This is a continuation of my previous two 7th Heaven stories "Walking Away" and "And the Band Played On". I think it needs to be repeated from my last story introduction that though this series of works follows directly from a point in the very disturbing episode "Ay Carumba!", it diverges from what we have all seen on the show since that time as I try to present the Camdens in what I feel is a more realistic light given the behavior of the characters, particularly Annie and Eric, in the last season and a half. Again and as always, my thanks go out to all the folks at the 7th Heaven boards at Mighty Big TV (http://www.mightybigtv.com). I must also thank all of those of you who have been so kind as to leave reviews here; it's nice to know that people are reading these things.

The direction this story line is following is rather up in the air, though I do have a broad sort of ending in mind for the whole thing. As in the previous two installments (which you probably should read before you tackle this one, so you know what is going on here), my goal is to comment on 7th Heaven and some of its recent problems (particularly the attitude of the writers that spousal abuse and child abuse are not subjects to be treated seriously, and that menopause is a way to portray women as irrational and under the total control of their hormones) as well as to try and show that there is potential in this series for good quality, serious drama.

The title of this installment comes from the song "The Last Farewell", sung by Roger Whittaker. It deals rather poignantly with being apart from a loved one, which I believe suits this story in more ways than one.

As always, none of these characters are mine; they belong to the WB or the producers of the show or somebody like that.

* * *

PART 1

Ruthie Camden was a happy girl.

She was a smart girl too, so she knew she was happy. She even knew why.

It was her family, of course. Family was important to her. Family kept her company and kept her clothed and fed, and as a smart girl she realized that this was important. So she was happy.

Because her family existed for her, really. This was clear to Ruthie Camden. They were there to give her things, to make her comfortable, and to teach her how to get what she wanted out of the world. Family was a place to learn and to practice what she knew she would eventually use in the outside world.

And so she watched them, all of them. She kept mental notes on all of them. She learned their weaknesses and learned how to exploit them.

She knew her sisters Mary and Lucy best of all. They weren't that complicated, not really. They were insecure and thought only about boys. This didn't make sense to Ruthie; weren't you supposed to think about other things when you grew up?

Maybe that's why Lucy had left.

Not that Ruthie minded; she was surprised at first at this, because she remembered that it had hurt when Mary had gone away. But when she lay alone in the bedroom at night, looking over at the empty bed of her sister, Ruthie had found herself wondering just what all the fuss was about. Lucy had gone, but Lucy didn't matter. She was just Lucy, after all. All those moods and tears and anxieties about boys and boyfriends, and all that talk about being a minister that she hadn't had the guts to actually do.

Like Mary. With her it was always about who. Who do I love? Who will I marry? Robbie? Wilson? Since she had come home she had already tried to call Wilson, and when he had called her back there had been that big fight with Mom. And there was this jealousy thing over Robbie, since Robbie had this new girlfriend.

Robbie. There was the kind of boy Ruthie liked. But it wasn't like they might think, though. No, she liked Robbie because Robbie could be manipulated, easily. She had seen this right away. He looked at Joy in her tight pink pants and he gave her everything. He was like Mary and Lucy because he believed in the big lie about love, and that made him weak.

Weak. Ruthie smiled now, over at Mary. They were sitting on the promenade and Mary had bought her ice cream and was talking about Buffalo, about life at the Colonel's, and Ruthie was making a point to remember it all, because someday she could use it against Mary to get what she wanted.

Or maybe just to make Mary squirm. Now that Lucy and all her insecurities were gone, Ruthie would have to entertain herself with Mary instead.

That would be easy enough.

* * *

He got home late. There had been a lot of work to do, things he had let slip, and he had spent much of the morning trying to find a counselor for Annie. They probably all needed one, he figured, including himself. The way Lucy had left was hard on all of them and it wasn't good to keep it all in.

This wasn't easy for Eric Camden to admit, not even to himself. He had always seen his family, his wife and children, as a standard that the rest of the world could strive for. Not perfect, of course, but good. They talked to one another, worked things out. There was a place, a role, for each of them, and he had watched with pride as the kids grew up.

We did right by them.

So what happened? What went so wrong? Was it hubris?

There was food cooking when he arrived. He recognized it: meatloaf, and vegetables boiling in a pot. Simple and quick; Annie must have had a long day at the school.

He took a moment to enjoy the aroma, then walked to his office to set down his briefcase. There was a faint smell of smoke in the living room, easy to ignore, and when he emerged from his office again Annie was in the kitchen. She smiled at him and he took her into his arms and kissed her.

"Smells good," he said.

"Thank you."

She kissed him now. Her lips, her breath, were warm, and she seemed relaxed in his arms.

"How was your day?" he asked.

"Good. It was a good day."

He felt himself calm, relax. He had been worried, especially after what had happened last night with Mary. Worried about her, about the kids. But after she had promised to let him find her a counselor, had promised to go, Eric had felt hope again. The menopause had been hard on her, on him, on the kids. But menopause would pass, he knew. If he could just not let it bother him it would pass. And then she would be happy again, like she was before.

Like she seemed to be now. Maybe promising to go to the counselor had itself helped. Maybe she wouldn't need to go much, just a few times to get her feelings about Lucy and herself sorted out, and then she would be his loving wife again and they could focus their energies on finding their daughter and making her know that she was loved, that they, all of them, loved her.

For the first time in more than a week, Eric Camden allowed himself an honest smile.

#

They ate; he and Annie and Mary and Simon and Ruthie and the twins. Robbie was out with Joy, and Matt was at the library. But there were enough of them and they were all hungry. And there was small talk, too, about their days, and it was good. After the meal the kids dispersed and he went upstairs to change into a more comfortable set of clothes.

It was in the hallway that he first noticed.

Matt, Mary, Simon, Ruthie, the twins.

Pictures. On the wall just outside the master bedroom.

Pictures he had passed a million times.

Matt, Mary, Simon, Ruthie, the twins.

And an empty hook.

Had it been one of the other children he wouldn't have thought twice about it. A picture might fall and the frame might break, and so it would be necessary to leave it down until the frame could be replaced. But this one, no.

Without thinking he stepped back into the bedroom, looked at the counter of the dresser.

Mary, Matt, Simon, the twins, Ruthie.

His mouth was dry. He walked downstairs, to the section of wall near the front door.

The twins, Ruthie, Matt, Mary, Simon.

His office.

Matt, Simon, Mary, Ruthie, the twins.

And in the family portrait on his desk, a figure missing, cut out.

Someone was at the door. He looked up.

Annie. She was watching him.

He took the portrait, held it up where she could see it.

She nodded.

Words escaped him. He opened his mouth, tried to say something, but there was nothing. No words, no sound. And as he stood there, just facing her, he saw her face form a smile.

A kind smile. A loving smile.

"It's all right now," she said. "I've done it. It's all right."

Words finally came in the sudden confusion.

"What? Annie, what did you ...?"

Annie's smile didn't fade as she stepped toward him. "We had to, don't you see? I saw it all, Eric. It's so clear. It wasn't you and it wasn't me. It wasn't Mary, last year. It was all so simple, right there, but we didn't see it."

His lips were parted. He felt the air rushing over them, suddenly, as he spoke again.

"What?"

Annie looked up, into his eyes. Her own were sparkling, animated.

"It was her, Eric. It was that girl. I figured it all out. She was the reason. But I've gotten rid of her. She's gone and she'll never hurt us again. It'll be like it was before."

A memory came to him. The smell of smoke, just a bit of it, in the living room. He rushed past her, rushed to the fireplace, knelt there, thrusting the screen aside.

Ashes there. With trembling hands he reached into them.

Ashes. Then something more, something small, its surface smooth. He drew it out.

The corner of a photograph. The flame had not quite consumed it. He didn't need the rest of it to know who it had been a picture of.

"Oh, my God."

He stood, his hands blackened with the ash. And Annie was there, facing him.

"You'll see, Eric. It's going to be all right now. She's gone. She was why we fight, why we're unhappy. But I've burned her up, and she's all gone now. It's all right."

It came out then, suddenly. Words. His words.

"My God, Annie! What did you do? What did you do?"

He had never thought she could hit this hard. But she did, her small fist connecting with his face, with his eye, with the bridge of his nose. He heard and felt a distinct "pop", and then saw only a red haze of pain as he gasped and stumbled back.

Air fought to get in as he struggled to draw a breath.

And then she was holding him, pressing his face against her bosom, holding him tight, the pressure against his broken nose making him moan with agony. And she was speaking as she held him, as she rocked him back and forth.

"It's all right, Eric .... I'm here .... I know you're afraid, but it's all right. I've made her go away and it'll be all right. It'll be like it was, when we were happy .... It'll be like it was ...."