Chapter 4

Mel and I sat in the cool sand in companionable silence as we lazily watched the rest of the night pass and the moon moved ever lower in the western skies. She seemed in no hurry to go anywhere and I, of course, would never leave her. I had the sense that there were still some things she wished to talk about, things she was troubled by, but I didn't know what they were so I waited, knowing she'd get to them in her own time.

The breeze was steadily warming and it had picked up strength, tattering the last of the fog into swirling wisps and rippling the water into a restless dance of small choppy waves. The lights of all manner of boats and ships moving out in the Lake soon became visible and many clusters of whitecaps actually proved to be flocks of gulls spending the night floating upon the water.

I sat back and looked deep into the midnight vastness above, searching out all the places I've been. The stars were a poor imitation of how they really are in space and most couldn't be seen at all, but Migar was there.

For the first time I found myself wondering if I would ever know her light again.

"We usually call the warm, mild and hazy weather we get after the Labor Day Weekend Indian Summer'. But it really isn't," Mel told me, breaking the silence. "Technically, that term is for the period of warm weather which often follows the first frosts of late autumn." She grinned at me. "Before you came along, I wasn't aware of how much useless information I had managed to store in my head."

"Why Indian'?" I queried, thinking of Earth's geography.

"Hmmm ... Got me there, Cole. I'll have to look that one up."

She pushed her breeze-tossed hair out of her eyes as she followed the path of a distant freighter.

"The way he ... Tevv ... the way he screamed... " She hesitantly said. "It was ... It was like a body and soul being ripped apart."

I said nothing because it was quite an accurate assessment and there really wasn't anything for me to say.

"Is it ... Is a Collection always like that?"

"No. Not always," I simply answered. "I can make it a very easy and gentle thing."

She became very still.

"But you made the choice not to do it that way, didn't you?"

Uncomfortable with the question, I looked away.

"And you lied to me, didn't you?" she continued. "You told me that you don't take life. But you have." Although I thought she sounded more annoyed than angry or accusatory, I could feel that she was now studying me like a herd beast will study a predator, watching to see what he might do. "And I think you've likely done so more than once. Am I right?"

"It was not ... a lie," I reluctantly replied. "Cole has ... never killed."

I hoped she wouldn't want to know how many times Daggon had.

Or why.

Or how.

If she asked I would have to tell her.

Silence unraveled in a long skein of sudden and unfamiliar tension, measuring the gulf between us.

"Vic killed a man during a robbery shootout about a year ago," she finally said. "Saved his partner's life, probably his own as well. But he still sometimes has really bad nightmares about it. Not about how close he came to getting himself killed, but about having killed someone."

I nodded, understanding perfectly, very glad that I never have to sleep and thus never dream.

Taking a life is such a frighteningly simple thing to do, yet it devours the very core of one's soul, piece by piece, bit by bit. And I've learned all about killing, for the best of reasons, for the worst of reasons, for any reason, for every reason, and even for no reason at all. There are times I've killed when, if I had known then what I know now, I would have somehow found a way not to. Those memories, those events, those I killed, still haunt me and always will. Some far more than others.

But as with cops everywhere, sometimes one does have to kill. Sometimes death is the price of a Track. Sometimes it's even necessary, the only thing you can do. It is unrealistic to ever pretend otherwise, to insist that it cannot happen, let alone to expect that it will never happen at all.

Yet if I slept I would never have dreams. I would only know nightmares.

Her fingers suddenly dug into my arm. "Dammit! Don't shut me out!" she snapped, her blue-green eyes brightly flashing in the moonlight.

I stared at her in surprise. "But, Mel, I ... I'm not."

"Oh, yes you are! Every time who and what you were on your own world, who you really are, comes up, you shut me out! Don't! It isn't fair!" Her expression softened and her grip loosened. "I really have to know who you are, Cole. I think I deserve that much."

My mind snapped back on instinct, that ancient caution slipping up on me unawares as I fought the urge to do as she'd bid and tell her, preferring the yawning darkness to summoning up my past and throwing it in her face. Mel knew so little of Daggon, only what I'd told her. And I didn't want her to know. Not ever. To her I'm this someone she'd named Cole, someone very different, someone I'm trying very hard to live up to.

So why this strong compulsion to reveal all? Even the idea that I wanted this alien female to truly know me was astonishing. And very dangerous. Information is power and should never be given away. It has nothing to do with trust. I find that I do trust her and have from the beginning. But to let her know everything I am, everything I've been, would serve no purpose and be the greatest of follies, not something I should ever even think of risking.

"Please don't do this," she gently coaxed. "You asked me for my help and guidance and I'm giving it to you. As best as I can and as much as I can. I confess that I don't always understand ... the whys or the hows of it all ... Hell, much of the time I don't even know what you're doing. But I'm giving you my help. All I'm asking for in exchange is that you be open with me. I don't think that's so unreasonable."

Not knowing what to say, still reticent to say anything at all, I stared into the face turned so trustingly and expectantly up at me, held captive by the simple press of her fingers.

"Please," she asked again and I could hear the ruefulness in her voice. "I can't fathom a hundred light years and all these different Migarian peoples and cultures you tell me about. I'm having enough problems with going around the block and trying to deal with Human peoples and cultures. But even if I can't understand it, I can accept it. All of it. If you'll just let me. Couldn't you at least give me the chance to try?"

Acceptance. A single word. Far sweeter than understanding, far more precious than mere forgiveness. It was a nectar I'd once received from Nallia. But it hadn't been easy for her. And it hadn't happened quickly. And now this Human female was offering it up to me like a gift.

It might be better if she knew, I thought. Certainly not all of it – even I have a difficult time with all of it – but enough of my past as it came up, as it had just then, and she could do with it as she would. There were lies enough between us already – not spoken lies, but ones made up of my silences and the things I'd avoided saying.

I became aware that she was patiently waiting for me to speak and that I was still lost in the depths of her eyes. I looked away and swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat. I knew then that those eyes of hers would haunt me long after I was gone from her world, perhaps for all that remained of my life.

I took one of the deepest breaths of my entire breathing career and slowly let it out.

"Back when Zin and I ... were first becoming friends," I hesitantly began, "I remember telling him that revenge can never ease one's pain, that it changes nothing and ... and it can never accomplish anything.

"His answer was that it didn't have to, that vengeance is its own reward.

"Like most Cirronians, I ... I just couldn't see it, couldn't really understand.

"But that was only because I didn't know just how mind-numbing and obliterating pain and grief can really be, how losing ... everyone you love can ... distort the very fabric of your soul, can drive you beyond any definition of mad, can make you ... make you do things ... make you no better than the monsters you're hunting.

"I know that the emptiness you feel ... can never be filled by revenge. Or by the rage and hate that fuel it. I've always known. All just leave you feeling ... colder ... emptier...

"But now I also know that things aren't always that simple..."

"This was when your family was murdered," she said, so softly that I almost didn't hear her.

Out of all the things I could have told her about, why I had chosen to tell her of this festering black hole at the center of my life, I still don't know. But even as things best left buried began to crawl to the surface I pressed on, if only to finish what I'd started.

"... Sometimes ... sometimes vengeance is the only balm there is for grief ... the only way you can hold the guilt at bay ... the only way you can keep from being completely overwhelmed, paralyzed, annihilated ... regardless of the hideous taste it leaves you with. I've learned that sometimes it's all you have left. And I've learned that sometimes ... sometimes it's all you can ever hope to have."

I fell silent, not knowing what else to say or what was going to happen next. I could feel her questions – dozens of them, hundreds of them – circling around me and willed her not to ask them, hoped against hope that she wouldn't. I never want to confront the image in that mirror again.

Surprisingly, it was as if Mel had read my mind for she said nothing at all. Instead, she started to reach up to touch my face, then stopped. With the return of her reserve she was more comfortable in taking my hand instead.

For a long few minutes she remained silent, seemingly absorbed with tracing the lines on my palm. Twice she started to say something, each time faltering with embarrassment after only a few syllables. I hadn't a clue as to what she was thinking and that filled me with a nameless dread.

"I wouldn't know about Cirronians," she finally began in a hushed and pain-filled voice, still not looking up from my hand. "But most Human men are easily manipulated. Once the blood leaves the brain to pool further south they completely lose all powers of coherent thought. My father was no exception. He married a woman who didn't want me around as a constant reminder of his first marriage ... And he was more than happy to oblige her.

"He wouldn't hear that the few months of summer, the few weeks of Christmas vacation, and a long distance phone call or two every week were not enough for a father to be a daddy ... Basically, I grew up without having him around, even though I very badly needed him ... Especially since I didn't have a mother.

"My grandmother was ... Well, she was my grandmother, after all, a woman well into her seventies saddled with the responsibilities of raising the seven year old child her son had dumped on her. I know she loved me and that she did her best – and I loved her dearly in return – but there was no way she could've possibly been either mother or father to me..."

She trailed off for a few moments, following her threads of memory, leaving me more than just a little perplexed – as well as not liking her father. On my world no male would ever dare disrespect his mate's memory or disgrace himself by abandoning her orphaned child. It's just never done. But it's something that seems to be quite common here, done even by males who are otherwise obsessed with their own paternity.

While I tried to puzzle out the logic of that, Mel was quietly muttering to herself. The only thing I clearly caught was: "I can't believe I'm going to tell him this."

"Mel? You don't have –" I began, wanting to spare her any further embarrassment.

"– Oh yes I do, Cole," she grimly told me. "I really do."

She released my hand and glanced up at me just long enough for me to see the determination in her face, then she looked back out over the water. Her lower lip was quivering and by her aura I knew she was distressed and still in pain, but she was strong enough to hold back any tears.

"Just ... Please, Cole. Just don't repeat any of this to Jess. Or anyone else. Okay? These things don't exactly make for my finest moments."

Wondering what she had to say, I promised her that I wouldn't. She didn't seem to talk about herself any more easily than I did, so neither of us had ever pried and I knew very little about her. I decided to not interrupt, to just listen to her story take shape.

She nervously caught her lower lip in her teeth, then continued, looking out over the water the entire time.

"Anyway, when I reached my mid-teens I rebelled. Big time and in the very worst possible way, directing my hurt and anger at my father onto myself. I did a lot of dangerous and stupid acting out back then ... Ran with a fast and loose crowd ... Smoked cigarettes, stayed out all night, cut school, shoplifted ... Among other things ... Too much casual sex ... Too much alcohol ... Even some drugs, if you can believe that. The usual Good Time Party Girl' routine, as it's sometimes called, although there's nothing good time' about any of it. I was all screwed up, out of control and the despair of my poor grandmother.

"I didn't come to my senses, didn't realize how self-destructive my behavior actually was, until I was nearly twenty. Looking back, I often think it's amazing that I didn't end up in jail or become infected with AIDS or get pregnant. Hell, it's even amazing I'm still alive. Not too many in that crowd were as lucky as I was, you see. But the point is, I'm now the woman my grandmother raised me to be.

"I'm well aware that there's a great deal I should have done differently. But at that period in my life, with the way things were and with the way I was, there really wasn't anything that I could have done differently.

"Could' and should' have two very different meanings and I try very hard not to ever confuse them.

"And if anyone dared to judge me now by what I was like back then, I'd be horrified because that bitter and angry teenage girl no longer exists, although I needed her to get to where I am today."

Her unexpected touch on my arm felt electric, an astonishing jolt of pure pleasure that left me slightly dizzy. She had turned to look up at me again and my mouth went completely dry.

"Cole ... I know that my life, what I've done, what I've experienced, isn't even remotely comparable to what you've been through and I'm sorry if I bored you with it. But what I'm really trying to say is that I can't pass judgement on the things your pain and your anger may have driven you to do. It wouldn't be fair and I simply won't do that. I can't. Understand?"

The longer we stared into each other's eyes, the harder it became for me to look away. Somehow, in a way I still can't explain, I didn't feel like myself anymore. But if that were really so, then who was I? What was I becoming? What had all I'd seen, all I'd done, actually done to me?

I was bombarded with such an outpouring of conflicting thoughts and emotions it almost became a physical ache. I knew that I didn't want her pity, but I wasn't even certain if that's what she was offering. I hadn't the slightest idea of what she wanted from me – nor was I at all sure what I really wanted from her. I still couldn't understand the nature of what was binding us together and nothing was staying put anymore. I couldn't rely on either my instincts or my Memories and I had nothing left to hold on to, no knowledge or experiences with anything like this to guide me.

Anything and everything I used to be so very sure of was shifting beneath my feet, taking away my sense of balance.

And it was far too late for questions or second thoughts about any of it. Either I trusted this bond I felt with her, or I was completely and totally lost – in which case it wouldn't matter what I then chose to do.

But it had been so long since I'd allowed myself to even think of feeling anything, let alone of feeling it so intensely, of wanting anything at all, that I was letting myself forget the hard lessons I've learned...

No. That isn't quite right.

Something between Mel and I had changed and I was deliberately choosing to ignore all those lessons. I was reacting to her and I couldn't do anything about it. Most surprising of all, I found that I really didn't want to do anything about it. I realized that on some fundamental level we were making an even greater commitment to each other than we'd made before but for some reason it felt like the right thing to do and it was what I wanted.

The only thing I knew with absolute clarity was that I couldn't not be with her.

And that I very much needed her to want to be with me.

Nothing about those needs felt wrong or perverse. On the contrary, they felt more right than anything I've ever known.

Finally, drawing on all my willpower, I managed to drag my eyes away from hers and looked off to the lightening eastern horizon. The sky was just beginning to redden where it met the water, fading upward into a golden-green bank before merging with the cobalt blue vastness sprinkled with dimming stars.

"It will be dawn soon," I noted, wondering why I felt so very mumble-mouthed. "A stillness such as this always ... always comes before star-rise on every world."

"Hmmm? And I'll bet you're famished," she lightly teased in that way of hers as she lazily stretched her arms out over her head to dispel the night's kinks.

"Yes," I admitted. "Yes, I am very hungry."

"Knowing you, I would think so! Tell you what. We'll catch a taxi and get the car. There's a diner near there where we can go for breakfast." She gave me one of her playful grins as we got to our feet and began to brush the sand off our clothes. "They open at six and they have this great All You Can Eat' breakfast smorgasbord. I can't wait to see the look on their faces by the time you've had your fill."

I reached over to caress her throat a moment, reconnecting to that special yet unidentifiable bond that had brought us together, feeling her vibrancy and her strength and allowing some of that strength to flow into me. I was grateful for her presence in my life; grateful that she was safe and whole; grateful that the witnessing of Tevv's agonized Collection hadn't made her send me away from her forever.

I could only hope that the knot that bound together the delicate threads of our lives would be enough for us to face whatever the future had in store.