Author's Note: I'm sorry. I say that a lot. I always am though. There was a bit of a rough spot that I had a hard time getting through in this chapter. But once I got through it, I finished the rest in record time. Hopefully I won't lag this badly with the next chapter.

You know the drill. PS and Days next, then more FS. Author thanks at the end.

For the next hour and twenty-seven minutes, Carly existed in a world made coldly hazy with shock. Later she would remember little of what actually happened. Oh, she was aware of someone holding her as people bustled about, and of several staff members in hospital smocks cutting Toby off from her sight, and eventually of paramedics in their blue uniforms making their hurried way down the south lawn to the lakeshore. She didn't understand why they were in such a hurry. After all, Toby was beyond help.

The arm around her shoulders tried to lead her away. "No, I want to stay," she murmured vaguely. Rationally she knew that there was nothing she could do, much less anything she could have done to prevent any of this. . . But she couldn't drag herself away.

The choice was taken from her in the end, which was just as well since she otherwise would have stood rooted to the lakeshore until dark. She tried to protest but a voice somewhere near the vicinity of her ear soothed, "We need to get out of the medics' way before we irritate them. Don't worry. Toby will be taken care of. Let's get you out of the rain. There's plenty of people just waiting to fuss over you."

"Over me?" Why? Why were people waiting for her?

"Yeah, over you. Don't know why, quite frankly. You're a crosspatch when you're in shock."

"Shock?" She frowned and looked up. "Lawley." Her frown deepened. "What are you doing here?"

"We had a meeting about forty-five minutes ago. Or at least we were supposed to. When you didn't show up or answer your pager, I was pointed in this direction." He tugged up the collar of his coat. "Now come on. There's nothing we can do for Toby that the medics can't do better." When he saw that she didn't comprehend him, he said slowly, "Toby's not dead."

"He's . . . not dead?" Carly turned around in time to see the paramedics lift Toby's still body onto a gurney. The lack of a body bag was a good sign that Lawley was telling the truth.

"I had a few words with the ambulance crew as they were coming down. From the information they got from your staff here, they didn't sound overly optimistic, but I'm sure the prognoses will improve when they get him to the hospital."

"The hospital. Right."

When she still showed no inclination to leave, Lawley wrapped his arm around her once again and slowly led her away. "Com'on, tough stuff. Let's get you warmed up and into fresh clothes if you have them."

"What? No." Carly was frowning again, but she didn't move away from him. She was cold. He wasn't. Besides, the edges of her vision were still a little foggy and he was very solid. But that didn't mean she was going to meekly follow in his wake. "I want to go to the hospital. Leo –" She froze. "Oh my god. Leo."

"Don't worry." Lawley winced as he realized what a stupid thing that was to say. Hoping she hadn't noticed that as well, he rushed on to say, "She knows. She's got a ride with the ambulance. She'll get to the hospital in once piece."

"I'll follow in my car."

"Not in your state you won't. You'll run head-on into a telephone booth or something. But if you change into something dry, I'll drive you there." Yes, that sounded better, the lawyer thought to himself. Just the right amount of flippancy and concern.

Carly thought he was probably right, but that was no reason to listen to . . . reason. Damn. When I put it like that, I'm being irrational. But then Carly remembered what she'd just seen and she gave herself permission to be irrational. It was either that or rely on Lawley.

"I'm not a child. I think I can drive my own car."

"I'm sure you could. Right into a tree. I believe I said that already." Lawley stopped her and took hold of her shoulders. "I'm offering a ride. Just a ride. Really, that's not so much in the grand scheme of things. It's not exactly a marriage proposal."

Well, no, it wasn't exactly a proposal, but it was still more than she wanted to accept from him. Mainly because Carly felt that any minute now she was going to collapse like a soufflé in an earthquake. And the way his hands were traveling down his arms didn't help either.

Lawley wasn't paying any attention to her hesitation at all though, except as some strange type of case to try before a nonexistent jury. "Look at this. Your hands – though generally capable and rather graceful – are cold, clammy, and shaking like 007's favorite martini." A stiff gust of wind caused Carly to shiver; that shiver took up residence in her jaw, making Lawley frown. "Can we at least get you inside?"

On edge, Carly nodded and tried to pull away. He let her go, but tried to shrug out of his jacket. Assuming he was trying to be chivalrous, Carly glared at him. She didn't want him to be a gentleman. "Don't even think about it."

"Oh, I wasn't. No point in both of us getting soaked." The look he gave her belied his words. He was looking amused.

"Why are you still here?" Carly asked caustically. "Obviously we won't be having that meeting today."

"Business isn't everything," Lawley replied as he ushered her inside the center.

While she was distracted by his words, a rough hospital blanket was wrapped around her shoulders and someone pressed a cup of coffee into her hands. The lights and sounds of concerned conversation dazed her. It was so very odd to find such activity and light after being at what equated to a murder scene.

"Toby?" she murmured. "I'd almost forgotten." How could she forget him just like that?

"That's what I was trying to do, my dear doctor. Don't feel bad. I wanted to take your mind off everything, and I'm almost always successful at what I put my mind to." His lighthearted smile slipped, and his words became more serious. "Your Mr. McWade will be fine. It won't do you any good to remember him as you found him. Exposure to this weather would have finished him if you hadn't found him –"

"Don't say things like that." Carly shuddered. It was too much to think that Toby was alive because of a whim. It was more than gruesome to think that he was in such a critical condition for the same reason.

Lawley eyed her but chose to credit her shivers to a chill. Mainly because she wouldn't accept concern. "Go on. Get changed and I'll take you to the hospital."

The relief that should have come from the doctors' report that Toby was breathing on his own and would continue to do so for some time to come was severely overshadowed by the second bit of news.

Toby was also in a coma.

Carly had tried to pay attention to the specifics – the whys and wheres of the damage – but her mind drifted without her permission. She knew she could blame her inattention on shock . . . but she didn't seem to care enough to do so.

So she and Leo say side by side in the waiting room. Leo was waiting for the go ahead to see her nephew; Carly was simply waiting. For what, she wasn't quite sure. Maybe for news of Toby, maybe for Lawley to come back and haul her home – although she was capable of doing that herself, wasn't she? – maybe just because she wouldn't risk breaking into a thousand pieces if she didn't move from the uncomfortable vinyl upholstered chair.

A doctor came in to call to Leo into Toby's room. His ICU room. Carly tried to be supportive; she patted her friend's hand and smiled weakly. Go on, she tried to say, but her throat was too dry. Leo went anyway. There wasn't much that could have held her back.

Left in sole possession of the waiting room, Carly slumped down in her chair and tried not to close her eyes. Yes, she was tired. Yes, she would gladly sleep. But to do so she would have to close her eyes and with images of Toby how she'd found him trying to crowd into her waking sight, Carly was almost scared to actually close her eyes and give the specters free reign of what should have been comforting darkness.

But exhaustion must have won out at some point because a hand gently shaking her shoulder made her open her eyes to discover unending blackness. Surprised, Carly blinked, and in doing so she discovered that the room wasn't dark. She'd actually done the impossible and fallen asleep.

Disoriented, she started dully at the evening sunlight pouring through the windows, at the clock that told her it was just a little past five, and the plain walls of the waiting room. This wasn't her house, and it wasn't any room in Briar Ridge that she could recognize.

"You're at the hospital."

"Toby." She shot to her feet – joints creaking as much as her voice had – and ended up swaying on her feet as all her blood rushed from her head.

"Whoa, easy there." Lawley stood and grabbed hold of her shoulders. Again. "Your protégé is still stable."

Carly blinked at him. As she felt the warmth of his hands soaking into her skin even through the fabric of her shirt, irritation pricked her at the reminder of how much he'd been touching her lately. She also realized how she must look.

"Lawley," she muttered, rubbing at her puffy eyes and trying to brush back her bushy hair.

The lawyer let go of her, but didn't do her the courtesy of stepping back a bit. "Yeah, Lawley. You don't need to sound so pleased." He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Don't get too excited, but I have some news you're not going to like."

By this time her sluggish mind was churning. Whether she wanted to or not, she was waking up. And she could only think of one thing that could make Lawley look so apologetic.

"No. I don't want to. Not today. Not now."

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice, Dr. Beckham."

Carly didn't need to turn around. That grating voice could only belong to detective . . . Dang, she'd forgotten the man's name. But name or no, Carly didn't have to reconsider whether or not the man had the power to damage her fragile equanimity. It was the militant gleam in his eye that belief his offhand manner.

There must have been a look in her own eye pleading for escape because Lawley bent his head to meet her gaze. "Detective Noell needs to ask you some questions. You were the first person on the scene."

Right, she thought cynically. And the fact that this is the second person of my close acquaintance has nothing to do with anything. It's not the least bit suspicious and not at all the reason behind Mr. Noell's desire to talk to me.

"How fortunate for me," she murmured, somehow certain that the attorney was well aware of what lines her thoughts had been running along. "I suppose that the absence of any Miranda Rights should be a comfort, correct?"

Noell just shrugged.

Carly wasn't the least bit comforted. "This is something that has to be done now?" She didn't like turning to Lawley for reassurance, but her nerves demanded soothing and he was the best she had at hand.

The unguarded note in Carly's voice made Lawley frown, but he didn't waver. "You know as well as I do, Doctor, that this interview needs to take place while all of this afternoon's details are still fresh in your mind."

Doctor. Carly squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. "One of you gentlemen is going to have to offer me a ride."

Two hours later, Carly sat at a battered table. Her head was cradled in her hands. A cup of cold, stale coffee sat near her right elbow. She was unsure of how many times she could repeat herself without going insane. That thought made her lips quirk as she let out a long sigh; how many of her patients felt as she did after a particularly grueling session?

"I already told you," she said wearily. "I came in to work. I was almost late and in a bad mood. I checked in. Leo told me that Toby had been tapped for night duty."

"And this is unusual?"

It was the same question that Yancy – Noell's female partner – had asked the last two times they'd been over this. Carly thought that she should try a bit of spontaneity in her questions, if only to avoid getting route answers.

"It's not very unusual. Toby is just another member of hospital staff. Yes, he's assigned to me and works most of the same shifts that I do, but he has contact with patients that I'm not treating."

The woman nodded and made a notation on the pad in front of her. Carly rolled her eyes and glanced at the large mirror in front of her, wondering just who was listening in on this conversation if they were as bored as she was.

"Doctor Beckham?"

Carly blinked and shook her head. "Anyway, as I was saying. I checked in, saw Toby's name on the sign-in sheet, but didn't think too much about it. I was about to be late for a meeting with my department head. Luckily, nearly everyone else was late as well. Dr. Holshack and I discussed Rainey for a few minutes before the meeting. After I left, I went to Rainey's room. I tried to page Toby. I didn't have any particularly brilliant plans for the day, but he's managed to make a connection with Rainey that I don't have. He gets the man to relax, and since I was going to attempt to get him to do something he wasn't going to want to do, I thought I'd take advantage of Toby's presence. But he didn't answer his pager."

"And what time was this?"

"I'm not sure. Around eleven-thirty or so."

Noell shifted through a pile of papers in front of him before finding the one he wanted. "According to the ward's check-in sheet, it was nearly noon by the time you got to the second floor nurse's station."

Carly shrugged. "My time has become less structured since being assigned to Rainey. I have fewer regular patients. I make my rounds when I can or when I decide to. All I know is that I went up to the second floor after my meeting. I guess it went late."

"According to one Dr. White who attended the same meeting, it was over closer to eleven than eleven-thirty."

Carly laughed even though she wasn't remotely amused. "Are you trying to imply that I had enough time between the end of my meeting and going to see patients to attack Toby?"

The two detectives exchanged glances. "We're just exploring all possibilities, Doctor. Can you tell us why there might be a discrepancy between your accounting of the time and Dr. White's?"

"The clock in the meeting room is ten minutes slow."

"That still gives you over half an hour of free time."

"I believe all state employees get an hour for lunch." Carly's nerves were wearing thin. "Look, we've already gone over the rest of my afternoon step-by-step twice. My head hurts, I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I don't remember anything else. I promise to call if I do, but unless you're going to charge me with something, I'd like to go home now."

The detectives exchanged another look that told Carly they were reluctant to allow her to leave, but that they didn't have any reason to keep her either. Thank god. I can just see how that conversation with my mother would have gone. I've already had to ask her to bail me out of jail once in my lifetime. I wouldn't like to repeat the experience –

"Doctor?"

Chagrined to have been caught daydreaming again, Carly stood, knocking over her Styrofoam cup as she did so. The slow wave of untouchable coffee slid over the table like some kind of '50's B-horror film monster. "Sorry," she mumbled, although she was nothing of the sort for either her inattention nor her mess.

"That's alright. You're free to leave."

Nodding stiffly, Carly walked to the door. Lawley was waiting for her on the other side. She scowled at him. "Were you listening?"

He shook his head. "No. It'd probably be a conflict of interest seeing as how I'm more interested in dating you than prosecuting you."

Slack jawed, Carly simply stared at him for a few heartbeats for his audacity, but then she had to laugh. His matter of fact tone made it sound like she should have deduced that long ago. When her laughter brought tears to the corners of her eyes, she realized she was bordering on the hysterical.

Lawley gently took her elbow and led her out of the station. It was still raining but his car was parked close to the doors.

"Com'on, dinner's on me."

"I'm not hungry."

"Then why did you say you were?"

Carly fixed him with a suspicious eye. "You were listening," she accused.

He shook his head at her stubbornness. "I wasn't listening to your discussion with the detectives closely. Are you going to let me take you to dinner or not?"

Carly considered, and then decided it was the least he could do after leading her to believe that . . . She wasn't sure what he'd led her to believe, but she didn't like being led to believe anything by this man. "Yes. Dinner."

"Alright. Then please climb into the car so I don't have to stand here holding the door open for you while it pours down rain."

Carly glanced down and frowned at the car door he'd opened for her. With ill grace she climbed inside and told herself that if he hadn't wanted to get soaked, he could have let her open her own door.

It had always irritated Carly how drunks were such a popular punch line. Starting with town drunks back in the literature left behind by Shakespeare and his cronies all the way to John Wayne-esque Westerns, they were often portrayed as bumbling, mumbling comic relief. Silly drunks, philosophical drunks who pass out after handing out sage advice, the hilarity-filled attempts of friends to sober up their drunk buddy . . . None of it was realistic. Being drunk wasn't funny. Alcoholism was even less so.

Carly didn't bother using a just as unfunny situation as an excuse to get drunk. She just went and did it.

The reason she'd found herself in that state so often in the past was it took no less than an entire bottle of beer to make her tipsy and after that it was a downhill slide to nauseous oblivion. Carly knew that. In the past she hadn't cared until it'd cost her marriage and nearly her career before it'd even started. It'd taken two years of hard work to convince herself that letting alcohol haze her mind, emotions, and memory wasn't necessary for her survival. Until that very morning she could have proudly said that she'd been sober for eight years. That had all gone out the window within two minutes of the waitress taking their drink orders.

Lawley ordered two bottles of a local brew. Carly wouldn't deny that she hadn't know better than to drink. For all of a minute she'd stared at the bottle like it was a rabid mouse that would bite her the moment she reached for it.

"I know you don't usually drink . . ." The concern in her dining companion's eyes threw down a gauntlet. She didn't think he'd meant to, but she had picked it up the challenge and the bottle anyway.

Which led to Carly's irritated thoughts on the stereotypical treatment of drunks in literature and entertainment as Lawley – Mick Lawley, D.A. – drove her swimming head home. As he provided a silent arm to steady her when she would have stumbled to her front door she was distantly aware that it was unlikely that she'd ever be able to face him again. When her clumsy fingers couldn't fit her key into the lock, Lawley gently took them away from her and opened the door with a great deal of (silent) gallantry.

His repayment for his efforts at courtesy was an ungrateful, humiliated, confused woman. She'd stumbled over Bast in her way in, causing the offended cat to race out the still-open front door. And that was the last straw in a gruesome day.

She cursed at him, unaware that her slurred words were all too audible in the quiet evening and that two or three of her neighbors were peeking through curtains to watch the commotion. What she was only too aware that she ought to thank him and that she wanted to ask him to stay. Which only made her more confused and more humiliated, and angry on top of that.

In the middle of her tirade Lawley interrupted her. "Go to bed, Dr. Beckham. You've had a long day."

When she was through gaping at him like an idiot, Carly tried to push past him. In her state it didn't take much more than an immoveable object – Lawley – and a hand on her arm to stop her in her tracks. "Let . . . me . . . go," she said slowly, trying to enunciate each word to communicate just how very much she wanted his helping hands off her.

"Go to bed."

"My cat –"

"You wouldn't know which one to reach for."

His words lashed at her even though they were free of both derision or amusement. Blinking back tears she cursed him soundly a second time before throwing herself on her couch mere moments before blacking out.

When she work late the next morning, Carly frowned to find herself shoeless, covered by an afghan, and playing host to the purring cat on her stomach. The business card inscribed with a home phone number and the words "Call me" explained just how everything had been set right.

The effort was not appreciated. But only because it was.

It made sense.

Carly cautious made her way into work two days later. She'd taken a day off for her own mental health . . . that and she had been afraid that if she left the house, she would have driven to the nearest convenience store for a twelve-pack. After a day and a night of battling those old familiar demons, Carly neither looked nor felt particularly good, but she was in control of her cravings, and work would do a great deal to take her mind off her problems. Especially since she had the feeling it was only a matter of time before people descended on Briar Ridge . . . and Mort Rainey. If Toby was the second victim she was linked to, the same went for her patient.

Red-eyed and yawning, Carly checked in with the security guard at the main gate . . . and at the main entrance. Tags were issued to her to show she'd passed both checkpoints without a problem; tags that would be invalid by tomorrow morning.

By noon she'd decided it was a great deal like working in a very small country where martial law had been declared. Not only were the staff starting to show signs of stress, but the live-in patients had been on edge all day, resulting in a rise of small scuffles and real and imaginary complaints.

What live-in patients are left, Carly observed sourly over her microwavable cup of soup. Yesterday had been so filled with patients either leaving of their own will or being checked out by family members that she was shocked she'd managed to get a full day off. With her reduced workload she didn't have many patients left to sign release orders for. Dr. Holshack had signed for a delusional paranoiac and an acute depressive that had been collected by their families. But other than her day patients who were being turned away from the doors, she had one of the fullest caseloads for the psychiatric staff.

It made sense, she supposed. Enough shockwaves had gone out because of Steve's murder that a second attack – even what was appearing to be a non-fatal attack – had people panicking. And not just patients and their families. A record number of staff had either called in sick, or resigned, or simply not shown up. What with less than half of the patients left it was alright to be so shorthanded, but they couldn't afford to loose more people.

Just as Carly was finishing her lunch and resolving to go spend the afternoon with Rainey, her pager went off.

"Adam?" Unsure of why her boss wanted to speak to her – it wouldn't simply to be to inform her that he'd discharged two of her patients – Carly absentmindedly closed her locker and left the staff room, fiddling with the enormous tags she'd been issued. Maybe he's gotten news about Toby from Leo. Or maybe he just wants to ask me questions like the police did. I hope he's not considering putting Rainey back up on the third floor, because that would be a mistake. It might undo months of progress. The thought chilled her as her mind's eye envisioned the man's sanity as a yo-yo being constantly forced up and down between the heights and depths of sanity. It was not an enviable position.

When she reached Dr. Holshack's office, she knocked even as she entered the room, not wasting a moment in her rush to find out the reason behind her summons. The answer became clear before she could fully get the question out. Amy Rainey was sitting in front of the office's large desk, her fiancé – Tom? Tim? Ted? Yes, Ted. Why am I surrounded by all these 'T' names? – sitting close enough to have laid is arm along the back of her chair. From the silence in the room Carly assumed she'd just interrupted the conversation.

"Umm . . . I'm sorry?" She glanced down at her pager to confirm that Adam had indeed been the one to page her.

"Thank you for your prompt response, doctor," Holshack said, dispelling Carly's uncertainty. "Mr. Milner and Mrs. Rainey would like to speak to you about Rainey."

Well, if they were going to talk to me about anyone, it'd be about Rainey . . . Carly bit of that thought. She was not in the best of moods, but there was no reason to take her annoyance out on anyone here. Especially if she wanted to be successful at talking the couple in front of her out of what she suspected they were here for.

"Of course. May I speak to you for a moment, Dr. Holshack? It'll only be for a moment."

With bland smiles, the two doctors stepped out into the hallway.

"They want to get him transferred?"

Adam nodded.

"They understand what that would mean?"

"That's why I called you here, my dear." He gave her hand an avuncular pat. "Page me when I can use my office again and try not to let you passion run away with you."

"Me? Don't make me laugh." If her passions hadn't been running away with her during the last few days, perhaps the good natured ribbing would have been amusing. "This might take awhile."

It did. The meeting surpassed even Carly's expectations in how long she had to stay on the offensive and fight to keep Rainey at Briar Ridge. If it'd been Amy alone she'd been meeting with, things wouldn't have taken more than five minutes. But with her fiancé along, not only were Amy's massive depths of wishy-washiness revealed, but she was stubbornly refusing to take a stand on the matter.

Carly only just barely managed to say that what Ted thought didn't matter because it was clear that Amy listened to the man, but it was clear that it was the fiancé's agenda to get Rainey out of Briar Ridge and into the State Penn. Why he was so insistent wasn't apparent – other than a massive dislike for the former author – and that made Carly a bit nervous. Or at least steeled her nerves enough to condense all her arguments into a single point.

"Mr. Milner. Amy." Carly came around the desk to lean against its front. Standing, she felt like she had a bit more consequence than she'd had while sitting behind the monstrosity. "I can't keep you from removing Mr. Rainey from this institution. But I will remind you that he is here under the order of the State. There is no other place for him to go except to the State Penitentiary."

"I'm not seein' the problem here. You can make your visits there," Ted's natural Southern drawl challenged.

"We're not discussing whether or not I can keep my appointments with Mr. Rainey," Carly said patiently. "We're discussing what is best for him, and in my professional opinion, being removed from the familiar surroundings of Briar Ridge – where he has privacy, quiet, around the clock care, freedom to leave his room during the day, structure, etc. – and being sent to prison would be nothing less than a massive shock to his psyche." When Amy stiffened in her seat, Carly knew she had won this time around. There was no telling when that might change. "Every step of progress we've made in the last five months would be lost. There's no telling if he'd simply revert back to his vegetative state or something worse. Sending him to jail would be tantamount to psychological murder." She allowed that to sink in, then went in for the kill before Ted could say anything. "Amy, are you sure you would like to have Mort discharged from Briar Ridge?"

"Is there any risk to him if he stays here?"

"Physically? I don't believe so. We're crawling with security guards at the moment as you can well see. And his mental state shouldn't be more than slightly upset by a few minor changes in his schedule and care."

"Alright . . . then he'll stay. For now."

Carly nodded, deciding that since her piece had been said, she really had nothing to add. And in any case, it was rude to crow over a victory. Especially when her strongest opponent was giving her a veiled look of dislike.

Author's Thanks: many, many thanks to all the reviewers who keep me going and check up on me when I don't update when I should. Those people would be…Dawnie-7 (I don't know how much I'm going to develop that rivalry between Michael and Mort, but it certainly is fun to write. And with Toby out of commission – for various unknown and nefarious reasons – perhaps I'll let the two boys hang out more. You're one of the few people who didn't say anything about poor Toby. Way to hold back on the exclamation points. .); Savvy TBird (You're going crazy to figure out where this is going? What a coincidence. So am I. :D This didn't get to you any sooner than you wanted, but I think – and hope – it was worth the wait.); Stahlfan125 (You're a Lawley fan, eh? I don't think I hear from very many of those, although I'm always happy to. The poor man needs his ego stroked by someone, and lord knows that Carly isn't doing it.); tinkthefairy (You discuss when I'm going to post with your cohorts? Woo-hoo! I'm a conversation piece. :P); Unik (I agree that phonetics can be ever so much fun. Not to mention easier to spell. I'm very glad that you're finding everything to be of a consistently high quality, and I'm sorry for the occasion misspelled/misplaced word. I go over things with a spell check and a grammar check, but computers apparently can't catch everything.); Erinya (I'm glad I can BS my way through enough stuff that I can impress people who actually know what I should know to be talking about the things I do. :P But both my parents work for state agencies, and my dad is part of a union, so I do hear a thing or two about meetings and such. Tension is fun, especially when I can torture poor Carly with it. The girl's life is much too happy-go-lucky – and isn't that a scary thought. .); DeppDRACOmaniac (I hope that the fact that Toby still lives is some comfort to you.); SpadesJade (was I making a Freckle-Juice reference with the lemon juice freckle cure? I remember pickle juice…is that the same book? It's been a long time since elementary school. ;D Peanuts are the best, and Lucy is my favorite and should me emulated whenever possible. I didn't kill Toby, I just felt like yanking everyone's chain. Yes, that's sadistic, but what do you expect? I'm a fanfic writer.); websurffer (I am a very mean person. I've never denied it. I don't know anyone named Toby, but I just remembered that one of my elementary school teachers had a daughter whose name was Carly. shrug); Blue Autumn Sky (Tension is so much fun. You never know how it's going to snap. Mort is so much fun to write. I missed him this chapter but I promise lots of him next chapter.); butterflywings32 (I give you an award for the most !'s used. Since Toby isn't really dead, am I forgiven?); Spoofmaster (I like the stream-of-thought-like review.); A Cheerful Reader (I'm so happy you're not on as many meds! I've been on meds and they're no fun. They mess you up almost as much as they fix you. No insults to Mort or Carly for the Toby preference. He's mine, and that's the great thing about stories – you can like whoever you wish. .); Little Fox (my erstwhile 'kick! I miiiiiiiiss you. Don't worry if your roommate thinks your insane. I passed that point long ago with all my friends and they're still very nice to me. :P If you want to know what happens with Salida, go bug FF.); Kitty Kisser (Why did I attack a good guy? Well, it had to happen sooner or later. If the good guys never got attacked, where's the drama?); Lynx (you're so enthusiastic in your reviews that I never know what to say back! But I love them dearly and they make me smile, so thank you.); Humiliated Grape (evil cliffhangers rule! Well, if you know what's going to happen next, then they rule. I don't like it when other authors do it. :P How's the weather where you are? Warming up yet?); SparrowLover (Mort noticed what you noticed? Am I forgetting something from the last chapter, or are you and Mort noticing something that I'm not? It's possible. Characters and reviewers are tricky like that.); normal human being (have we reached the point where you're convincing yourself of who the villain is? Because I may or may not have reached that point. I reserve the right to change or make up my mind.); Sugarbutt (If we're talking about wagering chapters of COAFEM for chapters of my fics, then I think we're all due for more Sands/Mort mayhem. .); RaynesandPours (Well, was the wait worth it? I always hope so, and I'm always reassured, but it doesn't seem to help. :P A fanfic writer would say that.); SS (I don't think you ever have to worry about being "late" with a review, considering how long it takes me to post chapters. And if I'm managing to be seamless after writing this fic for over a year, then I'm sure I don't know how I'm managing it. You have no idea how many times I have to go back and read things because I've forgotten what I've written.); CleopatraVII (I didn't update soon, but at least Toby's alive. That's something, right?); archivist (Yes, it had to be Toby because I needed to up the suspense. shrug But he's alright for the time being, so I hope all is forgiven. .)