Author's note: Song interwoven in the chapter is by Sarah McLachlan

The One and Only Jessie Bannon – A Jonny Quest: The Real Adventures Fanfiction

by Akane-Rei

Chapter Fourteen: For That Second Chance

- - FLASHBACK- -

"Spend all your time waiting . . ."

THIRTEEN YEARS AGO

"Jonny, are you ready?" a voice penetrated his consciousness.

Jonny Quest looked behind him and found Hadji looking inquiringly at him. He looked back outside through the window he has been staring at and gave a little shrug.

Dammit, where are you? he thought. He adjusted the black suit he wore, uncomfortable at the feel of the formal attire.

He felt his friend approach him from behind and join him in his solitude.

"It is a beautiful day," Hadji commented.

They watched as rows of cars approached the driveway. Jonny stared intently at the arrivals.

"Are you looking for someone in particular?" Hadji asked.

Again, Jonny continued to stare.

This is not funny, Jess, he thought. He looked at his suit. I can't believe you actually succeeded in getting me in this get up.

"Dr. Quest and Race are probably waiting for us downstairs," said Hadji.

Jonny braced his palms against the windows.

Not funny at all, he thought.

"Jonny," entreated Hadji. "It's time."

"I'll follow you out," replied Jonny tersely, still staring at the driveway.

Definitely not funny, he thought.

He felt more than heard Hadji sigh behind him as the Sultan of Bangalore slowly walked towards the door. He closed his eyes for a second and then continued to stare.

"I'll be out in a minute," Jonny continued.

He heard the door click behind him as he let out a breath he's been holding.

"C'mon, Jess," he whispered. "Don't let him win."

He continued to stare at the driveway.

"Show up," he begged softly. "Tell them it was all a mistake."

He waited.

He pounded his fists softly at the glass window.

Seconds passed. Minutes...

"Show up," he whispered again. "The good guys are supposed to get the happy ending."

Again, there was no change in the scenery. No new car arrived. No new person entered.

"Jonny," he heard his father's voice muffled through the doorway.

Giving the window one last look, he opened the door and met his father.

"I'm here, Dad," he said. "Sorry to keep you guys waiting."

He saw his father nod as they both headed away from the room.

Giving the door to the room one last glance, he cringed and slumped his shoulders.

You're supposed to show up, Jess, he thought. You're supposed to show up here and tell us it was all a big misunderstanding.

He heard the click of his and his father's shoes as they walked towards a huge hall. He stared up and saw the number of people seated in ordered rows. He saw the beautiful flowers that decorated the room. And he saw the closed casket in the middle.

I'm not supposed to be attending your funeral, he thought.

- - END FLASHBACK- -

PRESENT DAY, PARIS

"For that second chance . . ."

"Mademoiselle Renard," said Hadji smoothly, ignoring his friend's small blunder. "Allow us to introduce ourselves," he continued. "My name is Hadji Singh and this is my friend—"

"Jonny," interrupted Jon. "Jonathan Quest.," he corrected, extending his hand in greeting.

Hadji gave his friend a sideways glance and faced the woman in front of them as recognition dawned in her eyes.

"The men," she said softly. "You are the men from the cafe."

Amazing, he thought. Her face, her hair. He was surprised the word 'Jessie' did not come out of his mouth the way it did to Jon.

She shook their hands in greeting and opened the door wider, letting herself out more. She gave a self-deprecating shrug as she presented herself.

"I'm quite sorry," she said, laughing softly, "I am normally much neater than this."

Hadji and Jon smiled, seeing the oil paints that stained her ragged jeans.

"On second thought," she pondered with mock seriousness, "this is the way I usually am."

"We hope we are not interrupting anything," began Hadji, his eyes dancing merrily.

"Ah non, non, non," she said softly. "I was just finishing up," she continued with a vague gesture inside her house. She gave them a shy smile. "I've asked before, but...can I be of help to you gentlemen?"

Hadji felt himself give a quick smile in return and answered, "Actually, mademoiselle, we came to ask you a few questions regarding that said incident by the cafe." Thinking a little to himself, he added, "If you do not mind that is."

She nodded her head slowly.

"But of course," she answered. "Although, I do not know how much of a help I can be to you. The police have already asked me their questions and I don't believe I had that much to contribute in regards to being an eye witness."

Hadji looked at Jon in perplexity. Their eyes both communicating their confusion on the fact that the police records they were able to obtain showed no evidence that a certain artist known as Siann Renard was ever questioned.

Jon gave his usual quick grin and replied, "We are conducting our own investigation of the matter. The police have a lot in their hands already and we wanted to make sure that no stone was left unturned."

"I am more than willing to help you," she responded energetically, turning to him. "Your actions prevented Michèl from being harmed and for that, I owe you a debt." She smiled. "It is highly probable that you saved his life."

"For a break that would make it okay. . ."

Jon felt his face flush at her praise and at the same time called himself all kinds of idiot. He was blushing like a schoolboy. Not quite the image he's used to.

"It was nothing," he stammered. "I mean, well...not that Michèl was nothing but that...I mean that anyone would have done the same." He can feel Hadji watch him with amusement. He can almost feel his friend's laughter.

He saw her smile and shake her head gently. "I don't think so," she said gravely. "And I'm sure Michèl's parents are more than grateful, too."

Her smile. It made him feel warm inside. Strange, that.

A slight breeze blew, and he watched as the wind played lightly with her hair. He saw her shiver slightly and tuck her red hair behind her ear. Was it his imagination or did she seem to suddenly close up? A distracted look entered her eyes and he noticed her hug herself.

He watched her glance nervously behind before looking back and smiling at them. With a slight hesitation in her voice, she offered, "Perhaps it is better to talk about this inside? You both must be cold out there."

He glanced at Hadji before giving her a warm smile.

"Thank you," he said softly.

He waited for her to step back as she opened the door wider for them. With a burgeoning trepidation, he entered her home.

And for some reason, for the first time in many years, he felt like he had really come home as well.

- - FLASHBACK- -

"There's always one reason to feel not good enough . . ."

He entered his room, feeling wan and gray. He shut the door softly behind him and leaned back against it, his hands bracing himself against the knob.

Funny how everything seemed different afterwards. He wouldn't have thought so, but the presence of people actually does make a difference in how you see things. There's something intangible about a presence that affects the way you look at your surroundings, at yourself.

He gave himself a self-deprecating grin. Now he was starting to sound like Hadji.

At the thought of his friend, his grin disappeared. Slowly, he raised his right hand to his jaw and winced. He could still feel a familiar tinge of pain in his jaw from that night.

Hadji.

Jessie.

He knew he should be thankful. On the surface of his mind, KNEW he should be thankful. God knows what would have happened if Hadji hadn't stopped his crazy dash towards the cliff.

A knot formed in his chest as a voice in his head taunted him, 'You cannot save her.'

The knot tightened.

He wouldn't have been able to save her. And really, he knew that.

The thing is, sometimes, he could swear he could hear her scream. Scream for him. And in his mind, he can see Hadji clutching at him with all his might, preventing him from helping her.

And he, Jonny Quest, was powerless.

Funny how the non-presence of another person can affect the way you see other people.

Hadji stood in front of his best friend's (his brother, really) door and stared. He had been about to knock at the door and ask how Jonny was doing, but something stopped him. Maybe it was the memory of the blank look in his friend's eyes at the funeral that made him waver.

Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand to knock again, only to pull it back down. He stared at the door again, this barrier, and he knew that it might as well have been a brick wall or ten feet of concrete. He could not reach is friend. Not then, not now.

Sometimes, he himself did not know whether he wanted to talk about what happened or not.

He stared at his fist as it made another failed attempt to knock.

You cannot save her.

There are times when his own voice that night taunted him over and over.

You cannot save her.

He leaned his head against the door softly, and braced himself with his palms. He closed his eyes, but he knew he would not be able to escape it. He would remember the look on Jonny's eyes at the funeral. He would see his friend's blue eyes in his mind, and in that instant, those eyes would be filled with blame. He saw this blame. He saw it and accepted it.

Pushing himself against the door, he stood and started walking towards his own room. His movements were jerky, belying his calm facial expression. He knew that Jonny resented him deep down for interfering, for stopping him from following Jessie. Just as he also knew he would have done the same thing over and over again, given the chance.

But that was not why he accepted Jonny's accusing stare.

The truth was, he knew deep down that had he done things differently in the beginning, he would not have been attending Jessie's funeral earlier that day.

- - END FLASHBACK- -

"And it's hard at the end of the day . . ."

She led them to the parlor, silently thanking the fact that Pierre had taken an early night. The presence of these men would have made him ask more questions.

She was tired of his questions. She had some questions herself, but he didn't seem to have the notion to answer it. Besides, Pierre would worry. He was born worrying and this would only make him overly concerned. She sighed. Sometimes, Pierre is even more over-protective than Luc ever was.

"Would you like to have something to drink?" she asked them as she seated them. "Coffee or tea?"

"No, thank you," both of them said at the same time.

She smiled. There was something about these two that made her feel at ease. It was strange, really. Perhaps experiences such as the one at the cafe have a tendency to give people a common bond. Perhaps she just liked them because they thought of Michèl at all at such a time. Or perhaps she was just thinking about it too much. Whatever it is, she liked them. And deep down, she knew she would trust them.

She trusted them.

She shook her head at her fanciful notions. It's absurd, of course, to think that you can trust someone, strangers really, at such short notice. She wasn't a trusting person by nature. But these two . . . there was something about them.

"Are you sure you don't want anything to drink?" she asked again as she sat on one of the chairs.

She watched them nod.

She folded her hands in her lap and tilted her head to the side.

"So, messieurs, how may I help you?" she asked, going straight to the point.

"I need some distraction . . ."

He stared at her under the bright lights of the living room. He green eyes were serene as she stared at them inquiringly.

Green eyes. Her green eyes were the exact same shade of green as--

Jessie, he thought.

He caught himself. No, not Jessie. Jessie was dead.

But as he stared at her green eyes, he found himself forgetting. He was getting sucked into a void of memories. He can see in his mind the times he and Jessie and Hadji had traveled and laughed --

Green eyes sparkling

--And cried.

Green eyes filled with tears

And then there was something else he saw in those eyes.

Redemption, he thought.

Maybe, just maybe, he could find redemption.

"Perhaps you can start by recounting your version of the scene," Hadji's voice came in, interrupting the train of his thoughts.

He saw her bite her lower lip.

"Well," she said, "as I told the police . . ."

Her voice was slightly deeper and her face more mature.

Funny. He never really thought of Jessie as growing old. She has always been sixteen to him. It was ridiculous really. Of course Jessie would have had to have grown up, had she been alive. Yet to see her image superimposed on an older frame took him aback a little.

There were slight differences here and there, but they were still undoubtedly hers. Still Jessie. He was staring at what Jessie would have looked like had she been alive. He could see the melding of Estella and Race's features. He could even see Linna in them.

And it was all an illusion. This woman, this Siann, wasn't Jessie any more than all of the women he'd flagged down the streets of Maine. Jessie was dead.

In the back of his mind, he wondered why those words sounded hollow.

Such green, green eyes.

Redemption.

"And that's about it," she said softly.

He shook himself. He missed whatever it was she had been saying. He would have to ask Hadji to recall everything to him later.

He saw Hadji nod his head in acknowledgment as he carefully stood up.

"Thank you so much for your cooperation, Mademoiselle Renard," Hadji said formally to their host, holding her hand up and down once, in the European version of a handshake.

Jon followed suit, grasping her hand with his fingers, feeling their warmth.

Blood pumped through those hands.

"Thank you for your hospitality, mademoiselle," he said gravely.

She smiled.

"It's madame," she corrected gently. "Madame Renard."

He nodded, showing none of the turmoil he felt upon hearing her marital status.

"And you are both more than welcome," she continued. "As I have said, this is the least I can do for the men who saved Michèl."

There was a ring in her finger. How come he didn't notice it before? He stared at the gold band intently.

'Well, well,' he thought, 'what do you know?'

He had to admit that he had never thought of Jessie as married either. She was a year older than him, but he had considered her his peer.

And when she died, she just stayed that way. It was strange to think of her as married.

But she's not Jessie, is she? a voice taunted at the back of his head.

That's right. She's not.

"Jon and I would be taking our leave now," he heard Hadji say. He felt his friend give him a nudge and a look.

It took him awhile to notice that he still had Siann's fingers in his hand.

"Oh," he muttered. "Oh!"

Smooth, hot shot, real smooth.

He gave a quick start.

Where did that come from? he thought.

He quickly let go of the hand and stepped back.

"Sorry," he said lamely. What was he thinking?

He could feel her glance at him nervously, peering at him from under her lashes. He berated himself under his breath.

"I am sorry for my friend's behavior," said Hadji. "He is usually quite well-mannered."

He glared at his so-called friend before turning his attention back to Siann.

"I can apologize for myself, Madame," he said engagingly. "I'm afraid I was quite distracted tonight and for that I am sorry."

She smiled as she led them to the door out.

"That's quite alright," she said. "I hope I was able to help you a little in your own investigation of the matter."


"Oh beautiful release. . ."

"Smooth, hot shot," I said, "Real smooth."

I gave a wry grin.

Jonny.

I'm here.

Can you hear me?

"Memory seeps from my veins . . ."

Siann gently ran her thumb through her other fingers.

Warmth.

She had felt warmth.

When he held her hand that one moment, that one long moment, she felt warm. The coldness that had been her constant company these days . . . it had disappeared.

How peculiar.

"Again, thank you for your hospitality, Madame," said her dark-skinned companion.

She nodded, still deep in thought, as she watched them walk away from her home. She stared at Monsieur Quest intently.

Jonathon Quest.

She touched her face with the hand he held.

Warmth.

There's something about the American . . .

"Let me be empty and weightless and maybe . . ."

There's always been something about Jonny.

Ever since we were kids, there had always been something about Jonny that made me like him. For all intents and purposes, I was quite ready to do the opposite when I first heard about him. He was, after all, one of the reasons my father couldn't spend all his time with me.

But then I met him. And there was something about him that just . . . touched me. In his eyes, I saw a loneliness that was reflected on my own.

Oh he would never admit to having it. And it's true that I rarely saw this side of him. But, in those rare occasions, something in me wanted to reach out and comfort. At the same time, I knew that by doing it, I would have also received comfort.

Tonight, when I heard his voice, I felt that same need to reach out.

There has always been something about Jonny. Whether it was his inherent good nature or something intangible . . .with Jonny, I had always thought I had found a kindred spirit. A best friend.

And later on, perhaps something more.

I looked around the walls of my prison and I wonder when I'll ever see him again, trapped as I am now. Will he find me from where I am? Will he know me, the person that I've become? Sometimes I wonder whether I'm just a shell of the real me. Whether I'm still me, the one who's traveled all over the world and had grand adventures, the one who kicked some major as- erm.butt in Quest World, the one who tried to live life to its fullest. Sometimes I wonder if being in prison for over a decade erases all that about you.

Please, Jonny, please recognize me.

"I'll find some peace tonight."

Siann tilted her face up to catch the breeze as she stood by her balcony. She felt good. In fact, she felt more than good. She had not felt this . . . tranquil, yes, tranquil, in quite a while. It was the feeling she gets when she knows she can sleep, and sleep undisturbed.

She didn't know why, but she was sure, there would be no cold dreams tonight.

And so, she leaned forward on her balcony railing and savored the night.

"In the arms of an angel."

Race Bannon stepped into the living room and frowned at his daughter, who was happily sitting on Benton's lap as she pretended to read the newspaper before him.

"Young lady," he said in a mock stern voice, "do you know what time it is?"

Linna looked at him with her big green eyes and smiled impishly.

His heart melted.

She raised her arms up at him as she gestured him forward, her legs dangling from her position.

"Time to sleep?" she asked innocently, her head bobbing up and down, as if spurring him to agree with her assessment.

"Yup," he said cheerfully, picking her up from Benton.

He could see Benton smile in wonder at her and he felt a tug at his heart.

"But I'm waiting for Uncle Jonny," she explained slowly, looking straight in his eyes.

He shook his head.

"Nope, you're not," he said. "You're going to go to sleep."

Benton smiled at their conversation.

"But he'll be here any minute," insisted Linna. "He just went to see a girl."

Race's eyebrow perked up.

"A girl?" he inquired with a slight intonation in his voice, directing his gaze at Benton.

He could see his friend's face flush.

"Anything I should know about, Benton?"

He frowned as gave him an almost panicked look before replying calmly.

"I'm not quite sure about it either. I believe it was a woman he met at one of the cafes here."

"Oh?" he asked, his voice going another pitch higher, remembering what Estella had told him that morning.

Benton nodded, going back to his newspaper.

"Benton," he said in a threatening note. "Spill it."

Race watched as his friend looked up at him from his reading.

"Actually," he began, "I would tell you more about it, but like you, I'm not quite as informed about this woman as I would have liked."

Linna squirmed from his grasp and made a head dive into Benton's lap.

"But he'll be here soon, yes?" she asked, plopping herself down and directing her gaze at Benton. "Then we can ask him all about the pretty lady."

Benton smiled. "And who told you she was pretty?"

Linna grinned. "Uncle Hadji said so," she declared. "I asked where he was going and he said it was to see a pretty lady."

"He did, did he?" commented Race nonchalantly, still watching Benton's face.

Race sighed. It was clear from Benton's stance that he wasn't going to get any further info on the girl Jon and Hadji were supposedly out seeing. There's something not quite right about the whole situation. Normally, when Jon or Hadji expressed even the slightest interest on a woman, Benton usually is the first one to tell him. In fact, his wife has often commented on how they remind her of gossiping hens.

"Does this have anything to do with," he paused glancing at Linna, "a particular incident at a cafe?"

"Perhaps," answered Benton from his reading, "though as I said, I'm not quite sure about anything at the moment."

Race nodded.

"Can I wait for Uncle Jonny to come home?" asked Linna politely from her position on Benton.

Race shook his head.

"Oh no, you don't," replied Race in a mock stern voice. "It's past your bedtime as it is. Go run along and say good night to your mom," he urged.

With a forlorn expression, Linna jumped down from Benton's lap and nodded her head. She gave her father a pleading look. "Five more minutes?" she asked precociously.

He shook his head.

She gave a deep and abject sigh before wrapping her arms around him and kissing his cheek.

"G'nite, daddy," she murmured in his ear, and slowly walked towards the bedroom. She stopped midway and looked back. "Two more minutes?"

Race laughed. "No, sweetheart," he said. "Go."

Giving him tortured look, she headed towards her mother. Before disappearing from his view, however, she gave him a grin as if letting him know that his strictness was forgiven, and went on her way.

He felt a lump form on his throat as he watched her enter their room. There were times when Linna's mannerisms remind him starkly of Jessie.

He turned to Benton.

"So," he said casually, "mind telling me what's going on?"

- - FLASHBACK- -

"Fly away from here . . ."

Race watched as Hadji walked away from Jonny's room, without so much as a knock. He paused, not knowing whether he should say something, do something, anything. He nodded imperceptibly as Hadji passed by him, noting the boy's uneven stance. He knew, in the back of his mind, that there was something going on there. There was a change, a tension, between the two boys that was almost out of place even given the current situation.

He gave himself a bitter grin. Of course, it's not like HE had that much experience with what was going on. It's not everyday that he loses his own daughter. It's not everyday that he's had to identify a body as his daughter. It's not everyday that he's had to bury his daughter.

A painful tightness gripped his chest and a familiar blinding pain threatens to overwhelm him. He breathed deeply, trying to regain some semblance of control.

There's so much to do, so many little details to take care of. He can't afford to slip.

He glanced at the door that led to Jonny's room and shook himself. He couldn't help that kid. How could he, when he couldn't even help himself?

With a resigned sigh, he headed towards his own room. He had to talk to his wife.

- - END FLASHBACK - -

"From this dark cold hotel room . . ."

Jon went back to the hotel with Hadji, alone in his thoughts for the most part. He and Hadji had opted not to talk during the walk back home and that had been more than fine with him. There was too much to think about before he could do anything. His brain was humming. Different thoughts raced through the recesses of his mind.

He wanted to see her again.

Soon.

Maybe it was her resemblance to Jessie. Maybe.

Who was he kidding? Her resemblance to his friend definitely had something to do about it. But that wasn't all. There was something in her mannerisms. There was something subtle, something intangible about the way she talked, the way she walked. It kept bringing to mind his childhood friend.

Smooth, hot shot. Real smooth.

And then, there was that feeling. He couldn't quite describe it. There was something familiar about it. There was something...

He was more than a little surprised when they reached the door to the hotel the Quests and Bannons were staying at. He gave himself a quick mental shake. Following Hadji through the entrance, he stopped by the hallway upon seeing his father and Race in a quiet discussion. His eyes immediately went to his father face, asking a silent question.

His father gently shook his head in response while Race turned to him.

"Well, Jon," he said. "Find anything?"

Yeah, sure I found something. I found someone who looks exactly like your daughter would have had she been alive.

"Well," voiced Jon, trying to recall something Siann said that would allow him to reply truthfully. His brain was drawing a blank and he looked at Hadji for help.

"Not much," Hadji replied for him. He sat down at the opposite chair facing his father and Race as he continued, "It seems that the woman in question saw no more than any of the other patrons in the cafe. It is another dead end in regards to the sniper."

Relief pouring through his veins, Jon nodded in agreement with what Hadji had said. He had told his friend/brother that he did not intend to let the Bannons know about their little double ringer at the moment and he had been afraid of a premature revelation. He didn't want any of the Bannons hurt. He didn't want to bring them back memories best left forgotten. The Bannons had been through a lot this past decade and he was protective of their happiness. Despite the strength he sees radiating in their family unit, he wanted to make sure that there were no complications in the future. In some deep part of his soul, he felt that he owed them that.

Race nodded, accepting Hadji's word. A teasing glint, however, entered his eyes.

"Is that the only reason you boys went there to personally talk to the girl?" he asked suggestively.

Jon blushed, but not, he was sure, for the reasons Race was coming up with at the moment. He cursed himself for his inability to control this particularly involuntary reaction. This condition seems to be occurring now more often than not.

"Of-of course it is!" he stammered indignantly, trying to preserve whatever dignity he might have left in the wake of Race's knowing nod. He watched as Race stood up from the couch and started whistling as he walked to his room. At this very moment, he felt like a fourteen year old boy again.

"If you say so," commented Race before ducking his head to his room.

Jon faced his father's disapproving eyes and Hadji's understanding ones.

"I'm going to bed," he announced suddenly, wanting to be alone.

"Jon," his father said sternly. "What happened?"

Jon looked at Hadji pleadingly.

"You go on ahead, Jon," said Hadji. "I will inform our Father about the meeting."

With a grateful smile, Jon went to his room.

"And the endlessness that you fear . . ."

Hadji looked at his father wearily.

"I don't know quite what to say, father," he said slowly. "On the surface, what happened was exactly as I said."

He leaned back to the chair closing his eyes.

"Below the surface," he continued, "I believe that that is another matter entirely." He sighed quietly and looked at his father intently. "She looks very much like her," he said quietly. "I'm not sure whether that is good or not for all of us."

His father nodded, slumping his shoulders.

"I can't stop Jon from seeing her, can I?" he asked rhetorically.

Hadji shook his head nonetheless. "I do not believe so."

A silence descended upon both men before Hadji finally interrupted it.

"I believe I would like to get to know her as well," he said carefully, staring at his hands.

His father nodded and replied, "I know."

"You are pulled from the wreckage of your silent reverie . . ."

Jon stared at the city from the window of his room. He touched the glass pane, running his palm over the smooth surface, feeling its coolness. The city of Paris lay before him, but what he saw had nothing to do with the City of Lights.

He stared at the window, seeing his reflection, and then past it. Instead of the cover of the night, he saw a bright, sunny day. Instead of the busy lights of the streets, he saw the rows of cars that were parked by the people who arrived to pay their respects. And within the silence of his room, he heard his own voice from long ago.

Dammit, where are you?

C'mon, Jess, don't let them win.

Show up and tell them it was all a mistake.

He cringed.

Show up. The good guys are supposed to have the happy ending.

The knock on his door interrupted his train of thought.

"Come in," he called out, his voice hoarse. He gave a quick glance to see who it was before quickly returning to his original stance by the window.

There was a moment of silence between the two men before Hadji cleared his throat.

"It is strange," Hadji said softly, "but at this moment, I can almost imagine us at the Quest Compound, with you by the window, and me, over here shuffling my feet."

Jon smiled.

"You never shuffled your feet, Hadj," he said quietly.

He could see Hadji's reflection nod in concession.

Another moment of silence passed.

Finally, with a sigh, Hadji said, "This is not the end of this matter."

Jon let out a breath he had been holding. "Did you expect it to be?" he asked.

Hadji tilted his head in one side. "No," he admitted, "but I had . . . hopes."

Another silence. Jon could hear the clock ticking from out side the room. He even noticed his own ragged breathing as he continued to stare at the window.

"Where will you be tomorrow?" Hadji asked.

"What do you mean?" he responded.

"Will you be at the cafe, or at her house?" Hadji asked deliberately.

Jon smiled. "You know me too well, my friend," he replied.

He let out another long breath and leaned his forehead against the window.

"I'll be at the cafe," he said, after careful thinking.

Hadji nodded. "I believe I will join you at this endeavor from time to time," he said softly.

Jon turned around quickly.

"I don't need a chaperone," he let out vehemently. "I'm not going to go crazy--"

"I know you are not," Hadji interrupted calmly. He stared at Jon's eyes when he said, "I am going for myself."

Jon swallowed, staring at his friend. He wanted to object, to claim that this was his right, his privilege, but no words came out of his mouth. Finally, he turned back to the window.

"As you wish," he said, almost to himself.

Hadji lingered in the room for a moment, before quietly exiting.

SEVERAL DAYS LATER

"You're in the arms of the angel may you find some comfort there . . ."

She's not Jessie.

Today was the day. He could feel it in his bones. She'll come today.

She has to.

She's not Jessie.

Otherwise, he knew he would go insane with frustration and actually go to her home again. This time, without an excuse handy.

She's not Jessie.

He had to see her.

Just to keep assuring himself that she does exist, that's she's flesh and blood. That he hadn't been dreaming up the past couple of days.

She's not Jessie.

He watched the children play by their usual street corner, taking comfort in the fact that he saw the boy, Michel, in their little group.

She's not Jessie.

He glanced at the streets, observing the people as they pass by the cafe. His eyes were always searching, searching, searching.

She's not Jessie.

HE DIDN'T CARE!

He didn't care!

He didn't care.

He knew, he KNEW it wasn't and can't be her.

It didn't matter.

She was his redemption.

He glanced back at the crowd as something caught his eyes.

A red ponytail beneath a cap. A slender figure.

He watched as she approached the cafe with a jaunty stride.

She's not Jessie.

He watched as she looked up and her eyes met him.

She's not Jessie.

He watched her eyes sparkled with a dawn of recognition.

A warm hand gripped his soul.

Revised October 10, 2004