Disclaimer: This story was written purely for entertainment and is not for profit. It is not meant to trespass in any way on the holders of the rights to Starsky and Hutch.
Mahalo to all of the wonderful people in my life, who continue to encourage, support, and inspire me in my endeavor to write. This is the final chapter and an epilogue of sorts to wrap up "Silent Witness". Thank you so very much to all of you for staying with me on this journey. I hope the ride was an enjoyable one.
Warning: "Silent Witness" might be considered a dark tale and contains some graphic scenes and foul language that may be offensive to some readers. This story also revolves around a paranormal/metaphysical genre; if this is not your cup of tea, then please refrain from sipping. I would hate to spoil someone's fun.
oo Silent Witness oo
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONESunday evening (Two months later- Starsky's apartment)
"You want me to play something for you buddy?" Hutch asked, sitting on a stool, as he deftly tuned his guitar.
His soft voice was a soothing balm to the brunet who lay on his bed, his back pressed against stacked pillows, with one hand tucked under his head, staring moodily at his bedroom ceiling. Starsky had just taken a hot shower and was cooling off, shirtless, wearing his ragged denim cutoffs; the window to his bedroom was open, allowing a soft summer breeze to blow gently into the room.
Hutch snorted softly as he waited for his partner's reply. This singing ritual had become a nightly habit since before he had brought his dark haired partner home, just about a week ago. Hutch always knew that Starsky enjoyed listening to him sing and play, but since his abduction, this nightly serenading had become almost a need for his curly haired partner. There were times in the hospital that the brunet couldn't fall asleep until he heard the gentle strumming and soothing voice of the blond, and eventually, Hutch's guitar had become a permanent fixture to Starsky's hospital room, soothing the dark haired man to sleep, even when sedatives failed.
The psychologist had warned Hutch about the nightmares his friend was undoubtedly going to have, and Hutch had witnessed them countless times himself, reaching out to hold his trembling, sweat drenched friend in the middle of the night, whenever he bolted awake, gasping, from the horrible visions that still haunted his dreams. It troubled the blond, when his partner would eventually pull away and quietly evade the questions that Hutch asked, as he tried to coax his partner into talking about his fears.
Hutch gave his partner the once over, his pale, blue eyes running over his friend's muscled chest. The cuts and bruises on his upper torso from the beating he took with the chain had faded long ago. The fractured ribs had knitted nicely; the only physical evidence of the ordeal he had suffered at the hands of Marcus and his goons, were the scars he had on the front and the back of his upper right shoulder. Scars that still looked red and abraded, as compared to the old faded scars across his abdomen and chest, the scars he'd gotten from Gunther's failed assassination attempt. Hutch looked back to his guitar and picked a few chords, his agile fingers gliding across the strings.
Starsky had come a long way in his rehabilitation, the biweekly therapy sessions, though painful and grueling, helped keep the mobility of his healing shoulder. Although the physical wounds were nearly healed, the blond detective knew the emotional wounds were still very much there . . . raw and festering. Sometimes, those types of scars were the hardest to heal.
Hutch strummed a soothing melody, as he waited for his partner to answer. Nothing. The blond lifted his eyes from the strings and stopped playing. He waited for a while, hoping the brunet would notice the quiet stillness of the room.
Hutch frowned knowing that Starsky wasn't even aware that he had stopped playing. His curly haired friend had that far away, absent look again in his eyes that unnerved the tall blond; he hated that sad, haunted expression that would creep out every now and then, when Starsky thought no one was looking, and he wanted to erase it permanently from his partner's visage. The only thing was, he didn't know how.
At the hospital, when his wounds were well on the way to mending nicely and he could sit up with visitors, Starsky seemed his usual rambunctious self, animatedly chattering and bantering with people like Joe Collandra, Dobey and Huggy when they came by to visit the dark haired detective. No one except Hutch knew how the brunet suffered from the memories and nightmares of the trauma he lived through, although once in a while, the blond would catch Joe staring at Starsky intently, as if knowing the brunet's hidden pain, but to his credit, Collandra said nothing.
Although Hutch constantly tried to get his partner to talk about his feelings and share about the ordeal he underwent, Starsky remained stubbornly quiet, hoarding his feelings and only revealing a bit at a time. With Starsky holding everything in, it was hard for Hutch to help him through all of this. Hutch glanced at his friend over the top of the guitar, which he held pressed against his chest on his lap, wondering again, where it was that his partner mentally wandered to.
"Hey pal . . . you okay?" Hutch asked gently.
"Hmm?" Starsky said absently, turning his bright blue gaze to his friend. "What?"
Hutch snorted softly, light blue eyes softening with affection, when he saw his friend grin, his cheeks turning red, as he sat up a little straighter.
"Did it again, didn't I?" Starsky said sheepishly, "'M sorry Hutch," the brunet sighed, "Don' know why I keep phasing out like that." Starsky nervously bit on the bottom of his lip and shifted his eyes away from the compassion he saw in his friend's face.
Starsky had been going to see the department psychologist for about three weeks now, much to his displeasure, and though the doctor felt the detective had made vast improvements in so short a time, Hutch knew that his partner had just snowballed the shrink like he did everyone else. There was no way, however, that Starsky could do the same to his partner. They knew each other too well, and it was only a matter of time before the brunet would have to come clean with his blond friend.
Hutch got off the stool and slowly leaned the neck of the guitar against the wall. The blond ambled over to the bed and sat at its edge. "Hey buddy," Hutch said softly, feeling his partner tense up as he placed his warm hand on his shoulder, "It's okay . . . we all space out from time to time, sometimes . . ."
"No! It's not okay . . . I'm not . . . o-kay . . ." Starsky said suddenly, to the surprise of the blond. Hutch gently squeezed his partner's left shoulder reassuringly. He could feel his heart accelerating, hoping that this might be the moment where Starsky was ready to let him in.
Hutch knew he had to be careful about what he said next; like a wild animal, it was easier for his dark haired partner to retreat and hide when he was hurting and wounded, rather than deal with something when he was not ready to. If backed into a corner, Hutch knew his partner would come out fighting tooth and nail, and this was not the time or place for something like that. Hutch wanted to comfort and soothe, not aggravate the ire of his friend by putting the brunet on the defensive. In no way, did the blond want to exacerbate the problem when it might appear that Starsky was finally ready to discuss it.
"You know Starsk, whenever you're ready to talk about . . . about anything, I'm here for you . . . I'm right here . . ." Hutch said softly, keeping the tone of his voice gentle and calm. He could feel the rigidity leaving his partner's body and he smiled to himself, knowing he had said the right thing.
Hutch watched as Starsky heaved a heavy sigh and turned pain filled eyes to him. It physically hurt the blond to see his best friend distressed this way, and he gently squeezed his partner's shoulder again, using touch to express his loving support.
"Sometimes . . ." Starsky began so softly that the blond had to lean in just to hear him, "Sometimes at night . . . I can still hear 'im . . . in my head." There was such apprehension and despair in the brunet's soft voice that it tugged on the blond's heart, "I um . . . I guess that's why I like you singin' t'me . . . your voice makes the other voices stay away."
Hutch could see his friend's blue eyes peeking out from under his dark lashes, knowing the brunet was feeling uncomfortable disclosing that bit of information, wondering if his friend would think he was falling apart. He looked so lost and unsure, like a little boy who was afraid of monsters under his bed. And Hutch knew for a fact now, that monsters truly existed.
"He wanted me Hutch . . .for some strange reason." Starsky continued softly, "Luke said that Simon had honed his abilities enough to reach out with his mind and force his dreams on others . . .that freak Luke said that Marcus was with me the whole time I was in a coma . . . studying me, like I was some piece of meat or somethin'. I guess that's how he was able to "connect" with me so easily . . . like he knew how my brain worked or somethin'." The brunet couldn't suppress the shudder that quaked his body at that thought.
"He instigated the whole thing from the start," Hutch said gently, "That kid who shot you in the alley was part of Simon's cult."
"Yeah . . . Dobey told me somethin' like that on one of his visits to the hospital." Starsky said, closing his eyes, his long lashes looked like dark crescents against his cheeks, as he continued hesitantly, his voice growing even softer, "I mean . . . I know he's gone . . . my head feels lighter . . . the pressure in here . . ." the brunet said tapping his temple, "Is gone. When he was in my head, it hurt . . . and it doesn't anymore . . . and yet, sometimes those nightmares I get seem so real . . .like he's still with me . . . "
The blond sat quietly for a moment, waiting to see if his partner would continue. When nothing else was said, Hutch softly spoke, "Well, we know Simon Marcus can never hurt us again buddy . . . he's dead . . . they found him the very next day, lying in his bunk, with a bullet hole between his eyes. They still haven't figured out who snuffed him . . . and the strange thing is, they couldn't even locate a bullet when they autopsied him."
"They were joined . . ." Starsky whispered, his voice barely audible, his eyes dropping to the folded hands he held in his lap.
"Joined?" Hutch said, titling his head slightly as he tried to make sense of what was just said, "What does that mean buddy?" he asked gently, careful not to push too much, too fast.
"Simon and Luke had . . . had some kind of . . . some kind of mental connection." Starsky began slowly, "They were joined somehow . . . Luke kept tellin' me that the flame of Marcus lived inside of 'im . . . that they wanted the flame to live in me too . . . and when Luke died, so did Marcus . . . they were one."
Hutch looked down at Starsky's hands that were twisting the bed sheets, and he gently covered his hand over the brunet's, knowing his touch would reassure and encourage his partner to go on. Hutch closed his eyes, remembering the angry, accusing glare of Luke as he lay dead; the blood oozing slowly from the bullet wound between his eyes . . . the same location as the wound they found on Marcus in his cell. He shuddered to think what they had planned for his friend and was thankful that the visions plaguing Starsky had stopped, since he found him in the church. He quickly opened his eyes as his partner's hesitant voice began again.
"They forced me to drink that thing I thought was blood," the brunet whispered softly, recalling the horror of swallowing that gore. Starsky shuddered, remembering the nauseating feeling as that thick, warm substance went down his throat, making him want to gag even now.
They had later learned from the lab that the wooden bowl found in the adjoining chamber of the church contained a water-based mixture of red food coloring and cornstarch, which was then heated and mixed together to resemble blood. A tasteless, odorless, psychedelic drug was then added into that mixture to induce hallucinations and abdominal cramping.
"That drug opened me up to Marcus somehow . . . I could . . . I could clearly hear him in my head, Hutch . . ." Starsky said softly, a tremor in his usually strong voice made the blond bleed inside for the trauma his friend had endured.
Hutch pushed down the rising anger he felt at Marcus and his flakes, knowing how they had broken his partner down bit by bit, wishing that he could have been the one to pull the trigger as Marcus lay helpless in his bed; a fitting retribution for hurting his partner the way they did.
It suddenly dawned on Hutch, that if what Starsky had said was true, and Luke and Marcus was somehow "joined," then he did actually pull the trigger, ending both of their lives with one well aimed bullet. Hutch struggled to get a hold of his emotions, intuitively knowing that if he showed any signs of being upset by all of this, his partner would withdraw back into his silent cave. Tonight was not about anger or retribution or hate; tonight was reserved solely for healing, for Starsky's restoration.
Starsky looked up at his blond counterpart then, stormy cobalt locked onto soft sky blue, "I tried to fight 'im Hutch, I tried to push 'im outta my head, but I . . . I was givin' in at the end . . . I was so tired . . . and I . . . and I gave into them . . ." The brunet turned away in shame, from the love and acceptance that shone so freely in the blond's eyes. "I gave up Hutch," the dark haired man continued softly, remembering the hazy peacefulness of chanting that madman's name, "I let that bastard have his way with me." he finished abruptly, angry with himself for surrendering his resolve to Marcus.
"Starsky . . . hey," Hutch said gently, waiting until he had eye contact once more with this partner, but the brunet shifted his gaze away at the last minute, "They beat you, drugged you, played their sick mind games with you . . . I'm surprised you lasted as long as you did. They wore you down, a bit at a time, stripping away your hope and your self esteem until there was nothing left . . . there's no reason to be ashamed of anything . . . and you didn't give in to them Starsky." At that last statement, Starsky turned to look his partner in his eye.
"You didn't give in to them," Hutch firmly reiterated, "I know this for a fact buddy, because if you did, you wouldn't be here talking with me . . . you would be dead like Marcus and Luke." Starsky's eyes widened, his mind digesting everything his partner had just said.
For a minute they sat in silence, both men deeply lost in their own thoughts until Starsky softly said, "All those kids on the bus . . . and Sara and her sister . . . all those innocents lives were taken 'cause of me . . ."
"Hey buddy," Hutch said, reaching out to tug his partner into his embrace, feeling the overwhelming guilt and remorse that radiated out from the brunet, as he slumped wearily into the warmth and safety of his chest, "That wasn't your fault Starsk . . . you were as much a victim as they were."
Hutch gently pulled Starsky closer, feeling his partner's soft curls tickling his nose, the clean smell of sandalwood, soap and shampoo, mixing together with his partner's unique scent that he would know anywhere. "You took care of Sara's funeral expenses and had her buried next to her sister. You did all that you could buddy."
"She had nobody," Starsky said sadly, "I couldn't even be at her funeral because I was laid up in the hospital . . ."
"I know pal . . . but I went for the both of us, and the eulogy and flowers were beautiful. She would have liked that Starsk." Hutch said softly, unable to keep himself from stroking his partner's curls, "Tell you what . . . you and I can bring some flowers to her grave whenever you're ready to visit her okay?"
Hutch loosened his hold on his partner when he felt the brunet slightly pull away, looking down into the deep blue depths of Starsky's upturned eyes that shimmered with unshed tears, "She took that bullet for me Hutch . . . she was just a kid . . . she didn't have to do it . . . she had her whole life ahead of her . . .it should'a been me."
"She did that because she cared about you buddy. I could see that in her eyes. You were probably the first person who ever showed any sort of kindness to her and maybe in a way, she loved you for it." Hutch said, his voice velvety soft and soothing, his heart aching for the pain and guilt his friend had been carrying around all this time. If anyone understood the burden of guilt, it was Hutch. "I know how much you're hurting, how you feel ridden with guilt . . . I know exactly how you feel Starsky, because you see . . . you took that arrow for me and you didn't have to."
Starsky pulled back to look his partner in the eye, the look of shocked surprise on his face, "You would have done the same for me Hutch . . . we always watch each other's backs on the streets . . ."
Hutch snorted softly, looking away from the intense blue gaze of the brunet, stopping his partner's flow of thoughts with that soft sound.
"What?" Starsky questioned, his dark brows drawing together as he frowned, trying to read the changing expressions that crossed his partner's features. "What's going on in that mind of yours Blondie . . . huh?"
Hutch sighed heavily, "What we have . . . it's more than that Starsk . . . more than just some cop's code of ethics about watching your partner's back . . . what I feel for you, and what you did for me, means so much more . . . I would die for you Starsky and I know you would do the same for me! You're the best friend I've got in the whole world and if something happened to you . . . if you died . . . I would die inside too, because we're two pieces that make a whole. You make me a better person because you're in my life. I-I guess I've always known that, but in the past, I took that for granted. I did, and said things to you, that I'm rather not proud of buddy, and when I almost lost you to Gunther . . . it shook me up . . . it made me see how empty and meaningless my life would be, if you weren't in it . . ."
The anguish on the blond's face and his heartfelt outpouring brought a lump to Starsky's throat, and for a moment, all he could do was stare at his partner with wide blue eyes in the palpable silence that ensued.
"Hutch," Starsky said softly, reaching out to squeeze the blond's shoulder, wanting to say something that would convey what it meant to hear those words from his friend, but he stopped when Hutch held up a hand, silently indicating that he was not done.
The blond took a deep breath and looked his friend in the eye. "When I went to see Marcus in prison, he said some things to me that really made me think."
"Yeah? Like what?" Starsky asked softly. He knew Hutch went to talk to Simon Marcus, but they had never discussed it; although Hutch had promised to one day let Starsky hear the tape he made of their conversation.
"He said something that I remembered right after you took that arrow for me," Hutch said, his eyes softened as he remembered the pain his partner suffered, "He said . . . 'Yet . . . cupid's arrow may still fly and pierce the heart of those we cherish . . . proving once again that love exists and is the supreme power over all.'" It amazed Hutch even now, that he remembered Simon's strange words and he knew that somewhere along the line, he had committed that strange sentence to memory.
Hutch smiled at the blank look on Starsky's face, "It's okay buddy," he chuckled, squeezing his partner's knee, "I had no clue as to what he was talking about either. Nothing made sense until you got hit, then it was like this light went on and something clicked and I finally understood."
"Yeah? Well, ya mind clueing me in?" Starsky grinned, "'Cause I'm still in the dark over here . . . the light bulb's dead on this end."
Hutch snorted softly, clearly seeing the love and affection in the bright blue eyes of the brunet, "Well, it was like Marcus 'knew' we had had some challenges in the past, he said that although I once was white, I was now tarnished, and that love was not as pure as it used to be. It didn't make any sense to me, but now I know he was talking about us . . . about you and me!" Starsky just stared, trying to make heads or tales of his friend's rambling.
"Don't you get it Starsk? When we first worked together, it was always "me and thee" all the way, the love and care we had for each other was "pure," but as the years went on and I became disgruntled about being on the force, well, I-I guess I took it all out on you Starsk, and I hurt you so badly with that whole Kira mess . . ." Hutch said sadly, feeling ashamed all over again for the way he took advantage of his partner's trusting, innocent nature.
"Hutch," Starsky said, knowing his sensitive partner was hurting, understanding how difficult this was for him to disclose, wanting to comfort his friend and reassure him that all of that was water under the bridge, "Hey . . . that's over . . . it happened a long time ago . . ."
"No . . . let me finish," Hutch said, gently laying his hand on his partner's shoulder, "Marcus spoke of cupid's arrow and of supreme love. Cupid was a Roman god equated with love. That arrow you took for me proved your willingness to die for me . . . that you would love me enough to give up your own life, that the love we had for each other still was there, would always be there . . . and love is the greatest power over all things. That girl taking the bullet for you was also a demonstration of this unfailing love . . . it's like that scripture in the bible . . ."
"Yeah . . . wait a minute . . . I have a bible," Starsky said, leaning over to the drawer in his nightstand.
"You keep your gun on your bible?" Hutch chuckled, as Starsky flipped through the sheer golden leafed pages. "I thought Jewish people usually don't read the bible?"
"Hey . . . don't knock it Blondie . . .they both can save lives ya know." Starsky grinned, "Here it is . . .John 15:13 . . . Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends . . ." Starsky raised dark blue eyes to his friend.
Hutch's sky blue eyes softened with the fondness and affection he felt for his partner. The tall blond swallowed and gently said, "That's what defeated Marcus . . . it was love buddy . . . pure love. You see Starsk, there will never be a "me" without a "thee". The blond gently squeezed his partner's shoulder, his pale eyes focused on the red scar on his friend's shoulder from the arrow wound. When Hutch looked back to the brunet, his sky blue eyes were wet with unshed tears.
Starsky tried to swallow the lump in his throat, seeing the soft glow in his partner's shimmering eyes. It choked Starsky up, to see the undisguised love shining in those gentle blue depths, the unconditional love, that he too, felt for his blonde soulmate. They may have had their ups and downs in the past, but Starsky always knew that what they had between them was special, and at that moment he felt so blessed and fortunate to have Hutch in his life.
The brunet snorted, and then gave his friend one of his best lopsided grins, feeling suddenly self-conscious by their sentimental outpouring, making a show of clearing his throat to change the subject to a topic less emotive, something like food.
"Yeah . . . well, I'm hungry . . . wanna go get a bite to eat huh?" Starsky said, already rolling off the edge of the bed, "C'mon Hutch . . . you can treat this time . . . and if you really loved me like you say you do, then you'll shave off that hairy caterpillar you got growing on your lip!" the brunet said playfully, tugging off his cutoffs to replace them with one of his old, worn jeans.
Hutch snorted softly, knowing how his friend hated soapy scenes. It made the blond happy to see the old exuberance and bounce back in his partner's stride and though it would take some time, he intuitively knew that everything was going to be all right. Marcus hadn't won after all. "Okay buddy, since you hate my mustache that much, I'll shave it off tomorrow . . . I promise, but you're buying tonight! C'mon, let's go . . . maybe we can stop off at Joe's . . . I think he just might be expecting us!" The blond wagged his eyebrows eerily at his partner.
Starsky threw his partner a weird look, as Hutch walked out and clicked off the light to the bedroom, leaving Starsky standing alone in the dark. The brunet quickly tossed on a shirt feeling suddenly alarmed, as he heard Hutch chuckling evilly from the other room.
"Hey Hutch . . . wait up . . ." Starsky pleaded, rapidly zipping up his jeans, pinching his finger in the process, startling when he heard the front door slam loudly, "Hutch? Hey . . . Hutch? HUUUTCH!"
EPILOGUEMaple Gardens Cemetery (four days later)
A strong breeze disturbed the pile of foliage that was raked together and left by the hedge. The dry leaves, playfully racing and tagging each other, whirled along as they skittered across the feet of the two men who stood beside the gravestones, floating joyfully and rejoicing in their newfound freedom.
For a moment, the brunet watched the blowing leaves, as they suddenly dropped still to the ground, left bereft by the whimsical gust of wind that even now, sought new playmates. 'Thank God, Hutch wasn't like the wind,' the dark haired man silently thought, turning to glance up at his clean-shaven blond companion.
Unlike the wind, Hutch had stood next to him through thick and thin, had taken care of him when he was unable to care for himself, had comforted and listened to him when he thought he was losing it, and had guided him back from the edge of a dark abyss with the light and warmth of his friendship and love.
With his golden hair cut short once again, and minus that hairy bug from his upper lip, Hutch looked younger, happier . . . like the years of dismay and disillusionment that had hardened his features had somehow faded . . . since the night of their talk. There was a peace now to the blond's visage that Starsky hadn't seen in a long time and that filled the brunet's heart with such joy.
Starsky thought back to that talk they had three nights ago in his bedroom. Only his partner could have gotten him to spill his guts that way, allowing him to shed the guilt he had been carrying around for a long time. Yet, it seemed that the talk did his blond partner some good too. Hutch seemed lighter somehow, like figuring out Simon Marcus's riddle had helped him figure something out about himself. Marcus had called Hutch tarnished, but now it seemed that the luster was back, the radiant white knight of yore had once again returned.
Good to his word, Hutch had shaved off his mustache the very next morning, after a night filled with good food and good company at Huggy's, and before they went to bed that night, they had made plans to come and visit Sara's grave.
They had laughed and bantered the whole way over, as they drove across town, stopping only to get some flowers, and now that they stood in front of her grave, they were quiet and introspective, each lost in their own thoughts.
Starsky knelt on one knee, as he carefully split the bunch of daisies in two, one for Sienna's grave and the other for Sara's. He said a quiet prayer over them, silently apologizing to both girls for not being able to save them. He closed his eyes, remembering Sienna's face as she lay in his arms dying, and Sara's kind musical voice, as she stroked back his hair while he lay hurting in her arms. Two beautiful, young girls with the same face, the same gentle heart; and the same horrible fate; the brunet sighed heavily as he rose to his feet, dusting the knee of his jeans.
"You okay?" Hutch asked gently, laying his large warm hand on his partner's shoulder, knowing the pain his friend was feeling.
"Yeah . . ." Starsky replied softly, "Sara said she saw me holdin' her sister in the rain. She said they killed Sienna because they wanted to punish her for tryin' to run away. She said it wasn't my fault." The brunet said sadly.
"It's not your fault. They're sick bastards, every one of them." Hutch said, anger fueling the harshness in his words, as its red heat flared up in the blond again. Hearing the soft snort from his dark haired partner immediately extinguished the fire raging in his blood.
"Yeah," the brunet said simply, "I wonder though . . . how many kids like Sara are out there, needin' help and love, after what they've been through, livin' everyday with the stench of Simon's cult branded on their souls." There was another moment of silence, as each man gave thought to what was just said.
Hutch watched as another gust of wind picked up the forgotten leaves and raced them along to continue their journey. "C'mon buddy . . . let's get some lunch huh?" Hutch said gently, smiling as his partner's arm reached across his shoulders.
"Yeah . . . it's your turn to treat." Starsky said smiling, hearing the blond chuckling softly, as they made their way to the Torino parked on the curb.
The two men, one light and one dark, laughed together and walked back to the red car with the flashy white stripe that shone brightly in the afternoon sun, never knowing that they were being watched the whole time that they stood by the gravestones.
The hand that held the hedges slightly apart gently withdrew, the parted leaves that allowed clear visual access to the two detectives, closed up without a sound, as the roar of the Torino's engine came to life, and pulled away from the curb.
The wind blew gently, rustling the leaves from the trees above as the figure walked around the thick hedges and stood silently before the graves, gently tracing the names of the twins that were etched into the stone. "One day . . . we shall return . . . I promise!" the vow, whispered quietly, was taken away with the wind, as the leaves skittered across the peaceful cemetery, the resting place for the dead.
-.-.-.-. finis .-.-.-.-
Author's note: Although this story appears to be left open for a sequel, there is none in the making, as it was never my intention to even write an epilogue. So why was the epilogue written this way you are wondering? My answer to you dear reader is: I have no idea . . . I guess because Simone just dreamed it would end this way . . .
