Chapter 3

Gradually consciousness pushed back the void that had held Sawyer captive. With determination, the young man pried open his eyes, blinking his surroundings into focus. At first a jolt of apprehension ran through him at the sight of the unfamiliar room he inhabited. Then, like a blinding light, he remembered…it all. He was on the Nautilus …and Huck was dead.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he battled the overwhelming wave of despair and guilt. He couldn't succumb to the emotions, not now, not before the Fantom was dead and Huck was avenged. As a voice broke into his thoughts, Tom's eyes flew open and he stiffened in surprised alarm. Even that slight movement jarred his body, sending agony flaring through his veins.

With overwhelming relief, Allan Quatermain had watched the American's eyes flutter and finally remain open to take in the sight of the right side of the room. The older man was about to let the man know of his presence when Sawyer's eyes had clamped shut as if he were engaged in a fierce battle to ward off an onslaught of pain. "Should I get Jekyll? Are you in a great deal of pain?" Allan had hurriedly inquired in concern, his tone pitched softly so as not to startle the younger man. When Tom jerked in surprise, Allan cursed himself, immediately placing his hand upon the spy's unharmed left shoulder, effectively pinning the secret service agent's weakened body to the mattress.

Tom's head flew to the left, his eyes alighting on the reassuring presence of Allan Quatermain. Though he was still struggling to awake fully, Tom however detected a difference in the other man since they had talked. Calling upon his ingrained observational skills, the spy began to categorize the changes that had been wrought in the famed hunter. Even to a novice of observation, the weariness in the adventurer was all too visible. No, it was the underlying alterations that piqued Tom's interest. The twinkle in Quatermain's dark eyes was tuned so low it was almost extinguished. Almost. Then there was the set of the man's jaw, as if it was stiff from being clenched tightly for too long. Lastly there were the markings of a struggle for restraint in the man's actions, voice, and eyes.

Tensing under Quatermain's hand, Sawyer felt fear grip him as he thought of the possible events that could be causing the hardened adventurer such torment. His eyes bore into Allan's eyes, conveying that he would not stand to be sheltered from the apparent bad news. "What's wrong?" he demanded, his voice roughened by his time in the void.

Allan's eyebrows hiked in shock at the spy's question. Had the boy suffered some loss of memory? But the eyes that held his were surprisingly clear, especially after the night the spy had endured. With rising anger, Quaterman deduced that memory loss was not the culprit for Sawyer's question, stubborn pride was. Was the boy so addle brained that he didn't know how serious his condition had been! Or was he trying to deny his vulnerability as he had done last night? "What's wrong!" he exclaimed in outrage, giving the healthy shoulder under his hand a rough shove before he pulled back to tower over the prone young man. "You nearly died!"

Tom's eyes narrowed, gauging the older man's words and reactions, attempting to determine their percentage of truth. By the kindled fire in Quatermain's eyes, Tom knew it mattered little if Allan was speaking the truth. What did matter was that Quatermain believed that he was speaking the truth. Having seen a similar look many times in his Aunt Polly's eyes, Tom knew the best thing he could do was side step the fight and counter with the truth of the here and now. His voice as strong and steady as he could manage, Tom declared, "I'm alright now."

Such a statement would have soothed his aunt. With Allan Quatermain it seemed to ignite a bonfire.

With a voice that rose in fury and could have cut a diamond, Quatermain railed, "Alright! You bloody well aren't alright! Why didn't you tell me, any of us, that you were hurt! Shot in fact!"

His hackles raised by the inquisition, Sawyer, disliking his vulnerable position under the older man's glare, overrode his body's protests and began to try to sit up. But once again the hunter's hand settled onto his shoulder, restraining his motions. Rebellion flared in Sawyer as it always did when he felt himself under someone's control. His answer, which moments prior would have been an ashamed apology for the omission, now turned into a gruff retort. "Wasn't something you needed to know," his tone matching the hard glint in his hazel eyes that were piercing into Quatermain.

Disbelief and fury shot through Allan. "Didn't need to know!" His hands balling into fists, fighting back the urge to strangle the American, Allan let his incensed look do some of his work for him. "You took on all of the Fantom's men at Dorian's house and chased after Hyde with a gunshot wound that's not even a week old! What kinda bloody fool are you! It's a miracle you didn't drop over dead!"

Quatermain's censure and obvious lack of faith in his abilities penetrated Tom's protective barriers with skilful cruelty. Angrily, Tom, with a swipe of his left arm, dislodged Allan's hand from his shoulder. "I've been shot before. I know my limits," he confidently insisted, his tone nearly a snarl.

Allan's heart clenched at Tom's words, their painful meaning. 'He's been shot before!' reverberated through his mind. Instead of letting his anguish reveal itself, Allan unleashed his barbed tongue, "So getting shot is a habit with you? How reassuring?"

To this Sawyer snapped back sarcastically, "Yeah, it's habitual. I like to do it every fifteen years to keep myself in practice."

"Damn it, this is not a joke!" Quatermain roared, his façade of impartiality destroyed by his overwrought emotions. His eyes bore into the still pale young man. Sawyer returned his glare unflinchingly.

"I'm not laughing," Sawyer countered his tone cold enough to freeze Africa.

Suddenly feeling like life was out of his control, Allan shot out of the chair he had occupied all night and stalked for the door. When his hand wrapped around the door knob he halted all motion. He could not leave without making sure one important message was indelibly singed on the young man's brain. Swinging around to face Sawyer, Allan pointed a menacing finger to the prone man, his eyes clashing with the spy's. "Your life in not expendable! You act like it is ever again and I'll shoot ya myself." Ripping the door open, Quatermain stormed from the room.

Tom flinched as the door slammed shut in the hunter's wake. Not at the sound but at the finality it expressed. Whatever connection he had hoped to make with Quatermain was doubtlessly severed forever now. 'Stubborn fool!' Sawyer berated himself, sinking more firmly down upon the mattress, closing his eyes and allowing the true pain and exhaustion to register on his face. Tentatively he raised his left hand to the bandage and pressed experimentally on the gunshot wound. He clamped his teeth down into his lip to choke off his agonized cry.

In two days he hoped to come face to face with the Fantom and avenge Huck's death. How could he do that when agony consumed him and lifting his head off the pillow seemed too great a task in his weakened state!

Quatermain stalked down the corridor allowing his fury and frustration to reign, for he knew that if he let his prominent emotion free, it would be his undoing. "Bloody stubborn reckless American!" he grumbled, his steps eating up the shining floor of the Nautilus. 'Why I bothered to sit by your bed all night I'll never know! You'll probably leap in front of the first bullet that comes your way!' But that thought caused shame and dread to wash over the adventurer. "Why did I have to let him sign on with us?" he sighed aloud with bitter regret. "I could have bought a Winchester and been done with it."

Instantly Quatermain rebuked himself. He could not let that lie he told himself go unchallenged. For in his heart, he knew the Winchester had never been the ticket for the young man's admission into the league. No, Sawyer's actions at Dorian's told Quatermain all he needed to know about the young stranger. None of the "official" league members had garnered his respect or trust but Sawyer had, and with unequalled speed. And if Quatermain had learned anything in life it was that every man had need of an ally.

Now that need seemed too great a vulnerability. His words to Mina returned to him, "I've buried two wives and many lovers. And I'm in no mood for more of either." 'I should have included sons in that tally.' Burying one son had almost killed him…he would not survive losing another. 'You old fool! Get it through that thick head of yours! Sawyer isn't your son! He's a stranger you met only yesterday!"

Coming to his room, Allan crossed over the threshold, slamming the door shut behind him. Without pause, he went to the table, snatched up the bottle of whiskey he had had the forethought to bring along and took a healthy swallow, hoping the burning liquor would sear out the sentimentality that seemed to be choking his logic. Suddenly he slammed the bottle down in disgust. It was no use. Somehow Sawyer had barged through his barriers like no one had in years…not since Harry's death. Nigel had been instrumental in keeping out the adventure seeking strangers from Allan's life and Allan had successfully kept Nigel and his other acquaintances out of his heart. 'Or so I thought,' he bitterly realized, reliving the sorrow that had nearly swallowed him whole at Nigel's death, of the deaths of the other members of the Britannia club. They had been more than men to share a drink with, they had been friends whether he had wanted them to be or not. 'I thought I was safe from loss. I found out the folly of that thought with sharp brutality.'

"I was wondering why you signed up for all this," Sawyer had asked him. Allan cringed now as he recalled his brazen reply, 'They called. I answered.' "Prideful bugger," he castigated himself as he sank onto his bed. 'But the boy, nay the spy, saw through my ruse.' "But that ain't all of it?" Allan could hear the certainty in Sawyer's voice all over again, as if the spy stood in the room now, repeating the question.

Only now did Allan answer with the truth, now when no one would hear it. "No, that wasn't all of it," he admitted with a whoosh of breath, leaning his hands against his thighs, cursing the fate that had him sailing in this "canoe" with so many intuitive people. Right now he could have used some of their insight himself for it seemed he did not know his own mind. 'Why am I here? Revenge? Duty? Patriotism? Or for the ultimate assurance that no more sorrow will decimate my soul…for death?' His words to the unconscious Sawyer rang through his mind, "You are no quitter, Sawyer. You and I are made outta the same coin, fighters both of us." 'Is that still true,' Allan wondered. 'Am I still a fighter?'

Quatermain's eyes longingly sought out the whiskey bottle he had foolishly left on the table across the room but he was too tired and unmotivated to retrieve it. Unbidden his thoughts returned to Tom Sawyer. 'Thank God he's a fighter! A fierce one at that.' Dropping his head down and rubbing at the nape of his neck with his hand, Allan tried to release the tension that still strained his every nerve. Last night he had honestly feared that the young man had engaged in a battle he was destined to lose. Allan had raged and fought against that notion, that destiny with tooth and nail… for Sawyer, for a young American he barely knew. Easily he could admit that he had fought harder for Sawyer's survival than he cared to fight for his own. 'Old tiger nearing its end,' he repeated as if that explained his lack of concern for his own self-preservation.

Sliding his hand from his neck to his cheek, Allan was surprised at the unfamiliar texture of his hand. Holding his hand out for his inspection, he was almost shocked at the blood that still stained his hand, Sawyer's blood. Only he and Jekyll knew how close the young American had come to dying last night. 'Too bloody close,' ricocheted through Allan without mercy, causing his heart to constrict and his mind to return to the living nightmare he had been through hours before. A shiver coursed though the seasoned adventurer as he vividly recalled Sawyer arguing with him one second and collapsing in his arms, barely drawing breath the very next second. As terrifying as those memories were, now what unnerved him the most was his own emotional reaction to the young man's possible fate.

Hours Prior

When Sawyer's eyes closed, his head fell forward and he collapsed against Allan's chest, terror and despair assaulted Quatermain. The adventurer in Quatermain ordered him to check for a pulse, to know the boy's fate…but the man in him, the father in him, could not bear to know the truth..not now, not yet. Instead he pulled Sawyer more securely against his chest, tightly wrapping his arms around the young man and resting his head upon the boy's blond tresses. 'It could not be happening…not again! Not to another young man full of such life!'

Breaking from his shock at the spy's collapse, Henry fearfully reached his hand toward the American clutched in Quatermain's grasp. Pressing his fingers against the spy's neck, relief shuddered through Jekyll. "He's still alive," he breathed, his eyes meeting Quatermain's over Sawyer's bowed head.

Quatermain shut his eyes, struggling to reign in his emotions. He couldn't bear this pain, not again. "Yes, but for how long?" he bitterly demanded, opening his eyes and daring Jekyll to attempt a lie.

"I…I don't know…his chances..well, they are not the best," Henry stammered, his previously impartial outlook for the young man's fate suddenly hued with heart felt regret. Incredibly, Sawyer had become his friend amid their small exchange of words only moments prior. 'Deuced bad timing to determine you like the boy,' Henry admonished himself.

Tenderly Allan put his hand on the back of Sawyer's head, "Chances, odds, fate, destiny…I hate 'em all," he venomously growled, his tone a sharp contrast to the gentleness of his touch upon Tom.

Jekyll simply stood transfixed by the sight of the gruff hunter gently holding unto the so very young spy. He was loath to attempt to disengage Sawyer from Quatermain's possessive hold.

Instead it was Quatermain himself that set things in motion. Warring against all the cruel machinations of life, Allan swore that he would not let death steal over this young man. Bracing Sawyer's back with his right arm, Quatermain slipped his other arm under the American's legs and carefully picked the young man up into his arms. Jerking his chin toward the bed, Allan ordered of Jekyll, "Pull back the covers so I can lay him down," his voice thick with evoked emotions as he cradled the young man in his arms. He had carried Harry in his arms…when it was too late for his boy to appreciate his love. Swallowing hard, Allan looked down at Tom's pale face and pulled the American more tightly to him. 'Not this time. Not again,' he vowed again.

Jekyll had instantly complied with Quatermain's wishes. Surprised when the hunter didn't immediately lay down his burden upon the mattress, Henry's eyes flew up to Quatermain. The doctor was prepared to see the vulnerability in the American…he was not at all prepared to see it in the renowned adventurer. Quatermain looked as if he held the most precious thing he possessed in his arms. And yet, if Jekyll had the facts straight, Quatermain had only known the young man a day. "Allan," he quietly called, breaking Quatermain from his trance.

Shutting down his memories, Allan carefully laid Sawyer down upon the mattress. Finding it nearly painful to break his contact with the young man, Quatermain rested his time weathered hand on the blond head. His eyes flicked over to Jekyll. "Well, do your thing, doctor! Now!"

"Yes, right," Henry replied, re-dousing the cloth with liquid from the vial. When he turned to Sawyer to resume the procedure that the young spy's resurrection minutes prior had interrupted, Henry saw Quatermain again had placed his one hand upon Sawyer's shoulder and the other upon the young man's waist to restrain him. With a nod of approval, Henry took a breath and firmly pressed the cloth down upon the gunshot wound. Even unconscious Sawyer grunted and his body arched against the sharp pain.

It took a considerable amount of Quatermain's strength to keep Sawyer on the mattress. When Jekyll removed the cloth from the wound and the young man relaxed under his hands, Allan drew in a relieved breath. The next second he knew his relief had been premature…very premature. The good doctor was heavily dousing the cloth once again. Quatermain's dismayed look caught Jekyll's eyes.

Chagrined, Jekyll explained, "This is the least invasive way I can attempt to clean out the infection. If this doesn't work…the other procedures…he may not survive them."

Finding words illusive at that prediction, Allan simply nodded his head in understanding, tightening his restraining grip upon Sawyer. Jekyll, seemingly pitilessly, pressed the cloth inside the hole in Sawyer's flesh. Sawyer cried out in agony, his body arching off of the mattress only to be pressed back down by Quatermain's firm but gentle grip. "It's gonna be alright, Sawyer," Allan reassured gently, keeping his leverage upon the now savagely trembling body as he cringed in sympathetic pain as Jekyll swabbed the cloth inside the wound. A sharp cry of pain ripped from Sawyer's throat. Quatermain's eyes flew to Jekyll's, "Easy, damn it, easy!" he barked to the doctor, "He's in enough pain without your brutal ministrations."

Henry's tightly reigned emotions began to crack under the pressure and ingratitude. "He's lucky to be feeling 'anything'! Most men would be dead already! If you don't want to see him end up that way, I suggest you leave the doctoring to me!"

Allan opened his mouth but promptly shut it. He knew he could do nothing to aid Sawyer but Jekyll could. "I'm sorry," he gruffly said, "Continue doing what you're doing, doctor."

Quatermain's words seemed to ignite Jekyll's anger. Throwing the cloth to the table, Henry let out a curse and wrapped his hand around the base of his neck. "It's no good," he lowly announced, pulling his gaze from the wall to rest on Quatermain. By Allan's bone white complexion Henry knew his words were being interpreted to their worst conclusion by the older man. "I mean this method," Henry clarified, immediately seeing some color return to the adventurer. "I can't cleanse the infection out this way. It runs too deep."

"What are your other options?" Allan managed to get past the constriction in his throat.

With a fortifying breath, Henry slid his hand from his neck and looked down at the trembling, pale, sweat drenched young American. "To make an incision into the wound and cut out the infection."

Allan's breath caught in his chest. He knew the strain that action would inflict on Sawyer's tenuous hold on life. Quietly, as if he was afraid that to say it any louder would make his doubts come true, Quatermain asked, "He's so weak…will he survive that?"

Seeing the trepidation in the older man, Henry softly said, "I can see you value this young man's life and what I propose seems cruel and unnecessary but make no mistake, he will die if the infection maintains its hold upon him."

Clenching his jaw at the frank news, Allan focused again on Sawyer's face, the blood vessels almost visible under the young man's ever paling skin. Allan knew Jekyll spoke the truth. He himself had known the edge the young man teetered on when he found him lying unconscious on his bed, blood soaking his shirt. Looking up and meeting Henry's eyes, Allan ordered, "Do it."

Seeing that trust instead of a threat lay in the other man's eyes, Henry nodded before picking up a scalpel and turning to his patient. To his surprise, Quatermain's hand caught his wrist arresting his motion.

"You're going to give him something for the pain, aren't you?" Allan asked in disbelief but when Jekyll's eyes darkened he knew the answer already.

"I don't dare to …not with the amount of infection and blood loss," Henry sympathetically answered, hating the predicament Sawyer had unwittingly put him in. "If only I had gotten to the wound before the stitches were out …before it became so badly infected…" he began with heart felt regret but he broke off the words. He of all people knew the futility of hindsight.

Guilt tore into Allan. 'I should have figured out he was injured! I should have wondered why he used his hand guns when we set out to capture Hyde! I should have realized something was wrong when he hesitated to shoot Matilda when he practically had been transfixed by the gun since I showed it to him.' Suddenly Allan's breath caught in his throat, "Matilda," he said aloud with cruel understanding.

Catching the word, Henry repeated in confusion, "Matilda? What does a female have to do with this?"

With guilt and self loathing Quatermain supplied, "It's not a female…its my bloody gun."

"You shot him?" Henry exclaimed in disbelief. Surely he had not misunderstood the relationship between these two men so greatly.

"NO!" Allan roared, appalled at even that thought. "On the deck, I insisted he shoot my gun, Matilda." Closing his eyes he confessed, "It recoils like the kick of five horses."

Quietly Henry acknowledged, "It tore open his stitches."

Sadly, Quatermain nodded and forced his eyes open to fix on Sawyer. Lightly he put his hand to Tom's cheek, "I'm sorry, lad. I should have figured it out but I didn't."

"You didn't know," Henry gently consoled. "It seems Tom was set on keeping his wound to himself. Even now that we know, he fought against any aid."

"I should have figured it out," Allan repeated with remorse.

"You did figure out that something was wrong or else you wouldn't have kicked in his door."

This garnered a grimace from Alan. "Too little too late," he groused.

"No, not too late. Not yet," Jekyll corrected, gripping the scalpel tighter in his gasp and ordering, "Hold him down firmly."

For a moment a protest sparked in Quatermain's eyes before it faded to resigned acceptance. Once again he settled into a position to restrain Sawyer. "Let's get this bloody task over with," he gruffly said, wishing that he knew some other way to save the young man's life. Agony wasn't a strong enough description for the level of pain he knew Sawyer would endure under Henry's treatment. From personal experience Quatermain knew that even unconsciousness would not keep Sawyer from feeling the agony.

The rest of the memories were enough motivation to get Allan off the bed and across the room to take another long drink of the liquor. He could still hear Sawyer's screams as the scalpel cut deeply into the infected wound and as Jekyll cleared the wound of infection, the young man's writhing body slick with sweat almost escaping his hold. It was not long into the procedure before Allan had to clamp his jaw tightly together to forestall his own plea to Jekyll to stop the torture to the young man.

Even after the wound was cleared of infection and restitched, Sawyer's torment did not end for the fever refused to relinquish its prey. Sawyer thrashed and shivered and called in his delirium one name, Huck, with a forlorn desperation that Allan's heart could scarcely endure. Immediately, seeking to sooth Sawyer's anguish, Allan placed one hand on the American's fevered brow and clutched Tom's hand in the other while he gently whispered reassurances to the extremely ill man. "Shhhh, son, everything's going to be alright. Easy now. Lie still."

But Quatermain had not known if he spoke the truth to Tom or a lie. He did not know for certain that all would be well, that the wounded man would survive and Jekyll would give no reassurances as he bathed Sawyer's burning forehead with a wet towel. Then, for all the terror Sawyer's nightmares induced in Quaterman, it was infinitely worse when Tom suddenly lay seemingly lifeless on the bed, his labored breathing the only sign that he still lived.

It was amid that desperate time that Jekyll had announced that there was nothing more either of them could do to aid Sawyer, that now the fight was the young man's alone. With every ounce of his soul, Allan rebelled against the thought of death stealing away Sawyer's life. To have Jekyll abandon hope was almost too much for Quatermain to bear. "There's nothing you can do! If you had put your abilities to good use instead of some damn potion to turn yourself into a monster like Hyde then maybe there would be something you could do to save his life! Get out."

Seeing the dangerous glint in Quatermain's eyes, Jekyll didn't protest but left the room immediately, certain that if he was truly needed the adventurer would put aside his rage and seek him out. There was no doubt in his mind that Quatermain would let nothing hinder Sawyer's chances for survival.

Since the discovery of the spy's wound, Skinner, Nemo, Mina and Dorian had each stopped in to see the young man but none had stayed for long. Some could not bear to witness the young spy brought so low and others did not like being under Quatermain's overprotective scrutiny when they stood at Sawyer's side. So it was, Quatermain sat alone beside Sawyer in the wee hours of the morning, bathing the young man's face, softly recapping some of his adventures and praying that Tom's life be spared. Too focused on his task to wonder why he valued this young man's life so very highly.

Now with Sawyer on the mend, Allan had nothing to occupy his mind and he was confronted with the true reason for his actions. Against all his logic, protests and denials, he had to admit that Tom had begun to fill some of the void in his soul that Harry had left. To be sure, Sawyer was nothing like Harry.

Harry had not been molded from his father's image, though he had tried to replicate the elder Quatermain. No, Harry's nature was gentle, forgiving and conservative. For the millionth time, Allan cursed himself for not recognizing his son's true nature earlier, before he got him killed. Had he known, had he taken the time to know his own son he would have refused Harry's request to accompany him on the mission. The boy had his own worthy path in life to travel. He should never have felt compelled, either by his father or by the world, to travel in the footsteps of the legendary Allan bloody Quatermain. Shutting down those unbearable thoughts, Allan returned his thoughts again to Sawyer.

No, Sawyer was not like Harry. 'He's like me," Quatermain surmised, half with pride and half in worry, bitterness and regret. He knew all he himself had endured by his rash choices. He didn't want Sawyer to suffer any of the same agonies. 'Seems like he already has. Second bullet wound in his young life! Reckless boy does measure danger the way I do!' And that notion troubled Allan more than he ever thought possible.

TBC

Reply to Reviews:

LXGFanGirl: Me! Kill Tom! I wouldn't do that…torture him, kidnap him but never kill him. Thanks so much for your wonderful review and enthusiasm!

Sabrina: Thank you so much for your wonderful compliments! I really appreciate them! So glad I'm portraying the characters and their feelings well. I've watched and rewatched the movie trying to know the character's better. So Glad my efforts showing. I would like to take this story up to the end of the movie and a little beyond but I guess I'm afraid it'll get too boring and tiresome to cover that whole time span. Truly it's up to you where I end this story. You're the one keeping me writing! Can't thank you enough for your support.

Julia: I totally agree with your statement about great beginnings of stories and then they let you down. I really hope that I don't let you down like that. It's fantastic compliments like yours that helps me to keep writing and striving to improve each chapter. I LOVE hearing from you and getting your thoughts so please continue to drop me reviews!

Ten Mara: Ah…you are so right! Our Tom would never slink out of this life with a croak of "can't"! Can't fool you can I? Thanks for your much appreciated review!

Alone Dreaming: No need to apologize for short reviews ever! I appreciate the time and effort and vulnerability you put forth in Giving a review! I am horrible at dropping reviews to stories! I'm still blushing over your review. And indeed poor Tom and poor Allan. Boy I love writing angst…as long as it ends well. Thanks again.

Sawyer Fan: You deserved every compliment I gave you and more! I'm so pleased you liked last chapter! It was fun writing/envisioning Quatermain kicking in Tom's door. Those protective instincts are wonderful to see in action. And as you read this chapter, I too believe that Allan and Tom are much alike..which tugs on Allan's well guarded heart. Hope you hear your thoughts on this chapter.

Claudette: I couldn't kill Tom, I have too much angst for him to bear in this story! I like your insight into the "groundwork" for the story's future! I depend on comments to aid me in shaping this story so thank you very much! Thanks so much for your continued support and reviews!

Xanthia Morgan: Thanks so much for your awesome review! Glad you like the father son relationship between Tom and Allan. As you can tell, I'm a sucker for that stuff too! By the way, I'm reading your Smallville story where Clark falls into a cave and I love it! I"ll drop you a review when I get a chance! Hope to hear from you!

Tonianne: Thank you for your wonderful encouragement and compliments! Hope you like this chapter too!

Laura B: Thank you so much for your great review! It's always a wonderful compliment when the reader desires to know what comes next! Hope you enjoyed this chapter!
Kingleby: I enjoyed getting your 2 awesome reviews! Thanks! I'm touched that my Huck dying scenes almost made you cry! I'm also glad you saw where I was coming from with Tom's reluctance to trust Jekyll! Thanks for saying I'm writing the characters/emotions well! It's always a struggle to get it right! Hope to hear your thoughts on this chapter!

LotRseer3350: Thank you for the wonderful compliments! I'm glad it seems to be an original idea. I was a little worried because I haven't read much LOTR and hoped this ground hadn't been covered already. Btw: I did sneak over and read your LXG where Tom dies…brilliantly done! It makes me really appreciate your opinions!

Thanks for reading and reviewing and giving me the time to tell the story at my own pace!

Cheryl W.