No greater Love

by Polgana

Gary stumbles across an ad for a most unusual resort and decides that he and Marissa need a break. They both get more than they had bargained for.

2. Lessons In Faith And Love

Dark eyes watched the two sightless men as they strolled about the main compound of the resort.  William most often took the lead with Gary following close behind, his left hand on his teacher's right shoulder.  Occasionally, the older man would stop, asking his student to identify something by sound, shape, or smell.  Gary seemed to be adjusting well as William was usually pleased with his answers, although there were a couple of times where the older man's laughter rang out clear and strong at one mistake or another.

"He's coming along quite well," a cultured voice observed from a point just to his left.  Mr. Roarke did not even have to turn his head to know that one of his 'special clients' had just made an appearance.

"Yes," Mr. Roarke murmured, not taking his eyes from the two cousins, for cousins they had turned out to be.  He had informed the two men of the connection less than an hour before.  It seemed that one of Captain Gary Chandler's youngest daughters had settled in North Carolina and had three sons and two daughters of her own.  The youngest of those was William's mother, Dolly.  "Mr. Hobson is a most remarkable young man.  You have chosen wisely, for once."

The man in the bowler hat turned a raised eyebrow on his companion.  "Is that a rebuke I hear in your voice?" the nameless man queried.

"How many have you lost to the lure of wealth and power?" Mr. Roarke countered.  "Until recently, comparatively speaking, you have confined your 'activities' to only a few major cities throughout the world, Athens, Chicago, London, and Beijing.  Didn't you have someone in Moscow?"

"We had to discontinue that one when the KGB kept arresting them," Bowler Hat replied with a grimace.  "We hope to have better luck with the new regime."  He watched as Gary tried to identify one of the waitresses by the shape of her face.  "I will admit that we have had some colossal failures recently," the man continued.  "A case in point would be that new fellow in Los Angeles.  And the New York contingent has always been so . . . so hierarchal!  That Sam Cooper fellow turned it into a business venture!"  The dark-haired man shook his head sadly.  "We've all but given up on Washington, D.C.  The bloody fools keep running for office!  The Chicago branch, however, has always produced the most dedicated men.  Young Mr. Hobson is a prime example."

"On that I must agree," Mr. Roarke nodded.  "Of course, his record speaks for itself."

"Yes," Bowler Hat murmured as he watched Gary and William try to navigate a narrow bridge spanning a noisy brook.  "He even managed to clean up a couple of messes left by his predecessor.  I know that Lucius Snow tried his best," he hastened to add, forestalling his companion's protest.  "The man simply didn't know when he was in over his head.  And he had this terrible knack for trusting the wrong people, a trait he thankfully outgrew."

"Not before he left young Gary a terrible enemy," Mr. Roarke sighed.  "I hear that Mr. Marley the younger was never found.  Is he truly dead?"

"I am afraid there are limits to our foreknowledge," the nameless gentleman grumbled.  "That young man has completely dropped from our radar."

The two gentlemen, one dressed all in white, the other in black, continued to keep pace with their charges as they talked.

"Does it not bother you," Mr. Roarke asked, "that you continuously ask healthy young men to give up everything, their hopes, and dreams, even their very lives, to keep watch over an ungrateful populace?"

For the first time, Bowler Hat allowed a flicker of emotion to cross his enigmatic features.  A shadowing of regret tinged his voice as he murmured his response.

"Sacrifices must be made if the people of this world are to survive the next two centuries."

"That is true," Mr. Roarke conceded.  "Must his friendship with Mrs. Brown be one of those sacrifices?"

"If she refuses to comprehend the seriousness of his task, and the dedication it requires," Bowler Hat murmured ominously, "then the answer must be an unqualified 'yes.'  We are approaching a critical juncture in both time and probability.  Our young friend has enough pressure as it is.  What he requires is support and understanding.  He does not need well meaning interference and criticism that could undermine his faith and determination.  If that means we must sever every connection he holds to the past, then so be it."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Marissa stepped into what used to be the nursery, and was now a tastefully furnished and decorated bedroom.  A twin bed sat with its headboard in the corner behind the door.  Bracketing the window were a four-drawer chest and a vanity table.  In place of the lacey curtains that she would have chosen were wooden mini blinds that had been dyed blue.  Posters depicting what she assumed were popular movies and music groups decorated the walls, but did not overpower the room. 

The closet door stood open, and a slender young woman stood in front of the full-length mirror.  She gave a final tug on the white cap sitting upon her head, making sure the tassel hung just right.  Her long white robe covered the rest of her slender frame, making her look almost ethereal.

"You look like an angel," Marissa murmured.  Actually, what she had wanted to say was 'You look like a hardware store!'  The young woman wore a row of glittering studs in each ear, an eyebrow ring over her left eye, and a stud in the left side of her nose.  Rings of every description decorated each finger, even the thumbs.  As she reached up to adjust her cap, the long flowing sleeves fell back to reveal tattoos encircling both arms.  

"I look like a dork," the young woman snorted derisively.  "Why do our girls have to wear plain white?  All the other schools use real cool colors.  Jessica Miller is gonna be wearing bright green to her graduation.  And Orrie Mason's gown is electric blue!  It looks awesome!"

"I'm sure they won't look any prettier than you do," Marissa insisted.  "You have grown into a beautiful young woman.  I'm so proud of you!"

"Yeah," the girl snorted.  "Right.  Like you've really been there to watch."

The girl's words were like a slap in the face.  Stunned, Marissa was unsure how to react.  She sank down onto the bed as she tried to think of how she should answer.

"Just what do you mean by that?" she finally asked.  "I've always been . . ."

"Really?" her daughter asked, fixing her with a raised eyebrow.  "Where were you when my team went to the state finals?  Or when I brought home the MVP award?  Were you there when I had to break Dwayne Johnson's nose for getting too fresh?  And what about when Dad almost died in that pile-up on the Dan Ryan?  You didn't even warn him!  You were off draggin' some homeless punk out of Lake Michigan.  That's where you were!"  Her voice rose as the hurtful words poured from her mouth.  "You've always put total strangers before your own family!"

"That's not true!"  Marissa tried to defend herself but, as before, she was handicapped by a lack of information.  "I love you and your father!"

"Then why didn't you tell him about the wreck?" the girl shot back.  "How come Uncle Paul is in a wheelchair?  Why didn't you at least keep Uncle Bernie off that plane?  Over two hundred people died with him that day, Mom!"

"You don't understand," Marissa pleaded.  In truth, she didn't understand, either.  How could she have failed so miserably?  Had she actually allowed Bernie Hobson to be killed in a plane crash?  Or had she done something to set events in motion to cause it?  Could that have been what happened to Emmett, too?

"What's to understand?" her daughter sniffed, turning back to glare at her image with a grimace of distaste.  "Family and friends don't mean a thing.  You've gotta be a homeless bum, or some snot nosed brat to get your attention.  One thing I've leaned from you is you gotta look out for yourself.  Not everyone can be lucky enough to make the Paper.  Now, why don't you go out and save the world, Mom.  I gotta figure out some way to jazz up this outfit before all my home girls see me."

Marissa couldn't believe she had been dismissed so abruptly by her own daughter.  She didn't know what to say, how to defend herself.  Had she really made such horrible decisions?  Would Gary have been able to handle those situations better, or would he have been faced with the same choices?  She thought it highly unlikely.  Gary had often told her, and anyone that would listen, that the Paper didn't want him to 'have a life.' 

Perhaps he had been right.

The girl flicked a disdainful glance in her mother's direction.

"Why are you still here?"

Wordlessly, Marissa pushed herself to her feet and fled the room.  Enough was enough.  Hurt, shamed, and angrier than she had ever been in her entire life, Marissa ran through the mist and slammed the door behind her.  She was going to find her so-called 'friend' and tell him exactly what she thought of him, the Paper, and this 'fantasy' he had trapped her in. 

After that, she was on the next plane home, and she would never have to see or speak to Gary Hobson for the rest of her life.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It happened so fast, Gary was never sure exactly how it occurred.  One minute he and William were sitting on the patio, enjoying a refreshing drink after their walk, the next he was on the ground, listening in total confusion as Marissa spat words at him that he had never expected to come from her mouth! 

"You manipulative, cold-hearted son of a bitch!" the tempestuous woman snapped.  "How could you do that to me?  I thought we were friends!  I thought we had something really special between us, and then you go and do something like this!  How could you be so cruel as to use my biggest hope, my dream against me like this?"

After that, she really let him have it.  Gary tried to pick himself up, only to flinch back as her voice was suddenly coming from just inches away.  He brought his left arm up reflexively, expecting to ward off physical blows next.  As if they could hurt any worse than the barrage of words she was unleashing on him.  All he could do was cower at her feet as she described, in detail, exactly what she had experienced over the last four hours.  Confused, Gary attempted to defend himself, to tell her that was most definitely not the fantasy that he had requested for her!  He tried to tell his best friend that he had only wanted to give her the chance to actually see the family that she loved, but Marissa was in no mood to listen to anything he had to say. 

William tried to step in and calm her down, but the petite woman was beyond reason.  In no uncertain words, she told him it was none of his damned business and to stay out of it.  She then let Gary have another verbal barrage.

Marissa was so angry, so humiliated by the last scene with her daughter, by the time she finally located her former friend and partner as she had begun to think of Gary, she was beyond reason.  Just the sight of him, sitting there in his brightly patterned Hawaiian shirt next to some guy, sipping on a tropical drink was enough to set her off.  Later, she would not even recall slapping him so hard that she knocked him from his chair or the stunned look on his face as she listed every grievance in glowing, vitriolic detail.  Some small part of her did recall, with smug satisfaction, the way he flinched from every verbal barb with which she skewered him.  Another part, the quiet, sane part that still believed in Gary, felt shame, and remorse at the pain she could see in his far too expressive face.  He stared off to one side, as if afraid to meet her stormy gaze, while his face reflected equal measures of shock, confusion, and regret.  But Marissa was far too angry to recognize these signs. 

When Gary's companion tried to interfere, Marissa almost bit his head off, telling him to back off without so much as a glance at him.  It was a good ten minutes before she felt that she had sufficiently vented all her grievances.  After his first abortive attempts to get up, Gary had not moved, choosing to stay put and endure her wrath until it was spent.  Even now, when her ire had run its course, he made no move to either stand, or even look at her.  He just lay there on one side, looking lost and defeated.

A tiny voice in the back of Marissa's mind tried to tell her that she had been too hasty, that Gary must have some kind of explanation for all of this.  But that voice of reason was drowned out by overwhelming bitterness and anger.

"Well?" she finally demanded.  "Don't you have anything to say for yourself?  I didn't think so," she added as Gary mutely shook his head.  "You don't even have the guts to look at me, you worm!  Well, you just stay on your little island paradise for as long as you want.  I'll be on the next plane out of here.  And when I get back, I'm signing my share of McGinty's back over to you.  I never want to see, or speak, or even hear your name for the rest of my life, Gary Hobson!  Good-bye!"

Having said that, the tiny woman turned and sprinted back in the direction of her bungalow.  Blinded by her rage, she almost ran over Mr. Roarke and a sharply dressed man wearing a bowler hat.  Some part of her mind wondered why he was wearing that silly hat on such a nice day, but she was more concerned with her own affairs.

"Excuse me," she grumbled as she stepped around the two men.  "I have to pack."

"Are you leaving us so soon, Mrs. Brown?" Mr. Roarke asked in concern.  "You have only just arrived."

"I've had about as much 'fun' as I can stomach!" Marissa snapped, not caring how rude she sounded.  She never even slowed her stride as she hurried on her way.  "And I doubt I'll ever be back for more!"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"This is not good," the gentleman in the bowler hat murmured.  His piercing gaze never left the retreating woman's back.  "She cannot be allowed to leave until the process has been reversed.  Otherwise, her future will play out exactly as she has just seen."

"I can stop her from leaving," Mr. Roarke assured him.  "But I cannot guarantee that we can bring the two of them together in time.  A great deal will depend on . . ."

"Gary!"

Both men turned at the sound of that panicked voice to find William groping blindly around the overturned table and chair, calling frantically for his friend and pupil.  Gary was nowhere in sight.

"Damn it all!" Bowler Hat hissed angrily, his normally inscrutable features betraying his uncharacteristic ire.  "This is all going to Hell in the proverbial hand basket!  The man is blind!  How could he have disappeared so quickly?"

Mr. Roarke favored the man with a contemptuous scowl.  "I tried to warn you that something like this might occur," he reminded his client in a flat, cold voice.  "You have chosen a most remarkable, and resourceful young man in Mr. Hobson.  He has never let such minor inconveniences stop him in the past.  Why should this surprise you?  In less than a day, you and I have destroyed a friendship that has lasted almost a decade.  Does it truly surprise you that the man is so distraught as to be incapable of rational thought?  He only seeks to flee and lick his wounds in private, wounds that you and I inflicted."

"We can affix blame for this debacle another time," Bowler Hat growled as he strode briskly toward the main compound.  "You must stop that woman from leaving with his sight, while I must set about finding our wayward lad."

"He is not a 'lad,'" Mr. Roarke murmured angrily as he followed in Marissa's wake.  "He is a man, and deserves to be treated as one.  Preferably while he is still alive to appreciate it."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Mr. Roarke entered the tiny bungalow to find Marissa angrily slamming things into the single suitcase she had brought.  She flicked a glance his way without slowing her pace.

"Don't try to stop me," she grumbled.  "I won't stay here one minute longer than I have to.  I never should have agreed to this . . . this disaster in the first place."

"I have no intention of stopping you," Mr. Roarke grimly informed her.  "This is not a prison.  You are free to come and go as you please.  I simply felt you should be made aware of the cost."

Puzzled, Marissa paused to glare suspiciously at her host.  "Cost?" she asked.  "What cost?  Do I have to pay for my own ticket home?"

"Nothing so mundane," Mr. Roarke assured her.  "How is it, do you think, that we were able to restore your sight so easily, when all normal attempts had failed?  Where do you think this remarkable gift came from?"

Feeling as if she were being set up, Marissa returned his steady gaze with barely suppressed hostility.

"I assume those eye drops had something to do with it," she replied levelly.

"That was merely the catalyst," Mr. Roarke returned with a shake of his head.  "The process you underwent required a . . . donor of sorts."

That stopped her.  Who in their right mind would volunteer for something so . . .?

"Gary?" Marissa asked in a small voice.  "He . . . he gave up his sight for me?  Why?  Just the idea of . . . He was terrified the last time . . . Wh-why would he put himself through that just to teach me to mind my own business?"

Mr. Roarke shook his head with a weary sigh.  "How on earth can you see so clearly, yet still be so blind?" he asked in frustration.  "The fantasy you have had thus far was not the one he requested!  His was much more elegant in its simplicity, a true gift from the heart." He held out his hand to her as he turned for the door.  "Come with me."

Marissa looked at his hand, uncertainty written all over her face, than glanced at her open suitcase.

"If you still wish to leave after what I will show you," Mr. Roarke promised her, "then I will do nothing to stop you.  Please."

Hesitantly, sure that she was making a big mistake, Marissa placed her hand in his.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They returned to the room with the single chair and table, and many doors.  Without preamble, Mr. Roarke led her to the last door.

"If everything had progressed as Mr. Hobson wished," he told her, "this portal would have led you to another nursery.  In there, you would have been reunited with your husband and daughter, your mother, and your first grandchild.  There would have been no dissension, no recrimination for failed rescues, only joy in the welcoming of a new life.  At no point did your Mr. Hobson intend that you be punished for past sins or 'taught a lesson' by any definition of the word.  His only motive was a celebration, and reward for being his friend for eight long years."

Marissa wasn't convinced . . . yet, but she was beginning to waver.  She waved a hand at the four doors through which she had already passed. "What about . . .?"

"That was brought about by the machinations of others," Mr. Roarke sighed, his voice tinged with regret.  "Tell me, Mrs. Brown, do you recall the significance of this day?  Of this date?"  He sighed again as Marissa shook her head, genuinely puzzled at his question.  "Eight years ago tonight, you had dinner with a young man who, quite charmingly, inserted his foot firmly into his mouth.  In his own clumsy manner, he attempted to start a friendship with the one person who would not judge him primarily by his looks.  It was a relationship based solely upon faith, and trust.  Mr. Hobson has treasured that moment all of these years."

"I had no idea," Marissa murmured, shaken out of her self-righteous anger.  "I mean, I remember the dinner.  He was so nervous at first.  I just never considered it to be all that special."

"It was to him," Mr. Roarke assured her.  "His fantasy was that you be given at least one day, preferably two, in which to store up memories for a lifetime!  It was his gift to you, to thank you for eight years of loyalty and support through some very trying times."

Marissa's gaze swept over the first set of doors, her puzzlement increasing ten-fold.  "Then what went wrong?  Where does he disappear to, and why?  How do I end up with his responsibilities?  If I'd known that was going to happen, I'd never . . ."  Her voice trailed off as realization hit her like a kick in the teeth.  "I'd never have married Emmett."

"The 'powers,' if you will, behind your mysterious periodical have been most unhappy with the way you, and others, have pushed him to begin a family of his own," Mr. Roarke told her, his mouth set in a grim line.  "It was they who placed the advertisement so that Mr. Hobson could not fail to see it, knowing exactly how he would react to it."

"That tells me who," Marissa grumbled bitterly, unwilling to let go of her anger just yet.  "Now tell me why.  And what's Gary part in this?  Is he planning to 'drop out' again?  Maybe he's found a nice little island he likes, and a 'honey' to share it with."

The look Mr. Roarke gave her would have given an active volcano goose bumps. 

"Mr. Hobson's devotion to you and his family has been put to the question on many, many occasions, yet, what of your devotion to him?  At first, you were his staunchest supporter, but all of that has changed ever since he began to receive tomorrow's Paper.  You, all of you who are aware of it, seem to hold him to a much higher standard.  The man simply cannot perform to your satisfaction!  Not only must he pull miracles from his hat on a daily basis, but you expect him to also find time to start, and maintain a family!  Also, you and others become upset, even angry, if he does not make time for 'little favors,' or does try to squeeze in a few moments for his own needs.  This," he added, waving a hand to encompass the entire room, "was a test of sorts.  It was intended to give you a small sample of all that could go wrong if his attention were to be diverted by familial responsibilities or guilt over putting his family and friends before others.  The results were somewhat . . . depressing."

"Well I'm sorry!" Marissa snapped, hugging herself tightly as she paced about the room.  "I'm not Gary, and I doubt I ever will be!  There's no reason I'd have to be, either.  I mean, this is his responsibility.  He's told me that often enough.  Why would he suddenly dump all of this on me just as I'm starting a family of my own?  He gave me away at my wedding, for Pete's sake!  Oh, God!  This is so . . . I need time," she sighed.  "Time to figure this all out, time to cool off so I don't say anything to make things worse, time . . ."

"Time is the one commodity of which we are in extremely short supply."

She turned on one heel, expecting to find Mr. Roarke where she had left him.  Instead, her mysterious host had moved to stand in front of the first door she had entered that morning.  Now, however, instead of the ornate wooden panels that she recalled, it was a smooth, blank slab of gray. 

"You asked where your friend will be if events unfold as per your . . . experience," he reminded her.  "Come with me and I will show you."

A cold chill ran up and down Marissa's spine as she stared at that featureless panel.  Suddenly, she wasn't so sure that she wanted to know what lay beyond.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Gary had no idea where he was heading, if he was even going uphill or down.  It didn't matter.  All he could think about was getting away.  Away from the most colossal failure of his life, and the loss of the best friend he had ever had.  Even Chuck, as irritating and manipulative as he could be, had left with their friendship intact.  This time, he would be lucky if Marissa would cross the street just to spit on him!  'What happened?' he wondered dismally.  'How did everything go so wrong?'

Because it was his fantasy, a little voice told him.  Once again, he had stuck his nose where it didn't belong and now he was paying for it.  Was he happy, now?

"Hell, no," Gary grunted as he tripped over some unseen obstacle, landing forcefully on his left hand.  He bit back a curse as pain lanced up his arm.  He didn't think he would ever be happy again.  "Serves me right," he hissed, cradling his injured wrist close to his chest.  "With my luck, it's probably broken, just like everything else I touch."

Struggling to his feet, Gary realized that he had been going uphill.  Concentrating, he tried to recall the type of terrain he had just covered in his senseless flight.  He couldn't.  He had no idea whether he had turned right or left when leaving the patio; or if he had gone straight ahead.  Time had ceased to have any meaning during his headlong plunge through the darkness, he had no idea how long he had been running! 

Gary sank back to the ground with a moan of despair.  He had really done it this time.  He was totally, hopelessly lost.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

William had not felt this helpless since he had first awakened to find that his whole world had been plunged into eternal darkness.  Gary Hobson, his patient and his friend, had fled the scene of his most recent humiliation without uttering a word.  Somehow, he had managed to slip away silently enough that even William's sharp ears could not tell which direction he had gone.  Panicked, William Griner had flailed randomly about with his cane, hoping the younger man was simply being quiet, nursing his wounds in a cocoon of silence.  His hopes were quickly dashed as he covered the entire patio without encountering anything more than the table and chair that Gary had knocked over when Marissa slugged him. 

That had been one of the most humiliating scenes that William had ever been witness to.  He had been forced to sit by helplessly as Gary was picked apart by the one person whom he had trusted without reservation.  Every time he had tried to come to the younger man's defense, Marissa had bluntly slapped him down.  For a church-going woman, she had an incredible vocabulary!

William's head jerked to one side as his sensitive ears caught a faint sound, a shod foot scraping on the brick patio.

"Who's there?" he demanded.

"A friend," a richly cultured voice replied.  "You look as if you need assistance."

"I do," William almost sobbed with relief.  At last, someone with eyes!  "My friend, a young man who looks a lot like me.  Do you see him anywhere?  He might be hurt."

"You and I are the only ones here, at present," the cool voice replied.  "Are you positive that he is injured?"

"N-no," William admitted.  "Not really.  I know that someone hit him and knocked him to the ground, but I don't know how hard he hit, or if he hurt himself on the way down.  The person that hit him made so much noise when she left, I couldn't hear him leave.  Please!  Please help me find him.  He cain't see, and with the state of mind he's in, he may not be payin' much attention to where he's goin'."

Bowler Hat noticed that William Griner's southern accent grew stronger in proportion to his emotional distress.  The man would soon be incoherent.

"Mrrrowwr!"

The dark-suited gentleman looked down at the orange cat sitting at his feet. The canny feline stared back, matching him stare for stare.

"Well," Bowler Hat snorted.  "Don't just sit there!  Go find him!"

With a dainty sneeze, the orange tabby leapt to his feet and took off.  Reaching to place William's hand on his shoulder, Bowler Hat attempted to explain what was going on.  He was quick to realize that, in his current condition, Gary would respond more favorably to the therapist's voice than to his less familiar one.

"Our feline friend seems to have caught his scent," he murmured.  "Tally ho!"

Puzzled, William allowed himself to be led in pursuit of the cat who, hopefully, would lead him to Gary.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

There was no mist this time, no sense of being 'somewhere else' for even a split second.  Marissa knew that what she was about to see was not something that might happen, but something that most certainly would, unless she managed to change things. 

A single table stood in the center of the room, a sheet covering what could only be a human body.

She stared at the scene before her, and the chill she had felt earlier turned into an artic blizzard.  Marissa had never been inside a place like this before, but she had been to her father's funeral.  Beneath the smell of incense and floral bouquets, she would never forget the underlying smell of death.  She smelled it again, in this room, only there were no flowers to mask, or even soften that stench.  They were standing in a morgue.

"I do not know if he intends to hurt himself," Mr. Roarke murmured from right next to her, causing her to jump slightly.  So focused had Marissa been on that grim tableau, she had forgotten his presence entirely.  "Perhaps it will be accidental.  Whatever the cause, his body will not wash up on a neighboring island for several days.  They will try to ascertain his identity but, in the end, he will be given a pauper's grave.  A most dismal end for such a brave man."

"A-are you sure it's him?" Marissa asked in a small voice.  "There's no . . . no chance he might . . . might just be . . . lost?"

"I can see that there is only one way to convince you," Mr. Roarke sighed.  Reaching out, he slowly drew the sheet down to reveal a bruised, battered face that was barely recognizable as a human male.  In spots, the flesh had been stripped almost to the bone.

Even with all the damage, there was enough left of the face that Marissa had touched so many times, yet had only looked upon twice, for her to recognize him beyond any doubt.  One hand came up to cover her mouth, as if to stifle the sobs that threatened to choke her, while the other hovered mere inches from that tattered flesh.  The need to touch him, to be certain that what she was seeing was real pulled her toward that still figure.  At the same time, she feared that touching him would make it real, sealing Gary's fate.  Tears welled in her eyes as she recalled all the hurtful words she had flung at him, not even giving him a chance to speak up in his own defense.

"We have to find him," she whispered.  "I can't let this happen!"  She turned frightened, mud green eyes toward her only source of hope.  "Please!  Help me?"

To her surprise, Mr. Roarke let out a loud sigh of relief and favored her with a smile of gratitude.

"It will be my pleasure, Mrs. Brown," he told her, once more taking her by the arm.  "Come.  It is growing dark and we must move quickly.  Time is most definitely not on our side."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Gary couldn't understand it.  Every path he took seemed to lead uphill.  Even trying to follow his back trail had proved fruitless.  No matter how many times he turned back, the result was always the same.  It was as if every downward trail had disappeared.  Was he simply missing the turnoff, or had he managed to stray from the known paths entirely?  Had he managed to find some little used game trail?  Without even a glimmer of sight to rely on, Gary had no way of knowing.  The jungle foliage had grown so thick; he no longer had even the warmth of the sun to guide him.  The gentle breeze, filtering through and around the trees and undergrowth, seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.  The only reference that he could depend on was the feel of the ground beneath his sandaled feet. 

Nothing felt right, or even smelled right.  Gary couldn't put his finger on just what it was that actually felt or smelled wrong, only that it did.  Exhausted, he sank to the spongy ground with a sigh that bordered on a whimper.  His left arm throbbed with every beat of his heart, not helping his concentration at all.  Gary was hot, tired, hungry, angry, and depressed.  He felt like the biggest failure on the face of the entire planet.  Not only had he lost his best friend, he had managed to lose himself!  'How much brains did that take?' he asked himself derisively.  'I can't believe I just ran off like that!  Now no one knows where I am, not even me!'

After a few minutes to catch his breath, Gary laboriously pushed himself to his feet.  He stood there a moment, probing the lie of the ground with one foot.  He had lost his cane some time after the first time he had fallen and had yet to find a suitable replacement.

After a moment, Gary tried once more to make his way back toward the main compound, doing his best to keep going in a straight line.  When he came to a turn, Gary tried to push on through the dense underbrush, only to find himself knee deep in a bog of some kind.  Struggling back to the trail, Gary managed to grope his way along until he felt the ground start to rise again. 

"This is ridiculous," he grumbled.  "Not every freakin' path can go uphill both ways!" 

His questing foot finally found a branch that led in the direction he wanted to go.  With a heartfelt prayer of gratitude, Gary quickened his pace, thinking that he would soon be back on level ground.  His relief was short-lived, however.  Less than a hundred paces found him climbing once more.

"I stand corrected," Gary sighed, as he turned to retrace his steps for the hundredth time.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~

Bowler Hat didn't think it was possible.  It had certainly never happened before, at least not in his memory.  A 'messenger' always knew the exact location of his assigned Guardian!  Never had he known one to meander back and forth in such obvious confusion!

"He's lost the bloody trail," he growled in disbelief as Mr. Roarke and Marissa emerged from the bright red 'shuttle' car. 

"That's impossible!" Marissa exclaimed.  "Cat has found Gary in floods, blizzards, and over incredible distances!  How can it lose him on an island?"

"I don't know!" the nameless man grumbled, enunciating each word with exaggerated care.  He waved his hand at the impenetrable green wall before them.  "The scent seems to have led us to this . . . impasse."

Mr. Roarke stared at the dense foliage, his eyes narrowing as he opened his preternatural senses.

"There are other forces at work here," he murmured.  He looked down at the agitated feline, their eyes meeting.  The cat froze, one paw upraised as his emerald gaze held Mr. Roarke's in silent communication.   They stood that way for what seemed a small eternity before the orange tabby abruptly turned and vanished into the undergrowth.  Just as swiftly, Mr. Roarke was facing Marissa, one hand on each slender shoulder as he looked deeply within her eyes.

"It will soon be too dark to search by . . . mundane means," Mr. Roarke murmured grimly.  "We are forced to rely on the unique bond the two of you share."

"I-I don't know what you mean," Marissa replied uncertainly.  "How can there be anything between us after all the horrible things I said to him?"

Mr. Roarke shook his head with a rueful smile.  "Do you seriously think that what the two of you have can be shattered by a few harsh words?"

"A few!" William snorted, unaffected by the stern looks of the other men.  "She carved him up like a Christmas turkey!"

For the first time, Marissa took a good look at the man she had only glimpsed earlier.  She bit back a sharp retort, startled by the uncanny resemblance between him and her missing friend.

"Just who are you, and why do you look so much like Gary?" she asked.

"We don't have time for pointless chitchat," the man in the bowler hat practically snarled.  "Your young friend could be in serious trouble!"

"I am afraid you are more correct than even you can imagine," Mr. Roarke nodded, his piercing gaze once more locking onto Marissa's borrowed eyes.  "The bond of which I speak goes much deeper than mere friendship.  There are no words to describe, no yardstick by which to measure the depth of that bond.  Even when you could not see, you could always feel him, in here," he explained, placing one hand over Marissa's heart.  "Even when others have given him up for lost, you have held true in your faith.  You feel his joy, and his pain.  Use that bond now.  Use it to help us find him."

"I-I don't know how," Marissa whimpered.  "I want to, believe me, I want to so bad!  I just . . . I've never tried anything like that before!"

"Stop looking with your eyes," William suggested.  "Try feeling with your heart."

"He's right," Bowler Hat nodded.  "Close your eyes and search within yourself.  Try to feel that connection and see where it leads you."

Hesitantly, unable to meet their hopeful stares any longer, Marissa closed her eyes.  Letting the familiar darkness enfold her like an old friend, she let her mind drift.  It was there, she could almost feel it, that tiny little spark that she knew was Gary.  She tried to focus on it, only to feel it slip away as if it had dodged behind a thick curtain.  She tried again, hoping to get a sense of how far away he might be.  To her disappointment, all she got was an overwhelming feeling of frustration, and pain.

"I'm sorry," she sighed, waving a hand toward the jungle.  "All I can say is that he's going up when he wants to go down.  And he's hurting.  I think he must've fallen or something.  I can't even tell you how badly he's hurt, only that he's still able to walk."

Mr. Roarke merely nodded, unable to hide his disappointment.  Gary Hobson was most likely hiding behind a wall of pain, his fragile ego still reeling from the battering it had received at the hands of his most trusted friend. 

"Blast it all!" Bowler Hat grumbled irritably.  "Well, there's nothing for it but to try and find a trail leading upwards.  Sooner or later, young Mr. Hobson will run out of hill to climb."

"You had best hope it is soon," Mr. Roarke reminded him.  "We have only until sunrise the day after tomorrow before the process is irreversible.  Nor must we forget the natural dangers inherent in such terrain as this," he added with a wave of his hand toward the jungle.

"You said something about 'other forces' at work here," William spoke up, keeping one hand on his guide.  "What were you talking about?"

"Things beyond either ken or control," Bowler Hat sighed, having also felt that other presence.  He glared at the setting sun as if he would stop it in its track by will alone, if that were possible.  Unfortunately, some things remained beyond his abilities.  "We can't search in the dark, blast the luck."

"I can," William replied evenly.  "Dark or light makes no never mind to me."

"Or me," Marissa reminded them.  "I was blind most of my life.  I can close my eyes and get around just fine."

"And where will you 'get around' to?" Bowler Hat queried, fixing her with a raised eyebrow.  "In which direction did our elusive quarry disappear?  You say he's going upwards.  How far has he traveled?  What lies in-between?  Can you answer that?  Without lights, or even a compass heading, how do you hope to find him when even he doesn't know where he is?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was finally a drizzling rain that convinced Gary to seek some type of shelter.  Soaked to the skin, he wedged himself into a hollow created by a fallen tree, huddling in on himself in an effort to conserve body heat.  It was far from the softest bed he had ever slept in; still it beat risking pneumonia or stumbling blindly over the wet terrain.  

'Maybe I should just stay put,' he reasoned.  'Someone's bound to be looking for me by now.  But what then?  How do I face Marissa after what I've done to her?  How can I ever convince her that this wasn't what I'd planned?  Will she even speak to me?  Hell, I wouldn't blame her if she hated me the rest of her life!'  "God, what a mess I've made of things," he moaned aloud. 

As the cool rain continued to drench the tropical flora, Gary settled in for a miserable night.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Marissa stood by the window in Mr. Roarke's office, staring out at the pouring rain as she hugged herself tightly.  In the last hour, it had worsened from a light drizzle to a full downpour, trailing down the windowpanes in thick runnels.  Gary was out there, she reminded herself, all alone, cold, wet and frightened.  And it was all her fault. 

"He's survived worse than this," she reminded herself.  "When Savalas framed him for murder, and half of Chicago was looking for him, Gary made it through one of the coldest nights I can remember."

"That was when he still had a friend who believed in him," William murmured, having heard all the grim details during many a therapy session. 

"He still does," Marissa replied, stung by the implied rebuke.

"He doesn't know that," the therapist pointed out.  "He thinks you still hate him for something that wasn't even his fault."

"I had no way of knowing that," Marissa murmured, trying to defend her actions.  "How was I supposed to know what he had in mind?  H-he never said a word about this being some kind of . . . of anniversary!"

"Did he have to?" William asked, trying to keep his voice even, to avoid sounding accusatory.  "Where was your faith in him?  Why does he have to explain everything he does, answer for every move he makes?  Aren't enough people questioning his motives as it is?  The authorities, the press, they all have him under a microscope.  He has family and friends making demands on time he isn't certain he can give.  Yet he took the time, made the sacrifice, to give you the fantasy of a lifetime, and you honestly believe he did it just to get you to back off?"

"I didn't know!" Marissa snapped, her voice cracking with the depth of her despair.  "He never said anything except . . . except that he wanted me to see, if just for a little while."  She paused to wipe at the tear she felt trickling down her cheek.  "Gary's the warmest, kindest, most gentle man I've ever known, before I met Emmett.  But he's also been under a lot of strain lately.  I've begun to . . . to wonder if . . ."

"You've been thinkin' that the job was gettin' to him," William nodded in understanding.  "Has he been showin' any recent changes in his behavior towards you, or anyone else?"

"Not really," Marissa had to admit.  "He just seems so . . . tense.  As if he never really has a chance to . . . to unwind."

"Understandable, wouldn't you say?" Bowler Hat murmured from his place by the mantle.  "Even his vacations are steeped in disaster."

"Enough," Mr. Roarke insisted.  Gently taking Marissa by the arm, he led her to the sofa.  "We should all get some rest.  As soon as it is light, we must be prepared to resume our search.  I am certain we will have better luck tomorrow."

"I hope so," Marissa sighed.  "I have some major apologizing to do."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Gary finally gave up on getting any sleep when the drizzle threatened to turn into a tropical storm.  His scant shelter wasn't enough to keep him dry, in fact it was about to be washed away!  He reluctantly abandoned it to seek something a little more substantial, but had no idea how he was supposed to accomplish such a miracle.  He couldn't see, the rain and thunder drowned out any other more subtle noises, and he doubted that he could smell a convenient hut or shack.  An outhouse, on the other hand . . . nah, he wasn't that desperate.  Yet.

By the time the drenching rain let up, Gary was beyond miserable.  Even the most fragrant outhouse was beginning to sound good.  He just wanted to find somewhere dry and warm, although he would settle on just dry.  He had already fallen several more times, his left arm felt swollen to more than twice its size and he could barely feel his hand anymore.  His wet clothes clung to his skin, chilling him to the bone in the early morning air.  If there was any part of his body that didn't ache, it was only because he was too exhausted to feel it.

Gary forced himself to keep going, following the path of least resistance through the lush foliage.  Continuous movement depleted his meager reserves of energy, but also produced heat, which his chilled body needed to fight off hypothermia.  Once the sun rose and the air warmed up, he could find somewhere to rest.  Until then, he had to keep moving.

A stray root proved his undoing.  Already stumbling from exhaustion, Gary was unable to catch himself before again falling on his injured wrist.  Curling around his ill-treated appendage, Gary could only manage a mewling whimper, too spent to scream.  He was so tired!  All he wanted to do was rest, just for a few minutes.

"My, my," a soft voice drawled.  "Aren't you a sorry sight?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Just who the hell are you?" Marissa asked, repeating the question that Bowler Hat had diverted before.  "Where do you fit into all of this?"

William tried to stretch the kinks out of his back and legs with a muffled groan before deigning to answer.  As it turned out, none of them had been able to sleep that night.  Not that he was sure that Mr. Roarke and the gentleman with the cultured British accent even needed sleep, but he and Marissa had alternated sitting and pacing for the last few hours.

"I'm Gary's therapist," he finally replied.  "Dr. William Griner, at your service," he added, extending a hand in her direction.

A thoughtful frown tugged at Marissa's mahogany features as the name stirred long buried memories.

"I used to know a William Griner," she mused, absently shaking William's hand.  "He was an assistant teacher at the school for the blind I attended when I was a child.  Did you . . . did you ever work at St. Anthony's?"

"For a couple of years," William admitted.  "To supplement my GI Bill.  Your maiden name wouldn't be Clark, would it?"

"Yes," Marissa murmured, taking a seat next to her old friend.  "So you do remember!"

"How could I forget the little girl that kept me on my toes for two years?" the therapist chuckled.  "I couldn't slip a thing by you.  You caught every mistake I made, and called me on each one.  I learned almost as much from you as you did from me."  He reached up to stroke her face.  Marissa leaned into that touch, giving him silent permission to relearn her features.  "You've grown into a beautiful woman."

"Outwardly, perhaps," Marissa sighed, leaning back against the sofa.  "What I did to Gary wasn't very pretty, was it?"

"You were hurting," William told her.  "You needed someone to blame for your anguish and Gary was handy.  By now, he probably realizes this and is trying to come up with a way to apologize."

"But he wasn't at fault!" Marissa cried, leaping from her seat to pace angrily in front of the fireplace.  "I was the one who knocked him silly, then called him every vile name I could think of!  He just . . . just lay there and took it!  I didn't even notice that he was blind!"

"You had no way of knowing," Mr. Roarke reminded her.  "You have only been sighted for less than a day.  Many things have most likely escaped your notice."  He gazed out at the lightening horizon.  "It will be dawn soon," he murmured.  "We must hurry."

"You're right," Marissa sighed, turning for the door. "I don't want . . ."  She stopped with a loud gasp, a stunned look crossing her finely sculpted features.

"What is it?" Bowler Hat asked, stepping to her side.  "What's wrong?"

"Gary!" Marissa gasped, her eyes wide with shock.  "He's . . . I-I think he's dying!"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A chill ran down Gary's spine that had nothing to do with the freezing rain as he scrambled awkwardly to his feet.  Part of his mind was dimly aware that he had lost his sandals at some point during his flight.  That, and the fact that he could barely feel his feet, caused him less distress than the fact that he recognized that soft, sultry voice.  He didn't know her name, or if she even had one, but he knew that her presence meant that he was in serious trouble.

A flickering image of a glowing apparition touched his mind and he knew that to be her doing.  She wanted to leave him no doubt that this was the same . . . being who had all but condemned him to Hell for not allowing the train carrying Vice President John Hoyne to collide with an express coming from the opposite direction.  Gary had saved hundreds of lives that day and almost lost his own in the process.  He could still recall her sibilant tones threatening and cajoling as she delivered her dire prophesies.  She made it very clear that his immortal soul was on the line if he did not do as he was told.

He had told her that he would see her in Hell first.

Standing there on his bare, half-frozen feet, his injured arm throbbing in agony, and trembling more from fear than the cold, Gary figured that he had called that one pretty close.

"Not even gonna say 'Hello', Sugah?" that glowing image purred. 

"Wh-who are you?" Gary asked in a hoarse whisper.  "What do you want with me?"

"Oh my!  Where are my manners?  Everything that we've been through, and I've nevah so much as introduced myself!" 

Gary flinched as something softly caressed his cheek.  He knew that, even with the rain and the normal sounds of an awakening jungle, he should be able to hear her footsteps or the rustle of fabric as she moved.  Even in the brief time that he had been sightless, Gary had noticed that he could usually feel when another person was present.

He felt nothing from her.

"They call me Kathleen," her soft voice whispered into his ear, causing Gary to jump.  Her voice sounded as if her mouth was practically touching him, yet no breath of air brushed his overly sensitized flesh.  "What I want, Sugah, is for you to die."

"Wh-why?" Gary stammered, truly puzzled by this apparent animosity from a total stranger. "What'd I ever do to you?"  He tried not to cringe as what felt like fingertips trailed down the side of his neck, following his hairline along the nape until they had traced their way around and up to his other ear.  This mysterious creature was toying with him, he realized, playing cat to his timid little mouse.  'Not a cat,' he quickly amended.  'A snake.  She's the snake and I'm the rat that's about to be swallowed whole.'

"Do to me?" Kathleen chuckled.  "Why nothin', darlin'.  This isn't personal, at all.  I'm just followin' orders.  You see, there is a certain . . . power broker, shall we say . . . who needs specific things to happen a specific way.  You keep messin' up his plans."

"H-how?" Gary whispered, trying to keep this bizarre conversation going.  He hoped to stall her until help might arrive, however long that took.  "Wh-what is it that he wants t-to happen?"

Those fingers were trailing across his throat now, tracing a line down to the top button of his shirt in what would have been a seductive tease under other circumstances.  It was all Gary could do to hold still as she began to undo the top button.  It unnerved him that he had yet to feel a sense of her presence, that he still wasn't convinced that she was truly there!

"I don't think we need to go into that," Kathleen purred, her soft lips brushing his throat. 

Gary almost lost it that time.  She was so close!  He could feel her hands on his shirt, loosening the buttons, feel her lips as they planted a tender kiss just below the angle of his jaw, but he could not feel her, and that was scaring him to death! 

"S-so you're . . . what, gonna push me off a cliff or s-something?" Gary murmured nervously.  His heart was pounding so hard, he was sure that she could hear it.  If he could see, Gary would have been flying down the side of that mountain, shoes or no shoes!

"Nothin' so crude," the dark angel crooned softly.  "I'm just gonna lead you to this lovely little spot I know where the view is absolutely breathtaking, and you're gonna jump."

"One of us is crazy," Gary murmured, trying to lean away from that cajoling voice.  "But it sure as Hell ain't me!  No way am I taking one step with you!"

A sudden blast of frigid air knocked Gary from his feet, rolling him through the dense underbrush until his chest slammed against the trunk of a tree.  Dazed, it was a moment before he could convince his aching lungs that breathing was still a required function.  A soft hand cupped his cheek, causing him to flinch with a strangled gasp.  The smoky, almost sensual purr that whispered into his ear belied the sinister words.

"Did I say you had a choice?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"You never told me," Marissa murmured as she helped lead William through the dense foliage.  "Why do you look so much like Gary?  Are you two related?"

William bit back a grim retort, knowing that the young woman was afraid to think of what they might find at the end of their trek.  She was just making idle conversation to distract her mind from the same disturbing images that haunted his.

"It seems that we're cousins a couple of generations removed," he replied, huffing a little from the rapid uphill climb.  It was more difficult for him as he was forced to rely on the others for guidance.  "Mr. Roarke was k-kind enough to help us fill in . . . the missin' pieces," he grunted. 

"Another cousin?" Marissa sighed in exasperation.  "When we get back, I'm going to have to see about renting a bigger hall."

"Do you think we might have this little tete-a-tete later?" Bowler hat grumbled as he helped William navigate around a boggy patch.  "In case you two have forgotten, we're in a bit of a rush."  He cast a rueful glance at their guide.  The orange tabby was flitting in and out among the trees like an impatient Will-o'-the-wisp.  The canny feline would pause briefly to allow the plodding humans to catch up, then take off again, leaving them to follow as best they could.  "I do believe the little blighter is becoming a tad snippy with us."

Leaving William in Marissa's capable hands, Bowler Hat quickened his pace to catch up with Mr. Roarke.

"Why did you insist on allowing our sightless friend to join us?" he grumbled softly, not wanting his words to reach the ears of the other two.  "I can understand the girl due to the fact that we may need to affect the transference as quickly as possible, but that young gentleman is slowing us down!"

Mr. Roarke tried to hide his smile at hearing a man of over fifty years being referred to as 'young.'  

"This play has yet to reach its conclusion," Mr. Roarke murmured mysteriously.  "Before the final scene is written Dr. Griner may yet prove a most valuable ally."  He looked eastward, where the first rays of the rising sun were painting silvery swathes on the distant mountaintops.  "Let us just pray that Gary Hobson is able to hold fast against any miscues by our devilish director."

"Indeed," Bowler Hat sighed, casting a glance backwards to see Marissa guiding William around a thick clump of bushes.  "Curtain calls can be a bit tricky when you're dead."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Agony burned through Gary's chest as he forced his lungs to expand taking in precious, life sustaining air.  It was a moment before he could repeat that heroic effort, the torture almost more than he could bear.  Compared to the sharp pain of cracked or broken ribs, the sting from the myriad cuts and scratches picked up during his abrupt trip through the underbrush went mostly unnoticed.  Somewhere during that tumultuous journey, his shirt had disappeared. 

The missing garment was the least of his worries.

He gasped, flinching away from the sharp, burning sensation that suddenly overrode the pain from his ribs.  It felt as if something was digging into his flesh, tearing through the skin and muscle to inflame every nerve it could find.

"Poor baby," the entity who called herself 'Kathleen' cooed mockingly.  "It looks like you've gone and cut yourself!  Why don't I kiss it and make it bettah?"

"Stay 'way!" Gary gasped, trying to push himself away from that presence that he still could not feel.  The sudden movement only served to reawaken the pain in his injured wrist.  Hugging his arm to his chest, Gary tried unsuccessfully to stifle an agonized moan.  "D-don't . . . don't touch me!" he grated out between clenched teeth.

Something touched his right leg, sending a searing shaft of agony from mid-thigh straight to his groin.  Gary shrank back with a strangled cry, vainly trying to escape his tormentor.

"That's a pretty deep gash," Kathleen murmured with a throaty chuckle.  "Why don't we get a closer look?"

Gary panicked when those unseen hands tugged at the button of his tan slacks.  Flinging himself backwards, away from that malignant creature, he tried to scramble out of her reach with just his heels and one hand.  His ungainly flight was halted by the rather painful discovery of a fallen tree . . . with his head.

Dazed, hurting in more places than he had ever been aware of before, Gary was forced to lie there, helpless to avoid Kathleen's attentions.  He trembled as that soft touch returned, tracing a faint line up his left leg this time, until he once more felt that insistent tug on the zipper of his trousers.

"D-don't do this," he pleaded in a strained whisper.  "I'm . . . I'm no threat to you."

"On the contrary," Kathleen purred seductively, her voice so close, it sent a chill up her victim's spine.  "Your stubbornness, compassion, and that damnable faith make you one of our greatest challenges.  Of course, if you really want to live, then I'm sure we can arrive at . . . an equitable arrangement."

All the while, Kathleen's slender hands were undoing the fastenings on Gary's pants, her delicate touch sending shivers through his battered frame.  He could not see her eyes glitter with a hellish light as her hands slipped inside to caress his chill flesh while her lips traced the angle of his jaw.  Contrarily, hot tears stung his eyes as he was forced to lie there, shamed by an overwhelming sense of helplessness.

"Please don't do this," he whispered.  "Y-you're not real.  None . . . none of this . . . is real.  You can't . . ."

"I can do any damned thing I want," Kathleen crooned, her hands never ceasing their explorations.  "I can take your life, or I can take your soul.  The choice is yours."

A look of resolve settled over Gary's weary features as he suddenly pushed himself to his feet with his good hand.  Backing away, he tried to face his invisible assailant.

"Wh-whatever you get," he told her with surprising determination, "you'll have t-to take.  I'm not g-giving . . . giving you a d-damned thing."

A hot wind rustled through his hair, not only drying the sweat from his skin but also threatening to suck every trace of moisture from his flesh.  It began to push on him, forcing him to take an uncertain step backwards.  Gary reached out blindly, trying to find something against which to brace himself.

"You are not in a position to bargain," that sultry voice snarled menacingly.  "All I have to do is snap my fingers and that little hussy you call your friend will die a horrible, agonizing death."

"Y-you leave her out of this," Gary warned her, still backing away.  "This . . . this is strictly be-between you an' me!"

Kathleen emitted a chuckle that froze Gary in his tracks, startled by the sense of sheer evil that sound evoked.

"You don't seem to get it," she told him in a voice that stirred up visions of open graves and rotting corpses.  "I command forces that can strip the flesh from your bones and then suck out the last drop of marrow from them.  I can call up a wind that would snatch you up and plunge you into the deepest part of the ocean, so far from land that your body would nevah be found.  With a wave of my hand, I can open up a volcano right where you stand, letting molten lava fry you to a cinder.  I can . . ."

"If you can do all that," Gary snapped, "then why am I still alive?  Why are you trying to tease me a-and tempt me like a two-bit whore if all you have to do i-is snap your fingers and all Hell breaks loose?  Huh?  Tell me!  Just what kind of sick game are you playing?"

The sudden silence could be cut with a chainsaw.  Even the air felt almost too thick to breathe.

"What did you just call me?" Kathleen asked in a hushed whisper dripping with malice.

"You heard me," Gary murmured, too exhausted to be afraid anymore. 

"I am not, nor have I evah been a whore," the dark angel growled in a tone that would have sent the most fanatical terrorist running for the nearest church, temple, or mosque. 

"What else do you call someone wh-who uses their body as a bargaining chip?" Gary retorted sharply.  "Or who wants me to use mine that way?  Y-you talk about giving up my soul t-to save my life, but . . . but y-you seem to be more interested in . . . in getting my clothes off!  Wh-what's the deal with that?"

Gary jumped slightly, biting back a cry from the pain that sudden motion caused, as something slithered across his bare foot.

"You have no idea how fortunate you are," Kathleen murmured coldly.  "If not for your meddling predecessor, you would nevah have lived long enough to become the nuisance that you are.  Each and every scar on your body should remind you that Death is hovering less than a breath away.  With but a thought, I could command the vipers that are coiling about your ankles as we speak to strike, putting an end to your miserable existence."

"Then why haven't you?" Gary started to ask when he was interrupted by a spine-chilling, but wonderfully familiar growl.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Marissa was sure that they could never have covered so much ground so quickly anywhere else but Fantasy Island.  Just a little over an hour after they had left the main compound, they paused in a small clearing for a welcome breather.  A flat rock jutted out from the side of the mountain, giving an excellent view of their back trail.  While Marissa knew that she could not judge distances as well as others who had always been able to see, the petite woman was certain that someone had to be cheating.  The distant villa looked to be no larger than the pad of her thumb held at arms length. 

"Toto," she murmured softly to herself, "not only are we not in Kansas, we bypassed Oz and went straight to Never-Never Land."

"Wh-what did you say?" William panted from his seat on a convenient log.  "Somethin' 'bout never landin'?"

"Nothing," Marissa sighed, not wanting to waste precious time on pointless debate.  She didn't care if Mr. Roarke suddenly sprayed her with a handful of glittering fairy dust, so long as they reached Gary before whatever threatened him finished the job.  Absently rubbing her left arm, she tried to send him a message through that invisible link everyone was so certain that the two of them shared.  She begged him to hang in there, to stand strong.  Closing her eyes, Marissa tried to will him as much of her energy as she could, to bolster his own flagging strength.  That surge of panic that she had felt earlier still left a bad taste in her mouth.  Gary was all alone, in pain, and frightened half out of his wits, and it was all her fault.

"That's not gonna help him, you know," William murmured.

"What isn't?" Marissa grumbled, although she was pretty sure what the therapist meant.

"Blaming yourself for all of this," he replied, confirming her guess.  "You know that Gary won't hold what you said against you."

"He should," Marissa replied, turning her back on the incredible vista to join William on his impromptu bench.  "I was horrible to him.  All he wanted was to do something nice for me.  And what do I do?  I attack him.  When things didn't turn out to suit me, I cut him off at the knees and ripped his heart out.  I wouldn't blame him if he never wanted to speak to me again.  Why, if it wasn't for him and that damned Paper, I might never have met Emmett.  How could I have ever doubted that he wanted us to be happy?  How could I have stood there, screaming and shouting at him without giving him one chance to speak up in his defense?"

"Actually," William chuckled, "you did.  But he was too shell-shocked to say anything."

"Exactly," Marissa sighed.  "I verbally backed him into a corner and stripped him of every shred of dignity he had.  By the time I finally asked him for an explanation, he was too stunned to think of one!  Then I go running off, not knowing, or caring what he was going to do.  I stuck a knife in his heart and just left him there to bleed to death."

"My," William shuddered.  "You certainly paint a lovely mental picture.  Tell me, darlin', did ever write for Stephen King?"

Whatever reply Marissa was going to make was cut off by the arrival of several stocky islanders.  She eyed them suspiciously.  They all looked as if they could have been brothers . . . and linebackers for the Bears.  The smallest one was well over six feet and had to weigh at least two hundred and fifty pounds!

"Ah, good," Mr. Roarke murmured, nodding at the new arrivals.  "We may proceed now."  He stepped over to help Marissa and William to their feet.  "I felt that, if Mr. Hobson is unable to walk, we would require assistance to carry him back to the clinic."

"Excellent," Bowler Hat replied, not bothering to inquire as to how the newcomers had been summoned.  He looked around, his bemused smile quickly turning into a puzzled frown.  "Where on Earth has he gotten to now?"

"Who?" William asked.

"Our four-legged guide," the tall man muttered irritably.  "That bloody feline has vanished again.  How are we expected to follow the little beast if he keeps pulling stunts like this?"

If William had been able to see, the look he gave the dark-suited man would have been very direct, and classic.

"You do realize that we're talkin' about a cat, right?" he inquired in a guarded tone.

Bowler Hat favored the sightless man with a look that spoke volumes in a language that even William was able to pick up.  The blind therapist's lips curled up in a smile that let the other man know that he had been royally had.  Without saying a word, the slender man turned on one heel and stalked over to where Mr. Roarke was assembling his crew.

"Are you absolutely positive we need him?" he growled softly, indicating William with a tilt of his chin.

"Yes," Mr. Roarke murmured, failing to conceal his amusement.  "I have reason to believe that he will prove most helpful."

The dark-suited 'client' shot the therapist a venomous glare, then turned to follow the orange feline, which had reappeared to lead them to their quarry.

"Pity," was all he said.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Trembling with fear, pain, and exhaustion, Gary somehow managed to hold perfectly still as that deep rumble scaled into a blood-curdling screech.  There was the tiniest flicker of movement near his feet, and that scaly . . . something vanished with an angry hiss!  A furred body pressed reassuringly against his leg, letting Gary feel the low growl vibrating through that tiny form.  Help was near, it seemed to be saying, silently urging him to 'hang in there.'  With a final hiss that a Komodo dragon would have envied, that warmth vanished, leaving Gary on his own once more.

"I sweah," Kathleen spat in a petulant hiss, "the moment I'm done with you, that little beast is next!"

Gary made no reply as he tried to use everything William had taught him in the short time they had been given.  He willed himself to shut out her cajoling voice and try to get a sense of his surroundings.  Kathleen seemed determined that he would appear to have died by his own actions, or by accident.  That meant that she had been herding him like a lost lamb, toward either a bog or a cliff.  Judging by the way the trails had all led upward, he was betting on the cliff.  The question remained, just how close were they to her goal?

Before him, he could hear the faint rustling of leaves as a stray gust stirred the jungle foliage.  Tilting his head slightly, Gary could hear only the creak of dead branches above him.  Behind him . . . Gary felt his skin crawl with a deep-rooted sense of dread.  He could sense nothing at his back but a vast emptiness. 

He had nowhere left to run, even if he could.

Despair washed over him like a crushing wave as he felt the return of that soft, yet agonizing touch.  Helplessly, he could only stand there, unable to move backwards lest he step into that yawning nothingness, unable to move to either side for the same reason, and not daring to lean into that hellish embrace for fear of losing more than just his life.  It took all of his strength and will to stand firm, to quiet the rapid beating of his heart as he felt her cool hands caress his too warm flesh, flesh that trembled with fear, not desire.  As her hands circled around him to stroke his scarred back and shoulders, Gary knew that he should be able to feel the warmth of her body pressing against his, but he felt nothing.  Even this close, he had no sense of a physical presence from this creature. 

"Why are you doing this?" he whispered in a tremulous voice.

"I've already told you," Kathleen murmured as she let her lips rake the dark stubble on his cheek.  "My boss . . ."

"No," Gary managed to rasp out, startling her for a moment.  "That's why you're going to kill me.  Why this?  Why do you have to . . . to . . .?"

"Because I'm driven by the same need that drives him," she whispered as she continued to stroke and nuzzle his quivering flesh.  "Hunger.  But, while he feeds on the power he holds over lesser creatures, my needs are more . . . basic.  I crave the pleasures of the flesh, of the union of two bodies in an explosion of burning desire and passion!"

"You m-make it sound beautiful," Gary stammered as her hands slid downward.  "B-but, by not giving me a choice, it's not passion.  It's rape.  I-it's the rutting of two mindless animals, w-with no more control over what they're doing than . . ."

For the second time in less than a day, Gary was knocked to the ground by a stinging blow to his cheek. 

"I have total control," Kathleen hissed, her hands no longer gentle as they grasped the material of his slacks.  In one swift motion, she divested Gary of his last defense against her assault.  "It's about time you learned that fact."

Gary tried to cringe away from her groping hands, shamed anew to find himself cowering at her feet in nothing but his boxers, which were proving no impediment to her at all.  He tried to push her away with his good hand, only to encounter nothing where he knew she had to be!  As Gary frantically scrambled to his feet, her persistent hands delved beneath the waistband of his shorts, claiming their prize!  With a sound that was partly a gasp of horror and a sob of despair, he tried to back away from her tenacious grasp only to find himself pinned against the bole of the dead tree.  He tried to will his body not to respond to her cool touch, but it was beyond his control.  A warm flush crept up his pallid features at the sound of her victorious chuckle.

"Oh my!" she purred triumphantly.  "We may have some fun after all.  It appears that at least one part of you is not adverse to our . . . union."

"Don't do this," he whimpered.  "Please don't do this."

"This could be so much more pleasant," Kathleen murmured seductively, "if you would simply cast aside that useless morality and give yourself to me."

"Go to Hell," he whispered.

Searing pain exploded through every nerve in his body, wringing a cry of agony from Gary that echoed through the preternatural stillness!  For an eternity, he seemed to hover on the edge between the black abyss of unconsciousness and the fires of Hell.  Just as quickly, the pain was gone, the memory of it leaving him spent and helpless.  It was all Gary could do to keep his knees from buckling, clinging to the rough bark of the dead tree with his good hand.  He had to breathe, he reminded himself, forcing his tortured lungs to do their job.  It hurt, dear God, it hurt!  But not as bad as what that creature had just done to him.  Another breath, and then another and his head finally began to clear.

Gary knew that he couldn't hold out much longer, especially not against another assault like that.  If it came down to a choice between what Kathleen wanted and the cliff, however, then he considered that a definite no-brainer. 

The cliff would win, hands down.

"Why do you keep resisting me?" that hellish apparition murmured into his ear, chuckling at his choked gasp of alarm.  "It could be so much fun, and might even spare your life."

"I'd rather die," Gary managed in a hoarse croak, his throat raw from the force of his earlier scream.

"Then jump," Kathleen hissed angrily, growing tired of his insipid morals.  "The cliff is less than a foot behind you.  Just turn around and one little step will end your torment forevah."

"Can't do that," Gary murmured with a shake of his head. 

"Why not?"

Gary had to swallow a couple of times, trying to ease the dryness that made it so difficult to speak.  He was so tired.  It seemed that he was lost no matter what he did.

"'S wrong," he finally replied in a raspy whisper.  Shaking his head slightly, Gary tried to make his tormentor understand.  "Su'cide's . . . wrong.  N-not my choice . . . t-to make."

"Then give yourself to me and let me save you," Kathleen insisted.

Gary shook his head again, obviously fighting to stay on his feet.  "Even worse," he sighed.  "You . . . want me . . . want me dead, I can't stop you.  I won't help you, either."

Stepping back, Kathleen glared at the wretched sight before her.  Gasping and trembling, with barely enough strength to draw in his next breath, in more pain than he had ever known in his life, yet still he resisted her.  Gary Hobson had effectively called her bluff.  The dark angel knew that she had already overstepped the limits by which she was bound.  To physically push him over that yawning precipice would seal her fate, and grant him release from his misery and pain.  She had to think of another bargaining chip, and quickly!

"What of your friend?" she murmured menacingly, bringing her spectral lips close to his ear. 

Gary's head jerked up, trying to home in on the sound of her voice.  The look on his face told Kathleen that she had struck a nerve.

"Wh-whadaya mean?" he stammered breathlessly.  "Wh-who . . .?"

"Marissa?" Kathleen replied, drawing the name out in a derisive hiss.  "The little tart you came here to impress.  The woman you gave your sight to, only for her turn around and stab you in the back.  Do you really need someone like that in your life?"

"Sh-she just didn't understand," Gary shot back, excusing and forgiving his friend in one breath.  "S-something went wrong a-and she . . . she was hurt, angry!  She had every right to be!"

Pleased to have gotten a rise out of the young guardian, Kathleen was still at a loss as to how to use this against him.  He seemed determined that his friend was blameless for his current distress.

"Is that why you ran away?" she sneered, circling her prey in a macabre dance.  "You're afraid to face her because you know you screwed up!"

"Yes," Gary whispered, refusing to rise to her bait, yet cutting himself no slack.  "I messed up.  I hurt her, and someday, I hope she'll forgive me.  B-but that's not why I ran."

"Really?"

"I-I needed . . . needed time to . . . to think, to . . ." Gary paused, turning his head to try again to home in on her voice.  "What . . . what does it m-matter why?  Wh-what business is it . . . of yours?"

"Wouldn't you like to get your sight back before you die?" Kathleen murmured in a needling tone.  "Wouldn't you like for her to suffer as you have?"

"Were you b-born depraved?" Gary snapped, starting to feel his second, or was it his third wind?  "O-or d-did you take a Berlitz course?  No!  I'd never . . .!"

"Your life," Kathleen hissed, startling him with her nearness, "your soul, for hers.  She tainted herself when she so cruelly turned on you.  Her only hope of redemption . . . rests in your hands.  Give me what I want, or step from this ledge, and her burdens are lifted.  Resist and she suffers for the rest of eternity."

Gary didn't, couldn't believe her, yet just the thought of his dearest friend suffering on his account sent a pain through his heart to rival Kathleen's earlier attack.  His face twisted in indecision as his will finally began to waver.

"You . . . you can't have her," he whispered, the despair in his voice unmistakable.  "She's . . . she's special."

"Then save her," Kathleen urged.  "Prove how much you value the bond the two of you share.  Isn't her life worth such a small token as your soul?"

Tears coursed down Gary's cheeks as he struggled to stand erect.  He didn't want to die, every nerve, every fiber of his body screamed that message to his brain.  But Marissa was his friend, his anchor in a world gone mad.  If he lost her . . .

"Don't listen to her!"

Gary froze as Kathleen let out a screech of frustration. 

"She has no power to hurt me, Gary," Marissa insisted, her voice growing louder as she and the rest of the search party erupted into the clearing.  "Only you do.  You have that power because I gave it to you a long time ago.  I gave it to you the night we first became friends.  I didn't realize it at the time, or even until today, but we gave each other more than either of us could possibly imagine.  We shared our souls.  Don't let her push you into something you know in your heart is wrong, Gary.  Please."

Gary stood there, trembling, his right foot mere inches from the crumbling lip of the precipice.  He wanted to believe her, wanted to live more than he had ever thought possible, but he had hurt her and didn't know if he could ever forgive himself that fact.

"Jump!" Kathleen hissed venomously.  "Jump!  It's the only way to make things right!"

"I don't know who you are," Marissa snarled, "but he isn't the one who needs to atone.  I do!"

Gary's brow knit into a puzzled frown at that.

"Wh-what do you mean?" he asked in a barely audible rasp.  "A-after what I did . . ."

"What did you really do, Gary?" Marissa asked, her voice soft and pleading.  "You gave me a part of yourself, so that I could know the joy of looking on the faces of the people I love.  You offered up your heart, freely and without reservation, to show me how much our friendship truly mattered to you.  If that's a sin, then we should all be so lost.  No, Gary.  The sin was mine for not having faith in you.  I was the one who lashed out at you, without even bothering to find out if you were to blame.  I was the one who took the most precious thing in my life and ground it into the dust.  Can you forgive me?"

"Of course," Gary murmured, as if astonished that she even had to ask.  He even managed a weak smile.  "W-we're still friends, aren't we?"

"Then step away from the ledge, Mr. Hobson," Mr. Roarke urged the younger man.  "Please."

"I-I can't," Gary whispered tremulously.  "I-I don't . . . Help me?  Please?"

"There is no help for you," Kathleen's voice echoed through the clearing, having made herself invisible to all but the snarling cat.  His kind could always see her.  "If they make one move in your direction, this ledge will crumble, taking you and them to a most horrible death."

"Oh, knick off!" Bowler Hat grumbled irritably.

Evil laughter rang out as Kathleen's glowing image took shape, hands or her hips as she glared insultingly at the team of rescuers.

"You have no power over me," she snarled.

"Your ceaseless blundering gives me the power," was Bowler Hat's scornful response. "You've far overstepped your limited authority with this little stunt.  Even your vile Master will have to admit to that.  You were expressly forbidden to inflict physical harm!  Now, be gone!"  With a flick of his hand, a hot wind kicked up a swirling cloud of dust in the area from which her voice had resonated.  He was rewarded with Kathleen's parting shriek as the small whirlwind shrank in upon itself and vanished.  Turning to place a restraining hand on Marissa's arm, he looked at Mr. Roarke.  "The devil of it is the little succubus is right.  That ledge could give way with little more than a sneeze."

"Oh, that's encouraging," Gary murmured, having clearly heard the whispered words.  "I think I'm getting a cold."  Moving very slowly, he cocked his head from side to side, listening.  "I-is she . . . is she gone?"

"Most assuredly," Bowler Hat promised.  "Now, if you would be so kind as to make your way to this side of the tree, perhaps we might be able to give you a hand."

"I'll try," Gary nodded, trying to keep his movements slow and careful.  He began to inch his way around the dead tree.

"Um, Gary," Marissa murmured, not wanting to startle her friend.  "What happened to your clothes?"

"Long story," Gary replied with a strained laugh.  "Later?"

"Oh, ahm, sure," Marissa quickly agreed, relieved that her skin tone didn't show a blush as easily as his.  "Over a nice hot cocoa?"

"Sounds good," Gary chuckled, trying to ease the apprehension that he could hear in her voice . . . not to mention his own.  "Got any marshmallows?"

"I am certain we can find some," Mr. Roarke murmured with a tinge of humor.  "Carefully now.  You are almost there."

Moving slowly, certain that the ledge would give way at any moment, Gary inched his way around the bole of the dead tree until Mr. Roarke told him to stop.  He could almost feel the hands reaching out to help him . . . just as the rumbling told him they were just one second too late.  With a panicked cry, Gary threw himself forward, hoping against reason to span the growing gap, praying that one of them would be able to grasp his outstretched hand!  He was sure that he felt fingertips brushing his . . . as he plummeted into the abyss.

There was a brief moment of freefall, then Gary hit the rocky ground with a jolt that knocked the air from his lungs.  He hit rolling, tumbling down amidst the rattling debris.  At some point, he went airborne again, only to find himself rolling down another, steeper slope.  He was never sure exactly what he caught up against, but he was immensely relieved to have found it. 

Gary was sure that he had broken almost every bone in his body.  If not, then he had to have at least scored a 'personal best.'  Between his stumbling excursions that past night, Kathleen's tender mercies, and his most recent adventure, Gary didn't think he had one single atom in his body that didn't resonate with pain.  Why he was still conscious was a mystery he really wished to solve so that he could be blessedly unconscious as soon as possible.  Preferably with a little of that morphine that used to frightened him with the specter of addiction.  Not a lot, mind you, but at least enough to take the edge off the pain; and this pain had lots of edges!

With a low moan, Gary began to move his arms and legs, trying to assess the extent of his injuries.  He quickly gave that up as a bad idea.  He was already finding more than he wanted to know about.  He had come to the reluctant conclusion that his only course of action was no action of any sort more laborious than breathing . . . when he heard another ominous rumble.

"Now what!" he mumbled with a pitiful moan, just as a cry from above sent him diving to the left with more speed than he would have thought himself capable of mere seconds before.  A loud crash resonated above him as he, again, found himself falling.  And falling, and falling.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~