used my car." The truck tossed Napoleon back and forth. He made a face and held on. "At least it has suspension. I wish I'd know that before I bought this model for you."

"This has suspension, but it's not a luxury vehicle. Besides, the truck makes sense. Illya paused at the stop sign. "The stuff from the storage unit will be dusty and if I ruined the interior of your Town car, I'd never hear the end of it. The truck bed isn't as delicate and we still have all the bells and whistles, including a phone. It's a mystery, though. Who would need to use phone in a car?"

He shifted into first and turned out onto Highway 49. Even though it was just June, the hills were already exchanging their green for summer's yellow brown. The oak trees stood out, black and dark green against them.

"I don't think I'll ever get tired of this," Napoleon murmured. "Just being able to see in all directions. There's so much space out here."

"It's very different than New York." Illya grinned, shifted again, and settled back. "It took me forever to get used to it, though. I mean, in the city everything was right there. Here no one thinks anything about driving two hours for something."

Illya's mirrored glasses reflected Napoleon back to himself and Napoleon liked what he saw. Illya was relaxed. That was huge in Napoleon's world.

For a few minutes, they drove in silence, then Napoleon said. "I think you should put a cassoulet on the menu. Or Charente Mouclade."

"That's bold."

"There's a place in Sacramento that is farming mussels. And it's been a long time since you've put any truly fresh seafood on the menu. Maybe you could feature it as a special and see what folks think."

"I like serving local when possible."

"And you do, but you are underserving a part of your dining community by always doing that. I think you should give him a call."

"I'm assuming you already have his card?"

"On your desk. Or if you prefer, after we do this, we could drive into Sacramento and have a late lunch there."

"Always an angle for everything, Napoleon. That's what I like about you."

"You're always hungry. That's what I like about you."

"And he can guarantee delivery?"

"Ask him yourself."

Illya laughed at that. "It's a good thing you're cute, Napoleon. Otherwise…" He slowed the truck by downshifting and let his speed drop. He signaled and pulled into the storage facilities.

Once, this had been a nice place, but the years and the isolation had taken its toll. Graffiti sprawled across every flat surface and junk was piled up against the walls. "This place was never the same after Gary let it go."

He slowly drove in and up to his storage unit. Surprisingly enough, the lock was still in place. Many other units weren't as fortunate.

"Napoleon, do me a favor and stay in the truck."

"Trouble?" Napoleon looked around, but they were alone as far as he could tell. There was a vehicle parked several units back, but there was no one around.

"The hairs on the back of my neck just stood up and I don't know why." Illya took off his sunglasses and tossed them onto his seat. He slid from the truck and dug into his pocket for the key.

It took a few seconds to convince the lock to accept it, but eventually Illya got it to see things his way. With a groan, the door opened and Illya paused, then let his head drop back.

Napoleon watched his partner closely, knowing Illya was battling an internal demon. When his shoulders relaxed, Napoleon knew it was okay.

Illya reappeared with two chairs and quickly flipped them into the truck bed. A dusty table and a few boxes followed.

Napoleon saw someone come out of another storage unit and point towards them. He was about to say something when Illya climbed back into the truck, started it and took off. He didn't even bother to close the shed door behind him.

They headed back toward the road and Illya signaled right, heading into the city. He took off with a fury that sent gravel flying and he drove like he was possessed.

"Napoleon, the phone." Illya's eyes never left the rearview mirror. He banked hard and took a side road.

"Okay. Who am I calling?"

"911 first, then the local police, the fire department, KCRA, anyone." He spun the truck around and headed back out, nearly hitting the vehicle that had been parked at the storage units.

With a honk, the vehicle jerked out of his path and down an embankment. Illya hit the highway and never paused until he'd performed a series of twists and turns guaranteed to lose any tail.

Napoleon never took his eyes off Illya. Only when Illya had stopped, did he reached for the phone. "What do you want me to tell them?"

"That they need a search warrant and a pair of bolt cutters."

"Illya?"

"Remember I was telling you about the flies?"

"I do."

"There was more of them and there was blood seeping into my unit from the one next to it. I saw it when I moved the boxes. Now make the call, please."

"Blood?"

"Well, I didn't know it was blood at first, but when I got closer, I could smell it. It all started to make sense. All the flies and the gnawing sense of ill ease there. It didn't used to be like that."

"It's also probably what triggered your nightmares. Subconsciously, you knew what it was."

"Agreed. Why do you think I got out of there so fast?"

"And that tail."

"Ex tail, thank you. Now, please make the call. I will do whatever they need me, to."

Illya drove slowly back to the storage facilities. The vehicle that had been pursuing them was being impounded and its occupants arrested. Illya kept his eyes front, refusing to look. Napoleon, on the other hand, studied them.

"I don't recognize them at all."

"Good. With all the people we know, I worry."

He slowed and made the turn into the storage facility. The place was over-run with police vehicles and the media. An officer held up his hand for them to stop.

"The facility is closed, sir."

"My name is Illya Kuryakin. I'm the one who called this in."

"Ah, the detective will want to talk with you."

"I imagine he will." Illya continued past the news trucks and reporters. "What did you say about any publicity being good for business?"

"Maybe not as good as I initially thought?"

Illya stopped the truck and they climbed from it. Immediately they were approached.

"Can I have your name, sir?"

"Kuryakin. I'm the one who alerted the police."

"This is your unit?" The uniformed office pointed to the now empty storage unit.

"Yes, I'd just come to empty it out and was taking a last look around when I spotted the blood."

"Mind if we look in those boxes?"

"Help yourself." Illya waved them forward and the man eagerly ripped open the top one.

"These are cookbooks."

"Yes, I'm a chef."

"Kuryakin… you own Taste."

"I do. I use this place to make up new menus for the restaurant, although I haven't been here in months. I decided it was time to close it up."

"And that gentleman?" He pointed to Napoleon.

"He's my partner."

"Business or…"

"Yes, both. Do you have any more questions for me? If not, I'd like to get back to my restaurant." Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Napoleon enter the storage unit.

"No, but I will need—"He was cut off by a wild cry of surprise and screams. "What the hell?"

Illya was already moving, but slammed to a stop at the sight of the carnage before him. Then there was movement and out of the pile flopped Napoleon, only his head visible.

"I can't even…" Rocky studied the scarred table top in Illya's kitchen.

"Apparently, the adjoining wall between the two units had rusted away and when they started investigating, it gave way."

Matt raked back his hair. The bright red curls immediately bounced back into place. "My poor Napoleon."

"Poor Napoleon? What about poor Illya? I'm never going to get that smell out of the truck."

"Where is he…?"

"Still trying to get the stink off him." Illya pushed his cup of coffee aside. "It's put me right off headcheese." He sat back and shook his head slowly. "Who would have thought such evil lived here?"

Rocky sighed at that. "I knew there would be a day when you learned the truth about the Foothills."

Matt and Illya exchanged uneasy glances. "Meaning?" Illya asked.

"You've only seen one side of this place. This has always been a magnet for the criminal element. We've had mass murderers, kidnappers, cults, you name it, they found a home here."

"In Jackson?"

"Not Jackson, but in the surrounding towns. Remember the first piece of advice that I gave you two when you moved here?"

"Don't go into the woods or down any dark roads at night."

"It wasn't because I thought someone might try and steal a kiss." Rocky brought Matt's hand to his mouth and kissed his fingers. "Until you had made a home here and were, in effect, vetted by the locals, there were some spots too dangerous for either of you to be. Course, that was before we knew your pedigree, Chef, but I can honestly say there are places up here I don't go – ever. I am glad they caught those punks in the truck, too. Whoever they were, you don't need to be dealing with them."

"Well, I'm fairly sure that the police will be taking a good hard look at many of those units now. A multitude of sins…"

A noise made them turn and Napoleon entered wearing a pair of sweat pants and a loose sweatshirt. "I can still smell it," he muttered as he sat.

"Well, I can't, so don't worry."

"I don't know how you didn't smell it before." Napoleon poured himself some coffee.

"Last time I was there, it was still cold. This time, I wasn't as lucky."

"Well, Mr. S, it could have been worse. Chef was telling us his dream."

"Rocky, I had a wall of body parts bury me. How could it have been worse?"

"At least you got out while you were still ahead."