DISCLAIMER: Dark Angel borrowed; as always, no profits realized.

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Asylum

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August 23, 2024

Tom Butler really hadn't been surprised by what he'd found, once he arrived in the lake district and saw the pastoral, rural setting of northern Indiana where his research – and his story – had led him. It merely strengthened his faith that his guess was right, despite it being the minority view. He'd always believed that when Eyes Only fled Seattle, it wasn't as much to run from those who would do him harm, but from all it had been and all it had done to him, all the chaos and pain and destruction he'd seen. If he'd wanted to hide, he could have more easily disappeared into a large city, full of others on the run, a population in flux ... here, he was the rare newcomer among people whose families had been in the area for generations. If he'd wanted to hide, he was better than most at knowing how to change appearances, to create papers and false identities – to avoid being found. Yet from all indications, Logan Cale remained virtually unchanged, physically, from his days when he engineered the ouster of the corrupt governments around him ... or, rather, "Robert Eastman" looked just like Cale did, before began using a different name...

Before heading on into town Butler circled around it, over the largely deserted, dusty roads, getting an eyeful of the area he'd seen before only in maps and aerial photos. Despite arriving in the vicinity that morning, he did not get into town until late afternoon, checking in at the town's one hotel, making certain he'd left enough time to grab dinner at the small cafe on the main street in town. He'd keep his ears open to get the sense of the community and learn anything offered that way. Both before and after his brief meal, he walked along the town streets with his camera slung over his shoulder, not asking questions but being seen, appearing interested but not overly so. The best way to hide in a possibly suspicious, rural community was to be overt, act as if he had nothing to hide. That ... and not be in too much of a hurry...

When a friendly local spoke to him he responded, each time careful not to volunteer so much that he seemed to be anxious to establish who he was and why he was there, but here and there dropping just a hint or two of the college student he was pretending to be – a college ID in the window of his wallet, opened to pay for his supper, a tattered notebook in his pocket with the seal of the University of the Pacific, where he'd actually taken some classes. No hurry; plenty of time. He was so close now he would not ruin his chances. He returned to his hotel room near sunset as the townspeople returned to their homes. Anything else would have been noteworthy, this first day in town...

The next morning he went back to the same café where he'd eaten dinner, ordering coffee and toast – safe, normal. He'd worn nondescript, utility clothing, a tee shirt and canvas pants, much as he'd seen on surveying crews or power company workers over the years. Maybe unnecessary, but if anyone was to question his motives, and anyone aware of the true identity of their neighbor enough to tip Cale off that a suspicious stranger was in town, all his preparation to get this far might be for naught. Besides, it was an easy enough ruse – and it might make the difference in getting access to – and his story about – the reclusive, publicity-shy Logan Cale.

So for his first full day in town, Butler planned to use his heavy camera often, affecting the character he'd painted for himself, a grad student earning summer funds by photographing the roadways and existing structures for the utility company as it scouted opportunities for fresh cable or new power lines to be installed. This "grad student" would further spend his time looking for interesting subjects and rustic beauty, ostensibly a photography and fine arts major looking to prepare his masters degree show ... a perfect way to watch someone's home, or car, or comings and goings from far away, he'd figured. Hiding in plain sight...

From early morning through his lunch break, Tom strolled around one part of the town, doing just that; by lunch a few of the more curious had struck up conversations with him. Word appeared to have gotten around quickly, because by lunch time at the diner he received a few more friendly nods, a new smile or two. Knowing that the town was not large enough to support his excuse for long, Butler felt some relief that it had happened so quickly, and the townspeople less suspicious here than they were out west. This way, he might step up his schedule just a little...

After lunch, he left the immediacy of the town on the bicycle he'd strapped to his car, again congratulating himself on the last minute decision to bring it along, much as a genuine grad student would. He pedaled out along the dirt and gravel road that had wound in from the state highway toward the main street and on past, the one that continued beyond pastures and corn fields, making several stops for photos and scribbled notes. His path gradually took him nearer one of the small lakes in this chain of lakes and channels stretching across the northern part of the state, left centuries ago by receding glaciers...

...and left behind by all but the year-round residents, he mused, deserted by those who once had the means for a summer homes here, but who eventually gave them up in the post-Pulse economy, clueless how to live off the land or to barter with their neighbors to keep things going. Affluent enough to hold onto their property through the early years, when they believed things would get better soon, many eventually sold off what they could, others abandoned their places outright, unable to find or afford the gas for the weekend jaunt from the city and needing to pool all available funds into one, permanent home, to avoid losing even that.

Butler considered the balance he'd already seen in this place. A self-sufficient community reminiscent of how it must have been a century before – individuals depending on each other, but within their own community's boundaries, making do with the talents and resources neighbors could share, apparently keeping an eye out for each other and for the town. How fitting this all seemed then to Butler, if his hunch was correct: the man who had ridden technology into the eyes and ears of Seattle and beyond had escaped from civilization, freed not only from the vastness of the government controls he'd fought for so long, but from that same technology which had served his ends so well, and had found a much smaller world where everyone seemed to share the same concern for his neighbors as had Eyes Only, himself...

Butler timed his afternoon so he could ride along the far side of the lake he'd sought before heading back to town, seeing across the water the comfortable, neat homes and cottages standing amid others long vacant, all rimming the lakefront. Again getting off his bike, up away from the lake's edge and moving close to the overgrown shrubs and banks of trees, he focused intently on one, well-tended cottage across the water, never dropping his gaze although his movements would appear as casual as they had since he'd arrived.

Unless his information had been wrong and his confirming research misguided, this was the place to which Eyes Only had fled, an antithesis of the cool, modern building where he owned a penthouse. Butler felt a wild sense of accomplishment, felt his pulse race: this was the place where Cale had come, when he'd finally passed on his work to others ... and this would be the place that he, Tom Butler, would get the answers, all of them, that he and half the Pacific Coast still craved. From all he'd seen so far, Butler knew he might not yet have found much about what had driven him -- but he started to suspect he'd found what kept Logan Cale here for so long...

It was sheer discipline that forced Tom to get back on his bicycle now and head back to town for an early dinner – after establishing a pattern of meals at the café over the twenty four hours since he'd arrived, he'd do nothing but raise alarms if he didn't have dinner there tonight. Besides, he'd use the time to reconsider and regroup, weigh the pros and cons of rushing back to Cale's cottage this evening...

... it was over meatloaf and peas that he finally thought to ask himself, what would Eyes Only do?

And in only another moment, trying not to bolt down the rest of his food, he mentally planned out his map for his approach that evening, how close to come to the cottage, when to approach on foot ... and how long to wait before confronting the man himself...

Fifty minutes later he was again within a mile of the cottage, and as the sun came lower over the birches and pines around him, Butler stepped off his bike and hid it, with his backpack, behind some bushes near a state road marker he knew he could find again, even in the dark if need be, with his costly new night vision goggles he now pulled out and the night scope on his camera.

Pausing momentarily before setting off on foot, Butler weighed the possibilities ahead and thought through what his responses might be, to win Cale over. He felt certain he'd find his target, and was ready to roll with whatever he found – and however close he came. He'd spent months, all told, in research and investigation to get to this point, and whatever he reaped now, so be it ... no matter what, Cale was and remained a journalist – if anyone would understand why he was here and why the story had to be told, Cale would...

Patience... patience... Tom reminded himself as walked closer, again aware of how quiet it was this far out, suspecting that only two or three cabins within a mile radius actually were inhabited at the moment. The silence made him walk more cautiously, stepping over onto the low, grassy shoulder to avoid the noise of the crunching gravel on the road.

The nearer he came, the slower he moved, as Butler suddenly felt a mixture of adrenalin rush and butterflies. Never had a story meant as much to him, personally; never had he put so much time into finding a subject and prepping to approach him. He drew a deep breath to steady himself ... and to prepare for a wait. Maybe there would be nothing this evening, or maybe he'd see something when the lights came on inside. No rush, he promised himself yet again ... and he eased as close as he dared, finding a spot not too far from the home's northwest corner, its west-facing deck allowing its residents a beautiful view of the water ... He couldn't see around into the west side, where the home overlooked the view through large, sliding glass doors, and no lights yet were on inside to allow him to see within though the generous side windows. Maybe with the lights, this view could be a good one. If not, maybe he could try getting closer, with the dark...

He made himself comfortable, crouching down amid the bushes and undergrowth. Just day two of his mission, he reminded himself. Plenty of time...

But it was only forty minutes...

Butler caught his breath as he heard the sound of a sliding door as it rolled back ... and as simply as that, his target came out on the deck, into the low, golden, rays of the slowly setting sun...

Despite his faith all along that his guesswork had been correct, Butler was almost as breathless as he was elated to see he had been right: the man moving smoothly out toward the deck's edge in his wheelchair was none other than Eyes Only himself ... "Robert Eastman" ... a/k/a Logan Cale...

He really hadn't gone to any effort to change his appearance, just as Butler had surmised. Of course, Tom figured, it might be hard to make the wheelchair go away – but there were many other changes possible and Cale hadn't bothered with any. Well, the name ... but that was more recognizable than his face, anyway...

And the face, at the moment, further intriguing the reporter, was a picture of idyllic contentment, appearing to share the unhurried, peaceful air of the people Tom had seen in the town. Coming alongside an oversized, wooden Adirondack chair, Cale stretched over to drop a leather bound folio onto its far, broad arm, pushed the attached ottoman out of the way, and slipped easily over and onto its graceful, wide slats.

Suddenly breaking the spell he'd been under, and silently lifting his camera to use its powerful zoom lens for a close-up view, Tom watched in fascination as Cale pulled himself back and up into the chair, then leaned back to look out at the lake, everything about him seeming as calm and content as anyone Butler had ever seen. In the evening quiet, Cale was serene in his solitude, amid the gentle thrum of cicadas and echoing birdsong, looking as much a part of this place as he had been the city amid the technology and the desperation and the wealthy of Seattle – maybe more so. Riveted now by the sight of his unwitting role model, Butler stared as the man took in the view for another couple minutes and finally lifted the leather folio, opened it, and drew out a pen to begin writing, even that an exercise done in calm, measured movement...

He noted details – how Cale wrote a line or two, hesitated, wrote a little more, then lifted his eyes back to the water, thinking ... for a man who did so much by coming into the homes of millions though his television broadcasts to publicize the crimes he'd uncovered, Cale was exceedingly publicity shy. Butler hadn't even found a dozen recent photos of him from Seattle, and only two brief video clips, so he was no expert on how the man looked then. But the demeanor change still had to be remarkable. Eyes Only had done amazing things in his years on the job. It couldn't have all been accomplished by someone as settled and kicked back as he was now...

So spellbound by the scene, Tom hadn't heard the door again, and almost jumped a little as into this solitary, isolated scene a lithe, feminine form in sweater and soft slacks appeared, coming up to Cale's shoulder and placing two mugs of coffee on a small table beside the chair. With that, she leaned down to circle her arms around the seated form, nuzzling him warmly and speaking in his ear. Butler couldn't have begun to make out the words at this distance, even if he hadn't been so thrown by the unexpected appearance, but the look of love and sheer happiness on Cale's face told the tale, Butler knew...Here was the explanation for Eyes Only's disappearance, for his escape to a distant, quiet place; here was the answer to every question about the man: Eyes Only had found a happy, normal life, with a stunning woman who was as much in love with him as he was, with her ...

Borne of a comfortable familiarity, the couple completed a domestic ballet clearly well practiced between them: as Cale put down the folio, he slipped an arm under his knees to lift them, and the woman drew the ottoman back up against the chair to fit it into place with one hand, making the deck chair into a lounge chair, while gently scooping Cale's legs up and onto its curved surface in one smooth motion before slipping in alongside him. Reaching to grab the coffee mugs before sitting back, and half turning to give Cale his, the woman then nestled back against the sturdy chest and the waiting arm that circled her close, both of them seeming then to melt comfortably together into the wide chair, not speaking, sipping at their coffee... and both wearing expressions Butler didn't know if he'd ever seen before – certainly not in the city, among the driven and focused of his world.

With a sudden rush of guilt for intruding on this most private of moments, Butler lowered the lens for a moment, knowing what he'd just witnessed. Whatever else might have happened to Logan Cale that led to his break with Eyes Only, and that determined when and how he did so, it was all secondary to his life now, Butler was certain – Logan Cale had found peace, not here so much, as with the woman in his arms. The demons that must have driven Eyes Only had been soothed. So those rumors were true, then, too, that "eligible society bachelor Cale" wasn't as eligible as the society pages had wanted him to be. The stories he'd heard about Logan Cale being seen out and around Seattle with a striking, coltish brunette at local food stalls or in a nearby park, mostly from before he was outed, were not just rumor. From the looks he saw between them, and the comfort they exuded, it appeared that their relationship was a deep, committed one of many months duration ...

Lifting his lens again to watch the couple as they lay together intertwined, admiring the spectacular sunset across the water, Tom felt, for the first time, some ambivalence in his mission: who was more deserving, here? The people of Washington and Oregon and California, who clamored for more information about the man who had done so much and given so much, for them all? Or the man, himself, who'd given his time, his health, his money, over and over and over again?

...if what he was asking even came close to upsetting any of what he saw before him, Tom began to suspect he wouldn't be able to do it...

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A/N: Don't let the name "Robert Eastman" throw you. This story is still intended as following canon only as far as Meow; there's a reason that a name partially borrowed from S2 was used. With luck, I'll find a subtle way to make that known down the road!

S