You know one of them was still alive right? If you didn't realize that, go back and read the title of the last title - two deaths, it says, and we saw three, so who's not dead? Actually, there's a lot more to this that will come up in some of the later books as the story of Port Charles from 1999 to 2029 unfolds. Look for the next book, Hearts & Flowers, which is (not surprisingly) more romantically centered, hence the title. We'll see more of this in Book III (and bits in Book II that lead up to it and deal with the relationship aftermath of Melpomene, and other things).

THE GOOD OLD DAYS is (are g>) over. This was Book I of Legacy.

-Alison

Epilogue

Still Alive,

a.k.a. Let's Get the Hell Off This Island

January 28, 2000:

Very Early Morning

Stefan pulled himself off of the ground, groaning. It had taken Jax long enough to get going, with Alexis. But at least he didn't check me out, Stefan thought. Of course, with all the blood, who would bother to take a pulse?

Most of it wasn't his blood. It was coming from the vest he pulled off from underneath his bullet-ripped shirt. However, Spencer had gotten his shoulder, with the fourth shot, and it hurt like hell. His blood mixed with the sugary red substance being secreted from the vest, but it looked like he'd live, as long as he got to the doctors on the boat.

He started to make his way towards the north docks but stopped. He heard a rustling followed by a familiar click behind him. He turned around to find Danielle, staring him down, with her gun poised. She looked like a madwoman, completely disheveled, and still covered in Frisco's blood.

Stefan didn't look phased. "Did I not help you properly, or is this just your customary way of greeting people, Miss Duleon?"

"Faison was armed."

"He wasn't when I left," Stefan said, "But I warned you I couldn't remove all the weaponry from the island. It's easy enough to pick up a gun here. For instance, Jasper Jacks currently has mine. It's a family heirloom, too. I'd appreciate you finding a way to return it to me."

"Yeah, I'll get right on that," Danielle said sarcastically, pushing her hair off of her face. "After we have a little chat."

Stefan finally noticed the blood on her. He didn't want to ask what had happened, but something had. For a moment, his eyes became worried. He took a step backwards, but she followed him.

"Faison wasn't armed when I left. I didn't get time – plans changed. I had to take care of family matters. Nikolas was on his way here, and Alexis was in that house – Faison was going to take her somewhere."

"We would have taken care of it –" Danielle started.

"I thought you might fail."

" – just like we would have had her safe earlier, if you'd let her come with me and Jasper Jacks. But you wanted to keep her there."

"I don't trust – "

"And because you were too busy meddling with the rescue operation, Faison was armed and unwatched. Alexis is safe, Stefan, but the father of these girls," Danielle said, pulling out a blood-stained photograph of Maxie and Georgie. It was an old photograph she'd gotten from the pocket of Frisco's shirt, where she knew he always kept it. Georgie couldn't have been more than a year old in it. "He's not safe. He won't be coming home from Melpomene today. Because you were sloppy, Cassadine."

She still had the gun held at him, but her hand had wilted.

"Agent Jones knew the risk when he chose his profession, and when he came on this island, didn't he?" Stefan asked her, annoyed by the blame. "And why do I think you have less complaint over the death of a father, and more over the death of your own bed-partner?"

Danielle punched him in the nose with her free hand, breaking it. He lunged backwards, shocked, as blood poured down his face.

"You ever talk about my bed again, Cassadine, in any context, and I'll make you wish I'd finished what Spencer started here quickly," she threatened.

"If you don't do it tonight, I doubt you'll get the chance again. Remember who the guards on this island are loyal to, Agent Duleon. Remember our deal. And remember your part in all of this, however right or wrong it went," He said coldly back, holding his head backwards and covering his nose with his shirt, to stop the bleeding.

She pointed her gun into the air and fired a shot. "Oh, look," she said, mockingly, cruelly, but in a playful way, like a malicious kid about to drown an ant farm. "Somebody's coming." She walked up to him and patted him hard on the bad shoulder. He grimaced. "Get the hell off this island," she hissed at him, "before I break something else."

"My sister had better get off the island safely," he called, but he was walking away, towards his boat waiting at the north pier.

Danielle started walking the other way herself, for about six yards, before she crumpled into the darkness. She didn't cry, though, not even then, not even as she tried to blame Stefan to avoid blaming herself, to avoid thinking. She started to dry heave for a few moments, and then she began vomiting, throwing up violently.

Hands pulled her blond hair off of her face as she threw up. Sean watched his daughter vomit in the darkness, the morning twilight, just before dawn. He knew this was her way of grieving, of purging. He didn't exactly get it, but he thought he understood at least.

Eventually, she looked up, gasping. She closed her eyes as she stood up.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," she answered hoarsely, her throat scratched. "Let's get the hell off this island."

END