On The Edge of Madness

by Debbie Kluge

Story #4 in the Jealousy Series. Jessie and Estella go missing, leading the rest of the Quest clan into a desperate search through the streets of Paris.

THE REAL ADVENTURES OF JONNY QUEST

"On the Edge of Madness"

by

Debbie Kluge

It was a beautiful mid-October afternoon on the coast of Maine. The sun shown on the sea creating diamond flashes of light off the softly rolling water. A cool breeze blew in off the ocean causing the leaves to flutter gently. Golds, greens and reds on the trees and bushes and the clear, autumn blue of the sky turned the landscape into a gloriously painted panorama.

In the big family room in the Quest Compound, four people lounged comfortably talking companionably and enjoying the beautiful day. Benton Quest sat near the big picture windows watching Race Bannon and his ex-wife, Estella Velasquez, laughing over some obscure memory they had of their daughter, Jessie. Hadji Singh was sitting nearby on the floor in the sunshine squinting at the screen of his laptop. All in all, everything seemed right with the world.

Glancing over, Benton commented dryly, "Hadji, that would be much easier to see if you would move out of the sunshine."

The young man grinned up at him. "Yes, but it is much more pleasant to sit in the sun. I want to enjoy it while it is still here." A burst of laughter nearby caused both of them to look over. Race and Estella sat side by side on the couch looking at an old photo album.

Estella pointed to one of the pictures and gasped, "I will never forget that! We were going to her cousin's confirmation ceremony and I'd spent hours getting her dressed. She looked just like a picture. She went out to wait on the porch and when I walked out five minutes later she was covered from head to foot in mud . . . you couldn't even tell what color her hair was . . . and she looked at me and said 'I'm ready to go now, Momma.' I was absolutely beside myself. We were two hours late, my sister was ready to kill me, and Jessie couldn't figure out what she'd done wrong! She'd simply helped the family next door catch their dog. She told me I had always told her to help the neighbors." Estella held her side as she tried desperately to stop laughing and catch her breath.

Chuckling, Race just shook his head. "That's our Jessie. She never did anything in moderation."

Joining in the laughter, Benton commented, "Does she now?"

"Not very often," Race responded. "Particularly when she and Jonny get started."

Estella glanced at her watch. "When do you expect them home? I don't have much time before I have to leave to catch that plane. I probably should have called ahead, but the opportunity to attend this conference came up so suddenly there simply wasn't time. And I did want to come through here on the way and see her. Timing on visits have been pretty chaotic this past year what with my travel and research schedule, her recovery and hospital stays and everything else. But I can't afford to miss that flight."

Hadji smiled, "They should be here any time. School let out about 20 minutes ago." In the distance a car door slammed. "In fact, that is probably them now."

"Wonderful. That should give me an hour or so before . . . "

" . . . STUPID, CHILDISH, IGNORANT THING TO DO I HAVE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE!" The front door opened violently and they all heard Jessie's shrill voice.

Jonny's voice shouted back at her, "CHILDISH! YOU WANT CHILDISH? I'LL GIVE YOU CHILDISH! YOUR BEHAVIOR . . . "

"MY BEHAVIOR! I WASN'T THE ONE THAT PICKED . . . "

"DON'T YOU DARE START IN ON THAT AGAIN! IF I HADN'T . . . "

"EVERYTHING WOULD HAVE BEEN JUST FINE! I HAD THE SITUATION UNDER CONTROL. BUT YOU AND YOUR MACHO EGO HAD TO INTERFERE! ALL YOU DID . . . "

"OH YEAH, YOU REALLY HAD IT UNDER CONTROL ALL RIGHT! IF I HADN'T COME ALONG . . . "

"I DON'T BELIEVE YOU! I'M NOT SOME SHRINKING VIOLET. I CAN TAKE CARE OF MYSELF. I DON'T NEED YOU . . . "

The two of them appeared in the doorway to the living room. None of the other members of the Quest household could ever remember seeing either one of them so angry. Jessie was white as a sheet. Her eyes were huge and the color of dark emeralds. Her red hair was disarrayed and she was shaking in fury. Jonny face's was red, his hands were clenched into tight fists and his shirt was torn and dirty. As he turned slightly they could all see a dark bruise forming on one cheek and the first signs of a black eye. The knuckles on both of his hands were skinned up.

"FINE! YOU DON'T NEED ME!" he screamed back at her. "I CAN TAKE A HINT. I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU EXPECT OF ME ANYWAY . . . '

"I EXPECT YOU TO ACT LIKE AN ADULT! NOT SOME MISGUIDED, HORMONE-DRIVEN, ADOLESCENT BRAT . . ."

"BRAT! JUST BECAUSE I DON'T LIKE HAVING MY GIRLFRIEND PAWED BY . . . "

"I DIDN'T NEED YOU . . . "

"YOU CAN GO TO HELL!!!!!" He spun on his heal and stormed into the kitchen and out the back door, slamming it viciously behind him. She stood there for an instant, panting in fury.

"STUPID TWIT!" She flung her books against the nearby wall and spun around, ready to run from the house. Instead she was confronted by the remainder of her family who were staring at her open-mouthed. She fought to gain control of her temper

Her mother recovered her voice first. "Jessie, what in heaven's name . . . "

Through gritted teeth, she replied, "I . . . don't . . . want . . . to . . . talk . . . about . . . it!" She breathed deeply continuing to try and reign in her temper. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm on my way to a conference and I thought I would stop by and see you."

Jessie's gaze sharpened. "A conference . . . where?"

Her mother looked at her, bewildered. "Paris."

"For how long?"

"Through the end of next week."

"Can I come along?"

Understanding was beginning to dawn in her mother's eyes. "What about school?"

Jessie waved her hand negligently. "Not a problem. I'm all caught up and it should be easy enough to clear special assignments for the time I'll be gone. I'd love to go to Paris again. It's been such a long time . . . and we haven't had much chance to spend any time together recently."

Her mother said severely, "Jessica Bannon, don't you dare take that tact with me. If you want to go just say so, but don't try and weasel yourself in with soppy sentiments."

Jessie grinned suddenly, "I want to go!"

Estella sighed and looked at her ex-husband. "Now how am I going to make that plane?"

With mock severity, Race reprimanded her, "Estella Velasquez, don't you dare take that tact with me. If you want a ride to Paris just say so, but don't try and weasel yourself in with the damsel in distress routine!" Jessie and Estella looked at each other and started to laugh.

Benton cleared his throat and said, "Jessie, don't you think maybe you should . . . " and he gestured toward the back door. She stiffened and a look of stubbornness crept over her face. Benton sighed, "At least tell him you're leaving." Unwillingly she turned toward the back door but stopped when he continued, "And what in heaven's name was that all about? Has he been fighting?"

Anger flickered in her face again. "Yes, he's been fighting. I got out of class a little early this afternoon and went across the street to get a Coke. I ran into Damien Carter over there and we were standing there talking when Jonny came up and picked a fight."

Hadji stared at her for a few seconds. "I know that Jonny does not like Damien but it does not sound like him to pick a fight for no reason. And Damien does not have a good reputation. What was he doing that Jonny found objectionable?"

"Nothing!" They all looked at her skeptically. Reluctantly, she admitted, "Well, nothing that I couldn't handle. So he was being a little hands-y and sorta lewd. I could have wiped the floor with him. Jonny didn't need to come roaring up like some avenging angel. I would've taken care of it."

Her father looked at her in exasperation. "Give the guy a break, Jessie. He was only trying to be sure nothing happened to you."

Estella gave him a look of disgust. "Defending his territorial rights, you mean."

"Oh, here we go. How often have I heard this . . . "

Benton broke in on the impending argument. "Just go tell him you're leaving. And Jessie," she turned to look at him, "try to leave him in some form of a decent humor. I have to live with him while you're gone." She laughed. "And be assured I will talk with him while you're away . . . particularly about fighting." She turned again and headed out the back door to go in search of her currently-out-of-favor boyfriend.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

She found him sitting at the edge of one of the cliffs that overlooked the boat dock, staring out to sea. The red color had faded from his face and the bruise on his cheek looked much worse. The eye was going to be a dandy, too.

She stood behind him, hands on her hips and glared at his back. Sometimes he could be such a . . . a . . . an appropriate word escaped her. "What are you doing? If that edge gives way even a spoon will be inadequate to pick up what's left."

He turned and looked at her with a sulky expression. "What do you care?" He turned his back on her again. She stood there, carefully counting to ten, remembering her promise to Dr. Quest. Then she moved up to sit down beside him. She stumbled a bit as some dirt crumbled from under her feet and went bouncing down the cliff face. He reached out a hand to steady her and yelped, "Be careful! You're gonna fall!" He eased her carefully into a sitting position next to him. She sat staring out over the water, letting its placidness calm her nerves.

Finally, she heaved a sigh and said, "Jonny, I'm sorry I screamed at you. But you have to let me try and deal with things on my own. I could have handled that situation. It wasn't dangerous. It was a public place and I could have gotten rid of him." She reached out a hand and turned his face so he had to look at her. "I don't like to see you hurt. And no matter how much you try and deny it, I know that has to hurt." With a feather-light touch she stroked his swollen cheek. "I don't want to be the cause of stuff like this."

He looked at her with those deep blue eyes of his and she could feel her heart start to melt. He smiled slightly, a ghost of his familiar lopsided grin. "Helen launching a thousand ships." Then the smile faded. "Did you mean what you said back there?"

She shook her head, more to clear the cobwebs he was causing in her brain than as an answer to his question. "What? Say what? What did I say?"

"You said you didn't need me . . . "

She sighed in exasperation. "You would never let me finish a sentence! All I was trying to say was what I just told you. I didn't need you to finish this problem for me. I could have handled it." She looked at him, the anger she had felt earlier totally gone. "Of course I need you. You wouldn't be my boyfriend if I didn't."

He put his arm around her and hugged her against him. "I don't like it when we fight."

"I know. Neither do I. But sometimes, Quest, you can really tick me off."

He snorted, "Like you can't set me off? Geez, Jess . . . "

"Well, at the risk of setting you off again, I have something I have to tell you."

He looked at her with misgiving. "What?"

"I'm leaving for a while."

"You're what!?"

"I'm gonna go to Paris for about 10 days."

"Paris! Now look, I know we just had a fight, but . . . "

"Jonny, this isn't about our fight!" Well, not entirely, anyway, she thought. "My Mom's here . . . "

"Estella's here . . . now . . . ?"

"Yes. And she's going to Paris for a conference and I'm going to go with her. I haven't spent any real time with her for over nine months . . . what with the hospital stays and all . . . and this is an opportunity to do that."

"But . . . but . . . what about school? And we have a date Friday night with Matt and his new girl friend . . . "

"I know . . . I know, but . . . "

"And I don't want you to leave!"

"Jonny . . . plllleeeaaaasssseee . . . " She looked at him with her best I-really,-really- want-this look. "This is important to me. I really want to spend some time with my Mom. We need to have a nice long talk."

"About what?"

About you, she thought privately, and what you tell other people about our relationship that you don't tell me. But all she said aloud was "Girl stuff."

He looked at her for a while. Finally, he sighed and shook his head. "It's not fair."

"What isn't?"

"That I can't say 'no' when you look at me like that."

She leaned over and kissed the end of his nose. "Thank you."

He put both arms around her and kissed her gently. "I'm really gonna miss you."

"I know. I'm gonna miss you too. Will you help me pack?"

"Sure . . . why not. The sooner you leave the sooner you'll get back." They both slid back from the edge of the cliff and stood up.

As he put his arm around her to walk back she commented, "Well, that's a nice compliment . . . I think."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The rest of the family heard the back door open and looked up with trepidation. The young couple walked in arm in arm, completely oblivious to anything else around them. They heard the low murmur of Jonny's voice and Jessie's rippling laughter in response as they moved past the family room door and down the hall toward their bedrooms.

Race looked after them wistfully. "Remember when it was that easy?"

Estella snorted. "For us, it was never that easy."

Race laughed. "Yeah, you're probably right. But you have to admit, making up was always fun . . . " With a laugh she shoved him over on the sofa and rose.

"I'm going to go see how long it will take her to pack. We probably should leave fairly quickly."

Benton objected. "It's almost five. At least stay for dinner. I don't know what Mrs. Evans has rigged to throw in the oven but there's bound to be enough for an added plate. There always is. Once you've eaten you can leave."

Estella hesitated. "Well . . . "

Race said, "I want dinner before I fly over the Atlantic Ocean."

She smiled at him apologetically. "I'm sorry. I'm not thinking. Of course, I'll stay. I technically don't have to be there until 8:00 a.m. Paris time day after tomorrow, so if it would be better we could wait until in the morning to leave. Give you the chance for a good night's sleep . . . "

He leaned back on the sofa and grinned at her. "We'll see where we are after dinner." He pointed to a picture in the photo album that still lay in his lap. "Do you remember this one?" She returned to her seat next to him and soon they were laughing again over the pictures of their daughter.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Estella decided that if they were going to stay until morning there was no reason for the Quest household to waste a pre-made meal, particularly since Benton had given Mrs. Evans a few days off and the four men would have to fend for themselves for a while. So she recruited her daughter and the two of them decided to cook. They shooed the men out of the kitchen and told them they would know what they were getting when they put it on the table. Race lit a fire and the four of them settled down in the family room to desultory conversation. Occasional bursts of laughter could be heard from the kitchen interspersed with the sounds of cooking. Before long the entire house was filled with tantalizing aromas.

Jonny exclaimed, "Oh man, I'm starved. And that smells so good!"

Hadji agreed. "I too am hungry. Do you suppose it will be much longer?"

"It will be ready when it's ready," was Race's observation. "If there's anything I learned from being married to Estella, it's that when she decides to cook you stay out of her way. And she is a good cook when she chooses to do it. Although I didn't realize she had taught Jessie."

Benton chuckled. "I suspect Jessie has kept that her own private secret."

"But why?" Jonny asked. "It would be great to have one of us that can cook."

"I think that's the point."

"Oh. Well, yeah, I guess I can see that."

Race said pensively, "I always enjoyed evenings like this when we were married. They didn't happen often, what with our work schedules and all, but . . . "

"Very domestic," was Benton's observation.

"Yeah, and Estella was never the domestic sort. At least not for very long. Even after Jessie was born. By the end of a month she was itching to get back to work. I had really hoped she would stay home longer, but . . . " He sighed. "I wasn't around much then. They had me assigned all over. I was lucky if I managed two days in a row at home. It was hard on Estella. I don't blame her for getting sick of it. I should have quit the agency long before I did."

Benton looked at him. "Regrets, my friend?" Jonny and Hadji watched him closely but Race seemed not to notice. He appeared to be wrapped up in his own memories.

He slouched down in his chair and shrugged. "Yeah. Some. Especially at times like this. I've always wondered if I'd done things differently . . . Made different choices . . . " He was quiet for a while. Finally he sighed again, heavily. "Water under the bridge, I suppose." He looked over at Jonny and smiled slightly, "I will say one thing, though."

Jonny looked at him warily. "What?"

He laughed suddenly. "There was no doubt today that Jessie is Estella's daughter."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, she has her temper. I've seen Estella look and sound just like that."

Jonny looked at his father uneasily. "Well, it all came out okay . . . I think . . . sort of . . . didn't it?" And everyone burst out laughing.

And through the sound of their laughter came Estella's voice. "Dinner!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The three of them left very early the next morning. Race was to drop the two of them in Paris and then fly to London to pick up some research equipment. From there he would return home. Jessie and Estella would pick up a commercial flight back to the states the following week after the conference. Jonny tried every way he could think of to convince his father to allow him to accompany Race on the flight, but Benton would have none of it.

"You are not caught up on your school work," he told his son sternly. "So I don't want to hear any more about it. You go to school!"

The flight was uneventful and they arrived in Paris late that night. Race wanted to accompany them to the hotel, but Estella refused.

"You still have a flight to London to make. If you are to get any sleep at all and still pick up Benton's equipment on schedule you need to go ahead and leave. We'll be fine." She motioned toward the terminal. "The hotel reservations are guaranteed, we have transportation handy, and you don't need to make the trip through the city. Go on."

"But . . . "

"No buts. Just go on." She reached up, gave him a quick hug, kissed his cheek and said, "Thank you for bringing us. You were wonderful." He looked down at her, concern still written on his face.

"Are you sure? I don't mind . . . "

She shoved him gently. "I'm sure." Race turned and hugged his daughter tightly. She returned the embrace.

"Thanks, Daddy. We'll see you in about ten days. And don't worry . . . we'll be fine." Jessie and Estella turned and began walking across the tarmac toward the terminal. As Race turned to climb back in the plane, he heard his daughter call him. He turned to look at her questioningly. She blushed and said hurriedly, "Tell Jonny I miss him." Then she turned and ran after her mother.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Time had flown by for Jessie. She had accompanied her mother to several of the meetings and had listened to her lecture on the complexities of the Malenque social order. They had strode down the Champs-Elysées, visited the Arc de Triomphe, and climbed the Eiffel Tower. They spent hours wandering through Notre Dame Catherdral, viewed the mosaics at the Basilique de Sacré Coeur and stood in awe of the stained glass windows at Sainte Chapelle chapel. And she had spent an entire day in the Bibliotheque Nationale de France (she loved libraries!) It was Tuesday and they only had four days left before it was time to return home. Tomorrow, after her mother met with the chairman of the conference committee, a Henri somebody or another, they were going to spend the day in the Louvre and then have dinner and take in the show at Le Lido (her mother wasn't entirely certain about that one, but Jessie thought she had her talked into it.) On Thursday they were going to rent a car and drive out into the French countryside. And finally, on Friday, they were going to visit the Luxembourg Palace. And then it would be time to get ready to go home.

It was mid-afternoon and the two of them sat in a cafe on the Champs-Elysées having coffee and some kind of exotic French confection that Jessie was sure would cause her to gain ten pounds just by smelling it. The winter sun shone brightly, casting sharply etched shadows on the pavement outside their window. She looked around her and sighed. Her mother quirked an eyebrow at her quizzically, "What's wrong?"

"We've had such a wonderful time. I don't want it to be over."

"I'm surprised."

"Why?"

"I expected you to be pining to get back to Jonny by this time."

Jessie stared at her plate in silence, moving the sweet concoction around on her plate aimlessly.

Her mother smiled, "Ah ha. So we finally come to it. It's taken you long enough."

Jessie looked at her, startled. "What?"

"Sweetheart, this trip had nothing to do with wanting to come to Paris. Or even spending time with me, if it comes to that. This trip had to do with getting away from the Quest Compound and a young man that confuses you until you can't think straight."

Jessie hung her head. "I'm sorry."

Her mother laughed. "Whatever for? I'm glad you know how to move away so you can think more clearly."

"Yes, but it hasn't helped!" she wailed. "I'm as confused as I was when I started."

"So tell me about it."

She shook her head. "I don't even know where to start. There are times when I'm so happy with him I don't ever want it to end. But there are other times when I feel like I want to kill him. And sometimes he's around so much I feel like I can't breathe. That business last week was an example. He didn't need to do what he did. But he always jumps in, trying to deal with things. Sometimes I feel like he thinks I can't take care of myself . . . that he has to do it."

"Jessie, Jonny Quest is a great deal like your father. Not surprising when you think about it. It's not so much that he thinks you aren't capable of dealing with situations like last week. It's that he feels that the situation should never have arisen to be dealt with in the first place. He feels he failed somehow because you were put in that position."

"But that's silly!"

"Of course it is. But it doesn't change the fact that both Jonny and your father think that way. They care so much and are so afraid something will happen that they over react to things like what happened last week. Your father used to do it to me all the time."

Jessie smiled. "He still does it with me."

"And Race had a very strong influence on Jonny, growing up. So it's not surprising he reacts that way."

"But Dr. Quest isn't like that!"

"No, he's not. I never knew Rachel Quest. But from what I understand, she was the daring one of that pair . . . willing to try anything, and loved adventure of any kind. Supposedly, he was pretty dull before she came along and taught him how to loosen up. She used to travel with him everywhere, just like Jonny does. I've heard Benton say often enough that Jonny is her son . . . that he is so much like his mother. So I think it's not surprising that he is more willing to give you your lead than your father and Jonny are. You just have to try and remember they do what they do out of love, not out of the belief that you aren't capable."

Jessie looked at her mother seriously. "That's another thing . . ."

"What?"

"Why can't he tell me what he feels? He tells other people he loves me, but he doesn't tell me."

Estella stared at her daughter, her breath taken away. She finally said, carefully, "He actually told someone that?"

Jessie nodded. "Remember my telling you about working with those kids this summer and the trip to California?" Her mother nodded. "He told the kids he had with him that. They were evidently questioning him about our relationship and that's what he told them. But he doesn't say that to me!"

"How did you find out about it?"

"One of the kids told me. Actually over the last couple of months several of them have mentioned it."

Estella was quiet for a while. Finally, she said, "Sometimes, it's very hard for men like your father and Jonny to verbalize how they feel, especially to the one they care about. And particularly when the emotions are strong, intimate ones. They tend to laugh it off or avoid the subject all together. And that can be very hard on the women who love them. We need to hear those things. And when we don't, it can be a real struggle. Especially when you're separated, it's easy to believe that what you have together can be compromised . . . " Estella trailed off, staring into space for a long time. Jessie suddenly realized they weren't talking about her and Jonny any more.

She reached out for her mother's hand. "He still loves you, you know. I don't think he ever stopped." For an instant Estella looked stricken. Then she shook herself and smiled at her daughter.

"Sweet of you to say, but what Race and I had was over a long time ago. We're just friends now." She patted her hand and said, "Just try and be patient and understanding with him. I don't doubt his feelings for you . . . and neither does your father. Not after Cairo."

Jessie sighed. "I just wish he'd say it."

Estella looked at her for a minute and finally said, "You want to know a secret?" Jessie nodded. "Your father, in all the years I knew him, never once told me he loved me." Jessie was stunned. Her mother smiled sadly. "Be patient with him, Jessie. And try to decide if you can live without ever hearing those words. Because maybe you never will."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was mid morning on Friday, and Benton was again sitting in his large reading chair in front of the picture windows. The sun was shining and the day was beautiful. Hadji was in the computer lab someplace. Freed from school by a teacher's institute, Jonny lounged on the sofa trying to read his English Lit text. Race had left early that morning on errands and wasn't due back until after lunch. When the phone rang, Benton reached over lazily to pick it up.

"Hello?" There was a burst of static and several loud clicks and then a distant voice said,

"'Allo? 'Allo? Benton, is that you?" The voice sounded distinctly familiar and suddenly the name clicked.

"Henri? Henri LeConte? Is that you?"

"Benton, how is with you, my friend? It is has been a long time, non?"

"It certainly has! It's wonderful to hear from you again. How have you been?"

"Bien . . . bien. All is well with you, as well?"

"Yes, indeed. But after all these years, what ever prompted you to call?"

There was a long silence and suddenly a twinge of alarm jolted him. "Is Monsieur Bannon still living with you, Benton?"

The twinge of alarm changed to a knot in the pit of his stomach. With an uneasy glance at his son who seemed to be totally absorbed in his schoolwork, Benton said shortly, "Yes."

"Is he available?"

"No."

There was a long pause. "Is there a problem, my friend?" Benton eyed his son.

"A little."

"Someone you would prefer did not overhear this conversation?"

"Perhaps. Yes, I believe so."

"Then I will try and make the questions easy to answer. Have you heard from Madame Velasquez or her daughter in the last day or two?"

"No."

"Has Monsieur Bannon?"

"No."

"You are sure?"

"Yes."

"Could they have decided to go somewhere and not let anyone know?"

"Unlikely."

Henri LeConte sighed. "Then, my friend, I believe we have a problem." Jonny glanced up and looked at his Dad quizzically. Benton smiled stiffly at him and, satisfied, Jonny returned to his schoolwork.

"Why don't you tell me about it?"

"Madame Velasquez was to come and see me day before yesterday in the morning. She had been asked to chair the conference committee for next year. We were to finalize the arrangements. She never arrived. I checked throughout the day at her hotel but was never able to reach her. So yesterday afternoon I went there. I am friends with the manager, you understand, and he used a pass key to check her room. We feared she and her daughter may have been ill. All of their things were still in the room, but there was no sign of them. But also there was no sign that the room had been disturbed or that there had been a struggle. When questioned, the maid said it did not appear they had been in the room for several days because the beds had not needed to be made or the bathrooms cleaned. When we still could not reach her this morning I called the Préfecture de Police. They have searched for her as well, but no one can locate either one of them. They have not been seen since they left a café on the Champs-Elysées on Tuesday afternoon. They appear to have vanished. I had hoped they had contacted Monsieur Bannon."

Benton's hands felt icy as he cleared his throat and said, "I will certainly check into it for you, Henri, and call you back as soon as I can. But I don't hold much hope that I can provide you with any additional information from this end. Do you have a number where I can reach you . . . ?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Benton had called everywhere he could think of . . . Estella's professional colleagues, the one or two friends he knew of, the publisher that handled her scientific manuscripts . . . but no one had heard from her. He had recruited Hadji who was running every computer database he could to see if he could find any trace of them. So far he had had no luck, either, even though he continued to try. Finally, he knew that he would have to enlist his son's help to check for Jessie. He headed for the family room again but met Jonny in the hallway. He had a sandwich in his hand.

"Hey, Dad, I made you lunch." Benton smiled with difficulty and the grin on Jonny's face faded. "What's wrong?"

Benton quickly outlined the situation. "I need for you to check with anyone Jessie might have called. See if she's been in contact with anyone in the last several days."

Jonny spun on his heel and moved quickly toward his room. He sat down at his computer and began typing quickly. He studied the results briefly, shook his head and tried something else. After about five minutes of working at the computer he sat back and looked at his father, the fear clear in his eyes. "Something is radically wrong, Dad. Wherever they are, they aren't in a position to access common, everyday stuff."

"How do you know?"

"Because Jessie's private journal hasn't been updated since last Tuesday morning."

His father looked at him sternly. "Jonny! You haven't been reading Jessie's journal?!"

"Of course not! What do you think I am anyway . . .!" He shook his head. "The file just hasn't been modified since Tuesday. And she writes in it almost every day. Whatever has happened, she can't get to her laptop."

"Dr. Quest . . . " Benton turned to see Hadji standing in the door. He was shaking his head. "There is nothing. Anywhere. They have not passed any border, used any kind of mass transit, purchased anything that required the use of a credit card or visa for identification. Nothing. I do not understand it."

Benton sighed. "And if they aren't in the hotel, the only way they could be calling home is with a credit card. And since the credit cards are inactive that means they haven't tried that either."

In the distance they heard the front door open and Race call cheerfully, "Hey, I'm home. Where is everyone?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Henri LeConte was waiting for them at the airport when the four of them arrived some twelve hours later. He was a small, dapper Frenchman with dark hair and eyes and a thin, neat mustache. He shook hands with Benton warmly and bowed slightly to Race.

"Monsieur Bannon. I am sorry to meet you under such unfortunate circumstances. I have known your wife for many years. She is a fine woman."

Race acknowledge the greeting stiffly. "Thank you. Is there any word?" Benton noticed that Race did not correct Henri on his marital status.

"Non. I am sorry. There is still nothing." He looked beyond both men to where Jonny and Hadji stood. "But I do not believe I have met the two young gentlemen."

Benton shook his head. "Forgive me, Henri, I don't know where my manners have gone. May I present my adopted son Hadji Singh . . . "

Hadji bowed slightly from the waist, his hands together. "Sir."

". . . and my son Jonny."

Jonny nodded at the Frenchman. "Hi."

Henri's face lit up. "Of course, the light of Mademoiselle Bannon's life. Her mother spoke of you often."

Jonny swallowed hard. "Don't we know anything at all? How could they just disappear? Someone has to have seen something!"

"The police are still looking, my young friend. But Paris is a big city and so far they have found nothing. But let us go. We will go to the hotel and you can look at their rooms. You know them better than we do. Perhaps you will see something we have missed."

Race searched the room from top to bottom. There was simply nothing there to indicate anything had been wrong. He had questioned the maid closely and the only thing he learned was that they had apparently disappeared sometime that Tuesday afternoon or evening because there was no sign they had been there on Wednesday morning when the maid arrived to clean. Jonny had even found Jessie's laptop neatly tucked in the drawer of the table beside her bed. It was fully operational and nothing appeared to have been disturbed in any way. It was as though they walked out that Tuesday afternoon and simply decided not to come back.

It was Benton who asked the question they had all been thinking but were afraid to ask. "They have checked all the hospitals and . . . everything . . . haven't they?"

Henri smiled and laid a consoling hand on his arm. "Yes, my friend, they have. They are not in any of the hospitals or in any of the morgues in the city. They are very distinctive. If they were incapacitated somewhere the descriptions we have out would have identified them quickly enough. That is one thing you do not need to fear at this time." They all breathed a sigh of relief.

Jonny looked over at Race and asked, "But what do we do now? We can't just sit and wait!"

Race rubbed his forehead. "All we can do is canvas the streets. We'll start at the café where they were last seen and work up and down both sides of the street talking with everyone we can find. I wasn't thinking clearly when we left or I would have brought some current pictures."

Henri volunteered, "We have the publicity photo of Madame Velasquez that was used for her presentation. It is current."

Jonny reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet and extracted a thin metal plate. "And I have this." He laid the metal plate in the palm of his hand and touched one corner of it. In the air above it a three-dimensional hologram formed. Jessie and Jonny hovered there. They stood side by side and his arm circled her waist. She was dressed in a black leather miniskirt and a green blouse (Race remembered that outfit well) and he was in casual dress pants and a shirt. Jessie was laughing into the camera while Jonny gazed at her with a thoroughly besotted grin on his face. "Hadji took this last month."

Everyone in the room looked at the image silently for a minute and then Henri laid a hand on Jonny's shoulder. "We will find her, my friend. Come, let us start."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jessie sat and listened to the continuous drip, drip, drip of water. She was cold, damp and very, very scared. She had no idea how long she had been confined here. No light showed through into the endless darkness to tell her when day turned into night or back into day again. Hunger had become a constant companion.

Her mother shifted on the cot uneasily and mumbled incoherently. Feeling her way, Jessie crawled to the edge of the cot and reached out to touch her mother's face. She felt feverish. Using her cupped hands she dripped water slowly onto Estella's lips in an effort to get some fluids into her. At this point, it was the only thing she could do.

She reviewed the events leading up to their present predicament again, trying desperately to find some thread that would tell her why they were here and what their captor wanted. It simply made no sense.

They had left the café on Tuesday afternoon and strode leisurely down the street. They had no particular place to be and so they window-shopped. But because they had done this before, they began penetrating into some of the side streets investigating some of the smaller shops. Estella was particularly interested in antique dressers. In one of these shops just off the Champs-Elysées, the owner told her about an obscure shop that dealt solely in estate-sale merchandise. He had suggested they try this shop. It was several blocks off the main thoroughfare in a small dead-end street. It was not a particularly notable shop, the proprietor had told them, but sometimes you could find very good bargains there. They both decided that it was worth the trouble so they had set off. They reached it just about dusk. Jessie had begun to have second thoughts because the neighborhood was not the best and the gathering darkness was starting to make her nervous. But they had come that far and it seemed silly to turn back without at least seeing if the shop was still open.

When they tried the door it had opened with a creak and a jingle of a distant bell. The shop, when viewed from the inside, held little promise. It was dim and appeared to be packed almost floor to ceiling with old furniture, knickknacks, and various other items. Everything was coated with dust and much of what was in sight was in very poor condition. Jessie was just about to suggest that this had been a wasted trip when a curtain at the back of the room parted and a very stooped, old man shuffled into view.

Estella had talked with him while Jessie wandered through the shop looking at all the merchandise. She would have sworn some of the stuff hadn't been moved in years. When the attack on her mother came it was swift and totally unexpected. A figure erupted through the curtain and pounced on her. She was struck viciously across the face and fell, hitting her head on a nearby table. She lay crumpled on the floor, motionless. Jessie cried out and ran toward her. The attacker grabbed her and began to choke her. His strength seemed almost superhuman. She could see dark hair and glittering black eyes that seemed to hold madness in them. Her last coherent thought was that she wished Jonny were there to defend her this time.

She woke to absolute blackness. At first she thought she might be blind and that had caused near panic. She crawled around on her hands and knees searching for something . . . anything. She had finally run into a wall. Run into it rather hard, actually, and the violence of the contact had jarred some sense back into her. She remembered her father telling her that no matter how bad things got, she should never panic. "Once you panic, Jessica, the battle is already lost. Stay calm, assess the situation and be prepared to act when the opportunity presents itself."

She sat for a moment gathering herself up, and then began exploring her surroundings. The wall she had come in contact with had been concrete just like the floor. She followed it until she ran into an obstacle. By feel she found it was a series of metal bars. She followed this again until she came to another obstacle . . . more bars . . . and turned again. By this time she was fairly sure what she would find next so she wasn't surprised when she ran into another wall . . . this one made of brick. By following it she came in contact with concrete again. She was in a cage.

It was at that point that she heard a low moan from somewhere in front of her. She crawled forward until she bumped into a metal container, which she found to be pail containing water and a piece of metal furniture, which turned out to be a cot. The moan came again followed by a hoarse voice asking, "Jessie?"

"Mom!" Feeling her way along she found that the cot had a thin mattress on it and that her mother lay on top of it "Mom, are you all right?"

Her mother's voice was weak. "I can't see . . . "

"Neither can I. I think it's just dark. We're in a cell of some kind. Are you okay? Can you sit up?"

"I don't think so. My head hurts so badly . . . " Jessie felt around until she located her mother's head and probed gently. It didn't take her long to find her damaged face or the blood on the back of her head. There was probably a concussion, and she hoped fervently she didn't have a skull fracture. Without being able to see it was hard to tell any more.

"I think you had better lie still. You took a nasty bang to the head. Do you have any idea what's going on?"

"No," was her mother's weak reply. "One minute I was talking with the old man and the next I was unconscious. I didn't even see the attacker coming. How long have we been here?"

"I don't know. I was unconscious, too. You stay there and rest. I'm going to explore a little more." She rose carefully to her feet and felt her way along the cot until she found the concrete wall again. She then systematically explored their prison. And when she was done she knew very little more than she had right before she had found her mother. It was a cell about nine feet by nine feet. It was bordered on two sides by bars, on one side by a concrete wall, and on the fourth by a brick wall. There was a door in one of the barred sections with an old fashioned locking plate that seemed to require a key. The ceiling was well over her head as she stood, but by climbing one of the cross braces in the barred wall she found that it was about twelve feet above her and made of more bars. The barred walls were welded securely together and the entire cage section appeared to be bolted into both solid walls. The pail of water had evidently been there for a long time because when she put her hand into it and felt around on the bottom she came in contact with some type of slimy growing stuff that had made her shudder. At one time the pail must have had a handle because she found the place where it had mounted, but it was not there now. The cot was actually a solid metal table that someone had laid a thin fiber mattress on. And it appeared to be all one piece rather than having the legs bolted or welded to the surface. And that was it. There were no blankets of any kind and nothing in the way of food. She thought they must be somewhere close to the river because there was always the sound of water dripping, although their prison had no standing water anywhere. And it was very humid. Everything was damp.

Most of their personal belongings had also been taken. That afternoon in the café her mother had been wearing a silk dress and a knee-length wool coat. Jessie had been in a wool pleated skirt, a silk blouse and her black leather bomber jacket. Both of them had been carrying purses. The only thing they had now were the clothes on their backs. Their coats, purses and even their shoes were gone. The room they were imprisoned in was not heated and the temperature had to be in the low to mid fifties. Both women were half frozen from the cold and damp. And still no one came.

And so Jessie sat and waited. Hours dragged by . . . or days. She had no way of knowing how long they had been there. For a while she had tried calling but no one ever came, and finally, her voice had begun to give out. She huddled miserably on the cold floor near her mother and thought despairingly of home.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When the lights came on Jessie could hardly believe it. The intensity was physically painful and tears streamed down her face as she tried to shield her eyes from the sudden glare. At first she could see nothing at all, but finally a form began to take shape as her eyes adjusted. It was tall. It wore a long black coat and a black hat pulled low over the face. She thought the person was male, mainly because of the set of his shoulders and the way he carried himself. The only thing other thing she could see was the eyes. She remembered those eyes . . . the way they glittered. Again it occurred to her that this person was not entirely sane. The figure stood there silently for a long time just staring at them.

Jessie looked past the stranger at the larger room she was in. It appeared to be part of an old abandoned warehouse. The original structure was built from brick and wood. Through the open door behind the man she could see a much larger room. A hint of light was visible and the sound of water was much clearer. The concrete of their prison was actually part of a corner platform apparently rigged to provide a point on which to anchor their cage. It jutted from the wall like a large "L". The cage sat on the bottom of the L and the side rose perpendicular to it. The entire structure was built against one of the brick walls of the original building. It was old but sturdy, and Jessie couldn't begin to guess it's original function. Across the room was a pile of miscellaneous pieces of wood. The room had no windows, only the one door and nothing else. It was lit by a single light bulb hanging by a wire from the ceiling.

Finally, in a cold, laughing voice the stranger said, "So, cheri, how do you like your new home? Charming, non?" A man, that much was now certain.

Jessie looked at him defiantly and said, "It sucks."

"But you must learn to like it, cheri, for you will spend the rest of what is left of your life here."

"Why? What do you want with us? Why have you done this? Who are you!"

The man laughed again. "All in good time, cheri. All in good time. But your mother does not say hello. That does not show good manners."

"She can't say hello. You hurt her, you bas . . ."

"Now, now, cheri, you must be nice to me. Or perhaps I will turn off the lights and go away again and forget you are here."

Jessie fought to keep the fear from showing. Don't panic, she told herself. Remember what Dad always taught you. He wants something or you wouldn't still be here. "You didn't answer my questions."

The man laughed again. "So like your mother. She is your mother, non? You look like her. Although it is anyone's guess who your father is. She never did have very discriminating tastes, that one."

"What is your name?"

"It would mean nothing to you."

"I don't care. I still want to know."

"Why?"

She thought quickly. "So I can know who I hate."

The man stepped closer to the bars. "Ah, so the little one can hate. I have captured a tiger. You may yet provide me with amusement. So . . . " He was silent for a long time, staring at her. It was all she could do to stare back. "My name is Phillipe Manon." Jessie felt a flare of victory. One small battle won.

"So, Phillipe Manon, why are we here?"

"For retribution."

"Retribution for what?"

"Ah, but that question you must ask your mother."

"I may never get to ask her. We need food. And blankets. And she needs a doctor."

And suddenly the man was over the edge. He began screaming incoherently and gesturing at her violently. He picked up one of the pieces of wood from the floor and began striking the bars of her cage with it. She shrank back as far as she could get and stared at him, dumbfounded. He was literally foaming. By the time he finally quieted, she was shaking silently. She was truly terrified now. This man was completely and irretrievably insane. For a long time he crouched on the floor staring at her with those eyes. Abruptly he got up and walked out of the door.

"Wait!!!!" she screamed at him. "Don't leave us here . . . " She grabbed the bars and shook them desperately. And then he was back. She moved back, eyeing him warily. He flung something at her. She dodged it quickly and it fell to the floor near her feet. It was a loaf of French bread. Stale and moldy in places, but food nonetheless.

"Food you will get," he snarled. "But nothing else. She will pay for what she has done." He laughed again as he turned away.

"Wait! Please . . . " He turned back to her again. "What day is this?"

Again that laughter. "Saturday." And then the lights went out.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jonny came out of his tenth café. He was totally depressed. Everywhere he asked he got the same answer. Yes, the two women were familiar . . . they had been there . . . but no, no one had seen them on Tuesday nor did they remember anything unusual happening on that day. And, yes, the police had already asked these questions. He saw Race exit from another shop further up the street. He waved at him and moved quickly up the street to join him.

"Anything?" Race asked him anxiously as he came up.

Jonny shook his head. "Nothing. You?"

"No. And it's getting harder. Four days is a long time for someone to remember, especially if nothing particularly unusual happened to mark the encounter. Maybe Benton and Hadji have had more luck." Jonny was staring at the pavement in silence, his depression clear. Race sympathized. He put his arm around the boy's shoulders and said, "Come on, Jonny, don't give up. We'll find them . . . even if we have to tear this entire city apart." Race looked up again to see the other two members of their party approaching. He looked hopefully at Benton, but the older man only shook his head.

"No luck so far. But I have had a thought . . . " They all looked at him expectantly. "We're going at this a bit blindly, which may not be the best approach." He looked at Race and Jonny closely. "You two know them better than either of us. Think. Do they have any particular interests that they might have been pursuing? This is a strange city to them and would provide new avenues of exploration on a subject they were interested in. Maybe our problem is that they moved off the main avenue in pursuit of something particular."

Both Jonny and Race thought about it. Finally Jonny said, "Well, Jessie's main interests are computers, programming, natural history and libraries. We already know she visited the library earlier. She might have been pigeon-watching, but . . . "

Benton shook his head. "No, I'm thinking more along the line of shopping. Something they might have been canvassing shops for." A sad smile flickered on his face briefly. "Rachel always did that whenever we were in a new city. She liked exotic vases and every place we went she would search the local shops for vases. She used to find the most obscure places . . . "

"Antiques." Benton looked at Race sharply. His expression was distant and there was a touch of pain in his face. "Estella likes antiques . . . particularly antique furniture. If she was canvassing shops, that would be what it was for."

Benton looked around him at the gathering darkness. "So first thing tomorrow morning we start at the café again and we hit every shop that sells antiques. And this time not only do we ask if anyone has seen them, but we also ask if anyone in the shop might have referred them to another shop somewhere in the city."

"But Dad, why can't we start now? They've been gone so long . . . "

"I'm sorry, son. It wouldn't do us any good to start now. The shops we want are closing up for the night. Look around you . . . " As Jonny scanned the street he saw several vendors come out of their shops, lock the doors and move away. His shoulders slumped.

"I wish we'd never had that fight."

His father looked at him in surprise. "What does your fight have to do with it?"

"If we hadn't fought maybe she wouldn't have decided to come here and she wouldn't be missing now."

"There's no point in thinking that way, Jonny," his father told him. "All we can do now is search until we find them." Benton grinned at his son. "At least your black eye is gone so she won't be reminded of it when she sees you again."

Jonny couldn't help but smile back at his father. "Yeah. Right. At least she didn't have to look at me in all my glory. It probably would have made her mad all over again every time she saw me."

His father chuckled. "You're probably right." Benton looked closely at Race. He was staring blindly into the distance. To most people his expression would have appeared blank. But after all these years, Benton knew him better than that. He reached out and placed a hand on his arm. "Race, are you all right?"

After a minute the younger man nodded. "Yeah. We may as well go back to the hotel. There's nothing more we can do here tonight."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was almost one in the morning. The boys had finally gone to bed and Benton was ready to do the same. He moved into the living area of their suite to shut off the lights. But as he glanced toward the window he saw Race standing there staring out over the city. He held a glass in one hand and an article of clothing in the other. As Benton watched he drained the glass and set it on a nearby table. He glanced around the room and noticed an open bottle of scotch sitting on the sideboard of the wet bar. This was not a good sign. Race did not make it a habit of drinking.

Benton moved to stand beside him quietly. Race looked over and saw Benton glance at the article of clothing he held in his hand. It was a soft, green sweater. Benton had never seen it before and he guessed it belonged to Estella.

"It smells like her." There was a wealth of pain in that single comment. In that instant, Benton Quest pitied Race Bannon more than he thought possible. Rachel was gone, and it had been the hardest thing he had ever lived through. But at least most of the memories that remained of her were of the good times. He was sure the same could not be said for his friend. And to realize he still loved her must have been incredibly hard. Or maybe he always knew he did but had stepped out of her life for other reasons. One thing was certain . . . his feelings for this woman were far from neutral. Loss of an acquaintance, even a former lover or spouse that you were no longer close to, didn't cause this kind of pain.

"I didn't know how to make her happy any more." The words seemed to be torn from him one at a time. "I thought that what she wanted of me was unreasonable . . . it was my job and it was important . . . I thought she should have understood that. We fought whenever we were together. But when we were apart I never felt whole. The day she told me she wanted a divorce I thought my world was ending. It was the only time while we were together that I ever saw her cry. She was always so strong, but that day she stood there with tears running down her face begging me to set her free so she could get on with her life. I didn't know what to do anymore. I went out that night and got drunker than I've ever been in my entire life. And the next morning I told her she could do whatever she wanted. I didn't care any more. But it was a lie . . . " The two men stood there for a long time, saying nothing else.

Finally, Benton reached out and put a consoling hand on his shoulder. "You need sleep. Tomorrow is another day and we have to keep looking." Race laid the sweater gently across the back of a chair and went to bed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Estella had finally woke up coherent. She said her head still hurt but her mind was no longer foggy. As the two of them sat on the cot trying to choke down some of the stale bread Jessie tried to figure out how she was going to ask her mother about Phillipe Manon and what he had meant by his cryptic comments. The more she thought about the man the less she liked the implications left by the encounter.

Her mother, however, saved her from trying to figure out how to bring up the subject. "Jessie, where did this bread come from? What happened while I was unconscious?"

"Why do you think something happened?" Jessie hedged.

"Because you are sitting there strung tighter than piano wire. I can feel it. What's happened."

Jessie took a deep breath. "Mother, who is Phillipe Manon?"

The silence was as deep as the darkness that surrounded them. Finally, Estella said, "He was a man I once knew. Where did you come up with that name?"

"He's the man that's holding us here."

"That's impossible," she said flatly.

"Mother, I've seen him. He was here."

Violently, Estella replied, "NO! I told you. It can't be Phillipe Manon!"

"Why not?"

Again that lengthy silence. Wearily, Estella said, "Because he's dead."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

The silence stretched so long this time Jessie had decided her mother wasn't going to answer. "Because I killed him. I stabbed him over and over and over until he was dead." And suddenly Jessie knew her mother was crying. She put her arms around her and held her, completely dumbfounded. She was pretty sure her father had killed. He would never talk about it and she knew it sometimes haunted his dreams. But at one time it had been part of his job . . . to protect people the government wanted protected any way he had to. And sometimes that got violent. But she never imagined her mother might have killed anyone.

After a time Estella became quiet again and Jessie asked her gently, "Can you tell me about it?"

"It happened the night I met your father. I had been casually dating Phillipe Manon. I was here in Paris on a research fellowship and Phillipe was a mid-level government official in the consular service. He used to travel a lot . . . I always suspected he was a courier of some kind but he never really said. He could be a lot of fun, but he was very moody and you never really knew what to expect. That night, Phillipe had invited me to this big fete that the American government was hosting for a group of high-powered foreign government officials. There was dinner and dancing and all kinds of important people. I was totally dazzled."

"How old were you then?"

Estella sighed, "Twenty-five. We had arrived and been circulating through the crowd when Phillipe said he had something to do. He simply disappeared. And for the next hour I wandered around alone mingling and hunting for him. I was starting to get angry because I felt so out of place. I was actually thinking about calling a cab and going home when your father just appeared. One minute I was looking around for Phillipe and the next Race was standing there in this black tux asking me to dance. He didn't really even give me a chance to answer. Just took my hand and swept me out onto the dance floor. He was a wonderful dancer. And when the music stopped, he just stood there waiting for it to start again. I tried to tell him I was there with someone, but he asked what kind of a man would leave a beautiful woman like me all alone. He said he had been watching me all evening and knew that I had been abandoned by my escort and he refused to let me be alone any longer. I didn't know what to say. And when he caught me up to start dancing again I was lost. He was everything I had ever dreamed about . . . so handsome, and witty, and attentive, and . . . " she paused. "Well, you get the idea. I was literally swept off my feet. I surrendered to the moment and had the most wonderful evening of my life. And by the end of it, I was hopelessly in love with him. Phillipe never came back. And I didn't care."

Jessie tried to picture the scene her mother was describing and after a minute she thought she could see it. Her youth, the glitter, the music, and Race Bannon. After all, her father had a way with women . . .

"Race took me home that night. It had been glorious. He walked me to my door, but I wouldn't let him come in. I thanked him for rescuing me and he laughed and told me he was happy to do it. He smiled at me, kissed my hand, promised he would see me again soon, and left."

"He kissed your hand!? You're kidding!"

"You had to be there . . . " was her mother's dry comment.

"I guess!"

"At any rate, when I unlocked the door and turned on the light I discovered that my entire apartment had been smashed. All the furniture had been overturned and the chairs, sofa and pillows had been slashed with a knife. Everything breakable had been shattered including pictures, mirrors, vases, dishes, everything. All my linen had been slashed and my clothes were ripped to shreds . . . it was awful. I just stood in the middle of the devastation and stared. I was too numb to do anything."

"But . . . but you never should have stayed there! You should have run! Dad has always warned me that if that ever happens I should turn around and get out . . . go find help. What would have happened if he had still been there?"

"Oh, but he was still there. It was Phillipe . . . and he was waiting. One look at him and I knew he was completely insane."

The silence stretched endlessly. Jessie shivered in their icy prison trying to imagine what it must have been like to have confronted a madman in the middle of that devastation.

"When I first saw him he had a baseball bat. I turned around at some sound and he was standing in the middle of the bedroom door. He had this horrible smile on his face and his eyes glittered in a way that absolutely terrified me. He walked into the living room swinging that bat and staring at me without saying a word. Then he said in this soft voice, 'But, cheri, you should never have run off with another man. You are mine, mon petit. And I will not let him have you.' And he swung the bat at my head. I finally came unfrozen and screamed and threw my arm up to shield my head and he hit me. When I tried to run he blocked the door and continued to swing that bat at me. I kept screaming but no one came. He finally backed me into the kitchen. By that time he was absolutely frenzied, smashing the bat into walls and screaming. He was all but foaming. Suddenly, he dropped the bat and came at me with his bare hands. I was backed up to the kitchen counter and he put his hands around my throat and started to choke me. As I was flailing around, my hand found a knife and I grabbed it and stabbed him with it over and over. Anything to get him off of me."

Jessie shivered. It sounded like the same man, all the way down to the weird fits. But if her mother had killed him, how could that be?

"Race found me. He had heard me screaming from the street but the door latch and the spring bolt had caught on the exterior door and it took him time to get through them again. When he got there, I was sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor with the knife in my hand and Phillipe Manon was lying dead on the floor in front of me. I was covered in both his blood and mine, and I was totally hysterical. Most of the rest of it is a blur. Your father took care of everything from the police to the notification of the French government to the arrangements for a new place for me to stay. It was horrible . . . "

Out of the darkness came a snarling voice, "And now you will pay. Retribution is mine . . . " and the lights came on . . .

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jonny was so frustrated he could have screamed. It was early Monday afternoon and they had been canvassing all the shops along the Champs-Elysées since yesterday morning. And so far they had found nothing. Oh, there were people who remembered seeing them. They had evidently spent considerable time wandering this area. But no one could remember seeing them the Tuesday they went missing. And no one he had talked with had remembered either one of them asking about antiques or being referred to another shop. The day before had been particularly bad because they had wanted to concentrate on antique shops and most of them had been closed. So they had returned and started again this morning. But so far they had found absolutely nothing. And now there was this little voice in his head that was starting to tell him that they were gone forever and he would never see Jessie again. He tried very hard to ignore that voice but it was becoming harder and harder to do.

Jonny marked the shop off his list and walked out into a cold, damp drizzle. Mid day yesterday it had clouded up and had begun to rain. He shivered. Surely he couldn't lose Jessie here. Not after all they had been through. Please . . . please don't do this to me . . . he prayed. He looked up the street just as Hadji and his father walked out of a shop about three doors down. He trudged up to meet them.

Hadji looked at him hopefully, "Have you had any luck, Jonny?"

Jonny just shook his head. "No. Nothing."

"We have been unsuccessful as well. Where is Race?"

"I don't know. He disappeared about an hour ago. He didn't say where he was going. Just one minute he was there and the next he was gone."

Benton was concerned. As the days had gone by, Race had become more and more distant. He rarely said anything any longer, allowing one of the others to ask the questions. "I believe we had better search for him. Let's backtrack and see if we can't find him." They finally located him at their starting point . . . the café where the two women had last been seen. They could see him through the window, sitting at the table where Jessie and Estella had sat at on that fateful Tuesday afternoon. The two boys started toward the café but Benton held them back. "I want you to wait here for me. Don't move from this spot, you understand? I want to talk with him . . . alone." Benton had expected an argument, especially from his son.

But Jonny looked at the man in the window for a minute and then simply said, "We'll be here."

As Benton crossed to the cafe Hadji said, "Do you not want to go along and see what is wrong, my friend? This is not like Race at all."

Jonny glanced at him briefly and then said quietly, "I know what's wrong. I knew the day Dad told him Estella and Jessie were missing. Let him be, Hadj. He has to work through this on his own." Hadji looked at his friend in sudden understanding. These two had more in common now than they ever had. And so they waited.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Estella Velasquez faced the man on the other side of the bars, her head high and her eyes flaming. Her rage was like a physical presence in the room. She seemed completely oblivious to her physical discomfort or surroundings. Her full attention was centered on the man in front of her. He stood, that sardonic grin on his face, staring back at her. The hat and coat were gone. In their place were tight-fitting black leather biker pants and a black sweater. His black hair was faintly shot with strands of silver. but it was his eyes that held Jessie riveted. They were huge and as black as their prison had been . . . and they glittered with malevolence the like of which she had never seen before.

His laughter was low and ominous as he said, "Well, mon petit, we meet again. It has been a long time. I would say it is good to see you, but I do not believe you would agree with me."

Estella's voice was cold and hard as she responded, "Who are you?"

"But, cheri, surely you haven't forgotten me? After all we meant to each other?"

"I don't know who you are. All I do know is that you aren't Phillipe Manon."

"You are so sure?"

"Oh, yes. I'm sure. You like look him, I'll give you that . . . older, but very like him. What are you? A brother? A cousin?"

The man was silent and a range of emotions flickered across his face. Jessie was suddenly afraid. This man was truly unstable. There was no telling what might send him into another fit of rage. She prayed her mother would stop pushing him. She was sure that by this time her father and Jonny and the rest of her 'family' was looking for them. They would find them eventually . . .

Finally, he smiled again. A particularly ugly smile. "Phillipe Manon was my little brother. The old man in the shop . . . he is my father."

Estella said slowly, "So you are Leon. Phillipe would speak of you sometimes . . . " She stared hard at him. "What do you want from us?"

"I have told you. The time of retribution is at hand. You were delivered to me for that purpose. Otherwise you would never have walked into my shop." He laughed again. "Call it divine providence, if you will. You took my brother's life for no reason. Now you must pay."

"He was trying to kill me!"

"And why was that, cheri? Hmmm? Because you made a fool of him! People were laughing at him . . . his superiors! Throwing yourself at another after he had taken you to such fine places . . ." He was breathing heavily, the fury building again. "And look at how you repaid him!" He stepped forward and grabbed the bars. "You killed him!"

Estella held her ground, staring back at him in anger. "I will not be intimidated by you, Leon. Your brother would have bashed my head in if I had let him. And I was not the one who abandoned him. He left me that night. So don't try and blame me for this . . . "

"NO! He was the good one! You are at fault. Everything that has happened since is your fault! You will pay . . . pay . . ." He was screaming incoherently, trying to shake the bars of the cell. Jessie would have sworn he was trying to rip them out of the anchors with his bare hands. She snatched at her mother's arm, dragging her to the back of their cell as far from the man as she could manage.

"Mother, don't do that! He's unstable. He could kill us in one of those fits. We've got to be patient . . . try not to agitate him. Dad will be looking . . ."

"Jessica, if you father was going to find us he would have done it by this time. If we are going to get out of here, we're going to have to get out on our own. And it's going to have to be soon. Sooner or later this is going to get to us. The psychological impact of being in the dark all the time will wear us down if nothing else does." She turned and stared at their captor who had again quieted and was staring back at them with that malevolent look. "I don't know how or when, but our time is coming. And when the chance comes, we have to be ready . . . "

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"That is the last one. We have asked every vendor along this street. No one has seen them." Hadji slumped against the wall in an antique shop at the far end of the avenue in dejection. They had searched them all and found nothing. They had reached a dead end. His companions stood nearby in silence. There was nothing to say. It was Tuesday afternoon and the two women had now been missing for a week with no sign. None of them knew what to do next.

Slowly, Jonny reached into his pocket and pulled out the thin metal plate again. He touched the corner and triggered the image. And there she was, looking at him and laughing. In that instant he hurt so badly it was indescribable. It has been a nightmare, all those hours spent waiting in that Cairo hospital, and he had thought nothing could ever be worse. But to have her gone and to never know what happened . . .

"She was a nice lady. She had a pretty laugh."

The small, high voice was so unexpected that Jonny thought for an instant he had imagined it. When he looked, he saw a small boy with large brown eyes and blonde hair. He was staring at the holographic image with wide-eyed fascination.

One of the customers in the shop exclaimed and came hurrying over. "René, you must not bother these gentlemen. They are busy . . . "

Benton Quest reached out and stopped her with a hand. "No, wait, please . . . "

The proprietor of the shop and several other customers moved toward the group as Jonny knelt near the small boy. Still carefully balancing the holographic picture on his hand so the boy could see it clearly, he asked, "Have you seen her, René? I've been looking for her everywhere and I can't find her."

The child eyed him solemnly. "I saw her with another lady last week. She was nice to me and played ball with me a little. She said I reminded her of someone named Jason." Jonny bowed his head briefly. Oh, please . . . he prayed.

Race knelt beside the boy and held out the picture of Estella. "Was this the other lady, René?"

The child looked at the picture briefly and nodded. "They were just wandering along. They didn't seem in any hurry. They were looking in shop windows . . ."

Jonny asked, "Do you remember when this was, René? What day?"

His response was prompt. "It was a week ago today. I know because Maman and I only come here once a week to shop. And I talked to them the last time we were here."

Jonny felt light-headed. So close . . . they came so close to missing this slender lead. He said carefully, "What did you talk about? Did they say what they were doing or where they were going?"

The boy wrinkled his nose. "They were looking at old stuff." He waved his hand at the merchandise in the shop. "Stuff like this. The older lady was unhappy because she couldn't find what she wanted." So his father had been right, Jonny thought. They had been hunting for antiques. "I remember she told Jessie she didn't think she was going to find anything."

Jonny smiled at the boy. "She told you her name?"

He nodded. "She was a nice lady. Are you Jonny?"

Jonny sat abruptly on the floor. "Yes, that's my name."

"She told me about you."

Jonny's head was swimming. He could hardly believe this. "What did she say?"

"That you were her boyfriend. And that she had been away for a long time. And that she missed you." Jonny closed his eyes. The sudden rush of emotion almost overpowered him.

Through the fog he heard Race ask, "René, do you know where they were going? After they left you?"

"I told them about Monsieur Petrie's shop. He has lots of old stuff like this." Jonny opened his eyes and looked at the boy again. He stood facing Race as he knelt on the floor. The three of them were at the center of a circle of people who were watching the conversation avidly. It suddenly occurred to him that the four of them were probably known on sight to everyone along this street.

"Is Monsieur Petrie's shop along the avenue?" Race asked him.

The boy shook his head. "No. It's off on a side street up there a way." He waved vaguely up the street.

Benton turned anxiously to the proprietor. "Do you know . . . "

The Frenchman interrupted him. "I can give you directions."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The four men had gone to Monsieur Petrie's antique shop and had immediately found that Monsieur Petrie remembered the two women well. "Ah, oui, I remember them. Madame Velasquez, she was hunting for a dresser. A particular style, you see, that I do not carry. It is hard to find, this particular type of dresser. I told her of another shop. Not too far from here, but in an older part of town. Old man Manon, he is a little crazy maybe, but sometimes he gets good things."

Race had interrupted sharply, "Manon? You said the man's name was Manon?"

"Oui. Raoul Manon. He is very old. Once he ran a very prosperous shop down on the Champs-Elysées, but that was many years ago. Before his youngest son died. Now he runs this small shop with his eldest son, Leon."

Race Bannon had gone white. In a shaky voice he asked urgently, "The younger son . . . the one that died . . . what was his name?"

Everyone was staring at Race, sensing that something was seriously wrong. Hesitantly, Monsieur Petrie responded, "Phillipe."

"And Leon . . . " Race demanded harshly. "Where is Leon now?"

"He helps his father in the shop."

"Oh, God . . . Where? Where is the shop?" The proprietor told them and Race headed out at a run. Benton frantically asked Monsieur Petrie to phone the police and ask them to meet them at the shop and then ran after his three companions.

They arrived just as the police did. Henri LeConte and Inspector Lapointe, who was in charge of the investigation for the police, jumped out of the car and ran to meet them. Race was prepared to go straight in but Inspector Lapointe stopped him.

"You must explain, Monsieur Bannon. We cannot simply barge in on an old man and accuse him of abduction. What would the Manon family have against either your wife or your daughter?"

Race stared hard at the Inspector. "Nineteen years ago my wife killed Phillipe Manon."

Everyone stared at him, thunderstruck. Finally, the Inspector said, "Well, but that was a long time ago, Monsieur. Surely, . . . "

"You don't understand. Phillipe Manon was certifiably insane. So was his brother, Leon. In fact, Leon has spent countless years in and out of mental institutions. He is violent and unpredictable. If he has taken my wife and daughter . . . "

"Inspector!" Everyone turned as a young policeman can running up. He began speaking breathlessly in French.

Inspector Lapointe turned to them in agitation. "There has been a disturbance, down near the river. Yelling and screaming and some type of altercation. And now there is fire! The young officer tells me that the site of the disturbance has been identified as an abandoned shipping warehouse belonging to the Manon family!"

"Let's go!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Estella again faced Leon Manon. But this time she screamed at him. "He was a FOOL! A fool, Leon, to ever think I would have anything to do with him on a long-term basis. He was good for getting me to parties where I could meet interesting people. Influential people. But Phillipe, wellllll, after all . . ." She spread her hands in disdain.

Jessie clawed at her mother frantically, "Mother! Stop! Don't make him angry . . ."

"LIES! IT IS ALL LIES . . . " Leon Manon's face was beet red and his eyes were huge. He was panting and clawing at the bars of their prison in a frenzy.

"He was crazy, Leon," she screamed at him. "A complete lunatic. Everyone knew it. His supervisors didn't laugh at him because of me. They laughed because they knew he was a nutcase and they could use him. He was so easy to use . . . "

With an incoherent roar of rage, Leon clawed a key out of his pocket and inserted it into the locking mechanism of the door. But the instant the latch turned the two women hit the door with all the force they could manage. The door swung out catching him across the face and he staggered back. Both women bolted out of the cell and toward the door. Jessie made it to the door, but she heard her mother's cry and turned back.

"No, Jessie. Run!" Leon had moved like lightning. He snatched at Estella, catching her dress as she ran past him. In a lithe move, she tried to duck his grasp but he caught her by the shoulder and flung her to the ground. She fell hard, but rolled desperately trying to evade him. He pounced like a cat pinning her to the floor and reached for her throat.

Jessie grabbed frantically at one of the miscellaneous pieces of wood lying on the floor and swung at him with all her strength. But he seemed to sense the blow coming and turned aside slightly so the blow caught him across the back of his shoulders rather than in the head. Estella writhed suddenly and, overbalanced slightly, he raised up loosening his grip on her throat. She lashed at his face with her fingernails as Jessie swung at him again with the piece of wood. Roaring like a wounded animal, he rolled aside and Jessie grabbed her mother and dragged her toward the door. Estella staggered to her feet and they both ran.

As they moved into the next room, they discovered they were in a riverside warehouse. It was huge and largely empty containing only old boxes, wood, some miscellaneous pieces of furniture and a large assortment of trash. A pair of large double doors marked the shipping entrance and running under the doors was a channel of water. To one side of the large doors could dimly be seen the outlines of a smaller door. Both of them ran for the smaller door just as Leon Manon erupted into the warehouse. He charged after them, howling. Jessie reached the door first only to find it was securely locked with a keyed deadbolt and there was no sign of the key.

Both women turned and ran toward the shipping doors. But before they had reached them they could see the metal grate that sunk into the water walling off the underwater entry. They couldn't gamble they could swim under it. They veered again, panting frantically and ran along the water channel hunting for another way out. Leon Manon followed closely behind, screaming. They could find no other doors and the windows were too high to get out of. Leon grabbed frantically at Estella again and she screamed as she stumbled and fell. He tried to pounce on her but she rolled aside. As she rose to her feet again, he grabbed a nearby piece of wood and threw it at her. It caught her in the middle of the back and she fell hard, gasping for breath, partially stunned.

Leon rose and walked toward her with an ugly expression on his face. He picked up an empty packing crate and raised it over his head, ready to smash it down on her. Out of nowhere, Jessie hit him like a missile and sending him head first into a pile of trash. Jessie grabbed her mother, hauling her to her feet, and the two of them staggered back toward the small door. Jessie snatched up a small piece of scrap metal from the floor and attacked the locking mechanism on the door as Estella kept watch for Leon. He appeared suddenly, running at them wildly. Estella grabbed Jessie and shoved her to one side as Leon reached them.

Jessie screamed sharply as Leon reached out and grabbed at her, catching her by the hair. He yanked savagely and with a cry she staggered into him. Estella lashed out with both fists striking him sharply in the kidneys and he moaned. Turning, he kicked at her with one leg catching her behind the knees. She fell hard. He then began dragging Jessie, kicking and screaming, toward the standing water not far away. Estella staggered to her feet and grabbed for the only weapon she could see . . . a long piece of metal pipe in a bracket on the wall. She yanked at it viciously and it came loose with a screech of metal and a shower of sparks. It has been a conduit for electrical wires.

Loosened, the wiring that connected all of the lights in the warehouse swung free throwing sparks in all directions. As it trailed down, it dropped into the standing water near the main double doors sending more sparks everywhere. Nearby trash ignited and the flames began to spread. Leon continued to drag Jessie toward the water, laughing maniacally. She screamed and fought wildly but couldn't free herself. Estella screamed and ran after him, swinging the pipe. She brought it down sharply on his forearm and the sound of breaking bone was clear even over the roar of the flames. He staggered and released Jessie, howling again. Estella grabbed her daughter and, coughing, they both ran back toward the smaller door. Through the walls they could hear sirens and the confused sounds of voices. Both women screamed wildly beating on the door. On the far side of the warehouse a stack of old boxes and fabrics abruptly combusted sending flames licking up the walls and across the high ceiling.

Suddenly, over all the noise Jessie and Estella could hear Race's voice. "Get away from the door! Estella, get away from the door!" Both women staggered back just as three gun shots blew the deadbolt free. As they turned to run back to the door, Leon Manon rose out of the smoke in front of them. All trace of sanity was gone. He held the metal pipe in his good hand, and as they stood frozen, he raised it over his head to strike. Neither of them heard the gunshot, nor could they move as he collapsed at their feet. Race and Inspector Lapointe grabbed them and hauled them frantically out of the burning building.

Race picked Estella up and sprinted for the cars and trucks parked a short distance away. Jonny met Inspector Lapointe just outside the door, grabbed Jessie from him, and dragged her wildly across the street and into shelter on the far side of the vehicles. Suddenly, there was a loud, rending sound. For an instant the old warehouse seemed to expand, straining at its walls. Then it collapsed in on itself in a wall of flames.

Estella clung to Race, shaking and incoherent. Tears streamed down her face and her gaze appeared focused on something no one else could see. Jessie gasped desperately as though she couldn't breathe, struggling against Jonny's arms. She appeared so wrapped up in recent events she seemed completely unaware of her surroundings. As the building imploded, both women screamed and cowered as though struck by a physical blow.

"It's all right, Estella," Race soothed her. "It's over. He can't hurt you any more. Please, sweetheart, it's going to be okay. I promise . . . " Jonny said nothing. He just held Jessie and kissed her and held her again. The others stood staring at the inferno that marked the end of Leon Manon.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Two evenings later, the entire Quest team sat in a dance club in one of the fancier sections of Paris. With them were Henri LeConte and Inspector Lapointe. It was a going away celebration. The Quests were heading home the next morning. It had been a joyous evening, filled with jokes and laughter. Both Estella and Jessie looked wonderful, seeming little worse for wear after their ordeal. Only Race and Jonny knew that neither one of them were sleeping well; neither could stand being in the dark. "And that is the end of the Manon family, " Inspector Lapointe said. "When we told old Ramon that his son had died in the fire, he fainted. We called an ambulance, however by the time they reached the hospital he had died. His heart had stopped. I believe the loss of his last son was simply too much for him." Estella sat next to Race, toying with her wine glass. He was stretched out, his arm resting along the back of her chair. Occasionally he looked at her with an expression that none of the others at the table could read. She sighed, a sad expression on her face. "Ramon Manon was a good man. I remember meeting him many years ago. He was so proud of Phillipe. He was convinced that Phillipe was the family's salvation. At one time they had been an aristocratic family, moving in all the best circles. Ramon had wanted that for his sons again. He saw Phillipe as the means to that end. He never realized that Phillipe suffered from the same problem as Leon. And he never talked about Leon. Even Phillipe said very little about him. I am so very sorry about everything that happened. Phillipe, on his good days, could be so sweet and charming . . . "

"Yeah," was Jessie's dry response, "but if he was anything like his brother, his bad days were doozies!" The laughter around the table was tinged with sadness. Jonny sat as close to Jessie as he could possibly get, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist. Benton wasn't sure, but he thought that other than when she was asleep, his son hadn't been out of physical contact with the girl since they hauled her out of the building. Not that she seemed to mind too much, he thought wryly, as he watched her drop her head and rub her cheek against his shoulder. He nuzzled her hair and squeezed her tighter.

"But I still do not understand," Hadji complained. "If Leon Manon was that mentally unstable, how he could be released from the hospital he had been in."

Lapointe shrugged. "The doctors felt he would be better at home with his father. And when he took the medication prescribed for him, he did relatively well. When his father was younger he was able to see that he took it. But as he got older and more forgetful it became more difficult for him to keep track of him. And it is like everything else, Monsieur. Money is always an issue and it was very expensive to keep him institutionalized. As long as it appeared that he could function, the officials were prepared to allow him to stay with his father."

Estella commented, "How sad. I'm sorry this all happened. If I hadn't . . . "

Lapointe shook his head. "It was only a matter of time. He was getting worse and worse. If it had not been you, it would have been something else. You should not feel badly, Madame. This was not your fault." She just shook her head, her eyes shadowed.

Race's arm circled her shoulders and he squeezed her gently. "He's right, Estella. This wasn't your fault. Not now, and not nineteen years ago. You can't let it haunt you."

She looked at him quietly. Finally, she put her arms around him and hugged him tightly. "Thank you. For everything." He wrapped his arms around her and laid his cheek against the top of her head. For a brief instant, Race and Benton's eyes met and Benton could see the pain still present in their depths.

Both of them stirred as Jonny and Jessie rose from the table. Jonny smiled and said, "Excuse us . . . " and led her out onto the dance floor. The slow strains of a love ballad could be heard clearly as he put his arms around her, drew her close and they began to sway in time to the music.

The conversation at the table turned to more general topics and before long Inspector Lapointe excused himself and left. Hadji, Benton and Henri began an involved conversation about ancient Celtic ruins in the French countryside, which quickly left Race at sea. He expected Estella to join in, but she showed no interest. She sat contentedly in her seat, leaning against him slightly.

He smiled down at her and squeezed her shoulders again gently. "It's been a lot of years, but would you like to try the dance floor?"

She laughed easily. "We used to be pretty good at it." They moved out into the center of the floor and he put his arm around her and swung her around. She laughed up at him again and nodded toward their daughter. "They're completely oblivious . . . "

He chuckled. "They usually are. Particularly Jonny. Jessie has him completely smitten. I haven't seen anyone that bad in a long time." Suddenly, the music seemed to envelop them and everything else faded away. Her attention seemed centered on Race Bannon and running through her was the sound of the vocalist singing plaintively,

It's always one thing or another,
Seems like we never get ahead.
Reachin' out for the brass ring,
And landin' in the dirt instead.

"Race, I don't know how to thank you for everything you did. It wasn't your responsibility . . . "

He pulled her close and spun her again. Gruffly, he responded, "Responsibility had nothing to do with it. I could never stand by and see anything happen to you . . . or Jessie, of course."

We can't get past yesterday.
We're only countin' down from ten.
It seems like every move we make,
Brings us back where we began.

"Yes, I know. But things haven't always been the greatest between us and you could just as easily have washed your hands of it anytime during the last several years."

"No, I couldn't."

Ya gotta' run between the raindrops
If ya wanna see the sun.
Run . . . run . . . run, between the raindrops.
Run between the raindrops,
If ya wanna see the sun.
Run . . . run . . . run. Run, baby, run.

She pulled away from him slightly and looked up. There was something in his voice. His face was blank, but something in his eyes . . . "Race . . . " she said softly.

Somwhere there's a sun that's shinin'
Somewhere we'll find a life that's good.
Somewhere we're gonna make it happen.
Just like ya always knew I could.

"You were right, you know, all those years ago. I should have seen it. The agency used me for years. Every time I came close to leaving, they would find some case that was designed to push my buttons and off I went. I never gave a second thought to what I was doing to you . . . all I could think about was how important my assignments were. I was on an ego trip. It took losing you and then coming to live with the Quests to see everything clearly. And by the time I realized the truth, it was too late."

Wind driven water on a river of tears,
And I don't know what to do . . .

"That's not true! What you were doing was important. I always understood that. I just reached the point where I couldn't stand it any more . . . never knowing where you were or what you were doing . . . or whether you would ever come home to me again. I used to have this morbid fear that one day someone would knock on the door and say, 'I'm sorry, Mrs. Bannon, but he's never coming back,' and I would never know what had happened." He pulled her close again and laid his head against the top of her head as the music surrounded them.

I can take a beatin'
But I ain't gonna let it happen to you . . .

"I don't think I ever really appreciated how that could feel until now. I'm sorry, Estella, I put you through hell, and I never meant to."

Ya gotta' run between the raindrops
If ya wanna see the sun.
Run . . . run . . . run, between the raindrops.

They were quiet for a long time, wrapped in the music and the sense of each other. Finally, Race said, "The night you asked me for the divorce . . . I was pretty awful to you. I never said I was sorry for the way I acted. But I am. I never should have said the things I did. There is no excuse . . . "

Run between the raindrops,
If ya wanna see the sun.
Ya gotta run . . . run . . . run. Run, baby, run.

"It doesn't matter . . . "

"It does matter."

She looked up at him again. "The next morning you told me you didn't care."

The pain in his eyes was clear now, and she caught her breath. "It was a lie. I cared more than I can ever say. I just didn't know how to tell you. And you were so unhappy . . . "

"Race!" He pulled her against him tightly, unable to look at her any longer. The sound of the guitars seemed to pierce her soul, and she thought she had forgotten how to breathe.

Wind driven water on a river of tears,
And I don't know what to do . . .do . . .

"I loved you, Estella. I always did. And I still do . . . I never stopped . . . and I never will."

Run between the raindrops,
If ya wanna see the sun.
Ya gotta run . . . run . . . run. Run, baby, run.

She could feel the tears running down her face as she clung to him. After so many years . . . Finally, she pulled away slightly and looked up at him. "But where does that leave us now?'

He wiped her tears away with a gentle hand. "I don't know . . . " He pulled her gently against him again as the music surrounded them.

Ya gotta run . . . between the raindrops.
Ohhhh . . . run . . .
Ya gotta run . . . run . . . run. Run, baby, run.

THE END(?)

© 1997 Debbie Kluge

Run Between the Raindrops, Neil Geraldo/Myron Grombacher, from Seven the Hard Way by Pat Benetar.

DISCLAIMER: The Real Adventures of Jonny Quest and all characters, logos, and likenesses therein, are trademarks of and copyrighted by Hanna-Barbera Productions, Inc., and Hanna-Barbera Cartoons, Inc., a Turner company. No copyright infringement is intended by their use in this story. All other material, copyright 1997, 2001 by Deborah A. Kluge. All rights reserved. Characters and stories are in no way affiliated with, approved of or endorsed by Hanna Barbera or Turner Productions. This is created by a fan for other fans out of love and respect for the show, and is strictly a non-profit endeavor.