A/N: If perchance you read the last chapter within an hour of its posting, you got a very poorly edited version. I posted the wrong one. That has now been corrected. If you go back and reread it, you'll see.
I heard the door open and close, and Rhonda McKenna announced, unnecessarily, "I'm back."
"Yes." Her attorney coughed. "Rhonda--please sit down again. Now, you went ahead and spoke to the press without consulting me -- or anyone else – first, and since you did that, you and I haven't had a chance to discuss this matter. Exactly what you do hope to achieve if you can prove Ms. Florescu is really your Rhonette?"
"What do I hope to achieve? I want my daughter back!" She had returned to the tragic, grieving role she had assumed at the start.
"I understand. What you imagine will happen, if you're proven right?" Mr. Rupert asked.
"Well -- she'll have to come home, won't she? Once she's shown up as a fraud? I want her at home. I miss her."
"If you think that Victor Von Doom would repudiate the marriage and have his wife throws out the country penniless over this, you're quite mistaken." said my lawyer.
"I really wish we had talked about this ahead of time, Rhonda." said her attorney. "I think you may be a little muddled. You're talking like if you can prove she is Rhonette, she'll have no choice but to come home to live with you again. That just isn't so. I don't think you considered the consequences if you succeeded in this. You want the papers to go printing everything about your other baby, and that other unfortunate business? Remember that old saying: 'People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones.'"
"Speaking of houses," Angevin put in, "according to the registry of deeds, your daughter Rhonette is the owner of record of the house in which you live. Your daughter would be able to have you evicted, if my client were your daughter -- or have the gas, water, and electric shut off summarily -- even sell the house out from under you or have it demolished, if she so chose."
Rhonda McKenna—I was trying not to think of her as my mother anymore— said, indignantly, "She couldn't do that. It's my house. She signed it over to me. She was eighteen, so it was legal. I've got the paper at home."
"Regardless of whatever paper you may have at home, the registry of deeds states that the owner of that house is Rhonette McKenna. Was your paper signed before witnesses and stamped by a notary public?" asked the Prince of Sharkness.
"No." My mother said, sullenly.
"Then it isn't legal, and even if it were -- it could very well be argued that, she being only eighteen at the time, you might have exerted an undue influence over her. On the other hand, if my client is not your daughter, then after four or five years, you can go to court and have declared legally dead. Because you are her next of kin, the house would become yours automatically."
"But that's wrong!" she burst out.
"Rhonda -- I've known you since you were a little girl -- so, as an old friend, not just as your lawyer, I'm telling you this: Let this go. Issue a retraction and apology, and say that you made a mistake. I think -- I think it's possible you need to speak to someone -- some who can help you."
"No! She's going to get away with this! That can't happen -- I can't let that happen. I'll go to Latveria. I'll make her see me."
My attorney remarked, "Visiting Latveria is not as easy as visiting most countries. All tourist visas have to be approved by Victor Von Doom. Under the circumstances, I hardly think you would be allowed entry into the country, and if you went in anyway, illegally, and you were not summarily shot, you would end up in the dungeons of Castle Doom."
"But she is my daughter! Before she disappeared, she was back in my house -- she left something there -- and he was with her, Doom was with her." My mother said.
"Rhonda, you need help. I'll do my best—." Mr. Rupert tried.
"Wait." Her voice suddenly changed. "You know Joviana, don't you? You've spoken with her?"
Angevin's reply was, "Yes."
"You could get a message to her, from me, couldn't you?" Asked my mother -- or someone who was using her voice.
"If I thought it was necessary she should receive it, yes." replied my lawyer.
"All right -- tell her this is from -- this is from Malice."
Silence.
"Ms. McKenna?" Prompted Angevin.
"I'm thinking how to put this -- it's no use, it sounds crazy no matter how I put it. Here's the message: I have no right to ask for help, but I'm begging. I'm stuck in Rhonda's head, and I can't get out."
"You'll excuse me for a moment?" Broke in Mr. Rupert.
"It's horrible in here. I can't -- no." Her voice returned to the familiar steely tones that my mother often used. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I would a setback. I mean, why I would have said that. Please excuse me."
I heard the door open and close again, and then Mr. Rupert hissed, as if into the microphone or into Angevin's ear, "Called the State Mental Hospital. Sending ambulance."
"I'm afraid I have to take my leave of you," said Robert Angevin. "My family is waiting for me at the airport."
Once he was outside, he spoke directly to me once again. "Did you hear all that?"
"Yes." I replied. "You were amazing."
"You have earned my respect." added Victor. "An impressive performance. Most satisfactory."
The Prince of Sharkness answered, modestly, "Thank you -- it may not be the end, but now we have her attorney on our side -- and he will see to it that the rest of the family follows suit. What you propose to do about Malice?"
"For the moment -- nothing." I told him. "How else can I tell the families of the two guards and the driver, that the murderer of their loved ones is being punished for what she did? What other prison could be devised to hold her? Oh, perhaps when Professor Xavier's feeling better, I shall consult with him about getting Malice out of my mother's head -- I don't think a mutant tenant in her head can be good for her. For the time being, however, I think that Malice is in just the right place."
"That's fine with me. I will see you -- in about 15 hours. Bye!" Robert Angevin broke up the connection, and I took a deep breath and tried to collect my thoughts and my feelings before I turned to Victor.
How did I feel now? I had thought I would need to cry. I didn't, if anything, I felt as though I had just put a very heavy burden down. Yes, it hurt a bit, as tightened and cramped muscles will hurt when you try and stretch them. Really, though, I felt very—free.
"Don't expect me to fling myself into your embrace. After all, you're wearing armor and I don't like bruises. I never did like banging my head against a brick wall… What I mean is," I said, taken aback by how easy it was to mislay my caution and talk to him so normally again. "I'm feeling somewhat better."
"That is good." He said. "The embrace can wait for later."
Neither of us mentioned the prenuptial agreement -- We probably never would. Nor did he ask if he was forgiven, any more than I told him he was. I reflected that this might prove to set the pattern for conflict resolution throughout our entire marriage, with Victor never conceding that he had done something wrong -- but finding some other way to make things right.
I could only hope there would be some pretty spectacular makeup sex when we reached the end of the day.