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.

3. Darkness and Despair

Marissa felt her heart slam into her throat as the huge mass of deadwood toppled, its fragile roots finally releasing their tenuous grasp on the rocky soil.  Instinctively, she reached out one hand in a futile effort to stop the inevitable.  There was no deep groaning of tortured wood, no dryadic death cry as books and movies often described, merely a soft whish and the sounds of roots snapping as the jungle giant fell. 

The top of the tree struck the steep slope at an angle, causing the root end to flip over to their left with a loud crash that more than made up for the earlier silence.  The whole tree bounced and shuddered as it tumbled in Gary's wake.

Gary.  Just minutes ago, he had been standing with his back to that same tree; his right hand stretching out blindly for the help that he knew was only a few feet away.

It might just as well have been on the far side of the moon.  The unstable ground had practically disintegrated beneath his feet and he had simply vanished from sight.

His plaintive cry still echoed in her mind.  Even if Gary had survived the fall, having a few hundred pounds of raw timber slam into him with the force of a freight train was not going to help matters. 

As the tree toppled, Marissa managed to scream out a warning to the rescue party, which had just barely reached that first terrace.  She watched as Mr. Roarke called out his own warning to someone below, and then dove out of the juggernaut's path.  Just before it reached the edge of the slope, the tree bounced impossibly high and cleared the lip without touching the men who huddled there.

A hesitant touch reminded her that she was not the only one who had been left behind.  She turned to find William cocking his head to one side, as if listening for something, perhaps for the reassurance that she just couldn't give.

"Is . . . Is there a chance?" he whispered timidly.  "Any chance at all?"

She didn't have to ask what he meant.  She was asking the same thing herself.  Was there any chance that Gary was still alive?

"I don't know," she murmured, almost afraid to give voice to her fears.  "I-it's not as sheer as we thought it was, but he could still . . . I don't know what lies past that next ledge.  If it's steeper than this first slope . . . I just don't know!"

"You could feel him before," William reminded her, his voice almost pleading.  "Can you still . . .?  I mean . . ."

"I've been afraid to try," Marissa admitted tearfully.  "Wh-what if . . . what if I can't?"

"Then we'll know, won't we," was William's sad reply.

Unable to refute his logic, Marissa closed her eyes.  Looking deep within herself, she sought out the tiny beacon that had given her so much hope before.  Then, it had glowed brightly, letting her know that he was still very much alive, if miserable with pain and grief.  Now . . . now she searched frantically, praying to find even the tiniest spark of life. 

It was so faint that she almost missed it.  With a silent prayer of gratitude, Marissa homed in on that faint glimmer, that almost infinitesimal speck of light that was her dearest friend. 

"He's alive," Marissa relayed in a choked voice.  "He's alive, but just barely.  It's . . . it's as if he's hanging at the end of a rope over this huge . . . emptiness.  H-he's so frightened, William!  He's so very, very frightened!  And so weak!  I don't know if he can hold on much longer!"

William backed away, his face thoughtful. 

"The others may not realize that he's still alive," the therapist mused.  "If they go at this like a body retrieval . . . We need to let them know."

"I don't think they can hear me from up here," Marissa replied, thoughtfully chewing her lower lip.  Coming to a decision, she placed William's hand on the crook of her elbow and led him to the far edge of the clearing, as far from that damnable ledge as she dared.  Guiding him to a fallen log, she asked him to wait there for one of them to return.

"Where are you going?" William asked her.

"I have to go down there," Marissa replied, not bothering to say where 'there' was.  They both knew what she was talking about.  "I have to let them know he's still alive, and see what I can do to help."

As William listened to her fading footsteps, he fervently wished that he, too, could offer some kind of assistance.  It galled him to have to sit on the sidelines while everyone else, even that blasted cat, looked for his missing patient, cousin . . . and friend.

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

Gary tumbled end over end, plummeting through a trackless void that seemed to go on forever, but was actually no more than twenty feet.  Steeling himself for another painful impact, he was unprepared to find himself plunging beneath an icy torrent.  Dark waters engulfed the battered figure, at once numbing the pain momentarily, as it also sapped his already badly depleted strength.  The churning water rolled him helplessly over the rocky streambed, adding to the myriad cuts and bruises that already decorated his scantily clad body.  Dazed and disoriented, Gary tried to fight his way to the surface, flinging out his good hand as he kicked with his uninjured leg.  By some miracle, he soon found himself gulping in a huge lungful of life-giving air just a split second after his questing hand latched onto a rough surface.

Time ceased to have any meaning to the bedraggled figure clinging desperately to that unseen anchor.  His entire world had been reduced to only two things, keeping his head above water, and his grasp on that rock.  The roar of the river filled his ears, blocking out any other sounds, even his own voice as he weakly cried for help.  Gary tried to bring his left arm up in an attempt to reinforce his grip, but the injured arm hung limply by his side.  And his right hand was beginning to slip.

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

With a speed and agility that she had not known she possessed, Marissa scrambled down the ropes trailing down the rocky slope until she caught up with the rescue party.  She found them gathered around a pile of debris, trying to shift a large chunk of granite out of their way.

"He's alive!" she shouted without preamble, startling the large natives into looking her way.  "I can feel him!  He's still alive, but we have to hurry!"

Mr. Roarke and Bowler Hat had not even glanced her way, as if they had expected her to arrive at just that moment.  They were engrossed in their examination of the obstacle before them.

"I am sure that he is," Mr. Roarke murmured finally acknowledging her presence.  "The problem remains as to how we may reach him."  He stood back, giving Marissa a good look at their dilemma. 

What looked like freshly shattered rock had fallen into a depression at their feet.  No, not a depression, Marissa decided on closer inspection.  A hole.  At one point, it may have been of considerable size.  Now, however, a rather large chunk of granite was wedged into the middle of it, leaving a narrow opening to either end of the obstruction.

"If we can shift it either way," Bowler Hat mused, "we could widen the opening a bit, but not enough for any of us to fit through."

Marissa knelt down to get a better look at the problem.  The largest opening was wide enough in one direction that she was confident her narrow hips and shoulders would fit through, but not quite deep enough for even her slender frame.

"If you can give me a couple more inches of space," she told them, "I think I can squeeze through."

"And what could you do once you found him?" the lanky Briton snorted.  "Hold his hand and whisper sweet nothings?"

"I can wrap a bandage and keep him from bleeding to death until you heroes can find a better way down," Marissa snapped, not in the least impressed with the smarmy attitude.  "I can tie a rope around him and keep him from falling even farther, if that's what he needs.  Or I can at least be there so . . . so that he doesn't have to die alone!  So, shut up and put your muscle where your mouth is and move that damned rock!"

Stunned, Bowler Hat looked at the tiny woman as if seeing her for the first time.  Finally, he turned toward the four natives who made up the bulk of the rescue party and gave them a wry smile.

"You heard the young lady," he told them.  "Put your shoulders to it, lads!"

After much grunting, groaning, and straining, they managed to shift the boulder enough to give Marissa the room she needed.  Securing a rope in a makeshift harness around her hips and waist, she took the flashlight Mr. Roarke handed her and prepared for her descent.  As the brawny islanders lowered her into the darkness, Marissa shone the light around, dismayed to see it reflecting off a rippling surface.

"There's an underground stream!" she called up.  Looking around, she located a narrow shelf of rock that paralleled the water.  She quickly reported this to the others and they managed to swing her just enough to land her safely on dry ground.  Using the rope as a guide, they slid a small backpack stuffed with bandages and other first-aid necessities to her eager grasp.  She then hauled in the rope, coiling it into as small an encumbrance as she could, knowing that she might have need of it later. 

As she shouldered the pack for her trek downstream, Marissa was startled by a burst of static.  Opening one of the side pockets, she was pleased to find a hand-held radio. 

"To speak," Mr. Roarke's voice instructed her, "you must press down the button on the side of this unit.  To hear our response, simply release it.  Do you understand?"

It only took the young woman a second to find the button in question and return his instructions word for word.

"Good," Mr. Roarke replied.  "Let us know the instant you have found him and if there are any other openings along the way.  Remember, Gary's life is now in your hands."

"I know," Marissa murmured as she settled the pack more comfortably on her slender frame.  "And I don't intend to fail him this time."

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

It seemed as if hours had passed when William finally heard grunting and gasping voices as the rescue party returned from their futile excursion.  He waited with an outward semblance of calm that hid the icy tremors making his heart stutter.  He forced himself to be still, to listen to what the two leaders were saying.  Caverns, something about Gary falling into some kind of caverns.  They let Marissa go in alone?  Were they out of their collective minds?  The Briton's irritable voice seemed to share that sentiment. 

"Our choices were limited, I assure you," Mr. Roarke murmured calmly.  "I would never have let her take such a risk otherwise.  There are other ways to reach that underground stream, but they are very circumspect, and could take many hours; hours that young Mr. Hobson may not have.  This way, at least, she may render him life-sustaining treatment that will buy us precious time."

"And if she were to fall into some misadventure herself?" the cultured voice retorted.  "What then?  We have two at risk instead of one.  Just how does that help us?  No, no, I realize that our options were less than ideal, and severely limited.  Still, I'm not required to like it one bit.  As you so succinctly pointed out, time is the deciding factor."

"We have no maps of these caverns," the island's host sighed in obvious frustration.  "Compasses are useless due to an overabundance of magnetic ore within these mountains.  Tunnels branch in many directions, some ending within a few yards, others circling back upon themselves.  Experienced spelunkers have been lost within their depths for days, even weeks.  Some have never been seen again.  Even our four-footed guide needs something, a spore of some kind, to track Mr. Hobson's whereabouts.  If we are to go in, we may first have to determine where this particular stream comes out."

William could almost see the look on the Briton's face as the silence stretched out into an uncomfortable stillness.

"This stream?" he repeated.  "There could be more than one?"

"There are two waterfalls that empty directly into the ocean on this side of the island," was Mr. Roarke's discouraging reply.  "Plus numerous small grottos with outlets to the sea.  This one stream could branch off, or be diverted, and we would have no way of finding him until it was too late.  No, we must find a quicker means of locating them."

It could have been his imagination, but William was sure he felt the weight of another's gaze on him.  Several gazes, actually.

"You must be joking," the Briton snorted derisively.  "What is this, the blind leading the blind?"

"You, above all others, should not be so quick to scoff," Mr. Roarke chuckled.  "Dr. Griner is a man with rare and wonderful gifts.  Of most interest, and importance to us is an uncanny sense of direction.  He always knows where North is.  Not magnetic North, as any compass could detect, and would be useless to us under the circumstances, but true North.  He is also gifted with a sense of hearing that borders upon that used by bats to locate their prey.  I would venture to say that he has heard everything we have just said."

"And I'm not real thrilled about this, either," William spoke up, confirming Mr. Roarke's supposition.  "I haven't been cave crawlin' in over twenty years.  But, if you'll keep me from breakin' my fool neck on the stuff I cain't hear or feel, then I'll do my best."

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

Marissa was never sure how long she had been walking when she reached the first terrace.  She had been playing the flashlight over the surface of the water in wide, sweeping arcs, hoping to catch a glimpse of her missing friend.  At the same time, she had been trying to watch her footing and keep the others apprised of her location and surroundings.  She was all too aware that Gary's salvation rested on her staying in one piece long enough to find him.

The rock was less than three feet from the bank.  So close, but to the sightless man, it might just as well have been miles.  Marissa stared at the bloody streaks that glistened darkly on the gray surface, not yet cleansed by the rushing waters.  If she had arrived just minutes earlier, she might have been able to reach out, pull him to safety.  In her mind's eye, she could still see him there, clinging to this crude anchor, praying for the strength to hang on just one minute longer.

A prayer that wasn't answered.

Shaking herself out of her grim reverie, Marissa began her descent.  The path wasn't steep, following a series of wide shelves that led ever downward, into a darkness so much like that in which she had grown up that she was almost tempted to turn off her light to make better speed.  The resounding echoes reminded her that this would not be the wisest course of action.  Sound within these vast chambers was different than what she was used to on the surface.  No, she had to use all of her senses if she was to help her friend.

The stream fanned out, its waters slowing as the shelves widened into broad terraces, which finally emptied into a huge grotto the size of a baseball diamond, without the backfield.  At the far side of the cavern, light glimmered from beneath the surface at the same spot from which gentle waves surged upwards. 

Gary's limp form drifted aimlessly within that soft radiance.  She could just make out his back and shoulders as he floated face down less than five feet from her.  Quickly shedding her pack, Marissa waded out to her friend, relieved to find that the water was no deeper than her chest this close to the edge, and grabbed a handful of his thick dark hair.  It took almost all of her strength to haul him onto the rocky shelf.  With considerable effort, especially as she had nothing to grab onto but bare skin, Marissa finally managed to turn him onto his back and put an ear to his chest.  She was relieved to hear a feeble heartbeat, but alarmed to find that he wasn't breathing!

Gently tilting his head back, Marissa began to breathe for him.  After a few quick breaths, she pushed upwards on his abdomen, hoping to expel any water that might be blocking his lungs.  Praying with more heart and fervor than she ever had in her entire life, Marissa alternated between these two actions until, finally, Gary vomited what seemed an enormous amount of water, then began to cough.  The deep, lung-tearing spasms were soon reduced to a wheezing gasp as Gary lapsed back into unconsciousness without ever opening his eyes.

Then, and only then, did Marissa allow herself to worry about any other injuries that Gary might have.  She had already found a few broken ribs during her resuscitation efforts; wincing each time she felt the bones grate, yet not daring to stop.  Now she was able to see the swelling and deformity in his left arm, and the extreme outward rotation of his right leg, suggesting some type of hip or thigh injury.  He was covered with cuts and bruises that had been cleansed by the freezing water, and he was beginning to shiver.  She had no way to determine if he had any internal injuries.  For all she knew, he could be bleeding to death inside.

It took some effort on her part, and a lot of pain on Gary's, but Marissa soon had his now entirely unclad form wrapped in one of the yellow emergency blankets from the pack.  She then wrapped one around herself and snuggled close to her friend, trying to warm his chill flesh.  That was when she remembered the radio.

"Mr. Roarke," she said into the mike.  "I've found him, and he's alive.  But he . . . he's badly hurt.  We're in some kind of grotto that opens out to the sea, but the entrance is underwater.  Do you have any idea how soon you can reach us?  Gary needs help now!"

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

It had taken the search party the better part of the morning to find the right entrance to the cavern holding the underground stream.  William had proven invaluable in eliminating dead ends and two branches that had shifted direction away from their goal.  Still, the going had been slow, tedious, and dangerous.  Only the cat's chilling yowl alerted them to a sudden drop-off before it claimed their sightless guide.

"The air is absolutely dead here," William murmured, as if unwilling to awaken the very echoes he used to 'feel' his way.  "There's not a breath stirrin' at all."

"There are many such places within these mountains," Mr. Roarke informed them in a hushed voice, as if he, too, were unwilling to disturb the unnerving silence.  "It is one of the many things that make this land . . . such a mystery."  He turned to the younger man.  "Are we still headed in the right direction?"

William paused to consult that inner compass Mr. Roarke had called into play, and the mental map he had been making of their progress.  He was still amazed that their mystic host had recognized a gift that he had been totally unaware of, having never even questioned how easily sightless navigation had come to him.  Of course, his own experience prior to his accident had been nil.  He had always considered himself a slow study, never realizing how he had amazed his counselors.

"I think we're still a little above and to the southeast of that hole you dropped Marissa down," he murmured. 

"And which direction would that be?" Bowler Hat grumbled.  It was obvious that he was not enjoying their underground excursion one bit.  He shone his light on the ledge before them, following the rocky lip as it led off to their left, disappearing into the inky darkness.  "As if our options weren't somewhat limited."

Using his cane, William swept the ledge. 

"We need to follow this as far as we can," the blind therapist replied.  "It's goin' the right way on both counts.  And I think I hear runnin' water.  It shouldn't be too much farther."

Bowler Hat couldn't help a derisive snort as he swept his beam about the narrow tunnel.  As Mr. Roarke had mentioned earlier, there were several underground streams.  They had already navigated around three that Dr. Griner had dismissed as either going in the wrong direction, too far from Marissa's point of entry, or both.  The Briton bit back a scathing remark, however, when he happened to catch sight of their guide's intense look of concentration.

"This isn't easy for me, either," William confessed, as if reading the other man's mind.  "I've only done this one other time since I lost my sight, and let me tell you, that wasn't any picnic.  We need to get going, fellas.  Can you see how far down this ledge runs?"

"At least a hundred feet or more," Bowler Hat replied, softening his tone in a tacit apology.  "It doesn't appear too steep, but it does narrow a bit in places.  Can you cope with that?"

"Well, I'm a little rusty on my 'Human Fly' imitations," the sightless man chuckled grimly, "but I think I can manage.  Just help me keep my feet on solid ground and I'll be okay."

"Good lad," the Briton smiled, giving William's shoulder an encouraging nudge.  "It might be best if one of us leads the way for a bit, at least until this levels out."

"I concur," Mr. Roarke nodded. 

"Don't expect an argument from me," William replied with a cheeky grin.  He waved his hand invitingly toward the ledge.  "Lead on, MacDuff."

Bowler Hat rolled his eyes as he prepared to step out onto the ledge.  "Oh, where have I heard that before?"

At that moment, the radio crackled to life.

"Hello?  Can you hear me?"

Mr. Roarke quickly brought his unit to his lips.  "We hear you," he replied in a voice pitched just loud enough to be heard over the radio.

"How close are you?" Marissa asked, a note of urgency in her voice.

William shook his head as he felt all eyes turn to him.  "I can only guess about another hour 'til we reach them," was his disheartened answer.  "At least."

Marissa sounded none too thrilled to hear that.

"Then I suggest you get a move on," she told them.  "Gary still hasn't come to, and the tide's starting to come in.  I've already had to drag him out of the water once, and I'm running out of room on this little shelf."

Bowler Hat couldn't help but notice Mr. Roarke's troubled look.

"Just how high does the tide run this time of year?" the dapperly dressed man asked.

"About five feet," Mr. Roarke murmured before keying the mike again.  "Can you drag him onto a higher shelf?"

There was a moment of silence during which they could all envision Marissa shining her light around, evaluating her options.

"Maybe," Marissa finally responded.  "The next two shelves will get us about two feet higher.  They're low, but they slant upwards a little.  I can't guarantee the next one, though.  It's just a couple of feet higher, but I can't lift Gary enough to drag him over it without hurting him even more."

"That may be a risk you'll have to take," Mr. Roarke bluntly informed her.  In a softer tone he asked, "How is he?"

"Not good," Marissa responded, trying valiantly to remain calm.  "He's starting to have trouble breathing, and he's shivering.  I think he's going into shock.  Um, his pulse is rapid and weak, thready I think.  His skin is cool and clammy to the touch.  And the only response I get is when I pinch his arm.  He's moaned a few times, but that's all."  There was another moment of silence then, "Please hurry."

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

Marissa stuffed the radio back into her pack and placed it onto the higher shelf.  Turning back to her friend, she was alarmed to see that the waves were once more tugging at the edge of Gary's blanket.  It was as if the sea, having sampled the delicate morsel and liking the taste, was hungry to reclaim its prize.

Moving quickly, Marissa grasped the yellow plastic just above Gary's shoulders; careful to keep his head and back straight, then began dragging him toward the next shelf.  The first rise was only a few inches, but was enough to wring a painful moan from the unconscious man.  She slid him as far as the edge of the next rise and made him as comfortable as possible under the circumstances, folding the blanket she had been using into a flat pillow for his battered head.  Having done all that she could, Marissa began to pace the rapidly dwindling space in an attempt to warm herself. 

"'Rissa?"

The tiny woman instantly dropped to one knee beside her weakly struggling friend.

"Lie still, Gary," she told him, gently pinning his shoulders down.  "Help's on the way.  Do you understand what I'm saying?  You've had a pretty wild ride, but you're gonna be fine."

"You d-don' lie 'n' better'n me," Gary murmured weakly, his voice little more than a whispery rasp.  He did as she instructed though, and lay back under her gentle urging.  "How bad?"

"A concussion at least," Marissa sighed, smoothing a lock of hair from his brow to reveal a dark bruise and a deep gash over his left eye.  "Some broken ribs, I think.  At least they felt broken when I was pumping the water from your lungs.  Your left arm is a mess.  I'm not sure if your right hip is broken, but it could be."

"Feels like it," Gary rasped.  He licked lips that felt dry and scratchy, tasting salt.  "Did . . . did I . . . d-drown?"

"Almost," Marissa admitted, worried that he had to ask after what she had just told him.  They could be dealing with more than just a concussion.  "Try to stay with me, Gary.  Talk to me."

"'Bout what?"

"Anything.  Um, how are you and Dr. Griner related?" she asked, reaching for a topic.

"His mom," Gary murmured, his voice little more than a breathy sigh.  "Um, sh-she was gran'daughter of, um, oldes' twin."  He let his head roll into the warmth of Marissa's hand.  "Mmm, feels good."

"So how did she get to North Carolina?"

"Don' 'member," Gary sighed.  "Tired."

"Don't you dare go to sleep and leave me here all alone," Marissa chided him, hoping to play on his concern for her in an effort to keep him talking. 

Gary blinked his sightless eyes, striving to stay awake.  "Sorry," he murmured.  "Wh-where are . . . are we?"

"Good question," Marissa chuckled grimly.  She looked around at their dark, damp chamber.   "If we had a snorkel, we could probably swim out, if you were in any shape to swim."

"Figures," Gary mumbled.  "Didn' even get t' the beach.  W-wanted t' see . . . see dolphins."

"You did, huh?  Do you like dolphins?"

"Yeah," Gary whispered, his voice beginning to slur as his eyes drifted shut.  "They're . . . they're cool."

"Open those eyes, Hobson," the petite woman insisted.  "I'm not through talking to you!"

"Hunh?  Wh-what'd I do?"

"You tried to flake out on me," Marissa told him, feeling a pang of guilt at browbeating him this way.  "Now, tell me what it is that you like about dolphins."

"Um, they're like . . . like kids," Gary replied, obviously struggling to get his thoughts in order.  "A-always playin' b-but learnin', too.  Smart.  They're lots smarter 'n us, I think.  And, um, they dance."

"Dance?" Marissa repeated, urging him to explain.

"Yeah," Gary murmured softly, a tiny smile tugging at his dry lips.  "On the water.  They, um, they dance . . . on top, a-and fly . . . under.  So cool.  W-water?"

Marissa recognized this last as a plea, rather than a question.  She stepped over to her pack and pulled out the sports bottle that had been included.  Returning to Gary's side, she carefully lifted his head and slowly dribbled a few drops at a time onto his lips.  Gary licked them up greedily, turning his head slightly and opening his mouth for more.

"Not too much," Marissa cautioned her friend.  "You don't want to get sick."

"N-no," Gary reluctantly agreed, letting her lower his head back onto its makeshift pillow.  "Tired."

"So you like the way dolphins move, huh?" Marissa said, trying to keep him talking.  "I'd love to see that myself."

"Maybe you will," Gary murmured.

"Not likely," Marissa chuckled, trying to keep the conversation to a light banter.  "Cinderella has to return the glass slippers before midnight, remember?"

"O-only . . . only if . . . godmother's there . . . to take it back."

Marissa bit her lip to keep from crying.  She had known from the start that Gary's injuries were critical.  Evidently, Gary knew this too. 

"Don't you do this to me, Gary Hobson," she growled, tightening her grip on his hand.  "Don't you even think about dying on me!  I won't allow it!"

This absurd statement managed to wring a raspy chuckle from the injured man, which soon turned into a series of choking coughs that frightened Marissa.

"D-don't," Gary gasped once he finally managed to catch his breath.  "Hurts . . . hurts to . . . to laugh.  I love you, 'Rissa, an' think . . . know . . . you can . . . move mount'ns w-with your . . . your faith.  But you can't . . . can't stop Death.  I know.  I've tried."

"Please, Gary," Marissa pleaded, reduced to begging now that she could hear the resignation in his voice.  "You have to hang on.  Help really is on its way.  Mr. Roarke, Dr. Griner, a-and the cat, and some guy in a bowler hat who thinks he's Cary Grant, or something.  Not to mention four or five guys who look like they bench press Holsteins for fun.  We'll have you out of here and into a hospital in no time at all!"

Gary's pale brow furrowed and his mouth turned down in a puzzled frown at the mention of the man in the bowler hat. 

"Th-that guy . . . the one w-with the hat," he murmured.  "D-does he have, um, kinda . . . dark hair a-and talk like . . . like David Niven?"

"Y-yes," Marissa replied, puzzled by the change in Gary's tone.  She wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, though.  "Do you know him?"

"S-sorta," Gary whispered, obviously struggling to keep his sightless eyes open.  "Okay," he sighed.  "Y-you win.  I . . . I'll stay a-awake . . . if only . . . to meet M-Mr. Bowler Hat."

Marissa could have wept for joy at hearing the new note of determination in Gary's voice.  She still had no clue as to whom that mysterious man was, or what his connection was to Gary, but she sent a heartfelt prayer of gratitude that she had thought to mention him.  Sinking back with a weary sigh, she gave her friend's hand a gentle squeeze.

"So, what do you think?  Will the Cubs make the playoffs this year?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~@

William almost lost his precarious footing as the cat let out a loud "Mrowr!"  He pressed himself against the damp wall of the cavern as the Briton let out a muffled curse, followed by the faint 'tick' of claws on stone as the cat scampered ahead of them.

"Blasted beast scared the life out of me!"

'Knocked a few years offa mine, too,' William thought ruefully, one hand pressed against his heaving chest.

"It must have caught Mrs. Brown's scent," Mr. Roarke theorized.  He sounded disgustingly calm, under the circumstances.  "This must be the right stream."

"I told you that when we found it," William grumbled, still irked at having had his judgment called into doubt.  If they were going to question his every move, then why had they felt they needed him on this mission?  Not that he wouldn't have found some reason to tag along anyway.  He held up one hand to silence the others as he strained to hear over the rushing noise of the water.  "I can hear Marissa," he reported.  "We must be getting close."

Without another word being spoken, the search party rushed forward, William clinging to the brawny arm of one of the islanders as his guide.  Minutes later, a strangled cry rang out, reverberating over the sound of the rippling falls.

"I'm sorry, Gary," they heard Marissa say, her voice tight with urgency.  "I'm so sorry, but I have to get you to safer ground.  The tide's almost . . . Cat?  Oh, thank God!"

"Marissa!" Mr. Roarke called out.  "Marissa, can you hear me?"

"Over here!"

They found Marissa trying to hold Gary's head and shoulders up out of the rising swells of the incoming tide.  Her back was up against a three-foot high shelf of rock, with the water almost up to her slender hips.  Gary struggled weakly, trying to help her with little success.  The dim lighting was more than enough to reveal his battered condition, not to mention his lack of attire.  The yellow blanket had evidently been swept away at some point.

"Watch out for his leg," Marissa instructed breathlessly as two of the islanders leaped to her assistance.  Less than a minute later, she was sitting on the higher shelf, a real blanket wrapped around her shivering body as the rescue party secured her friend's warmly wrapped form to a backboard.  "Thank God you made it," she sniffled, fighting the sudden wave of exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm her.  "We were running out of things to talk about."

"You just relax, Mrs. Brown," one of the islanders, an older man who had been introduced to her as Dr. Tanaka at one point.  "We'll take good care of your friend."  The swarthy physician started to check Gary's eyes only to be stopped by a quick shake of his employer's head.  "I'm just gonna start an IV on you, Mr. Hobson.  This won't hurt a bit."

"I've heard that one before," Gary grumbled softly.  "Sh-shouldn' ya say 'O-once 'pon a time' first?"

"Good one, Mr. Hobson," Dr. Tanaka chuckled.  He quickly found the vein in Gary's right arm and inserted the angiocath before his patient had a chance to cry out.  "See?  Piece of cake."

"Sez you," Gary mumbled, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.  It really hadn't hurt all that much.  He just grumbled on principle. 

The doctor patted him gently on his good arm before standing up to pull Mr. Roarke aside for a whispered consultation.  Watching them, Marissa frowned at the guarded looks they kept shooting towards Gary, and the way Dr. Tanaka was shaking his head.  In the meanwhile, William knelt between his two friends and clasped their hands in a firm grip.

"Are you two through scarin' the life outta me?" he chuckled, relieved to have them close once more. 

"For the moment," Marissa sighed.  She couldn't take her eyes off Gary's blanket-wrapped form.  He looked so pale under the dark covering.  "We still have a long way to go before we're out of here."

"We'll make it," Gary rasped weakly.  He seemed to be half between true consciousness and a sort of dream state.  "Got to.  Promised 'Rissa."

Mr. Roarke shook his head, evidently not happy with his doctor's report.  With a sigh, he turned and stared straight at Marissa, catching her troubled gaze with his own.  Coming to a decision, he strode over and knelt to face the shivering woman.

"Dr. Tanaka thinks that it would be best to fly Gary straight to a hospital in Sydney, Australia," he told her, speaking softly so as not to disturb their injured friend.  "As you have guessed, his condition is very serious, perhaps critical and his 'Golden Hour' is long past.  We must move swiftly if we are to save him."

"So, what are we waiting for?" Marissa murmured, struggling to rise.  "Let's get cracking!"

"There is a complication," Mr. Roarke sighed.  "If we are to reverse the . . . process that gave his sight to you, it must be done before the two of you leave the confines of this island, and while he still has some level of awareness.  Otherwise the exchange becomes permanent."

Marissa never even blinked.  "So do it," she told him, not understanding his hesitation.

"Mrs. Brown, there is a very good chance that . . ."

"He's going to make it," Marissa said, conviction strong in her voice.  She refused to consider the alternative.

"And if he doesn't?" Mr. Roarke pressed.  "He would want you to retain the gift he has given you."

"He-is-going-to-make-it!" Marissa growled out between clenched teeth.  Her borrowed eyes practically glowed with the intensity of her feelings.  "I won't accept anything less.  Now, let's do this."

With a sigh, that was equal parts despair and resignation, Mr. Roarke nodded his head.  He would have preferred that they wait until all of them were safely above ground, not looking forward to having two sightless people to worry about.  Gary's time was running out, however, and they might not have an opportunity later. 

Mr. Roarke pulled from his pocket the same bottle that he had used before.  Tilting Marissa's head back, he put two drops into each eye.  Kneeling next to Gary, he repeated the process as one of the islanders held the injured man's head still.  Mr. Roarke had to pry each eye open as Gary protested vehemently against his actions.

"Don't," he pleaded.  "Don't do this.  Please!"

"We have to, Gary," Marissa insisted.  "You don't want me having to take care of a baby and the Paper, do you?  The cat will have a fit."

"S-someone else 'll get the . . . the Paper," he mumbled, trying to turn his head away.  "Don't waste this chance, 'Rissa.  Please!"

"No one else will get the Paper as long as you're alive," Marissa told him, taking his chin in one hand, and forcing him to face her.  "We both know that.  Are you telling me that you are going to die?  That you aren't going to fight for your life?  Are you going to make me fly back to Chicago and explain to your parents how I killed you?"

"Wh-what?  What are you . . .?"  Gary blinked reflexively as he tried to process what his friend was saying.  "That's bullsh--, a-and you know it!"

"Is it?" the petite dynamo pressed.  "You gave me your sight and I cursed you for it.  I took the most precious gift anyone's ever given me and slapped you in the face, calling you a selfish bastard.  I drove you into the arms of a demonic seductress who stripped you of more than just your clothes.  She took your will to live, and it's all my fault."

"Sh-she didn't . . . I don't want to die," Gary insisted, his voice weak and uncertain.

"Then prove it," Marissa demanded, relentless.  "Take back your gift, and shoulder your responsibilities.  If you don't, then I'll insist on taking up where you left off."

"No," Gary pleaded in a low whimper.  With an obvious effort, he turned his head toward her voice.  "I c-can't let you . . . Please?"

"Open your eyes, Gary."

"Please?"

"Gary Hobson," Marissa insisted softly.  "Open your eyes."

With a sigh that was more than half sob, Gary did as he was ordered.  Tears streamed from the corners of his eyes as he gave in to his best friend's demand. 

Gary didn't know what he thought was going to happen.  They were a couple of hundred feet underground, with only flashlights for illumination.  Perhaps a slight lessening of the darkness, maybe a few glimmers of light.  He certainly wasn't expecting what happened as his mind slowly gave in to the pull of an even greater darkness.

Absolutely nothing.

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

Under the indirect lighting provided by the flashlights, Marissa watched as Gary's eyes changed from a deep, chocolate brown to a sort of translucent muddy green.  The process was working, she thought.  Then it hit her.

She could still see. 

Their eyes had returned to normal, but she could still see.  Had something gone wrong?  Puzzled, she looked up to Mr. Roarke.

"What did you do?" she snapped.  "I told you that I don't want this!  Not if it means . . ."

Mr. Roarke quickly knelt down, his grim expression silencing her.  Dr. Tanaka gently moved the young woman aside as he, too, crouched down to examine his patient.

"The exchange was incomplete," Mr. Roarke murmured, clearly perturbed.  "I am not a doctor, but it appears that everything has returned where it belongs except for the nerve center that controls sight.  It is that which was damaged by your illness as a child."

"Why didn't that switch back, also?" William asked, alarmed at his young cousin's plight, yet intrigued by this 'process.'

"Interference from this blasted mountain most likely," Bowler Hat grumbled.  "Or it could be due to his injuries.  The lad doesn't look as if he's entirely aware of what's going on."

"He's out of it." Dr. Tanaka sighed, sitting back on his heels.  Looking up, he motioned to his assistants.  "We better get moving," he added, standing to help his fellow islanders take up their burden.  "Time is critical."

"Critical?" William asked.  "You mean he . . . he could . . .?"

"He'll be lucky to make it to the plane," was the doctor's blunt reply.  He grimaced as he looked at Marissa's stricken face.  "I'm sorry," he told her.  "But we don't have time to sugarcoat this.  He's bleeding into his abdomen, and I'm worried about the possibility of a subdural hematoma, or worse, an epidural.  He could have a slow bleeder in there.  He also has several broken ribs and could be bleeding into the lungs.  The best we can do here is to get him stabilized, if he even makes it to the clinic.  We're just not set up to deal with these kinds of injuries," he added, with a significant look at his employer.  "We've never had to be, until now.  Truthfully, I'm surprised he's still with us.  This man is hanging on by a wish and a prayer."  He turned back to stare into Marissa's tearful gaze.  "Whatever else you do, pray harder."

As Marissa allowed William to help her to her feet, Mr. Roarke pulled the gentleman in the bowler hat aside for a whispered conference.

"Is there nothing you can do to help him?" he asked.

"I can buy him some time," Bowler Hat murmured dismally.  He watched as the bearers lifted Gary onto the next shelf.  "For the rest of it . . . he's still rocky, emotionally.  What I can or cannot do depends a great deal upon his state of mind.  If our young Mr. Hobson has any qualms about living, if he thinks that it would be better for all concerned to . . . pass on his burden, then my hands are tied."

"But why would he wish to die?" Mr. Roarke sighed.  "Could Kathleen have instilled her poison so deep within his soul that she has truly stolen his will to live?"

"I don't know," the Briton hissed angrily.  "She has definitely overstepped her bounds and will have to answer for that.  It also tips the scales on a certain cosmic wager that has been going on for a few millennia.  If he dies as a result, especially in what could be construed as a willing sacrifice, there could be an upheaval such as would make Armageddon seem like a childish squabble."

Mr. Roarke looked alarmed at this news.

"I had no idea he was so . . . highly regarded," he murmured. 

"It won't impinge upon this plane of existence," Bowler Hat hastened to assure his host.  "Not so that the average person would notice at any rate.  They might simply find that there is a little more . . . anger in the world.  Regardless, there will still be a very real need for people like our Mr. Hobson.  A great need."

"Then, by all means," Mr. Roarke nodded, "we must find a way to convince him of that."

Bowler Hat shook his head as they finally drifted along in the wake of the rescue party. 

"He can be most stubborn," the Briton chuckled.  "I may have to call in 'the big guns' as the Yanks like to say.  Perhaps an old acquaintance of his would be more persuasive."

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

Gary drifted in and out of consciousness as he was carried back to the surface.  Each time, he was greeted by agonizing pain in his head, his chest, and his hips.  He had long ago stopped feeling his arm. Because of the head injuries, the doctor was unable to give him anything for pain. 

Marissa was there every time Gary awakened, unable to suppress his painful moans.  She took his hand, assuring him that he was not alone, that she would not leave him.  She begged, bullied, and cajoled him to stay awake and to hang on, that everything would be all right.  For her sake, he said that he believed her, usually just before he drifted out once more.

Gary knew the truth, though.  They didn't think he had been able to hear them talking, but he had, and he knew that his time was running out.  He fought to stay awake, not because he had even one chance of making it, but because he still had so much he wanted to say, things that he had been afraid to say before, when it would mean opening up his heart and expressing his true feelings.  He wanted to thank Marissa for being his friend and believing in him, even when he had said or done things that pushed those bonds to the limit.  He wanted to tell her how much he admired her strength and determination, the moral fiber she possessed that always drove her to 'do something,' no matter how difficult the task.  He wanted to let her know how much he loved her and treasured her faith in him, sometimes pulling it about him like a comforting blanket, or a suit of armor to shield him from his own doubts. 

So much he wanted to say, and so little time.

There was also William, the man who had helped guide him through the last two years.  Who figuratively took him by the hand and supported him over the roughest parts.  A man Gary was proud to call friend, and now family. 

Gary also wanted to give them messages to pass on to his mom and dad, to his other cousins, especially Jake with whom he had formed a close bond.  He wanted them to know just how much he loved them and how sorry he was to hurt them in this way, or in any way.  He even had messages for his two favorite cops, Toni Brigatti and Paul Armstrong, especially Toni.  He wanted her to know that, even though she had taken advantage of him, that he held no ill will towards her.  On the contrary, he often wished that things had been different, that the two of them had been able to find some common ground on which to build their relationship.  But such was not meant to be.

Gary wanted to tell Paul how sorry he was to have to keep the tall, African-American cop in the dark as to how he knew so much, and yet, so little.  He wanted to apologize for all the trouble he had inadvertently caused.

There was also Zeke Crumb, his friend and, in many ways, a mentor.  Gary wanted to thank him, and tell him how much it meant to have been able to earn his trust, however grudgingly it had been given.

Miguel Diaz, Molly Green, so many others he wanted to say something, anything to, if only good-bye.

Meredith.  He wanted her to know how badly he had felt to see her go; how much he had wanted things to work out between them, and how happy he was that she had found someone who could give her what he could not.  He also wanted her to tell Geran about his real father someday, to let him know that he had not been abandoned by choice, but by the dictates of necessity.  Gary wanted his son to know how badly he had wanted to hold him close to his heart and never let him go.  How it had devastated Gary to know that he could not be a part of his child's life if he were to keep that child safe from harm.

He wanted to say all of that, and much, much more, but he barely had the strength to breathe.

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

To William, the trip to the surface seemed to take forever as he was forced to listen to his young friend fight for every breath.  In reality, it only took less than half as long to go up as it did to come down.  The only tricky part had been climbing the narrow ledge with the stretcher.  The rest seemed to be just a matter of retracing their most direct path, which the cat was only too eager to sniff out. 

Marissa continued to murmur encouragements to Gary, even when she was certain that he had lapsed into unconsciousness again.  She prayed that, on some level, he could still hear her and fight to stay alive. 

They exited the underground labyrinth on a rocky ledge that led almost straight to the dock.  Making as much haste as they dared, the rescue party nonetheless tried to make the journey as comfortable as possible for the injured man.  Dr. Tanaka radioed ahead, getting the plane warmed up and essential supplies loaded aboard in preparation for their arrival.  He suffered no illusions that Hobson would survive, but the swarthy doctor was determined to give his patient every chance possible.  After all, this was Fantasy Island.  Miracles had been known to happen.

Gary stirred as the warmth of the sun and a fragrant breeze caressed his face.  He forced his eyes open, not sure what to expect.  Marissa and Mr. Roarke had insisted, against his express wishes, on giving him back his sight.  He remembered the drops going into his eyes, and Marissa's voice entreating him to keep them open, but things got sort of fuzzy after that. 

"Din' work?" he whispered, straining to pierce the darkness.

"No, Gary," Marissa sighed, knowing instantly what he meant.  "It didn't work.  Mr. Roarke thinks we should try again when we get to the plane."

"S'okay," Gary murmured drowsily, his voice little more than a breathy sigh.  "Don' need an'way."

"Don't you say that, Gary Hobson," Marissa half snarled, half pleaded.  "You'll need to see when you get better, and you will get better!  Do you hear me?"

"Yes'm," Gary mumbled as his eyes drifted shut.  He would say whatever she wanted him to say, for all the good it would do.  He knew the truth and strongly suspected that she did, too.  Marissa just never knew when to give up.

Marissa clung to Gary's hand as she shot the doctor a hopeful look.   She bit back a sob when he shook his head, not wanting give her false hope.  Refusing to concede that her friend was dying, she continued to speak to him in an encouraging tone.

"Of course you're going to make it," Marissa said, still glaring at the doctor, as if daring him to contradict her.  "It may take a while, but you'll be back on your feet and up to your neck in trouble before you know it."

"Umm," was Gary's only response.

"As articulate as ever, I see," Bowler Hat murmured from somewhere close to Gary's head.

The injured man blinked his eyes open, obviously struggling to remain alert.

"I know you," he rasped.  "D-don' I?"

"We've met, briefly," Bowler Hat confirmed.  He leaned down so that he was speaking almost directly into Gary's ear.  "I can't help you unless you allow me to," he murmured.  "Is your friend's sight worth your life?"

Gary did not answer, having already slipped back into the bottomless abyss.

"Dash it all," Bowler Hat grumbled as he straightened up.  "Almost had him."

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

"We don't have much time," Dr. Tanaka told them as they transferred Gary's still form to the gurney.  Three rows of seats had been removed from one side of the plane to make room for the narrow cot.  "If we can't wake him up by the time everything is loaded, we'll just have to forget it.  Better blind than dead."

As Mr. Roarke helped William into his seat, Marissa knelt down next to the cot and took Gary's face in both hands.  She patted his cheeks, gently at first, then more insistently as he proved difficult to rouse.

"C'mon, Gary," she said loudly.  "You have to wake up so we can do this.  Listen to me, Gary Hobson!  You have to wake up!"

"That may be why it didn't work before," William murmured.  "He probably passed out before the reversal was complete."

"A very real possibility," Mr. Roarke conceded.  He turned to look about the crowded plane.  "There will only be room for Dr. Griner, Mrs. Brown, and Dr. Tanaka to accompany Mr. Hobson, I'm afraid.  The co-pilot is also trained as a medic and may be of some assistance as needed, but you and I must remain behind," he informed Bowler Hat. 

"I'm not sure I like that at all," the Briton murmured, turning a questioning gaze on William.

"In your dreams," the sightless man snorted, sensing the intense scrutiny.  "He's my friend, my patient, and he's family.  I'm not leaving him."

"And neither am I," Marissa added her voice to his.  Her eyes never left Gary's face.  "Gary, I need you to open your eyes!"

"Why?" a quiet voice rasped, startling her.  "Can't see nothin'."

"You will if you open those beautiful eyes of yours," Marissa insisted.

That elicited a tiny grin from Gary as he struggled to obey.

"Gonna make . . . make Emmett jealous," he whispered. 

"Not a chance," Marissa chuckled in relief.  "I'll tell him I heard it from Brigatti."

"Don't!"  Gary's laugh turned into a moan, making him clutch at his sides as the action sent pain shooting through his abdomen.  "That was cruel!"

"I can be cruel when I have to," Marissa reminded him.  "Now, open those eyes."

"Simon LeGree was a piker next to you," Gary mumbled as he forced his eyes to open.

Marissa held his sightless gaze until the last of the equipment was loaded and Mr. Roarke was forced to step out of the crowded compartment.  Every time it looked as if Gary might be wavering, she brought him back with a snap, just by saying his name in her most demanding voice.  It was no use.  For whatever reason, she could still see . . . and Gary couldn't.  Finally conceding defeat, Marissa took her seat and fastened herself in.  Only then did she allow the tears to come.

The moment they were safely airborne, Dr. Tanaka was out of his seat and checking Gary's vital signs.  Marissa could tell from his grim expression that he did not like the results.  A second IV was started in the other arm, doubling the amount of fluids being given in a vain effort to maintain his falling blood pressure.

Gary seemed to sense her spiraling mood because he turned his head as best he could to face her.

"S'okay," he told her.  "I'm . . . I'm not givin' up.  W-wanna hold my first god-baby.  Y-you promised they'd . . . they'd call me . . . 'Uncle Gary.'"

"And they will," Marissa promised.  "Even if I have a dozen."

"A dozen!" William snorted.  "Ouch!  Hey, Gary.  When we get back home, you'll need some occupational therapy.  You know, heighten your navigational skills, learn Braille, stuff like that.  If you don't mind, I'd like you to get that from me.  With Marissa's help, of course."

Gary started to say that it wouldn't be necessary, that he wasn't likely to live long enough to need it.  He quickly realized that, while he may have given up hope, his friends were still desperately hanging on to it, so he decided to play along.

"That'd be great," he whispered.  "K-keep it in the family."

"Well, you two better get on it as soon as we get back," Marissa replied with a muffled sniffle.  "I'm gonna need a lot of help with that blasted Paper."

"Ouch!" Gary mumbled with a rueful grimace.  "F'got 'bout that."

"Also," Marissa continued, "unless it starts coming in Braille, I'm gonna have to learn to read print."

"Double ouch," William chuckled.  "The only one of us that can see, and she can't read!"

"I can too read!" Marissa snorted indignantly.  "I just can't read print!  I know letters by their shape, but it's going to take me a while to learn to translate the shape into the letter."

"We are so screwed," Gary chuckled, grabbing his sides as his laughter turned into painful coughing.

"Okay," Dr. Tanaka stepped in, trying to mask his concern behind gentle scolding.  "That's enough of that.  If you can't play nice . . ."

"Killjoy," Gary mumbled.  He seemed more relaxed, though, which the doctor saw as a good sign.  Reluctantly, the physician moved back to his seat, giving his tacit permission for them to continue.  "Somebody wanna tell me where we're goin'?"

"Australia," William replied.  "Sydney, to be exact.  Ever been there before?"

"No," Gary murmured, his interest picking up.  "What's it look like?"

"Don't know," Marissa sighed.  "We just lifted off about thirty minutes ago.  All I can see out there is water.  Lots and lots of water."

"No dolphins?" 

Marissa had to smile at the petulant note of disappointment in Gary's voice.

"Sorry, Gary.  No dolphins."

"You keep hanging in there for us," Dr. Tanaka spoke up, "and I'll take you to a place famous for its dolphins.  Wild dolphins that'll swim right up to you and let you touch them."

"Really?" Gary asked hopefully.

"Really," Dr. Tanaka promised.  "By the dozen.  Deal?"

Whatever reply Gary was going to make was cut off as the plane gave a violent lurch, the engine sputtering erratically.

"Seatbelts, everyone," the pilot called back.  "We've got problems."

"No sh--," Dr. Tanaka grumbled as he quickly made his way forward.  "We've got a critically injured man back here.  You got a bigger problem than that?"

"How about a bird in the intake?" the pilot retorted.  "A honkin' big albatross, to be exact.  No air, the fuel has no oxygen to burn.  No burn, the engine can't turn over, and no lift.  We are about to become a very expensive glider.  All I can do is look for a place to land and clear the obstruction."

"This is a pontoon plane," the doctor pointed out.  "You have a whole ocean to land on."

"And killer waves to knock us over and sink us," the pilot pointed out.  "Not to mention that I failed the class where we learned to walk on water. A sheltered lagoon would be much better, but I'll settle for just a good stretch of beach.  Look, there are hundreds of small islands for us to choose from and I'm gonna set us down near the first one I see with a beach, so get back there and fasten yourself in.  Without power, I can't make any guarantees as to how smooth this baby's gonna set down."

Dr. Tanaka needed no further convincing.  Hurrying back to his seat, he hastened to obey the voice of experience.

"What's wrong?" Marissa asked.  "Are we in trouble?"

"You remember what I said back in the caverns?" he asked nervously.  "About praying harder?"

"Yes," Marissa murmured uncertainly.  "Why?"

"Could you teach me a few?  I think we need to double up."

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

The landing was every bit as rough as their pilot had feared.  By the time he was able to wrestle the plane onto a small, secluded beach the sun was in just the right position to reflect glaringly from the foam-flecked surface, concealing the rock that tore a jagged hole in the starboard pontoon.  It took all that he and his co-pilot could do to keep the small plane from flipping over and killing them all.

Her mouth was dry with the bitter taste of fear, but Marissa finally managed to swallow, pushing her heart back down into her chest where it belonged.  Still, she was afraid to open her eyes. 

"Marissa?"

'Breathe,' she reminded herself.  'You have to breathe.  C'mon, girl. You can do it.  Air goes in, air goes out.  Breathe.'

"Marissa?"

'Hands.  Do I still have hands?' Marissa mused.  'I can't feel them!  Where are my hands?'

"Marissa, you're gonna have to let go of my hand."  William's voice finally penetrated the fog of panic enveloping Marissa's mind.  "My fingers are goin' numb."

"Wh-what?" the frightened young woman finally murmured.  "Hand?  Wha . . . Oh!  I'm sorry!  I-I don't . . . are we down?  A-are we . . . are we . . . safe?"

"I dunno," William shrugged nonchalantly.  "Why don't you open your eyes and tell me?"

That was when Marissa finally realized that she had closed her eyes, retreating into the comforting darkness in which she had grown up; a world more familiar to her, and much safer, than the sighted one.  Slowly, hesitantly, she opened her right eye.  When nothing jumped out to attack her, she allowed the left one to open.

"We, um, we seem to've landed," she murmured softly, finally releasing her death grip on her companion's hand.  "Sorry."

"No problem," William smiled, wincing slightly as he flexed his fingers.  "I've been party to some pretty rough landings in my youth.  How's Gary?"

"Been better," a soft voice mumbled.

Dr. Tanaka was already out of his seat, checking over his patient.  While reading facial expressions was still new to her, Marissa could tell that he was not thrilled with the results of his examination.  Carefully, he pulled the blanket back up to Gary's chin.

"You just relax, Gary," the swarthy doctor murmured, patting the younger man on the shoulder in what was meant to be a comforting gesture.  "Joe and Ethan just need to get that bird out of the intake and we'll be back in the air before you know it."  As he spoke, Dr. Tanaka was changing out the IV bags, both of which had almost run out.  He looked into the box of supplies and frowned.  Always ready for the unexpected, he still had to wonder if they had packed enough IVs to last if they had to stay the night. 

If Gary lasted until nightfall, that is.

The cat chose that moment to slink out of concealment and climb onto Gary's cot.  Settling itself next to Gary's right side, it laid its head on the human's arm and closed its eyes.  Dr. Tanaka, aware of the special relationship between the two, made no objection.  If the animal could provide even a small measure of comfort, then who was he to deny it?

"Hey, buddy," Gary murmured softly, his voice weak and raspy.  "Where ya been?"

The cat's only reply was a low moan.

"Yeah," Gary sighed.  "Me, too."

The pilot, Joe, chose that moment to step back into the cabin and deliver the 'good news.'

"Ethan and I are gonna set up the tents," he told them.  "The intake is a mess and will take at least an hour to clean out.  It also managed to bend the prop, foul the fuel line, and a few other assorted problems, including the radio.  Then we have that pontoon to patch."  He looked down at the injured man and grimaced.  "Sorry, Doc," he murmured in a softer tone.  "We're grounded for the night, at least."

Marissa's heart sank as her gaze flickered between the two despondent men.

"What does that mean for Gary?" she asked in a hushed voice.

"It means we make him as comfortable as possible," Dr. Tanaka sighed as he straightened from his crouch by Gary's side.  "We try to keep his pressure, and his spirits, up.  It's all we can do," the swarthy physician added at her stricken look.  "I'm sorry."

There was a moment of stunned silence as the meaning of his words penetrated the fog that seemed to have settled permanently in Marissa's mind.  This couldn't be happening.  It was all wrong!  Gary couldn't be dying, not like this!  Not over some stupid bird with lousy eyesight!  Gary was special!  He had a destiny and . . . and a responsibility!  That was it!  She could play on that stubborn sense of responsibility and make him hang on!  She could make him live!

"You can't . . . can't stop Death.  I know.  I've tried."

Was it just hours ago that Gary had said those words to her?  A sudden feeling of hopelessness washed over Marissa as she sank back into her seat.

Gary was dying and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

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

The sun was low on the distant horizon as they carried Gary from the downed plane.  He had been drifting in and out of consciousness and was currently somewhere in between when a shrill whistling caught his attention.  Struggling to remain awake, Gary pleaded with his bearers to set him down.

There it was again, a piping whistle followed by chortling laughter and a loud splash. 

"Gary, we need to get you inside," Marissa told him as she knelt by his side.  "It's going to get cool when . . . when the sun goes down."

"N-no," Gary pleaded.  "Can't . . . can't you hear 'em?"

"Hear what, Gary?" Dr. Tanaka asked, looking around.  Did he hear a plane?  Should they send up a flare, maybe?

"The dolphins!" Gary rasped.  "Th-they're dancing!  So close!  C-can't you see them?"

Looking out toward the open bay, Dr. Tanaka shook his head.  He exchanged a troubled look with the two pilots, clearly thinking that his patient was hallucinating.

"The bay is empty, Gary," Marissa sighed, hating to disappoint her friend.  "There aren't any dolphins."

"B-but . . . I can hear 'em so . . . so clear," Gary sighed.  "T-take me . . . to . . . to the water.  Please?"

"It's going to be dark soon," Dr. Tanaka tried to reason, wanting to get his patient settled in as quickly as possible.

"What does that matter to us?" William countered, siding with his cousin.  In a much softer voice he added, "You said it yourself.  The man is dying.  Let him do it by the water if that what he wants."

Marissa started to argue, still not willing to accept Gary's imminent demise so readily.  Then she saw the cat leap from the plane and run down to the water line.  Dancing back and forth to keep out of the encroaching waves, it nonetheless kept its emerald eyes aimed at the open sea.  Occasionally, it would let out a loud, moaning cry, almost as if it were calling to something.

"Well, I'll be damned," Joe murmured, lowering the binoculars that he had been using to scan the distance.  "He's right.  There's a school of about fifteen, twenty dolphins headed this way.  I don't see how he could've heard 'em from this distance, though."

The small group watched in amazement as the dolphins practically exploded through the open arms of the bay half an hour later, some swimming, others leaping high into the air, others 'dancing' on the wave tops.  All were chattering away in their arcane language of clicks, whistles and something that sounded like laughter.

Gary had finally persuaded them to set his litter as close to the water as possible, on a rocky outcrop just high enough to avoid the salty spray.  To help ease his breathing, Marissa sat behind him, cradling him against her.  Her arms wrapped around his chest just tight enough to keep him upright.  They sat that way, she watching the dazzling display of aquatic acrobatics, while Gary just listened to the exuberant noise and filled in the blanks with his fertile imagination.  He let out a gasping laugh as one of the dolphins let out a loud squeal before splashing them with a slap of its tail.

"How did you know?" Marissa asked, mesmerized yet still concerned for her dearest friend.  "They were so far away!  How could you possibly hear them?"

"Jus' did," Gary murmured.  His voice sounded weak, little more than a breathy whisper as his strength began to fade.  "Talk to me," he whispered.  "T-tell me . . . what you . . . what you see."

"You mean the dolphins?"

"Everything," he sighed.  "The dolphins, the sky at sunset, the water, all of it.  Let me see through your eyes."

It was such a small request, Marissa decided.  How often had he done the same for her?

"They're like children," she told him, her mouth close to his ear so that he could hear her soft voice over the sounds of the dolphins.  "Sleek, shiny children just bursting with . . . with life and energy.  The sun is just touching the horizon and their wet skins are reflecting all the colors of a gorgeous sunset.  The sky and water are blazing with bright, vibrant hues and these amazing children are flying and dancing among the flames.  I-I don't know if I have words to describe it, Gary.  It's so beautiful!"

"You're doin' fine" Gary whispered.  "H-how many, do ya think?"

"At least a dozen, maybe two," Marissa replied, her voice reflecting her growing confusion.  "Or more.  It looks like there's twice as many as there were a few minutes ago."  She looked past the cavorting sea mammals to see even more dorsal wakes flying as straight as arrows for their tiny island.  "What's going on?  Did we land at 'Dolphin Central' or something?"

"'Rissa," Gary sighed.  "I-I need . . . I need you ta do somethin' for me. 's 'portant.  Y-ya gotta promise you'll do this."

"Anything, Gary," Marissa told her dearest friend.  "Anything you want."

"N-need you to . . . to go t' Wash'ton, D.C." he told her, his voice fading with each breath.  "F-find Mer'dith . . . Mer'dith Carson.  O-only it's Chis-Chisholm now.  T-tell her wh-what . . . what happened."

"Gary . . ."

"Promise me!" he insisted, forcing each word out between tightly clenched teeth.  The pain was almost overwhelming. 

"I promise," Marissa told him, her own voice tight with emotion.

"Tell her . . . how much I wish . . . I wish things had been different."  Gary was panting now, each word costing him dearly.  "Ah, God!  T-tell her . . . tell her how much . . . how much I wanted us . . . to raise o-our son . . . together.  Promise me!"

Marissa was almost too stunned to react.  A son?  Gary thought that he and Meredith Carson had a son together?  She began to realize that her friend was truly dying.  He was beginning to hallucinate.

"Tell Geran," he gasped.  "Tell him . . . that I loved him e-even though . . . even if I never got to . . . to hold him.  Um, Jake.  J-Jake can help . . . help you find them.  H-he knows . . . Y-you gotta promise me, 'Rissa!"

"I promise, Gary," Marissa sobbed.  "But you can tell her all of this yourself.  All you have to do is . . . just hang on! Please!"

"How's he doing?"

Marisa turned her tear-streaked face up to see Dr. Tanaka scrambling to join them on their rocky perch.  The physician tossed his bag of instruments onto the shelf before hauling himself over the lip.

"He's getting weaker," Marissa told him candidly, knowing that Gary could hear her, and that he was more aware of his condition than she was.

Dr. Tanaka nodded as he checked the IVs on their makeshift stands.  They had plenty of replacements.  He just wondered how many they would actually need.  The tall islander had no illusions as to his patient's chances.  'Hell,' he sighed to himself, 'it's a miracle he's lasted this long.'

"'m tired," Gary murmured drowsily.  In spite of his best efforts, his eyelids were getting too heavy to keep open.

Marissa looked up at the doctor as he checked Gary's heart and lungs.  Her own heart felt as heavy as lead when he silently shook his head.  It wouldn't be much longer.  Steeling herself, Marissa fought to keep her voice steady, not wanting Gary to feel her pain in addition to his own.

"That's okay, Gary," she told him.  "You . . . you need to rest for a while, anyway."

Gary murmured something unintelligible as he let his eyes slide shut.  He was so tired.  All the pain had finally retreated to a sort of dull ache, a gray area that didn't really seem to be a part of him anymore.  He still felt the need to breathe, but even that wasn't enough to hold him.  Gradually, his whole world shrank down to just the feel of the wind and sun on his face, the warmth of Marissa's arms, and the sound of the waves fading into the distance.

Something was missing.  Where were the dolphins?

His voice was so soft and low, Marissa almost missed his question.  Bending closer, she asked Gary to repeat it.

"Wh-where'd they go?" he breathed.  "Th-the dolphins.  G-gone?"

"They're still here, Gary," Marissa told him, unable to stop the tears as they slid down her cheeks and into his hair.  "They've . . . They're all just . . . floating, staring at us.  I-it's like they're waiting for . . . for something to happen."

"Oh," Gary sighed.  "Sshouldn't . . . shouldn't keep 'em waitin', I guess."  He took a long, shuddering breath, letting it out in a pain-filled sigh.  "Y-you'll tell . . . Mom 'n' Dad . . . I was thinkin' of 'em, a-an' I love 'em?"

"Gary, don't," Marissa sobbed.  "Please don't."

"Love you, 'Rissa."

And he was gone.  No last gasp, not even a sigh.  Just a sudden, inexorable stillness that was suddenly shattered by a long moaning cry.  As if the cat's lamentation was a signal, every dolphin in the now crowded bay sent up a shrill cry of despair.  Startled, Marissa and the others looked around to see a myriad of sleek, glistening heads extending far beyond the lagoon, each one adding its high-pitched voice in a universal cry of sorrow.

Gary Hobson was gone, and there was nothing they could do to bring him back.

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

He could see again.  But it was a gift that came with a price.

Gary watched as they scrambled to carry his limp form down to the beach and begin their futile efforts to restart his heart.  It was a scene that, in this place, he could recall seeing so many times.  He wondered if this would be the last time, or if something would happen to intercede . . . again.

Looking down at himself, he was relieved to see that at least he would not have to traipse off into the Hereafter in his birthday suit.  He appeared to be wearing his familiar garb of t-shirt, jeans, and his most comfortable pair of Reeboks.  His black leather jacket gave him the illusion of added warmth, completing his attire.

Watching his friends, both old and new, fighting to call him back, Gary sighed.  His pain was over, while theirs was just beginning.

"It doesn't have to be, you know."

If Gary had any doubts as to whether or not he could feel anything in this place, they were quickly erased as that sultry voice sent a chill up his spine.  Spinning around, he found himself face to face with . . . Kathleen, Satan's spawn . . . and she wasn't alone.

At first, he was just a tall, slender man with familiar, if indistinct features.  He wore a dark suit that was far too expensive-looking to be 'off the rack.'  Even the way he carried himself spoke of wealth and assurance beyond measure.

"Haven't you caused enough trouble," Gary snorted, unfazed by this new player.  He waved a hand at the dismal scene playing out on the beach.  "You did this, you know.  You drove me onto that ledge.  It wasn't my choice to step out there, or to fall.  Did that ledge really just give way, or was that your doing, too?"

"I'll admit that I . . . overplayed my hand," Kathleen simpered, taking a hesitant step in Gary's direction, "but you left me little choice."

"You could've taken 'no' for an answer," Gary shot back, stepping away from her grasp. 

"And I should have," she quickly agreed, halting her advance.  "That's why we're heah, to offer you a chance to . . . to undo all of this."

"She's right," that new entity murmured in a voice so like Gary's that it could have issued from his own throat.  "None of this should have happened.  My . . . over eager associate here has definitely stepped outside the rules . . ."

"Broken them you mean," Gary grumbled, not to be deterred.  He stared daggers at the stranger that now wore his face.  "I thought your kind could only coerce or persuade, use our own weaknesses against us.  This . . . thing," he added, waving a hand in Kathleen's direction, "was ready to rape me if she couldn't get what she wanted any other way.  When even that didn't work, she killed me."

"That's not fair," Kathleen pouted, slinking behind her companion.  "You died from yoah injuries."

"That you inflicted," Gary hotly reminded her. 

"That's beside the point," Kathleen sniffed disdainfully, trying to dismiss his argument as irrelevant.

"Sorry, my dear," the other murmured with a sly smile.  He sauntered forward a few steps as he spoke.  "I'm afraid that is the point.  What you did was clearly beyond your bounds, and we all know it.  Now, we must reach some kind of accord with our young friend here, so that we may 'get things back on track' so to speak."

For every step either of them took forward, Gary took one back, maintaining the distance between them without actually retreating. 

"The only thing I want from you is your absence," he told them.  "I think you've done enough harm.  Don't you?"

"But we can undo all of this," Kathleen told him.  As she spoke, she strolled around her cohort, trailing a hand across his broad chest as she kept one eye on Gary, as if stroking him by proxy.  "We can turn the clock back as far as you like.  Back to the day you first saw that ad, or," she added, stepping behind the doppelganger, "even before you ever got that paper.  We can give you back everything that rag took from you."

"Even me."

The figure that stepped into sight was the very image of Marcia, a softer, gentler Marcia with eyes that seemed to glow with love.

Or hunger.

"We could be good together, Gary," she murmured in Marcia's voice.  "We could go back to before I ever started law school.  I'd give you strong sons and beautiful daughters.  Life could be everything you ever wanted it to be."

Gary wasn't buying it.  Not for one minute did he believe that they could give him back the life he had lost before the Paper ever landed on his doorstep.  Even if they could, would he want it?  True, it had caused him a lot of pain and suffering, but look at what he had accomplished with it!  A presidential assassination had been foiled, a murder for hire scheme exposed.  He had saved hundreds, perhaps thousands that would otherwise have died or suffered needlessly.  He had helped others come to terms with the tragedies that he had not been able to avert, and with amazing abilities that rivaled the miracle of the Paper.

"And I'd still be working for that weasel-faced slave-driver and having to wear that damned tie.  No thank you." 

"Let's not be so hasty," that other chuckled, certain that he had found a chink in Gary's armor.  He waved a hand at 'Marcia' and 'Meredith Carson' stood in her place.  "What about the mother of your only child?  The woman that you were certain was 'the one.'  Don't you sometimes wonder what your life together could have been like?"

Seeing the image of Meredith was like an electric shock.  The depth of his feelings for the woman who had stolen his heart, and betrayed his trust, still frightened him.  Gary was not one to give himself to just any warm body.  Love, for him, was not just a physical act; it was more than just the union of two bodies, but also two souls who were meant to be together.

As he and Meredith were not.

"Gasoline on water," Gary snapped, trying to hide his alarm at this entity's knowledge of Geran.  "And the Paper was like a lit match.  Plus, I never would've met her if it wasn't for the Paper."

'Meredith' was quickly replaced with 'Toni Brigatti.'

If Gary had been sitting down, he would have fallen off his chair.  Had these guys been paying attention at all the past few years?  The fiery detective was slender, petite, and absolutely one of the most beautiful women he had ever known.  The few times they had shared a kiss, it had been . . . incredible.  He had almost been consumed by the smoldering passion that lay just beneath the surface.  But she also had a driving need to be in control at all times.  To the world at large, she presented a tough as nails persona, all the while hiding the lonely, vulnerable woman who felt just as empty inside as he did.

This 'Brigatti' gave him a look of adoration, a far cry from the stormy, sometimes openly hostile gaze she usually turned on him.  There was no steel to this false image.  It was not his 'Toni Brigatti.'

"You've got to be kidding," he snorted, having quickly regained his composure.

Suddenly, 'Erica Paget' stood before him, blonde hair glistening in the mists, blue eyes twinkling with her familiar impish smile.

"What about me?" she purred seductively.  "You could have me and be a father to Henry, too.  Everything you ever wanted . . . in one package."

"Yeah," Gary chortled derisively.  "But you'd have to be part of that package.  You and all of your little put-downs and snide remarks.  No, thank you."

"My, you are a hard sell," the stranger murmured.  A snap of his fingers replaced 'Erica' with . . . 'Nick Sterling!'

"Oh, now that's sick!" Gary snapped, backing away with a look of revulsion.  "Just what kinda game are you playin' here?"

"Nothing like that, I assure you," that other chuckled.  "But haven't you ever wished, just for a moment, that you were in his shoes?  He also helps people, but he does it openly and garners accolades by the bushel!  Yet he never has to risk his life, only time and money.  We could do that for you.  Give you all the wealth and power to change the world to your satisfaction.  Wouldn't you like that?"

For just a fleeting second, Gary was tempted.  That was all, just tempted.  The world had plenty of people to pick up the pieces after disaster happened.  The Paper had let him get there before.  That was the difference.  He vividly recalled the woman who was about to spend an heirloom nickel worth over a million dollars so that her children would have milk and bread.  If he had not stepped in, another would have profited from her loss and those same children would still be hungry.  That and countless other similar instances made his choice a snap.

"Go to Hell," he told them.  "You don't have anything I want."

The false 'Gary' fixed the real one with a smoldering gaze, his mouth turned up in a thin smile that fell far short of those glimmering eyes.

"You want us to go home so soon?" he asked in a lazy drawl, reminding the real Gary of a song that had been very popular when he was little more than a boy.  Maybe Johnny Cash knew more than he had let on when singing 'The Devil Went Down To Georgia!'  "Such manners!  I'm sure your saintly mother never taught you to be so rude!" the fiendish entity snarled.  His voice deepened, becoming more guttural as he took a menacing step forward.  "Why, we've barely gotten to know each other!"

As the real Gary Hobson watched, fascinated, the face on that 'other Gary' began to change, becoming leaner, darker . . . and more sinister.  Anger radiated from that demonic visage . . . anger and hatred so strong that Gary could almost feel the heat from where he 'stood.'

"There must be some way we can . . . make amends," that other growled, sounding more threatening than appeasing. 

Looking into those blazing eyes, Gary wondered if it would hurt when his soul was incinerated.

"Nothing immediately comes to mind," Gary told them, finding a small kernel of victory when his voice didn't crack.

"You heard the man," a familiar voice stated from behind Gary.  "Get lost."

Gary didn't know if he could break anything in his present state, but he sure gave it a good try as he spun on one foot to face this newest apparition.  He didn't know why he should be surprised to see his old friend, Andrew.  After all, he was the Angel of Death, and Gary was dead.

Wasn't he?

"You can't have him," that other 'Gary' snarled.  "We still have 'business' to discuss."

"You're a fine one to talk," Andrew snorted in his soft Southern drawl.  "The way you two play fastball with the rules is pathetic.  First, you kill the man, then you try to 'make amends?'  Give me a break!"

"This is none of your affair," Kathleen hissed, once again in her own form.  "He's still fair game."

The blonde haired angel sauntered forward to stand beside a very befuddled Gary, his white suit almost glowing in the ethereal sunset.

"You made it my business when you killed him," Andrew reminded them.  "You directly interfered with the course of his life.  Even we have to get special permission to do that, which is rarely given.  Now, go on before we have to bring this up before the 'Arbitrator.'  You are aware that this could be construed as forfeiture of 'The Wager,' aren't you?"

Gary watched in stunned silence as the other entity's face seemed to . . . melt, flowing into the dark, swarthy features of something . . . evil.  Fire literally blazed from those soulless eyes, promising retribution.

"We will meet again, Mr. Hobson," he snarled in a cold, hollow voice.  "This is far from over."  Without so much as a blink of those demonic eyes, he and Kathleen vanished in a flash of light, leaving behind the stink of sulfur.

Gary wrinkled his nose and waved his hand to dispel the fumes.

"He needs to cut back on the spicy foods," he murmured.  A snort of laughter drew Gary's attention back to his visitor.  "So," he sighed.  "Is this it?  Have I bid my last farewell to my family and friends?  Or are you here to play 'Let's Make A Deal' too?"

"No deals," Andrew told him with a gentle smile.  "More in the way of compensating you for your loss.  None of this," he added, waving his hand toward the grim scene on the beach, "was supposed to happen.  Kathleen was only supposed to tempt you by offering what your heart most desired.  Instead, she gave in to her desires, and let her frustration and hunger get the best of her."

"I'll say!" Gary snorted, staring downwards.

William was holding a sobbing Marissa as Dr. Tanaka helped Joe and Ethan load the blanket-draped litter bearing Gary's mortal remains back aboard the plane.  The cat paced back and forth on the rocks overlooking the water, the place where Gary had died, while a host of dolphins raised their voices in a chorus of lamentation.

"What's with the dolphins?" he asked, trying not to look at his friends.  He thought that, being dead, he could no longer feel pain.  He was wrong. 

"They came to pay their respects," Andrew told him.  "Did you think that Guardians only walked the land?  Think about it," he chuckled at Gary's stunned look.  "Haven't you ever heard those stories of Dolphins helping shipwrecked sailors, or guiding ships to safety?"

"Wow," Gary murmured softly, gazing at the aquatic mammals with a new sense of kinship and respect.  "I guess I never thought about it in those terms.  Dolphins, huh?  No wonder I've always felt . . . I don't know, fascinated by them."

Reluctantly, Gary turned his attention back to his friends . . . his family.  William still held Marissa close, although her sobs had been reduced to sniffles and hiccups.  It hurt Gary to see her like that, so devastated by his loss.  He had known that she cared for him, that he had never known a truer friend, still . . .

"So, what kind of 'compensation' are we talking about," he sighed.

"It would be kind of a mixed blessing," Andrew told him, putting one arm about Gary's shoulders as he gently forced the mortal to look away from the scene of his death.  "Because of . . . extenuating circumstances . . ."

"You mean Kathleen trying to jump my bones," Gary grumbled.

Andrew was having a hard time keeping a straight face, chewing his lower lip as he fought not to laugh.

"Um, something like that," he admitted.  "As I was about to say, the purpose behind your little excursion was supposed to be a sort of 'eye-opening' experience for Mrs. Brown, not a punishment.  It was Kathleen who . . . altered the last part of the fantasy to make it harsher than it might have been.  She was also directly manipulating Mrs. Brown's emotions, enhancing the extent of her reactions."

"That makes sense," Gary murmured, thinking back to Marissa's emotional explosion the day before.  "Marissa usually doesn't go off half-cocked like that."

"No, she doesn't," Andrew agreed.  "Because of that, her memories of what happened will be altered slightly, while yours and Dr. Griner's will remain intact.  But you won't be remembering it as something that has happened, but as more of a shared dream.  Of the three of you, only you would know the truth."

"W-wait," Gary said, figuratively 'digging in his heels.'  "If you can make us forget, why do we have to remember any of this at all?"

"Think about it, Gary," Andrew replied with a sad smile.  "Do you really want to have to live all of this over again?"

Gary thought about it, very briefly.  With a shudder, he let Andrew guide him into a swirling mist.  Then it hit him.  Again?

"Howzat?  Wh-whadaya mean, again?"

(Author's note:  For the reader who was hoping Gary would not be hurt in this story, sorry about that.  I think you'll like the ending, though.)