Gosh, didn't realize the story was getting to people that much! Sorry if I'm frustratin' you with the mystery, I have this unfortunate tendency as a writer to obfuscate, complicate, and generally make my readers miserable. I'm not real good at keeping things simple... like you couldn't tell. :) Anyhoo. What does everyone think of Tamerlaine? Not that it matters 'cause she's gonna be in it anyway, but still... thanks for the reviews! Sorry I keep leaving you hanging, Sirinial, but Van Helsing's in it a lot more coming up, and who doesn't want to see that little pipsqueak Simon get his comeuppance, huh? Also, romance alert for this chapter... I just couldn't leave well enough alone, could I?

Chapter Twenty: Apology

I turn to you in deepest night

To make the darkness take to flight

"We're going to be here for a while," said Tamerlaine Gentle, shifting till she lay on her back. "You may as well be comfortable."

"Comfort is not an option, I'm afraid," groaned Carl, sinking slowly till he sat on the floor.

"Why not?"

"Oh— I— " He did not want to tell her about the pain in his leg. "Its— It's these clothes, you see. I'm not used to trousers— stop laughing. I'm not. Honestly. I'm used to wearing robes everywhere."

Tam looked him over, while Carl's face burned. "Well, I'm wearing a dress. Would you like to trade?"

"Thank you," said Carl politely, "but it just wouldn't be the same."

Tamerlaine shifted onto her side so she could look at him. "I can't believe you became a monk, Carl."

"Friar," said Carl automatically, and then covered his mouth with his hand. "Sorry. Van Helsing said if I corrected that one more time he'd cut off my ears."

Tamerlaine smiled. "I wonder how you'd look, streamlined?"

"Really, Tam—"

"No, wait. I'm interested now. I must know." She got to her knees and shuffled over to Carl, put her hands over his protuberant ears and pressed them flat against his head. She laughed. Carl made a face at her.

"How do I look?"

"Like a Greek god," she answered, half-seriously, then leant forward and kissed him lightly on the mouth. "Carl, remember when we were children and you said you'd marry me the day I turned sixteen?"

"I remember," Carl whispered. He was shaking badly and hoped she wouldn't notice.

"Well, I'm past thirty, Carl. You broke your promise— you missed your chance—" She smiled slightly and kissed him again.

"Tam," Carl whispered.

"Yes."

"Will you—"

"Yes," she said. But the question she expected was not the one he asked.

"Tell me about Simon," he said, reaching up and, gently but firmly, taking her hands away from his face.

If he expected a dramatic reversal from Tamerlaine, he was disappointed. She simply sighed a little and seated herself next to him.

"Did you read my book, Carl? I always said I was going to be a writer— of course I had intended to write something else."

"No," said Carl truthfully. "I didn't think it would help me— enjoy life anymore."

She smiled delightedly. "You always did have a marvelously succinct way of putting things, Mr. Hampton. Well, never mind. I'm just as glad that you didn't— it would have made you sad, which in turn would have depressed my spirits drastically." She bit her lip and shook her head. "No one should be put away like that, to be forgotten," she said softly. "Even those who truly do deserve it—"

"They said terrible things," said Carl listlessly. "About what they thought you had done. But I never believed them, I swear I didn't, Tam."

She smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. "That's so— incredible of you, Carl."

"There was no evidence," offered Carl eagerly. "There was nothing that seriously points to your having— " He choked on the word murdered. "On your having done those things at all."

Tamerlaine said slowly, "But suppose they had been telling the truth."

Carl pushed her away and jumped to his feet. "They weren't!"

Tamerlaine watched him and her eyes filled with tears. Carl knelt immediately and put his arms around her, like he used to do when they were little.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled into her hair.

"'S alright."

"But— you don't honestly believe—"

"I don't know what to believe!" she cried out, breaking away from him. "All my memories, of my childhood till I was in the asylum and nearly seventeen, are jumbled, mixed up, bleeding into each other. The only knowledge was what they told me I'd done, and the only constant—" She swallowed. "Was you."

Carl breathed deeply to try and steady his voice.

"I do not believe for one moment," he said slowly, "that you killed anyone. Not your parents, and not all those who died a few days ago. I don't believe it."

Her voice shook, and tears trembled upon her eyelashes. "But how do you know?"