I ran into a complete block when trying to work on my ongoing story "Blues" so I hoped if I worked on something else I could coax the muse to return. Here is the result. This story is finished. I'll be posting a chapter a day for the next four days.

Jean moaned in ecstasy as Lucien's hands played her body like a fine instrument. She writhed beneath his skillful touches, panting heavily as she felt her completion approaching...

She was jarred awake by the sound of the loo flushing. With a sigh, she rolled over and felt the emptiness on the other side of the bed. Lucien had been gone for almost ten months now, and his absence was no easier to accept no matter how long it lasted. Some days she was angry at him for leaving her alone; this morning she just longed for him.

But that longing wouldn't accomplish anything, so she climbed out of bed and began her day. At least she had something different to look forward to today - she would begin her new role as consultant to the Ballarat Police Department. Matthew had come home late the night before, too exhausted to go into detail, but he'd told her there was a murder case that had them baffled so far. Her perspective on it would be appreciated.

She served up breakfast and poured out the tea, then she and Matthew faced each other over their plates and cups.

"First, some things we need to make clear," Matthew began. "You are not the Police Surgeon."

"I am not Lucien. Yes, I understand that," said Jean.

"That means you can't interview witnesses or visit crime scenes until after they've been cleared. And if you should get into legal trouble as a result of any actions you take, the department won't be able to help you in any official capacity," he continued.

Jean nodded. "Can I ask why you're enlisting me for this at all, Matthew?"

"Because Lucien told me time and again how you made the difference in solving crimes. He said you provided the final piece of the puzzle that he needed."

She took a deep breath. She had never known that Lucien had given her so much credit to anyone else, although he'd always been quick to tell her how much she helped him. But then he'd always been kind and generous to everyone, so it didn't really surprise her.

"All right," she said, when the emotion of the moment had subsided a bit. "Now, what exactly do you know so far in this case?"

Matthew excused himself and left the kitchen for a moment, returning with an official-looking folder. "This is everything we know and suspect so far," he told her. "That's the department file, so please be careful with it. Read it through this morning, and take any notes you need. I'll have to return it this afternoon so I'll take it back when I come home for lunch."

She looked at the thickness of the file - twenty or thirty pages perhaps. Aside from the autopsy report, she doubted any of the other material would take long to get through, knowing police officers as well as she did. They didn't seem to tend toward verbosity. "That shouldn't be a problem," she assured Matthew.

"Good. If you need clarification on anything or have questions you think we should ask any of the witnesses, let me know at lunch. And I'll repeat, no questioning of them yourself or this arrangement is at an end." He stared at Jean until she nodded her agreement, then he looked down at his plate. Softly he said, "I won't risk losing you, too."

Jean knew he blamed himself in part for what had happened to Lucien, feeling that if he'd been more diligent at reining in his Police Surgeon's tendency toward recklessness, Jean would still have her husband at her side. She reached over to touch Matthew's hand until he met her eyes. She didn't bother to tell him yet again that it wasn't his fault; he knew she didn't blame him. Instead she just smiled gently at him. They both knew that Lucien's ghost would be hovering over them for the rest of their lives. His presence still filled every room of this house.

Matthew cleared his throat. "Right, then, I'll be off to work. I'll see you at lunchtime."

"At lunchtime," said Jean absently as she opened the folder and started to examine its contents.

She began with the autopsy report, and immediately realized she had a problem. She could understand very little of what she was reading. When she'd worked with Lucien, he'd always made sure to explain such matters in layman's terms. Atropa belladonna, anticholinergic syndrome, parasympathetic nervous system. She had no idea what any of that meant. She thought she had read somewhere that belladonna was a poison, so maybe the victim, John Halston, had been poisoned, but she needed more than that. If, in fact, he had been poisoned with belladonna, how would one go about obtaining belladonna? What form did it take? How much was required to kill a man and how long did it take? If it wasn't instantaneous were the symptoms noticeable to others?

So many questions that Lucien most likely could answer. He had frequently said she was smarter than he, but it was a different kind of smart. She had knowledge of Ballarat and its people, and a kind of common sense that Lucien sometimes lacked. With his extensive education and intellectual brilliance, he would take the information she provided and make the connection to see patterns she didn't see. They made a perfect team, with their complementary abilities.

Sighing, she took the report and headed to Lucien's study with its host of medical books, the volumes he'd carefully collected over decades. There she was confronted with the problem of determining which particular book contained the information she needed.

"Oh, Lucien, I could really use your help right now," she murmured.

She began to glance over the titles on the spines of the many texts, wondering if she'd even know the right one if she saw it. Suddenly she could have sworn she saw a hand extend toward the bookcase with its index finger pointing toward a thick red tome. Startled, Jean reached for the book. Medical Toxicology. Exactly what she needed.

"Thank you," she said softly, still off balance by what she thought had just happened, but had it really? She wasn't entirely sure. Maybe it was just a memory from working with Lucien on one of his cases. Certainly they had discussed poisons a number of times. Yes, that must be it: Lucien had previously pointed out this very book to her sometime in the past.

With that settled, she took the volume back to the kitchen table where she had the contents of the file spread out. She found the section of the book that addressed atropic belladonna, only to discover that both the leaves and the berries of the plant were lethal, and they resulted in different symptoms and chronologies. She needed to know which was used in this case.

She returned her attention to the autopsy report. After reading it through twice, she still wasn't sure what it said. At this rate, Matthew would be home to have lunch and retrieve the file before she got any farther than the autopsy.. Frustrated, she decided to put that aside and instead read through the witness statements and evidence reports. As she reviewed them, she made notes on a yellow legal pad so that she could refer back to them if needed. Only when she'd finished all of that did she return to the autopsy report.

It was no more comprehensible to her when she read it through again. "Lucien, my love, you made it so easy for me to understand all the medical jargon," she sighed.

"Ask Alice."

Jean jumped to her feet and looked around. She could have sworn she heard Lucien's voice saying that, but she was alone in the house. What was going on? Was it that Matthew had requested her help, just as Lucien used to do, that was causing her to have these hallucinations?

She sat down again when she was certain there was no one else home, but she couldn't stop herself from glancing around from time to time. Again she wondered why this was happening now. What did it mean? Maybe Lucien was watching over her. It tickled her to think of him as her guardian angel. She could just imagine his surprise at finding out there were angels at all, much less that he might be one.

With that thought in mind, she returned her attention to the autopsy report and had just begun to make a list of the questions she had when the ring of the telephone interrupted her train of thought.

"Blake residence."

It was Matthew. "Jean, I just wanted to let you know I won't make it home for lunch. Too busy here."

"What's going on?" she asked.

With a sigh, Matthew said, "Nothing to concern yourself with. There was a brawl after a two-up game overnight. We issued them all citations and released them this morning, and apparently they decided to carry on brawling. Not exactly the way I planned to spend the day, booking them all a second time, but there we have it."

"Don't those men have jobs and families they need to see to?" asked Jean, annoyed for Matthew's sake. "If you can't make it home, I'll bring you some lunch. Sandwiches all right?"

"You don't have to, but thank you. And would you mind bringing the Halston file with you if you're coming? I'll see you later then."

Jean put the file back in order and gathered up her notes. Then she made enough sandwiches for all the men who were likely on duty and packed them with a tin of biscuits and some apples in a picnic basket.

Satisfied that there was plenty of food for everyone, she went to the bedroom to freshen up before leaving. She changed into a smart skirt and blouse, then sat down before the mirror to fix her hair and makeup.

"Lucien, it would be so much easier if you were here, but I suppose I can ask Matthew if he minds if I consult with Alice," she murmured to herself as she ran the brush through her hair.

"Matthew won't mind," said Lucien's voice, as clearly as if he were standing beside her.

Jean glanced in the mirror, and there he was, somewhat insubstantial in form, but it was most definitely him.

"Lucien!" she said sharply, standing and turning around. But she could barely see him that way. His image was much more clear when she looked at him in the mirror, so that's what she did.

"My darling, Jean," he said with a smile.

"How did you...? Are you an angel?"

"Hardly," he said. "I'm afraid I'd sooner be a demon, if anything."

"What then? A ghost?"

"I don't think so, but then how would I know what being a ghost feels like?"

"But you're, well, dead, aren't you?"

"I don't think so," he said slowly. "I think I can hear noises around me, machinery and voices, even some music very faintly."

"Where are you? What can you see?"

"Not a damned thing, I'm afraid."

"Are you blind?"

"Possibly. Or maybe my eyes are just closed."

Jean's own eyes narrowed. "Why don't you try opening them?"

"I don't think I can. Not right now anyway. I can't seem to move at all, for some reason."

"Lucien, where are you?"

His eyes welled up with tears. "I don't really know, my love. I only know I'm not with you."

"I'll find you, I promise," said Jean. "What can you tell me? What kind of machinery? What are the voices talking about?"

He paused for a long moment, seeming to listen to something she couldn't hear. "I think I may be in a hospital somewhere. Does that help?"

"It helps a very great deal. Hold on, Lucien. I'll be there to get you."

"Such a shame," said Lillian Cummings as she stared down at the patient. "I'll bet he was a very handsome man before all this. Even now he's a good-looking bloke."

"Yes, it is sad," agreed Marian Bloom. "This is one of those cases where you wonder if it would be kinder just to let him go, you know? No response of any kind after all this time. Coma patients like this just don't recover. Even if, by some miracle, he were to regain consciousness there must be brain damage. And since he hasn't had a single visitor nor anyone even inquiring about him, what reason would he have to go on fighting to get better?"

"I suppose so. Still, they said he had been in the water for several days before he washed up on shore. He must have had something keeping him alive, something or someone to fight for."

"I guess we'll never know," said Marian. She tucked the covers around him and checked the IV that delivered the nutrients to keep John Doe 27 alive. She still wasn't entirely convinced that they should keep him alive, but for now she'd do her job since he didn't seem to be in any pain.

As the two nurses walked away, neither of them noticed that the patient's eyes had filled with tears.