Author's Note: Fourth chapter! Thank you, BookRose for your kind words. And about Sarah throwing away from the letters... I guess she lacked foresight for that moment... I dunno. Heh. Well! Read and Review, please! If you're reading this, reviews make it worthwhile. CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM... I'm just stressing it.

Sarah had become extremely uneasy about the whole situation. Every letter that she had received appeared on the same day, every week, for the past month. It was two more days until the next letter would arrive on her windowsill, she knew. And this knowledge was playing hard against her nerves.

For some unknown reason, the letters had been causing more wear upon Sarah's nerves than what was usual. Or healthy, for that matter. She had already been going through a time of hard work; though she had a good crew, she knew she needed more help in order to get through the business day comfortably. She had been putting out notices, one such sign posted on the window beside the main entrance with large red letters proclaiming: "Help Wanted". At least twice a week she was dealing with people who were applying, and she spent a lot of almost every day looking of résumés. And now, as she found the letters sidling their way into her thoughts more and more often, her nerves were certainly getting rattled.

She was barely getting through the week alive with those suspicions forever trailing after every important thought. The Benbow Inn would be facing a hard time keeping itself afloat if she, as manager, didn't pull herself together. The least she could do was hide her discomfort; Isaac and Anthony seemed nearly as nervous as she was. Though they did not mention the matter freely, the many worried glances that they cast her were enough to clue her in on their feelings.

She did not want anyone to be discomforted, but it seemed that her own uneasy sensations were causing others problems. Sarah didn't like this thought. This would not help the business at all.

So, with these thoughts in mind, Sarah went to the station in hope of ridding everyone of the unpleasant vibes that were slowly engulfing the inn.

When she had come, a constable, this one decidedly biological, unlike many of the others, led her into a back room to discuss the situation.

"So," he began, his pen hovering above his notepad, ready to take notes, "you say you've got a stalker on your hands."

"Well," Sarah started uneasily, "I'm not sure about a stalker, but I've got somebody who's just... bothering me."

"What type of bothering?" the man asked, jotting down a few things onto his paper. "Stalking has a wide category, Mrs. Hawkins. We could be facing it right now."

"Well," Sarah said, "he's been leaving notes on my windowsill."

"What type of notes?" he questioned.

"Love notes," she answered, feeling a sort of anxiety about discussing this with someone she wasn't close to.

"Love notes," the man repeated, recording the information. "Do you have any of these notes?"

"I have one," Sarah said, rummaging through her bag. She pulled out the fourth letter she had received and handed it to the constable.

The man examined it quietly, nodding, then placed it to the side.

"Is this the only one received?" he asked.

"No," Sarah replied frankly. "It's the fourth."

"Do you have any of the others?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I threw the others away."

"Now," the man continued, "the culprit has been leaving notes on your windowsill?"

"Yes, on my bedroom windowsill."

"Bedroom," the man repeated as he added the bit to his notes. "Where is your bedroom located?"

"It's on the third floor; it looks out to the east," she answered precisely.

The interview continued on in this manner, the constable spouting quick, almost mechanical questions, Sarah answering as best as she could with the little information that she had. In the end, the man had decided that he could be classified as a stalker.

"But, what if it's just a kid?" Sarah asked. "Just a prankster?"

"We could still regard him as a stalker," the man said after thought. "His actions are easily classified in them." The man stood up, straightening out his shirt. "Well, Mrs. Hawkins, the station would be happy to help you. You said that you think he's coming when?"

"In two days," she replied. "I know that the letters aren't there before night; I come into my room before lighting the lanterns outside."

"Alright... so it happens sometime around the evening?"

"Yes."

"I'll send a couple of patrol officers over at the time," he said.

"Thank you," Sarah said, letting out a sigh of relief. "Thank you so much."

"It's not problem," the constable replied. "Oh, and Mrs. Hawkins?"

"Yes?"

"Don't tell anyone what you've chosen to do. We don't want any suspects knowing beforehand."

Sarah nodded, though doubtful. Soon, she left the station and made her way back to the inn.

Two days later...

Sarah glanced up suddenly from a sheet of paperwork that she had been examining, as the high-pitched squeal of a pursuit alarm blared out. It was coming from the outside! The young woman quickly tossed the paper aside and rushed to the door that led without.

It was night already, the moon set in the sky amongst the shining stars, and Sarah felt a cold breeze as she hurried out of the Benbow Inn. It was rather dark, but for the lanterns hanging about the entranceway and a few lingering lights within several of the guests' rooms. She moved back and forth anxiously, waiting for a sign of the constables, whom she hoped desperately had caught the joker who had been leaving her letters.

Finally, rounding one corner of the inn, red lights could be seen spinning about, their complementing noises shutting off. Between them there was a figure. The joker, Sarah thought with a nervous twitch in the corner of her lip.

The convict struggled loudly in the robot cops' mechanical grasps, grunting disconcertedly against their tightened fingers. Sarah heard him well, but had some difficulty seeing the culprit; all she could discern was a shadow, whose outline was barely visible by the turning, red lights of the constables' alarms. It was moving this way and that, making violent movements, strong yet vain. The machines were not swayed to loosen their holds, however, and approached Sarah in their calm perfunctory way, forcing the suspect along.

"Mrs. Hawkins," one droned monotonously, pointing at her with one gloved hand, "we believe we have apprehended the perpetrator."

Sarah moved toward the two constables, holding her hands together anxiously. Her heart was beating ferociously in her chest, a strange mixture of worry and dread bubbling deep within her. Her eyes remained ever vigilant upon the struggling being that was wedged between the two robots, the curiosity that had for so long been building up within her forcing her along.

"He was caught traveling along your roof," the other constable informed her. The red warning lights that shone about their heads dimmed, from lack of use, and, despite Sarah's hopes, flickered off. The figure was near invisible now, but the sound, she noted, had dissipated, as if with every step of her approach some of the suspect's will had slipped away. The night was dark; she would most probably had lost sight of the constables had it not been for the reflective belts that they wore bouncing back the bare illumination of a nearby lantern.

They were mere feet away now, and here Sarah stopped. Her eyes adjusted gradually to the shadows, and small portions of the person could be discerned. Whoever it was, he was large, it seemed, but his face was not visible to her; he bowed his head, as if in shame.

"Is this him?" Sarah inquired with a shaking voice, as if unsure whether or not this ashamed figure before her could be the supposed prankster who had been leaving notes upon her sill.

"Affirmative," one robot replied. "Do you recognize the perpetrator?" Both constables thrust forward the man in unison, their hands still wrapped tightly about the bulk of his arms as if to ensure no chance of escape. Not that it mattered much; it didn't seem that the culprit would make an attempt. He appeared to assent to the capture, though his movements relayed some apparently rueful thoughts.

"I can't see him," Sarah said, tilting her head in an attempt to see his face. Every time she moved to see him, it seemed he would bend his neck further downward to further impediment her. Apparently, he didn't want her to know who he was. But why...?

"We shall assist you," one of the constables suggested, and instantly in its eyes flickered a bright, yellow spotlight. It shone upon the man, illuminating the left side of his face, and it seemed but an instant before Sarah realized who it was.

"Isaac?" she murmured, a look of shock taking her face. "Isaac is that you...?"

The large man lifted his head, and, as she had expected, it was him, his face tired and ashamed. "Mrs. Hawkins," he muttered, shaking his head. "Mrs. Hawkins..."

"Isaac... it is you," she muttered. She looked down, her eyes wide with incredulity. "Isaac... it was you?"

"Mrs. Hawkins," he said softly. "Mrs. Hawkins, I can explain-"

"All this time it was you?" she interrupted, her voice shaking. She was apparently upset. "You saw how much I was worrying, you knew how much this was affecting me, and still you did it!" She looked away, shaking her head as if in disbelief. "And you... you even acted like you cared," she continued, biting her bottom lip. She let out a heart-rending sigh, and lifted her head slowly to look at Isaac, her expression reflecting a depressing disappointment. "Isaac... how could you...?"

"Mrs. Hawkins," he began, trying to keep her gaze without becoming overwhelmed with guilt, "Mrs. Hawkins, I-"

"I just... this is..." Sarah stuttered, running a hand over her head. She put her hand over her mouth as if to hide her quivering frown.

"Mrs. Hawkins!" the man exclaimed, shaking his head. "I didn't do it!"

"What?" Sarah gave him a strange look, but there was an obvious hope in her eyes.

"It wasn't me," he explained, the look in his eyes desperate, as if begging her to believe what he said. "I'd never do that to you, Mrs. Hawkins. I didn't put those notes on the windowsill!"

"We discovered him by your window," one robot broke in.

Sarah looked glanced at the robot, then back at Isaac, as if expecting him to refute the facts of the matter.

"I knew he'd come today, Mrs. Hawkins," Isaac told her. "I wanted to make sure you didn't worry anymore-"

"He had this in his possession," the constable broke in.

Sarah turned quickly toward it, wanting to realize the new evidence. Isaac watched as the constable proffered something to Mrs. Hawkins, extending his mechanical hand forward slowly and precisely. His eyes widened as Sarah accepted it quietly.

"No!" he exclaimed, realizing at once what it was. "Mrs. Hawkins, that's not mine!"

"It's another letter," Sarah muttered. She looked as if she were on the verge of both laughing and crying, her fingers gripped tight about the edge of the envelope, shaking. It seemed that she both wanted to drop the envelope away but keep it near. There were so many different things that Sarah felt at that moment, conflicting ideas and desires, emotions and beliefs. Her head was continually shaking, and though she appeared to deny their fall, uncried tears were evident, shimmering in her eyes.

"I was patrolling, Mrs. Hawkins!" Isaac continued desperately. "I didn't want him to come to your window today, I wanted to see who it was!"

Sarah's finger slid beneath the envelope, breaking the seal and slowly opening the flap. She didn't appear to hear Isaac as he spoke, lost deep in her own confusion.

"I saw him Mrs. Hawkins!" the man continued, loudening in an attempt to make her hear. "He was at the window! I climbed up after him! I told him to stop!"

Sarah took the edge of the letter, folded in that familiar way that all the other notes had been folded, and coaxed it out of the envelope's hold.

"I don't know who it was, Mrs. Hawkins," Isaac said. "I didn't see his face... but he ran, Mrs. Hawkins, he ran away!"

She opened up the letter, noting the recognizable handwriting that fluttered across its face. She let out a weak giggle, sounding almost crazy, and began reading the letter aloud.

Your gentle beauty shines about your face,

Like angel's halo, wear you splendor's crown.

And take away mine eye at such a pace,

And quicker change gay smile from ugly frown.

"He dropped the letter, Mrs. Hawkins! I picked it up! I tried to chase after him, I tried to catch him, but he was too fast; he ran away!"

For smiles you grant my lady fair, my rose,

And happiness you give from one small glance.

Alone you stand more beautiful than those

Who claim to live a life fraught with romance.

"That's when they caught me, Mrs. Hawkins," Isaac said, the desperation in his voice becoming more and more obvious with every word that Sarah uttered. The lights in the Benbow flickered on one by one, the heads of guests and crewmembers appearing from behind the edges of opening shutters. "They took me down, told me that I did something wrong... But I didn't!"

And so long waits familiar courter, I,

With wish that my love soon is recognized,

In saddened state, yet for your love I fly,

And feel the gay young breezes of the skies

"Mrs. Hawkins, I didn't know they'd be there," he said, a rueful tone taking his voice. "If you told me you'd alert them I wouldn't have been out there tonight. Maybe they would've caught the real guy! Mrs. Hawkins!" He stared quietly at the young woman, who never once looked up from the note. She wasn't paying him any heed, she hadn't realized anything that he had told her, anything that he had said.

A mammoth hope, yet one I hold so dear,

Don't shy away, my love, you've naught to fear.

"Sarah!" Isaac exclaimed, almost crying at this moment. "Sarah, why didn't you tell me, Sarah? They could've caught him, and you wouldn't have to worry anymore! I wouldn't be here; you wouldn't be here in front of me!"

Sarah lowered the hand holding the note to her side, her fingers loosening slowly until the note dropped to the ground. She glanced up at him slowly, her face taking an expression of indiscernible emotion.

"Sarah," Isaac muttered, looking up at her hopelessly. "Sarah, why didn't you tell me?"

Her eyes remained on him for a long time, a sad and quiet stare. "Never," she said at length, her voice cold and distant, "call me by my first name, Mr. Granger." She looked away, obviously unbelieving of anything that he had said. Her emotions swirled within her, many of them reflecting an unsure feeling toward her judgment. There was evidence against him, of course, but what of it...? Would Isaac really lie to her about it? She looked down at the letter quietly, listening to the loud protests of her ex-assistant as the robot constables dragged him away.

He is the type, she began convincingly, that would invent a story to clear his name. He is the type who gets digs deeper and deeper into things, until it's too late... He's someone, who wants to stay away from jail cell, but doesn't take the right precautions.

He is also someone, her mind added, who cares about people, especially you, very much. He is also someone who would want you and everyone else to be comfortable.

He's also the person, Sarah broke in bitterly, that was found at my windowsill with the letter, who struggled against the robocops, who looked at me as if he were the guiltiest person on Montressor, and tried to relocate some blame upon me when he saw his story wasn't working. She thought the last bit with a bitter frown, for she did feel the guilt and the sadness with his words.

Don't tell me that you're blaming him just because he tried to blame you.

I'm not, Sarah protested. That isn't it... She looked up finally toward the distance, where Isaac and the guards were disappearing down the road. She shook her head, and turned, moving toward the door of the Benbow. That's not it at all...

Wow... a lot of italics in that chapter, eh? Well,if you've read this, thank you. Writing is a passionof mine that your interestfuels.