DISCLAIMER: EFC ain't mine (dammit) but Sarah is. Please don't use
her, or if you want to, ask me about it first! I really liked Joe in
Subterra, so I kept him alive. Ain't finished w/ Liam yet, either. Looks
like Lt. Michaels has a run for the money! heheheh
Rene knew this wasn't right. Something about Melissa didn't connect—the gratitude bit, yeah, but Joe… Something just wasn't right here. It hit her as Melissa's eyes glinted in the darkness.
They glittered black.
She was one of them.
Rene grabbed Joe, fired her blaster, and ran. Joe stumbled along with her, sobbing. Rene could do nothing for him now—hell, what could she do? They were running for dear life!—but something inside her broke loose. She didn't stop until she reached St. Michael's Church. There, in the back alley, she surrendered to the pain in her heart and knees. Joe just crashed to the ground, sobbing and choking on his grief. She slid down beside him, breathing hard, feeling the same, tears streaming down her beautiful face. *Goodbye, my friend, I'll miss you!*
She'd had to say that more times than she'd like to think.
How many more times would she have to do it again, before this was all over? *Oh, Liam, what do I do?*
She looked at Joe, curled into a fetal position. Half-launching herself, half-falling, she knelt beside him. Then she held onto him as though she'd never let go.
They stayed that way for a long time.
"I feel dirty all over," said Rene, standing in the doorway of the room that Joe was sleeping in, "Like this was somehow all my fault."
"It's not your fault," said Street, standing behind her. Rene didn't look at her. "How many times have you said that to me? And I wonder if it's true," Rene replied in a whispered voice, "His wife died. Ex-wife, I mean. And how many countless others, just because of what I'm doing? What I'm fighting for? How many, and not knowing, or believing, perhaps until the last minute, for my cause?" She turned to Street then, and she was crying. There were circles under her eyes and scars on her soul. "How many, Street? And where does it all end? In some back alley with a street- rat for a pallbearer?" Rene wiped viciously at her tears.
"No thanks," Street replied fiercely, "Not for me, not for Joe, and certainly not for you. You did your best… you did the only thing you could do! You did save Joe. You deserve much better than this, Rene-- and it will come to you. It'll come to us all. There is an end to all this, Rene, you just have to believe in it. I do. We knew there were risks," she continued, reaching out and gripping Rene's shoulders, "We both did. This is what happens sometimes—all too often—this is the price we pay. Nothing is for free," she finished in a whisper. Rene looked away for a second, seeing Liam again for the last time, before he died. *"No time for goodbyes, Rene, I just have to see this thing through."* "Tell that to Joe when he wakes up," she said bitterly, and Street was crying too. Rene walked away, hugging herself and hating herself and what she'd become with a passion. *Not a woman… not a human… just a thing. No time for goodbyes. Melissa… Dear God, how do I find the strength to carry this on without you, Liam? You were my rock, my solid ground, and now you're gone… Oh dammit*… Rene leaned up against one of the windows in her apartment's living room. Her breath steamed up the glass. "I just have to see this thing through," she whispered to herself.
Sarah burst through the doors of Rene Palmer's apartment with a smile. She was like the sunshine, thought Rene; she could always find you in the darkest of nights. And morning it was, she realized, for she'd spent the whole night watching over Joe and pouring over computer data. She needed to plan.
Sarah rushed over and enfolded Rene in a big hug. "Mmm, I've missed you!" Sarah exclaimed softly. A bit of a sob broke from her, and she let go. Sarah sat her down on the couch, and Rene crawled into her lap like a child. Sarah held her there, rocking back and forth, stroking her hair as she used to when… things were better than they were now.
"I'm glad you came, Sassy," said Rene in a low voice. "So am I," she said in her endearing voice, "You needed me." She made it sound so simple, the act of giving to a friend in need. "My kitty-cat," she said affectionately, and hugged her again.
They had known each other for a long time, thought Sassy, and she always knew when Rene needed her. It was amazing, the psychic link that they still shared. Bonded from a childhood tragedy, she and Kitten were almost inseparable. *I may not always be visible, but I am always there to observe. And to interfere sometimes, I think.* Kitten was the sister she'd never had. A little bit older than her, Sarah had always watched out for Rene, and had never quit the job. Even now, when almost no one else believed in her, Sarah stayed beside her, to help her through the hard times… even if she was a bit late sometimes. "Sleep, baby, sleep," whispered Sarah, and Rene obeyed the psychic influence and closed her eyes and rested. Satisfied that at least one of them was getting some rest—the one who'd needed it most—Sarah took Rene's place at her terminal and set to work. Street came in, acknowledging her with a cup of coffee and a silent word in her head. The smell of chocolate macadamia nut filled her nostrils as she sipped the dark brew, and bent her head over her work. Hers and Rene's. Street helped her for a little while, but soon retired to the couch with Rene.
Sarah took a moment to stretch, and she looked affectionately at the pair of sleeping women on the couch. At opposite ends, one with red hair and the other with blonde, and yet they were still sisters. Sisters in arms and in the heart, but that was beside the point. And anyways, isn't the heart what matters the most? Sarah smiled, and returned to work.
All three of them would sleep for a long time yet, and there were a lot of things to do.
Raising the dead was one of them.
She hoped to hell and back that they were all read for this—her, Rene, Street… and the other, strong presence she had felt when she'd walked up the stairs and into the apartment earlier that morning.
There was a VERY long road ahead of them.
Joe awoke with a splitting headache—like a hangover, only worse. He opened his eyes and shut them again, seeing stars and painfully refracted light patterns. He groaned, and even that hurt. His head felt like it would implode.
Then it hit him: Melissa. Melissa, his love, was dead; lost to him again. He didn't know which was worse: the fact that this time was permanent, or that this was the second time he'd lost her. So he didn't try to figure it out—he just let the heartache wash over him, consuming his body and drowning his headache into oblivion. All he wanted to do was die. At least then, he might have a chance of seeing Melissa again, even if it was just while he was being judged. That is, if he still believed in that sort of thing.
He wasn't sure. He didn't care either— he lay in the bed, curled up around himself. Tears came, soaking the sheets and pillowcases-- pillowcases that smelled like incense. The scent reached him faintly, reaching up through the fog of his grief.
He buried into the pillows, trying to go back to sleep. At least there he could dream. And his dreams were of Melissa… how could he let her go? How would he go on, knowing that she would never be there for him again? *I still love you, baby. I can't let you go… how does this life keep moving on so cruelly? It grinds me up inside. I miss you… I love you… WHAT THE HELL--?!*
Sarah yanked the sheets off of Joe without mercy. She threw open the drapes and drew up the blinds. The man protested loudly from the bed. She felt the pain of his heart… and that of his head.
He needed to get up and do something. Wallowing in one's grief did no one any good—even the sorrowful. And something inside of her said that this was someone that she didn't want to lose. (*Clairvoyant intuition*, she thought wryly.) So she'd done what she always did when Rene got this way—which was and would be for a long time, all too often—she'd given him her classic wake-up call. Determined to at least throw him off guard or distract him, she whipped around... then tried not to giggle.
Joe was trying to hide from her by burying into his cloths. *Liam's old clothes,* thought Sarah distractedly, with a pang. *I wonder what made Rene part with them.* She shook herself out of her reverie, and marched over to the beauro and pulled open the Old-Boyfriend-Clothes drawer. She grabbed some and tossed them to the man. "Put these on," she ordered him, "AFTER you take a shower. Then come in for breakfast. If you're not out in fifteen, I'll send someone in there after you, naked or not." She smiled at him then. The guy just stared at her with leaden eyes. "Or maybe I will. Move," she exclaimed good-naturedly, urging him subtly to get going. He obeyed meekly, the grief-scent hanging off of and surging after him like a… *I guess I don't have a comparison for that one after all.
How the bloody hell do I get myself into these things?*
Joe just barely made his fifteen minutes. He walked into the kitchen still half-wet, wincing away from the brilliant sunshine spilling through the windows. Satisfied, Sarah sat a plate heaped with food in front of him with a smile. "Eat," she said casually, and Joe's beautiful eyes met hers with indifference and grief. He sat down quietly, and began to chew. His actions were mechanical and slow.
Sarah knew the grief process only too well—she had seen too many others, including herself and her friends—to not know exactly what was going on inside of him. *And what isn't,* she thought softly with a touch of bitterness, *Grief comes to claim us all, even for a little while. Nobody is safe from her frigid touch.* It would do Joe good to get back to normal routines, even little ones.
Sarah filled plates up for Rene and Street as well. Both of them looked disheveled and stiff from their night on the couch. Rene stood against the fridge while she shoveled eggs into her mouth. Street sat at the table, eating silently and slowly. Sarah leaned against the sink, watching everyone over her plate of eggs and cheese on toast. No one talked; an awkward silence pervaded the room.
"Are you going anywhere today?" she asked Rene, looking over her plate.
"Mmm; the lab. I have some work to do," answered Rene between mouthfuls. The stream of eggs to her mouth had barely stopped. "I also need to pick up some things at the grocery store—like milk or something. I'd have to look," she added with a nod. Sarah nodded her head in response, thinking. "What about you, Street," she asked, glancing at the redhead. Street stared at Joe's plate, picking at her food: "I can take care of the groceries," she said quietly. Then she looked at her own plate and added in a brusque tone:
"I have some work to do here. The computer needs upgrading. I'll need to make a list of what I need, call people to see if I can get 'em cheap," she put a bite of pancake and bacon into her mouth, speaking around her food, "Mmm—and I'll need some things from my place. I can get them later… Maybe Joe can go with me." She looked at Sarah, and then at Joe, who met her gaze dully. She shrugged and stuffed more pancake and bacon into her mouth. Joe returned his pale green eyes to his plate.
"Coffee," said Sarah, and poured her a mug. "Thanks," Street exclaimed gratefully. Rene held out her mug too, and drained it just as thankfully. Sarah topped off Joe's mug, smiling at him when he looked listlessly up at her. She sensed that her cheerfulness was getting through the fog that surrounded his brain; the grief didn't lessen, but a bit of life did him good. He went back to eating, but he seemed less detached than he had before. Encouraged, Sarah went back to her own breakfast with gusto.
Rene finished, scraping her fork across the plate. She crossed in front of Sarah, and set the dishes in the sink. Downing the last of her coffee in one gulp, she sighed.
"Well," she said brusquely, "I'm off." She brushed Sarah's cheek in a harried kiss. "Don't be too long," said Sarah maternally, "I'll have supper waiting for you, piping hot, at seven o'clock sharp."
"Don't matter much," Rene mumbled as she walked out the door, "See ya, Street!"
"And don't forget lunch!" Sarah called after her. She heard something like an "I won't", and the door slammed shut. "Kitten," she exclaimed, exasperated, but let her sentence drop. Sassy turned to Street, and shrugged helplessly. Street smiled back, and went back to her bacon and pancake enthusiastically. She finished just as Joe decided that he couldn't eat any more.
Joe and Street both got up from the table. Joe went to scrape off his plate into the garbage, but Street tried to get to the sink. They wound up with Street sliding past him with her butt on the table, and Joe managed to squeeze through without touching Sarah. He didn't want any contact now… hell, he didn't even want food now. All he wanted to do was get back to the sewers and have at a big bottle of whiskey. Screw that—right now, he'd settle for that bottle here in Rene's apartment—he didn't care.
"I'll be at the computer for awhile," Street said to Sassy. Looking at Joe, she said, "What do you plan to do with him?" Her voice was low and concerned. Sarah considered Joe for a moment, and then answered: "I plan to bring him back to life." She smiled at Street. "Go on," she said, "He can help you get what you need later. Getting back to a normal routine will help him immensely. Joe," she raised her voice, "Would you help me with the dishes please?"
Joe stared at her. Who was this woman? Why was she being so indifferent to him? How did Rene know her? How did Street know her? What was she doing here? The reporter was still so much a part of Joe that its reflexes were ingrained in him today. *Who cares,* he thought. He nodded silently, and began to clear the table.
Sarah turned toward the sink, and turned on the tap. Street shook her head, and proceeded into the living room. She had a lot of work to do, and she hated to deal with so many people. Mentally, she went over her list of sellers, and groaned when she realized just how much she really needed. She sat down at the compy, and sighed, running her fingers through her hair. "Okay," she said to herself, "Let's narrow the field a little; what can we do without?" She pulled up a message she'd left for herself, and grimaced. "Ooh, not much." She sighed, and set to work.
Joe and Sarah worked on the dishes. Sarah turned on the stereo as Joe dumped dirty dishes into the sink. She browsed through the radio stations, and settled on a station playing out of Washington. She returned to the sink, singing along with the music; Joe took up a towel and started to dry.
He was quick and thorough—that was the first thing Sarah noticed about him. He flew through the dishes as fast as she could set them into the drainer. Soon, she realized that he was unconsciously following the beat of the music. Smiling to herself, Sarah kept on singing and handing Joe the dishes.
They made good time. Within ten minutes, all the dishes from the plates to the pans had been scrubbed and put away in their proper places. Satisfied, Sarah took a cursory reading of Joe. To her great relief and happiness, he appeared to be normalizing. She knew that it was only temporary—the floodgates had yet to open in full force—but now that he was subconsciously realizing that life goes on, he would be just fine. And besides... he'd have Street, Rene, and herself to help him. Joe would be all right... he'd turn out okay in the end. *I just have to pray,* she thought, *for an interval of peace to last us for a couple of days. Nothing drastic, God—just enough time to rest. PLEASE.*
The phone rang.
Rene knew this wasn't right. Something about Melissa didn't connect—the gratitude bit, yeah, but Joe… Something just wasn't right here. It hit her as Melissa's eyes glinted in the darkness.
They glittered black.
She was one of them.
Rene grabbed Joe, fired her blaster, and ran. Joe stumbled along with her, sobbing. Rene could do nothing for him now—hell, what could she do? They were running for dear life!—but something inside her broke loose. She didn't stop until she reached St. Michael's Church. There, in the back alley, she surrendered to the pain in her heart and knees. Joe just crashed to the ground, sobbing and choking on his grief. She slid down beside him, breathing hard, feeling the same, tears streaming down her beautiful face. *Goodbye, my friend, I'll miss you!*
She'd had to say that more times than she'd like to think.
How many more times would she have to do it again, before this was all over? *Oh, Liam, what do I do?*
She looked at Joe, curled into a fetal position. Half-launching herself, half-falling, she knelt beside him. Then she held onto him as though she'd never let go.
They stayed that way for a long time.
"I feel dirty all over," said Rene, standing in the doorway of the room that Joe was sleeping in, "Like this was somehow all my fault."
"It's not your fault," said Street, standing behind her. Rene didn't look at her. "How many times have you said that to me? And I wonder if it's true," Rene replied in a whispered voice, "His wife died. Ex-wife, I mean. And how many countless others, just because of what I'm doing? What I'm fighting for? How many, and not knowing, or believing, perhaps until the last minute, for my cause?" She turned to Street then, and she was crying. There were circles under her eyes and scars on her soul. "How many, Street? And where does it all end? In some back alley with a street- rat for a pallbearer?" Rene wiped viciously at her tears.
"No thanks," Street replied fiercely, "Not for me, not for Joe, and certainly not for you. You did your best… you did the only thing you could do! You did save Joe. You deserve much better than this, Rene-- and it will come to you. It'll come to us all. There is an end to all this, Rene, you just have to believe in it. I do. We knew there were risks," she continued, reaching out and gripping Rene's shoulders, "We both did. This is what happens sometimes—all too often—this is the price we pay. Nothing is for free," she finished in a whisper. Rene looked away for a second, seeing Liam again for the last time, before he died. *"No time for goodbyes, Rene, I just have to see this thing through."* "Tell that to Joe when he wakes up," she said bitterly, and Street was crying too. Rene walked away, hugging herself and hating herself and what she'd become with a passion. *Not a woman… not a human… just a thing. No time for goodbyes. Melissa… Dear God, how do I find the strength to carry this on without you, Liam? You were my rock, my solid ground, and now you're gone… Oh dammit*… Rene leaned up against one of the windows in her apartment's living room. Her breath steamed up the glass. "I just have to see this thing through," she whispered to herself.
Sarah burst through the doors of Rene Palmer's apartment with a smile. She was like the sunshine, thought Rene; she could always find you in the darkest of nights. And morning it was, she realized, for she'd spent the whole night watching over Joe and pouring over computer data. She needed to plan.
Sarah rushed over and enfolded Rene in a big hug. "Mmm, I've missed you!" Sarah exclaimed softly. A bit of a sob broke from her, and she let go. Sarah sat her down on the couch, and Rene crawled into her lap like a child. Sarah held her there, rocking back and forth, stroking her hair as she used to when… things were better than they were now.
"I'm glad you came, Sassy," said Rene in a low voice. "So am I," she said in her endearing voice, "You needed me." She made it sound so simple, the act of giving to a friend in need. "My kitty-cat," she said affectionately, and hugged her again.
They had known each other for a long time, thought Sassy, and she always knew when Rene needed her. It was amazing, the psychic link that they still shared. Bonded from a childhood tragedy, she and Kitten were almost inseparable. *I may not always be visible, but I am always there to observe. And to interfere sometimes, I think.* Kitten was the sister she'd never had. A little bit older than her, Sarah had always watched out for Rene, and had never quit the job. Even now, when almost no one else believed in her, Sarah stayed beside her, to help her through the hard times… even if she was a bit late sometimes. "Sleep, baby, sleep," whispered Sarah, and Rene obeyed the psychic influence and closed her eyes and rested. Satisfied that at least one of them was getting some rest—the one who'd needed it most—Sarah took Rene's place at her terminal and set to work. Street came in, acknowledging her with a cup of coffee and a silent word in her head. The smell of chocolate macadamia nut filled her nostrils as she sipped the dark brew, and bent her head over her work. Hers and Rene's. Street helped her for a little while, but soon retired to the couch with Rene.
Sarah took a moment to stretch, and she looked affectionately at the pair of sleeping women on the couch. At opposite ends, one with red hair and the other with blonde, and yet they were still sisters. Sisters in arms and in the heart, but that was beside the point. And anyways, isn't the heart what matters the most? Sarah smiled, and returned to work.
All three of them would sleep for a long time yet, and there were a lot of things to do.
Raising the dead was one of them.
She hoped to hell and back that they were all read for this—her, Rene, Street… and the other, strong presence she had felt when she'd walked up the stairs and into the apartment earlier that morning.
There was a VERY long road ahead of them.
Joe awoke with a splitting headache—like a hangover, only worse. He opened his eyes and shut them again, seeing stars and painfully refracted light patterns. He groaned, and even that hurt. His head felt like it would implode.
Then it hit him: Melissa. Melissa, his love, was dead; lost to him again. He didn't know which was worse: the fact that this time was permanent, or that this was the second time he'd lost her. So he didn't try to figure it out—he just let the heartache wash over him, consuming his body and drowning his headache into oblivion. All he wanted to do was die. At least then, he might have a chance of seeing Melissa again, even if it was just while he was being judged. That is, if he still believed in that sort of thing.
He wasn't sure. He didn't care either— he lay in the bed, curled up around himself. Tears came, soaking the sheets and pillowcases-- pillowcases that smelled like incense. The scent reached him faintly, reaching up through the fog of his grief.
He buried into the pillows, trying to go back to sleep. At least there he could dream. And his dreams were of Melissa… how could he let her go? How would he go on, knowing that she would never be there for him again? *I still love you, baby. I can't let you go… how does this life keep moving on so cruelly? It grinds me up inside. I miss you… I love you… WHAT THE HELL--?!*
Sarah yanked the sheets off of Joe without mercy. She threw open the drapes and drew up the blinds. The man protested loudly from the bed. She felt the pain of his heart… and that of his head.
He needed to get up and do something. Wallowing in one's grief did no one any good—even the sorrowful. And something inside of her said that this was someone that she didn't want to lose. (*Clairvoyant intuition*, she thought wryly.) So she'd done what she always did when Rene got this way—which was and would be for a long time, all too often—she'd given him her classic wake-up call. Determined to at least throw him off guard or distract him, she whipped around... then tried not to giggle.
Joe was trying to hide from her by burying into his cloths. *Liam's old clothes,* thought Sarah distractedly, with a pang. *I wonder what made Rene part with them.* She shook herself out of her reverie, and marched over to the beauro and pulled open the Old-Boyfriend-Clothes drawer. She grabbed some and tossed them to the man. "Put these on," she ordered him, "AFTER you take a shower. Then come in for breakfast. If you're not out in fifteen, I'll send someone in there after you, naked or not." She smiled at him then. The guy just stared at her with leaden eyes. "Or maybe I will. Move," she exclaimed good-naturedly, urging him subtly to get going. He obeyed meekly, the grief-scent hanging off of and surging after him like a… *I guess I don't have a comparison for that one after all.
How the bloody hell do I get myself into these things?*
Joe just barely made his fifteen minutes. He walked into the kitchen still half-wet, wincing away from the brilliant sunshine spilling through the windows. Satisfied, Sarah sat a plate heaped with food in front of him with a smile. "Eat," she said casually, and Joe's beautiful eyes met hers with indifference and grief. He sat down quietly, and began to chew. His actions were mechanical and slow.
Sarah knew the grief process only too well—she had seen too many others, including herself and her friends—to not know exactly what was going on inside of him. *And what isn't,* she thought softly with a touch of bitterness, *Grief comes to claim us all, even for a little while. Nobody is safe from her frigid touch.* It would do Joe good to get back to normal routines, even little ones.
Sarah filled plates up for Rene and Street as well. Both of them looked disheveled and stiff from their night on the couch. Rene stood against the fridge while she shoveled eggs into her mouth. Street sat at the table, eating silently and slowly. Sarah leaned against the sink, watching everyone over her plate of eggs and cheese on toast. No one talked; an awkward silence pervaded the room.
"Are you going anywhere today?" she asked Rene, looking over her plate.
"Mmm; the lab. I have some work to do," answered Rene between mouthfuls. The stream of eggs to her mouth had barely stopped. "I also need to pick up some things at the grocery store—like milk or something. I'd have to look," she added with a nod. Sarah nodded her head in response, thinking. "What about you, Street," she asked, glancing at the redhead. Street stared at Joe's plate, picking at her food: "I can take care of the groceries," she said quietly. Then she looked at her own plate and added in a brusque tone:
"I have some work to do here. The computer needs upgrading. I'll need to make a list of what I need, call people to see if I can get 'em cheap," she put a bite of pancake and bacon into her mouth, speaking around her food, "Mmm—and I'll need some things from my place. I can get them later… Maybe Joe can go with me." She looked at Sarah, and then at Joe, who met her gaze dully. She shrugged and stuffed more pancake and bacon into her mouth. Joe returned his pale green eyes to his plate.
"Coffee," said Sarah, and poured her a mug. "Thanks," Street exclaimed gratefully. Rene held out her mug too, and drained it just as thankfully. Sarah topped off Joe's mug, smiling at him when he looked listlessly up at her. She sensed that her cheerfulness was getting through the fog that surrounded his brain; the grief didn't lessen, but a bit of life did him good. He went back to eating, but he seemed less detached than he had before. Encouraged, Sarah went back to her own breakfast with gusto.
Rene finished, scraping her fork across the plate. She crossed in front of Sarah, and set the dishes in the sink. Downing the last of her coffee in one gulp, she sighed.
"Well," she said brusquely, "I'm off." She brushed Sarah's cheek in a harried kiss. "Don't be too long," said Sarah maternally, "I'll have supper waiting for you, piping hot, at seven o'clock sharp."
"Don't matter much," Rene mumbled as she walked out the door, "See ya, Street!"
"And don't forget lunch!" Sarah called after her. She heard something like an "I won't", and the door slammed shut. "Kitten," she exclaimed, exasperated, but let her sentence drop. Sassy turned to Street, and shrugged helplessly. Street smiled back, and went back to her bacon and pancake enthusiastically. She finished just as Joe decided that he couldn't eat any more.
Joe and Street both got up from the table. Joe went to scrape off his plate into the garbage, but Street tried to get to the sink. They wound up with Street sliding past him with her butt on the table, and Joe managed to squeeze through without touching Sarah. He didn't want any contact now… hell, he didn't even want food now. All he wanted to do was get back to the sewers and have at a big bottle of whiskey. Screw that—right now, he'd settle for that bottle here in Rene's apartment—he didn't care.
"I'll be at the computer for awhile," Street said to Sassy. Looking at Joe, she said, "What do you plan to do with him?" Her voice was low and concerned. Sarah considered Joe for a moment, and then answered: "I plan to bring him back to life." She smiled at Street. "Go on," she said, "He can help you get what you need later. Getting back to a normal routine will help him immensely. Joe," she raised her voice, "Would you help me with the dishes please?"
Joe stared at her. Who was this woman? Why was she being so indifferent to him? How did Rene know her? How did Street know her? What was she doing here? The reporter was still so much a part of Joe that its reflexes were ingrained in him today. *Who cares,* he thought. He nodded silently, and began to clear the table.
Sarah turned toward the sink, and turned on the tap. Street shook her head, and proceeded into the living room. She had a lot of work to do, and she hated to deal with so many people. Mentally, she went over her list of sellers, and groaned when she realized just how much she really needed. She sat down at the compy, and sighed, running her fingers through her hair. "Okay," she said to herself, "Let's narrow the field a little; what can we do without?" She pulled up a message she'd left for herself, and grimaced. "Ooh, not much." She sighed, and set to work.
Joe and Sarah worked on the dishes. Sarah turned on the stereo as Joe dumped dirty dishes into the sink. She browsed through the radio stations, and settled on a station playing out of Washington. She returned to the sink, singing along with the music; Joe took up a towel and started to dry.
He was quick and thorough—that was the first thing Sarah noticed about him. He flew through the dishes as fast as she could set them into the drainer. Soon, she realized that he was unconsciously following the beat of the music. Smiling to herself, Sarah kept on singing and handing Joe the dishes.
They made good time. Within ten minutes, all the dishes from the plates to the pans had been scrubbed and put away in their proper places. Satisfied, Sarah took a cursory reading of Joe. To her great relief and happiness, he appeared to be normalizing. She knew that it was only temporary—the floodgates had yet to open in full force—but now that he was subconsciously realizing that life goes on, he would be just fine. And besides... he'd have Street, Rene, and herself to help him. Joe would be all right... he'd turn out okay in the end. *I just have to pray,* she thought, *for an interval of peace to last us for a couple of days. Nothing drastic, God—just enough time to rest. PLEASE.*
The phone rang.