The Fugitive 2000: Virtual Season 2

by TheFugitiveHunter

The Virtual Season 2, which picks up exactly where Season 1 leaves off. -Written by the folks over at the now defunct dr richard kimble dot com.

9. Episode 7: Cri Du Chat - Part 2 of 2

"Cri Du Chat: A Fugitive Novelization"

Written by: Carol from Minnesota — Creator: Roy Huggins

Part 2 of 2

Important Note from TheFugitiveHunter
"The Fugitive 2000" Seasons 2 and 3 are intended to be read as if the show had not been cancelled, and therefore the episodes take place in the years the actual Seasons 2 and 3 would have been shown. This particular episode will heavily feature the September 11th, 2001 terrorist attacks; including the reactions of Richard Kimble and other characters. I believe the author has written this with the sensitivity of the topic in mind; however there are some inaccuraces here and there in the passages that refer to the attacks and aftermath. I have decided not to correct these in order to preserve the original work.

Author Acknowledgements and Dedication
My husband's thoughtful responses to my questions while I was writing this story are perhaps surpassed only by his incredible knowledge of geography, especially evidenced in Part Two. Guidelines and input from the " " Season 2 staff have been much appreciated; future authors, take note! Thanks especially to FreeToFly, whose feedback has been invaluble, particually in making sure that Canadian infirmation is accurate and authentic. It has been a genuine pleasure (Hope that doesn't embarrass you too much!)

Dedication: "Cri du Chat - Part 2" isgratefully dedicated to Fugitive fans from other nations, most especially to Canadian fans and indeed the nation of Canada and all of her citizens.

Cri Du Chat - Part 2

Richard Kimble, disoriented to time and place, debilitated by a mysterious ailment to the point of having hallucina-tions, found himself slowly on the road to recovery with a ragged cough, sensitivity to light and gaping holes in his short term memory. Somehow, while heading north, he had entered Canada without knowing it, and was the unwit-ting recipient of the ministrations and generosity of Louis Renaud and his grand niece Marie.

Marie had been Louis' ward and companion since her parents died in an accident when she was three years old. The government-hating Louis had an evasive and jocular nature. During one such teasing moment he bestowed the ironic name "Rob Strayer" on Richard.

Although Louis and Marie operated an animal shelter which also did veterinary work, neither was licensed as a veteri-narian. This did not bother Louis but wore heavily on Marie. Richard was drawn to a Seal Point Siamese in the clinic, and while reluctant to attempt to treat an animal, felt he must help. He discovered a break in her left leg, set the bone, and cast it with Louis's assistance. Thereafter "Helenkitty" followed Richard everywhere.

Marie and Richard were wary of each other from the beginning, and remained so. Richard's concern was born of the radar that he had developed while on the run. Her fears were fueled by Louis' refusal to answer questions about "Rob Strayer." Then she discovered some web sites that Louis had been visiting. One of these was dedicated to criminals wanted for everything from armed robbery to murder. It contained warnings, legal information, rewards for informa-tion leading to capture. And descriptions of fugitives from justice...including photographs.

"This precious Rob Strayer of yours is a notorious wife-murderer in the States. We are not safe in our own home!" Marie announced.

"I will NOT turn him over to the authority of any government!" Louis insisted.

Marie could not understand why Louis was determined to protect their strange boarder. It seemed like there was more to it than Louis was telling her. She began to think that money was involved...

"Louis! Can it be you want the reward?"

"Marie! How can you think such a thing?"

Long used to his way of thinking, she noticed that he had not denied it. Marie was as loyal to her grand uncle as she was to her country. She did not want him to get into any legal trouble, but she had to find a way to protect him. Suddenly Marie jumped up and threw on a jacket.

"Where are you going?" Louis demanded.

"To check the animals. Somebody has to take care of them, remember?" she replied.

Louis thought about it a few moments, did not trust her motives, and followed her to the clinic office. She had her hand on the telephone.

"What do you intend to do?" he asked.

"I have already done it," she whispered.

•••••

Louis and Marie looked at each other for a long moment. Her hand seemed frozen to the phone receiver. Suddenly Louis strode out of the office and went to find Richard. Emboldened by the call she had made, Marie followed Louis.

Richard was sitting on the side of the bed, cradling Helenkitty and talking baby talk to her. He looked up and smiled at Louis and Marie.

"Robbie! You look wonderful. So fortunate that you are dressed." Louis glanced significantly at Marie and back at Richard. "I have decided that we men are going on a little trip!" he said expansively. "Right now," he added under his breath, although he rationalized that, as far from civilization as they were, they had a few minutes leeway.

Richard looked at Louis' face and grew cold. He wondered afresh just how much Louis knew. And he wondered how he was going to get back to his own country, where running was complicated enough!

Marie cursed herself for tipping her hand.

Louis looked around the room and grabbed a few of the larger clipper ships. Might as well make the run worthwhile. There would not be time to take and wrap as many as he would have liked. He noticed with dismay that their number was dwindling.

"Here," he said to Richard, handing him a couple of ships. "These are not heavy — you can manage them, yes? Take them out to the truck. You will find some crates in the back. And some paper. I will follow in a moment."

"Louis, you cannot go on protecting him!" cried Marie in French.

He ignored her and grabbed a few more ships. Richard, perplexed and momentarily uncertain whether he should obey Louis or make a run for the woods, decided to take the ships to the truck and incidentally check to see if the keys were in the ignition.

"Meowwr!" protested Helenkitty, when Richard put her down and left the room, trying not to look distressed. Marie glanced at the cat, amazed when she saw the cast. Louis noticed.

"Yes, Marie. She has a broken leg. It was Robbie who discovered it, and reset it."

All at once, Marie was seized with doubt. How could a wife-murderer, in the midst of his own desperate illness, take the time to be so tender with an abandoned cat? It was not logical.

She suddenly remembered one of the web sites that Louis had bookmarked, operated by someone named Brixius. He and most of the people on the message board seemed certain in their belief that the fugitive from the States was innocent. Were they all naive? Or could they be right? Even as Marie speculated that one of the screen names might belong to Louis, she began thinking that, by calling the police, she may have made a terrible mistake.

•••••

Richard found the crates and the newspaper. He assumed Louis wanted the ships wrapped, and gingerly began on one of them. The dampness left over from the rain chilled him. He worried that he would have a setback if he stayed outside. Looking into the truck bed, he saw an old crumpled tarpaulin. It looked vaguely familiar.

His memory was playing tricks on him. It had something to do with being in Massachusetts. With heading north — with RUNNING north. With being under the tarpaulin. He could make no sense of it. His fevered dreams of being chased by dogs were more real to him. And yet, he could not be sure whether they were dreams only, or if perhaps they were part of some memory that his sleeping mind had filled in.

All this thinking was mixed up with concerns over his present situation. He could not understand Louis' insistence that they leave, and he was on the thin edge of panic.

Soon Louis joined him, bringing some more ships and hurriedly wrapping them, even while he maintained his bravado.

"Are you not going to take a suitcase this time, Louis?" Marie called to him. She had followed them outside. Her left hand held the handle of his valise, always packed at the ready. With her right arm she carried the diminutive Siamese with the white markings, who squirmed when she saw Richard.

"Ah yes, thank you, dear, I am taking it with me."

Marie put the suitcase down on the ground next to the truck. Gently she stroked the feline's left paw, exposed below the cast.

"You do good work, Dr. Kimble."

So there it was, in the open. Louis did not move. Richard felt his skin prickle.

"Look — I am sorry. Maybe you are innocent," she continued. "I do not know. You seem nice enough... But I want you OUT of here. And if you ARE innocent, you have to go. Now! I have called the police."

"Marie — tell us. What did you say to them?" asked Louis.

"Only that we had an intruder."

Louis decided to believe her. In any case, he and Richard were better off leaving.

"I will be back... soon. Two days at most. I will make a smaller route this time. I think Claude Montaigne would have no problem covering my clinic duties on short notice, as he has before.

"No, don't worry," he continued, forestalling her questions about money. "I have enough ships to cover my way. I know of a couple of quaint little shops in Dalhousie and Percé that pay decently. They are always glad to take all that I have."

Marie rather suspected that he knew of a couple of large, upscale shops in Gloucester and Bar Harbor that paid a lot more, but she let it go. Marie never asked where Louis went on his trips. Percé was in the opposite direction of the nearest border crossing, if that was Louis' intention. His reference to Dalhousie perplexed her, along with his inconsis-tency in such things as tenderly bringing home wounded wildlife on one trip, and out-of-season animal pelts the next. She and Louis talked some more in French.

Richard was concerned that Louis was not hurrying. Desperate, he spun around looking at the woods and the gravel driveway that disappeared into them. The he glanced uncertainly at the odiferous tarpaulin, aware that he could not climb up into the truck bed without help. But Louis indicated the cab. Helenkitty was meowing in Marie's arms as she watched Richard buckle up.

Seemingly on impulse, Louis snatched the cat, gave her to Richard, and pealed off.

•••••

In the truck cab, Louis reassured Richard that they were safe, that Marie had agreed not to tell the police anything. The miles went by and no one pursued them. Richard slowly began to relax, enjoying the scenery and the region's unique architecture and brightly painted houses. The two of them talked. Richard asked about the clipper ships and learned from a slightly immodest Louis that it was he who had carved them. Richard, observing those arthritic hands on the steering wheel, realized with compassion that Louis' highly detailed carving days were over. Or soon would be.

"Louis, how do you and Marie know who I am?"

But Louis adroitly steered all conversation away from any mention of Dr. Kimble and continued to call him Robbie. "I love my favorite grand niece as much as she loves me," he said expansively. "Everybody loves me! Even the cheeses love me!"

He began singing, "Every little brie seems to whisper Louis —" and stopped again, looking at Richard to see if he got the atrocious pun he made.

"Louis, I am really not in the mood." Richard was growing exhausted again. "I would like a couple of questions answered. Such as: where are we going?"

"Why, to enjoy a trip together! Do you not think it would be fun to run off and 'do a guy thing,' I think they say?" "Louis, I am going to jump out of this cab right now unless I at least know where you are taking me."

"No, I do not think you will do that! Your friend — what is it you call her; Hell Cat?" he chuckled. "You would not love her, and leave her. That would break her heart!"

"Louis —"

"You will like Percé, I think. A nice little town, jutting right into the mouth of the Gulf of St. Lawrence." He squinted an eye at Richard. You do know where THAT is, do you not?"

Richard had a general idea, remembered from elementary school geography. But he realized he did not know much about it specifically. Ruefully, he reflected that he was more acutely knowledgeable about certain portions of the United States, out of necessity ever since the bus crash that had freed him from Gerard.

"And by the way, we are in the Gaspé Peninsula, in the Province of Quebec."

"Ah!" As though that explained everything. Richard could hardly believe how far fate had brought him. "And exactly why are you taking me to — where did you say we were going?"

"Why, where do you WANT to go, mon ami?"

"I really should get back to my own country."

"Do you not like us? Here, no one will kill you if you are caught.

Marie says there is no death penalty in Canada. Nor will we send you back!"

"Many states in America don't have a death penalty either," Richard said loyally.

"But many do. Including the one that wants you."

Richard was quiet for a minute. "I really should go back."

"All right, then!" Louis sighed. "I do not understand, but if you insist."

But Richard noticed that Louis did not change the direction the truck was headed. He tried to reason out his current status. Would staying in Canada be such a bad thing? In his current state of mind, yet precarious to a degree, he found the prospect unsettling. He knew nothing of Canadian laws and did not trust Louis to be accurate. Better to be someplace where he understood the rules. At least until his thinking cleared some more. He looked down at his lap into the deep blue eyes of Helenkitty. Hell Cat, indeed! Her coat was becoming quite luxurious with the attention she paid it now.

"She is a sweet-heart, is she not?" Louis noticed Richard's attention to the cat. "Look at her coloring. The blonde coat, the white markings amid the seal points, the eyes blue like the sky! Clearly she is Scandinavian," he said, quite ignoring that she was Siamese! "And so she needs a Scandinavian name. Why do you not call her Hilkka?"

Whatever Louis' shortcomings, he obviously understood, without Richard's telling him, what the problems were with having a cat named Helen.

Hilkka looked up into Richard's eyes and silently seemed to reassure him that he had nothing to worry about, that he need not concern himself with the direction the truck was headed. Richard felt silly, personifying a dumb animal like that. And yet he felt oddly comforted. After awhile, he slept.

•••••

Sometime later, he awakened to find that the truck had stopped.

"Time to transfer to other accommodations," Louis informed him. They got out of the cab. There was a chill in the air, to go along with an autumn tinting of birch and maple, promising the winter to come. But there was no hint of further rain.

As they walked together back to the truck bed, Richard realized that to cross the border, Hilkka would probably have to be under wraps as well. Would she better off in a cage, where it would be harder for him to prevent her meowing at the worst possible moment? Or should he continue to hold her, and risk her running? A tame cat would have trouble surviving in the wild. With a broken leg it would be impossible. He could not understand why Louis had brought her.

Richard voiced misgivings about the tarp.

"Do not worry, mon ami," Louis said as he helped settle him in. "After all, you made it into Canada this way, did you not?"

"How DID all that happen, exactly?"

But Louis did not appear to hear him. He simply left Richard under the tarp, shuffled back to the cab and began driving again, nasally singing, "Every little breeze... "

•••••

Louis slowly approached the US border crossing that he knew so well. Something was wrong. He could sense it.

It was more than the fact that the often-deserted post had too many vehicles lined up. As he got nearer, he saw that a car ahead of him had its trunk open, and two United States agents were examining the contents. Louis glanced over at the Canadian entrance and saw Marc Peters, similarly occupied, with another agent that Louis had never seen before. Not a good sign!

It was only then that he noticed the boarded up window with black smudges along its frame, only then that he realized the source of the lingering odor of a recent fire...

Louis pulled his truck over to the side of the road and walked over to Marc Peters.

"What happened?" Louis asked, without preamble.

Marc told him the sad news. Scott Coburn had died of smoke inhalation, right here on the job. So close to retirement, too! The belief was that there had been no foul play, that Scott had fallen asleep with a lit cigarette which had dropped into a chair's upholstery. Nevertheless, the customs offices of both countries were being cautious until the investigation was complete. Marc himself was part of the investigation since he and Scott were both on duty at the time.

Louis was dismayed by this news. "You know, Marc, suddenly I am not feeling so well. I think I will not go into the States today. I think I will go back home instead." And he turned on his heels and strode back to his truck on the US crossing side, turned it around, and scratched off in the direction he had come.

Marc pondered this. "Could be a grief reaction," he thought, as he struggled to deal with his own grief — and guilt. On the day of the fire, Scott had had the door to his office closed. By the time Marc was aware of the fire, it was too late.

"On the other hand, Louis might have something in that truck he doesn't want the Americans to find," Marc specu-lated to himself. He did not confide his painful self doubts to his new partner, nor any of his suspicions about the lovable Louis. Nevertheless, he decided that in the future, he would definitely be more watchful during Louis' comings and goings.

After all, the fire might have been due in part to Marc's own inattention. The already-fastidious border guard reasoned that he owed a more squared-away job approach to the memory of Scott.

•••••

Marie jumped when the telephone rang and was slow to pick up. It was her grand uncle, wanting to know whether her "invited guests" had arrived. She told him that, yes, the police had come and gone. Louis informed her that he and Rob were coming back. Aghast, she warned him off returning.

They talked a few more minutes and then he returned to the truck. "Back in the cab," Louis said unceremoniously to Richard, who was glad to get out of the truck bed. He was certain that any amount of time he had previously spent back there, breathing the engine's improperly mixed exhaust, could not have been good for his lungs, OR for his mental status!

Richard had not heard either the exchange with Marc Peters nor Louis' side of the call to Marie, and he did not understand Louis' suddenly gruff attitude. As they drove away, Richard assumed that he had safely crossed the border, and believed himself to be somewhere in northern Maine. He thought about taking off across country on his own. But his exhaustion made him realize that he was still ill and would have to continue to trust his eccentric benefactor.

Louis, overcome with remorse, assumed (correctly or incorrectly) that the cigarette that had killed Scott Coburn had come from himself.

Napping off and on, Richard did not recognize the same wooded terrain and long expanses of water on the return trip. even as they neared their destination, he did not realize they were still in Canada until he happened to see a road sign indicating kilometers per hour instead of miles.

"Louis, I can't go back to the clinic with you."

"Do not worry, Rob. We are not going back."

Louis offered no further explanation. Richard did not know what to ask, so he asked nothing. He felt feverish again. And paranoid. He remembered hearing, long ago, that Henry Kissinger had said that if people really are out to get you, it is not paranoia.

The trouble was, Richard was no longer sure who was out to get him! He fell into a fitful sleep.

•••••

Richard "comes to," enshrouded in fog and complete darkness. He cannot tell where he is, but his body senses a slow rocking motion.

"I must be on a ship," he reasons to himself, fearful of where it is taking him. Richard tries to see the clipper sails that he can hear flapping above him in the wind, just catching a glimpse of them as the fog momentarily lifts, and becomes dense again.

The rocking motion gets bumpier. The deck lurches out from under his feet, and he instinctively reaches out to grab something so that he does not fall overboard. The iron railing is cold and hard to the touch.

But the railing moves under his hands! He gasps as he feels a choke hold on his neck. Suddenly, he realizes that the oversized rail he had caught ahold of is somebody's arm. Too late, he finds himself trapped in Gerard's iron grip.

•••••

Richard woke up stifling a scream.

He was alone in the truck cab. He looked out the window and made out the dark form of an old decaying barn at the edge of a dense wood. He saw Marie helping Louis transfer the crates of clipper ships to the trunk of a large dark sedan. She added a couple of small suitcases.

Then she came for Richard. She helped him lie down in the automobile's back seat and covered him with a blanket, while Louis drove the truck into the barn and closed the doors. Marie took Richard's temperature and gave him something cool to drink from a small thermos. Even though it was dark outside, his eyes stung. Hilkka was still with him. She curled up on his arm, and he slept again.

•••••

Marie was behind the wheel as they drove off into the night. She talked with Louis, catching him up on all that had happened. The police had arrived about 20 minutes after Louis and Richard left. She told them that Louis had gone on a trip earlier in the day.

She kicked herself for having made that phone call — because she HAD told the police, at that time, that she sus-pected Richard Kimble was there.

But she had told them nothing about Richard's illness, nor about his having stayed there several days. And so she said nothing about any of that when they came. Instead, she told the police that Richard Kimble — if that is who he was

— had come asking about work. He had given no name, and she had told him there was no work for him, and so he had left.

There was a moment of awkwardness when the police wondered about her phone complaint of an "intruder." Why was she now saying that the man she suspected of being Kimble had come asking for work?

She improvised that he had returned, and she had surprised him in the clinic among the animals. Therefore she called him an intruder. When she ordered him to leave, he did. She had not noticed what direction he went. She was simply glad he was gone.

As Louis listened, he thought that what she'd said to the police might be all right, at least for now. But he worried about the possibility of footprints in the soft wet soil. And he was concerned what records they kept of such visits, and who they might notify.

Both Louis and Marie wondered, if it were suspected that they had been harboring a fugitive, how soon they would be returning to their lives. And hoping they could.

Marie said that she had deleted all the computer's book-marks and any references to fugitives that she could find. Louis was upset with that... and then realized that was how she had found out about Richard Kimble. He was not sure, but he remembered hearing that visited web sites might be traceable, even if you thought that a record of them had been deleted.

Louis had been correct about Claude Montaigne. Not

only was he glad to take care of Louis' duties occasionally, but he had been ecstatic when Marie asked him to be totally in charge for an indefinite period, on some pretext that she had invented. Claude knew most of the routine from having worked there off and on. And he was so agreeable, he even loaned them one of his cars when Marie requested, glad of making a few extra dollars. He was a simple fellow and asked no questions, even if they occurred to him.

"Yes, Claude is so simple," Louis countered, "that he cannot possibly take care of ALL the animals, all by himself!"

Reluctantly, Marie informed Louis that only pets, only those animals that belonged to someone, were still there. All the strays she had allowed to go free into the woods to find their own way in the world, domestic and wild, sick or well. Louis gasped.

"Louis, it was the right thing to do," Marie continued. "Neither one of us is a veterinarian. I am tired of living this lie. Maybe I was foolish to turn the domestic ones loose. Maybe they will not survive on their own, but I was desperate. You know I have felt this way for some time. Now I can start fresh."

Louis did not respond.

"I know," continued Marie. "You cannot believe I chose this time to fix everything that is wrong in my life. Anyway,"

she rationalized, "you were right about Claude. He could not have taken care of all the animals. But at the moment,

there are no acute cases. He will have only

well ones to care for."

Louis merely shook his head, defeated. Marie was amazed; she had been expecting him to thunder at her. But when he told her about Scott Coburn, she better understood.

Marie looked in her rear view mirror at the passenger sleeping fitfully behind her. He looked so vulnerable that she lost all belief that he could have been guilty of the crimes he was accused of. Between Louis and Marie, so many regrets!

•••••

The drive continued, their route ultimately taking them west and south. They stopped for fuel in Riviere-du-Loup and Richard awakened, feeling a bit more rested. And restless. Marie had been hoping for a respite from driving, but Richard was in no condition, and Louis seemed dazed and exhausted. After a brief discussion, it was decided that Louis would go into the back seat, and Richard would sit in front for awhile. Instantly Louis fell asleep.

"I am sorry I called the police," Marie told Richard awkwardly. "I just... well..."
"You were frightened. You don't have to explain," Richard assured her.

On they drove into the night. Gradually Marie felt more at ease with Richard and she found herself confiding in him. Somehow, his understanding attitude prompted her to talk with him about old, old things, personal things, that she and Louis — especially Louis — discussed with no one.

Louis had raised Marie alone from the age of three. The rest of her family had been wiped out following a car accident. Marie's mother and grandparents had died instantly. Her father, Pierre Renaud, named for his father, died several hours later of lingering complications from which he could have survived, had he received proper medical interven-tion in time. But there was only one family practice doctor in the area, and no rapid way of transporting him to a large medical center, even if he could have survived the trip.

Inexplicably — perhaps defiantly — since that time, Louis had never sought medical care for any reason.

Already loaded with old resentments, and overwhelmed with the fresh loss of so many family members, Louis had convinced himself that the absence of a specialist for Marie's father was due to repression of French Canadians by an English society that he felt regarded them with disdain, if not contempt.

"These things have all changed," Marie told Richard. "But still Louis clings to the past. No one can tell him anything different. He still believes that no English specialist would come here, even for emergencies, and he still believes that no French Canadian is allowed to go to medical school and specialize in anything. It is ridiculous!"

It was important to Marie that Richard understand. Her country took care of the health of all its citizens, including French Canadians, and they had the same opportunities as anyone else. In her way, she was just as impassioned about her viewpoint as Louis had been about his. But what she was saying sounded less exaggerated, and therefore con-tained a ring of truth that his did not.

As a doctor, Richard had of course wondered about socialized medicine, but he had never had much personal expo-sure to its ramifications. And until he became a fugitive, he had never given a whole lot of personal thought to the problems of health care delivery in rural areas. The lack of specialists was not unique to isolated areas in eastern Quebec, twenty years earlier, in the lives of the Renauds.

Marie continued her narrative. Louis believed that the accident itself never would have happened if the government had not turned its back on its remotely located French citizenry, if the bridge upon which the single car mishap occurred had been repaired properly and in a timely fashion. According to Louis, the water below had been undercut-ting the inadequate embankment for some years. Local folk, tired of waiting for repairs that never came, had made their own adjustments. When the bridge collapsed under the car of the hapless Renaud family, Louis blamed the government, and the government blamed the people who had made the improper repairs. At least, that is what Louis said.

"Always, it is 'the government does not do this' or 'does not do that.' He thinks Parliament ignores us, but it is not true," Marie told Richard. "I do not know what really happened with the bridge. I cannot believe anyone would neglect to repair it. Louis stretches the truth one minute, and refuses to talk the next. I do not blame the government about the bridge. And it was MY parents and grandparents in that car. Louis won't give it up. Since he was little, they have treated us badly, he says; him in particular, because when he was young, he complained about it. You should hear some of the things he says! He admits that he was a stubborn child; now he is a stubborn old man!"

Marie asserted that not all French Canadians felt as Louis did. Certainly here in the remote east, most were happy with things as they stood. Those who were not were almost all in his generation, nursing old grievances. But Louis had always been sympathetic with those who wanted a separate nation. The accident had only fueled an angry, defiant lifetime stance in which he purposely went about the business of flaunting as many laws as he could get away with.

"Not the kind of laws that hurt anyone," Marie continued. "Just the kind that lets him thumb his nose at the world. At least, I think so. Especially if he can make a little money at the expense of the government."

She remembered with hot embarrassment that she had momentarily thought that Louis would turn Richard in for the reward. And she did not want Richard to be angry with Louis — only to understand him.

But Richard was not angry. He felt an empathy for Louis that went beyond the warmth he already felt. Having been forced by the circumstances of his fugitive status to break laws he once never would have considered, he felt no judgement toward Louis. And he found that his fear and mistrust of Marie had melted.

As the miles went by, Marie became aware that Louis was awake off and on, listening. And yet he sat dumbly, offering no protest to what she divulged. It was as though the combination of what had happened to the customs agent, and her releasing of the animals, had conspired to defeat the essence of his personality. This worried her. Nevertheless, she felt release from long pent up feelings in what she was confiding to Richard, wondering why she was doing so.

She continued her narrative. Marie's father, grandfather and great grandfather had all been involved in animal care in some way. Louis and the elder Pierre had grown up doing much of the work of a veterinarian in their father's clinic. But Louis had never bothered to go on to school and learn more. That would have entailed getting a license to practice, which would have to come from the government — which he therefore stubbornly would not do. He had taught the precocious young Marie all that he knew, long before she knew a license was necessary. She was his assistant. Over the years she had gradually taken on more of the work, until Louis became her assistant.

She was scandalized the day she learned that Louis had been signing "Pierre Renaud" all these years when it was time to order supplies and medicines. She had yelled at him, accused him of all sorts of things, threatened to turn him in. And yet the work was there, with no one to do it... they lived in such a remote area... and she had already been living the lie without knowing it.

What difference would it make, now that she did know? Who would she hurt, if she did not say anything? And who would be hurt — people and animals alike — if she did?

For years, Louis had ably worked around Marie's evident rationalization. But she had made it very clear to him that she would never call herself a veterinarian — not unless she went to school and became licensed — nor would she ever sign "Pierre Renaud" to any invoices if Louis became incapable of doing so. Therefore the "clinic" became an "animal shelter."

But more and more she became adamant that things at the clinic could not go on as they had been. She most wanted to go to school to make the whole thing legal. But if that were not possible, then the clinic must be closed. When she had told her concerns to Louis, he thought she was being willful, and gave her no end of grief over it. Nevertheless, he admired her fury and loved her all the more.

Marie told Richard what she had earlier told Louis — that, on impulse, she had let all the stray animals go free. She did not know what the end result would be, and Louis' continued non-reaction to that news greatly troubled her. She could not imagine now why she had done it, except that she had been tired of all the lies regarding what the animal shelter truly was. Her litany of self-recrimination jumped from the past to the present and back again, from self doubts about what she had done to the animals, to Louis, to Richard, and back to Louis.

"It was only by chance that I was not in the car on that dreadful day of the accident. I had the influenza, and Louis stayed home, baby sitting me. He has taken care of me ever since — all the time I was growing up." Marie took her eyes off the road and looked at Richard. Her eyes brimmed with tears. Suddenly she realized that she had allowed the car to drift across the center line.

Marie swerved back into her lane. Fortunately there were no oncoming cars, and they had not actually left the road. Shaken nevertheless, she pulled over onto the shoulder. Richard said nothing. He reached over and squeezed her hand.

All at once she flung off her shoulder harness, leaned over, and threw her arms around him. Briefly he hesitated, and then decided that her need to be held, and his, was greater than whatever pathogen his body might still be harbor-ing. He put his arms around her as she heaved with silent sobbing. Richard tenderly rocked her and massaged her shoulder.

Louis was asleep in the back seat. Hilkka, having been dislodged from her lap perch, sat in the floor well under the steering wheel and gazed intently on Marie and Richard, thoroughly disgusted. And maybe jealous.

•••••

"Marie, where are we going?" Richard asked.

She had resumed driving.

"To Louis' cousin Henri. He lives not far from Ottawa."

"How long will we. . ." Richard trailed off.

Marie knew what he was asking, but she did not know the answer.

"I really have no idea what he and Louis have cooked up, or how long we will be there. Any of us! You still need to go somewhere and rest. Then we will devise a way to get you across the border, if you still want to go. I think we can figure out something better than Louis' awful tarpaulin. No wonder you are so ill!" She swallowed. "Must you go back?"

Richard considered this from a different perspective than he had earlier. Canada really was like his own world in so many ways, even on the Gaspé Peninsula, with its European feel. He found that although the unique architecture and brightly painted houses were unfamiliar, he actually felt pretty comfortable. What's more, he had temporarily lost the trail of the One Armed Man. And he wondered: WAS he safe from being extradited if caught? What was the hurry about returning to that harsh reality? His new feelings toward Louis, and toward Marie, were something else.

"That is not something I can decide right now," he said. For reasons he did not understand, the pull of homeland tugged at him — even as it threatened his existence. Marie nodded, resigned. "Henri has said he would love to see Louis and me again. He has a large empty house. His children grew up a long time ago and have kids of their own. And his wife died of cancer recently. So I think he is lonely. He looks forward to putting us up, along with our dear friend Rob Strayer."

Richard was aware that this was the first time she had called him this. "Actually," she continued, "Henri is not really Louis' cousin but an old friend. From years ago. So there is very little chance anyone would look for us there."

Now that she felt that she could trust Richard, Marie felt defiantly and amusedly conspiratorial. She decided that running with him as a fellow fugitive was fun, and told him so.

Richard shook his head. "Being on the run is not all that it is cracked up to be," he smiled ruefully.

Richard stroked Hilkka, who was once more in his lap. She looked up at him every once in a while and her purring was audible.

"You two talk to each other," Marie observed.

Richard grinned sheepishly. "I have heard of the benefits of pet therapy before, but until now I did not know how powerful it really is."

"I know nothing about pet therapy, but I certainly know pets are therapeutic. Some of the Indian nations believe in animal guides. I think maybe Hilkka is your animal guide." She smiled. "At least, SHE thinks she is."

Richard slept again, peacefully curled up against the window pane in the front seat. Every now and again he awak-ened. Louis snored mildly from the back seat. Marie drove on, alone with her thoughts.

She stopped for coffee and fuel as needed along the way. She kept up a rapid pace, although she had never liked the the Trans Canada Highway. She hated large cites and had been nervous finding her way through Montreal especially. Fortunately, the traffic was not as busy in the middle of the night. She was tired and glad to be nearing her goal.

Marie smiled as she glanced in her rear view mirror. The early morning light was just beginning to streak the sky behind her. Long bright strands of orange and red reached out in eventual triumph over the deep purple of the sky, and of her mood.

September 11th, 2001, promised to be an absolutely beautiful day.

•••••

It was 7:27 am when they reached St. Isidore, Ontario. Henri Dubois was in many ways a clone of Louis. The two greeted each other with great bear hugs and a bit of nonsensical bantering. Marie grinned as he swept her up in her very own bear hug, glad that Henri seemed to take Louis out of his blue funk, at least momentarily. Then Henri took notice of their companion.

"This is Rob Strayer," said Marie and Louis almost together.

"Welcome, Rob!" Henri boomed.

He stared at the cat in Richard's arms. Clearly Henri had not been told about Hilkka. Richard looked down in embar-rassed silence, and Marie rushed into the void. "I insisted that Rob bring his cat along, since she was injured. I told him I knew you would not mind!"

"Come one, come all! She is of course welcome. I will make her fat and sassy, with the best creme in the world!"

Hilkka was allowed to roam the house at will. She began inspecting her new quarters with relish and a peg-leg gait that was getting less awkward, although she never ventured far from Richard.

Henri turned his attention back to his guest. "I understand you are not feeling well, Rob. Sorry to hear it. I think the first order of business is to get you to bed. Unless you want breakfast first."

They all decided that something light was in order now, and then they would nap, having a proper brunch later on. Henri helped them carry in their luggage, noting the lack of it in Rob Strayer's case. He wondered about that but did not dwell on it. He indicated one room with a double bed and another with twin beds. Marie took the double by herself and the two men the twins, but Henri would not have been surprised if Mr. Strayer and Marie had decided to share the same room. He wondered if they did not do so because of him, calculating that Rob obviously must be Marie's Significant Other. But he did not give the matter much thought. Henri was Louis' equal in many ways, with a strong belief in "live and let live" as much as in the teasing and vexing department. But one area where they parted company was that Henri was passionate about being Canadian, and loved his country. In that he was more like Marie.

After they had all taken ten minutes to grab some toast and juice (or creme), the house guests settled into their quarters. Henri, glad for the presence of the company in his too-quiet home, settled back in his favorite overstuffed chair in the living room, lazily stoked his favorite pipe, picked up his remote and turned on the television to see what was happening in the world.

•••••

"Marie! Marie! Wake up!" Henri, shaking Marie gently but urgently, seemed somehow to be shouting even as he was whispering.

"Yes, Henri, what is it?" Marie yawned heavily.

"I did not know what to do. I do not want to disturb your friend. He and Louis can sleep for now. But there is something you must see."

Irritated, Marie was unable to wake up fully. Tumbling into bed only an hour or so earlier, she had been instantly dead to the world after driving all night. Nevertheless she slowly climbed out of bed and followed Henri into the living room. There was some sort of disaster program on television. Marie could not care less about such movies. She looked at Henri with a quizzical expression.

"Just watch," he said with a hushed voice.

She looked back at the screen... it seemed like a documentary, but... all at once her hand flew to her mouth. She recognized the tall buildings in New York and realized that the hole gaping in one of them, smoke billowing forth, was real. And that this was happening right now, at this very minute.

"MON DIEU!" she screamed.

Her raised voice brought Louis and Richard.

"Oh my God!"

It was the phrase that echoed around the room, and around every corner of the globe, in every language, every culture, every belief system. Even among those who claimed no belief at all.

"As yet, there is no word whether the plane crash is accidental or intentional," stated a news commentator on the television. But no one in Henri's living room believed for one minute that it was an accident. And before there was time to debate it, a second plane crashed mightily into the second tower, ending all possible speculation.

And once again, that dreadful phrase, from each of them. "OH... MY... GOD... !"

•••••

Henri and the miserable clutch of travelers surrounded the television and watched the images, which only grew worse. Richard picked up Hilkka, who had wandered into the room, and held her close.

Something about this motion caught Henri's attention. He noticed that Rob Strayer seemed to be taking the news very personally. Noticed too the way Marie and Louis glanced at him from time to time. Henri surmised that his mystery guest must be American. But he said nothing. Under the circumstances, he was afraid of saying the wrong thing.

Richard continued to watch. Fate, without mercy, had picked this time for his vision to begin improving. He could see all too well the billowing smoke on the small screen. His jaw tensed as he struggled to stay in control. He remembered that he had been in New York City when he learned of his father's last illness. Absently, he reached for his St. Christopher's medal.

Then appeared an image of smoke markedly different from the others. It seemed to be originating from a lower spot on the ground. There was a large distinctive building in the foreground, obscuring the source of the smoke. As the commentators continued to talk about the Trade Towers, Richard felt the now-familiar disorientation regarding this building and all the trees visible in the surrounding the area. This scene was nothing like lower Manhattan.

"It looks like the Old Executive Office Building," he thought, referring to a large, high level government building in Washington DC, a city which he had visited on several occasions, and with whose history he had had a keen interest as a youngster. Suddenly he knew with certainty that he was not looking at New York City.

He could no longer contain his composure as the television commentators were only now saying, "We are getting this view from Washington DC... we don't know what we are looking at..."

But Richard knew. The Old Executive Office Building was on 17th Street and Pennsylvania Avenue — one block from the Executive Mansion. "They've got the White House!" he cried out.

Richard was shaking. As one, Louis, Marie and Henri came to him and encircled him in a wordless embrace.

•••••

Henri tried switching to CBC to get more information. All the channels were about the same. After several minutes, the news commentators — by now themselves, some of them, visibly shaken — confirmed that a third plane had crashed into the Pentagon. Richard came to realize that although he was correct about the Old Executive Office Building, the angle of the camera was actually facing away from the White House. Smoke from the Pentagon, a few miles distant across the Potomac River, appeared much closer due to the telephoto lens.

Soon, images of the flaming Pentagon itself joined those of the World Trade Towers. Reporters and cameramen scrambled, coming dangerously close to the ravaged buildings in both cities even as police yelled at them to get back. In their way, many of them were just as heroic in their jobs as the firefighters and police were in theirs. The history books would all be rewritten, based on the recorded facts and images of these few hours.

The news on Henri's screen grew worse. Fact and rumor spiraled around each other like the hijacked planes them-selves. "A jet had been shot down in northern Maryland near Camp David... Another had crashed in downtown Los Angeles... Three more planes were missing... A rogue group of passengers had been detained in Washington's Na-tional Airport... Air Force One was being targeted... The President was headed for Washington... The President was headed for Louisiana... The President was headed for NORAD, to be safely hidden underground until further notice..."

As the facts became known, rumors clarified. One of the planes was known to have originated in Boston. "I was just there — only minutes away, in Concord," whispered Richard.

On came additional tragedies, tumbling upon themselves, too much to absorb. A plane had in fact gone down in western Pennsylvania. Its destination was unknown but assumed to be Camp David or perhaps the White House or the US Capitol building.

And then the Trade Towers collapsed horribly before their eyes. First one. A little later, the other. In slow motion.

Almost gracefully. Richard was stricken.

"I have to go to New York," he whispered out loud.

The others looked at him.

"They will need doctors. I have to go." He was beyond caring whether Henri knew who he was. He thought briefly about going to DC. But then he came to believe that the Pentagon victims would surely receive adequate help. He knew, from having attended medical conferences in Washington, that the area contained a large number of hospitals and medical centers, including the military's Walter Reed and Bethesda Naval. So although the Pentagon disaster was momentous, he reasoned that the greater need for volunteer aid would be in New York City.

It soon became known that there were no survivors in Pennsylvania.

"They will be setting up disaster response centers in Manhattan. I have to help. So many wounded. So many dying. Thousands!" Richard started to get up, ready to go!

"All your life, you take care of everyone else," said Marie. "Now it is time to take care of yourself."

This speech was familiar. As a doctor, he delivered variations of it to others, countless times. But now its wisdom was lost on him.

"I must go! I can help!"

"Robbie, be practical. You cannot even think of going to New York."

"But —"

"No buts. You are still not well. You must stay here and rest."

Henri emphatically agreed. He did not question the good intentions of Dr. Strayer, but he recognized that Richard had not yet recovered from whatever illness he had. Marie and Louis, of course, could think of several reasons why going to New York would not be a good idea.

But Louis remained uncharacteristically silent and somber.

Richard continued to protest. Marie and Henri forbade him to talk about it. Marie finally struck the chord that he heard. "This disaster, this rubble, will not go away soon." She swallowed. "They will be digging for people for a long time. If you want to go to New York, you can wait several days. They will still need help by then." Marie was hoping that by that time she would be able to talk him out of it altogether. But for now, Richard could see the sense of what she was saying.

Of course, none of them yet knew that Dr. Strayer would not be needed in New York. After tomorrow, there would be no more survivors rescued from the world's formerly tallest buildings' pulverized remains.

•••••

The tiny group watched the television throughout the afternoon, the evening, the next day. On and on the horrific images replayed themselves. Henri, the masterful host, occasionally roused himself and prepared small meals that no one felt much like eating.

Richard's symptoms seemed to remain largely at their current level, no doubt arrested from any progress by the assault of stress hormones flooding his body. His new Canadian friends remained solemn and empathetic. Like Ameri-cans everywhere, Richard felt the need to do something. But he felt powerless, because there was nothing he could do.

Even Hilkka, playful as she was becoming otherwise, was deferential to Richard. She looked at him intently with her big blue eyes. He surmised that she intuitively knew that something was wrong, taking her cues from his behavior.

As people with various skills volunteered or were pressed into service, Richard wondered fleetingly whether Gerard's Fugitive Task Force would continue to operate, or if they would be pulled to help with the investigations into the terrorist situation.

Early on, the television occasionally showed images of those who had escaped from the towers but were badly in-jured. Richard was reminded afresh of his murdered wife. He imagined Helen as one of the passengers on one of the doomed planes. "Oh, Helen! You were terrorized, too!" It was all too much and he wept silently. After awhile he wondered how she would have taken the news of the terrorist attacks if she had been alive. It would have broken her heart.

The others urged him to sleep. He willed himself to try, but scarcely hit the pillow before he jerked awake. He fell uneasily asleep again.

•••••

There is some sort of explosion... Richard is running down the stairwell of a massive burning building... He glances out a window as a plane crashes into another building nearby. Frantically he looks around to see if there is a rope, or ladder, or some way he can get over to the other building, to help treat those caught in the blast...

Helen calls to him, trapped somewhere above. Instantly he races back up to rescue her, against relentless waves of people moving downward... He moves past them all and is almost up to the level where he last saw her...

Two men are standing together, side by side, deliberately blocking his way. Detective Gerard and the One Armed Man.

"Why don't you leave me alone?" he yells at them.

"Richard!" Helen cries out to him from somewhere behind them.

He tries to storm past Gerard and Charnquist. They bodily toss him off. Easily. Working together. Richard hits the stair rail with a sick thud, knocking the wind out of him, cracking a few ribs.

"Richard, HELP ME!"

Richard cannot move; cannot breathe.

Gerard and Charnquist smirk.

"RICHARD!" Helen's screams grow more agonized.

"H-Helen!"

Helpless himself, Richard tries to call out to her; his broken voice has been reduced to a whisper. His eyes burn as he looks up at Gerard and Charnquist, who are laughing at his dilemma.

The two tormentors fade and disappear in the smoke. The building begins to collapse around Richard, who magically rises and floats upward.

NOOOOOOO!"

His voice, suddenly loud again, is futile. He watches helplessly as Helen — still crying out to him for help — sinks and

disappears below him, into clouds of crushing concrete...

•••••

Sleep was clearly impossible.

Richard went out into the dark living room and turned on the television, where the seemingly tireless reporters were still at it in the middle of the night. Hilkka padded into the room to check on him. He assessed the circulation in her paw below the cast. She did not flinch. The pads of her foot were soft, warm and non-tender. She continued on a solid healing track... unlike himself.

He envied her ignorance of world events.

There were large and small observances in every city and every village in America. Richard was distressed to hear reports of attacks that some of his more clueless countrymen had made against innocent Arab Americans and even Sikh Americans, not Arab, but dark-skinned and wearing turbans; but for the most part the terrorist assault had fortunately roused more peaceful expressions of justifiable American anger - as well as long-sleeping patriotism - as nothing else could have.

He felt a deep concern for vulnerable Americans living in other counties as student or businessmen or missionaries.

Esxcept for certain places in the Middle East where there was rejoicing in the streets, espressions of support and sympathy were coming from all around the world. Candle-lit prayer services were being held or planned in Belgium, Ireland, England, France, Finland, Poland, and Germany. There were rallies all across Europe, Mexico, Latin America, and ini places as far away as India and as inexplicable as Cuba. Russia - suddenly an ally- was the first to call the President to express condolances. Most world leaders pledged cooperation. Even Yasser Arafat donated blood.

And Canada! Richard had always known that America's large neighbor to the north was a good friend. Until now, he had never known how much so. He gained new insight from the fresh perspective of staying in a Canadian household, watching Canadian TV. Richard heard that in Halifax alone, there were 45 plans with 9000 stranged passengers! The whole city rallied and did what they could. Many Halifax citizens invited the strangers into their homes — just as Louis and Marie had done, just as Henri was doing now. "God bless Canada for letting American planes from overseas land on its soil!" Richard thought. Canada was holding hands with America in this crisis, as she had done in countless others.

Richard began to believe that he could easily remain in Canada for the rest of his life. Maybe he would do just that! Or at least for a good long while.

•••••

Hilkka stirred in his arms and got his attention by lightly tapping her uncasted paw against his chest. It seemed to Richard that she was encouraging him to try going back to sleep. He decided that on her recommendation he would give it another try.

As he got up to turn off the television, he heard again the announcements about local churches that were holding special services tomorrow, and a large official ceremony in Ottawa the day after. He was feeling cooped up, and feeling the need to do something positive. If he felt up to it in the morning, he would ask them what they thought of going to one of those church services.

Then he and Hilkka returned to bed. He slept soundly for the rest of the night, and remembered no dreams upon awakening.

•••••

Over breakfast, Richard discovered that Henri was already planning to attend a prayer and memorial service at his church. He invited the others to come with him. As they stepped outside, Richard noticed that his light sensitivity was clearing to the point that he no longer needed the sunglasses all the time, even out of doors. His ragged cough lingered, and he considered briefly that, within the next day or two, he might be wise to figure out how to access Canadian health care. The missing wallet and identification complicated things.

Richard found that the short walk to St. Jean de Baptiste's left him winded, but otherwise felt good. The church was packed with parishioners and visitors.

The service was conducted in a combination of French and English. The prayers offered by Father Francis, the litany, the candle light, and especially the mournful music of the pipe organ, were at once disturbing, and a necessary part of healing. Overwhelmed, Richard massaged his St. Christopher medal throughout much of the service. As they left afterward, Richard thanked the priest and embraced Marie.

All that day and into the evening, Louis scarcely said two words. He quietly retired to bed before Richard did, and in fact before anybody was aware of it.

September 14th dawned clear and bright. Henri and Marie were all for driving the 70 kilometers to Ottawa for the ceremony and were glad when Richard, feeling there would be safety in numbers, seconded the suggestion. Louis was quiet but compliant. The day took on a sense of purpose as they leisurely made their preparations. Marie and Louis had of course been to Ottawa before. Rob Strayer would get a whirlwind tour, hopefully taking his mind off the disaster for a time. They all needed a break from the constant visual assault on the television.

"What kind of name is Strayer?" Henri asked innocently.

"It's —" Richard thought hard and quickly! " — It's a long story," he said. "I have a very complicated genealogy."

Henri let it go at that.

Henri's car was large and comfortable. The four of them fit easily. So that Rob would not tire too easily, they decided to mostly stay in the car. Henri, assuming the role of tour guide, was eager to show off his Capital City. He made sure to point out the US Embassy. It was heart-breaking to see the flags at half mast.

There were throngs of people everywhere. Disappointed, Henri realized that he would probably not be able to show Richard the war memorials, the tomb of the unknown soldier and the eternal flame that always burns in front of the Parliament Buildings. The grounds were packed and they could not move about as they wanted to. Nevertheless, they did get out of the car and joined the crowd. As one face among many, Richard felt a sense of anonymity.

The memorial service was very moving. Prime Minister Jean Chretien was in attendance, as was Governor General Adrienne Clarkson, the Queen's representative in Canada. A piper, wearing an Air Force uniform but formerly of the Black Watch, played the lament. The Central Band of the Canadian Armed Forces played the Star Spangled Banner. And Canadians everywhere sang it, standing respectfully, holding US flags over their hearts.

Richard wept openly. "Greater friends than this could no one have," he thought.

Beside him, Marie was crying as well. And Henri.

And even cynical Louis. He was transformed by the outpouring of sympathy. It was one thing to watch it on TV, another to be a part of it. For the first time in his life he was proud of Canada, proud to be Canadian. He became more talkative than he had in days. But his speech was not laden with jokes and evasions. Instead, he repeated, "All that love for America... from my people... my country..."

When they returned home, they were all tired, and each went straight to bed.

•••••

CNN was on the screen early next morning when Marie awakened, bleary-eyed. She kissed Henri on the cheek and sat watching next to him. They were replaying scenes of yesterday's ceremony in Ottawa. Marie relived the emotion of the event. There were the Canadian citizenry, holding the American flags. There were all the dignitaries, the bagpipe's mournful lament, and the Canadian Armed Forces' Central Band, playing the Star Spangled Banner.

And there, as the camera panned over the crowd, zooming in occasionally on interesting individuals, was the head-bowed, grief-ridden face of Dr. Richard Kimble.

•••••

"Louis, wake up! We have to get Robbie out of here."

Richard heard Marie and awakened before Louis did.

Marie told them that Richard had been clearly visible on the camera. Anyone who knew him — or was familiar with the case — would recognize him for who he was. And his face had been seen around the world! They could only hope that, with all attention focused on terrorists and the disaster, a wanted American fugitive might escape notice. Per-haps the mustache would protect him.

Henri was amazed at Marie's negative reaction to seeing her friend on the screen. He was becoming more and more curious about Dr. Strayer. In spite of himself, he listened at the bedroom door and heard snatches of the conversation within. Then he knocked and entered without waiting for a reply.

"I hope I am not intruding."

A guilty silence was his response.

"If Dr. Strayer needs to return to the States," he continued, "maybe I can help find a way. As it happens, I was recording the broadcast. Let us look at the video and then get a good breakfast and discuss the matter over coffee." They all felt relief, and Louis exhaled audibly. Rob's better-known name had not been mentioned. Henri had to know something was up. Nevertheless, he was going to play this just like Louis knew he would.

First they watched Henri's tape of the ceremony. There was a lengthy close up of Richard, hands folded and head bowed. As he looked up, there was no mistaking who he was. The camera then slowly panned backward, and Henri's presence behind him was evident. But he was off to one side and looking away, and did not appear to be with Richard.

Louis was definitely standing beside Richard, but his face was not visible. However, that was just one network. Other cameras, picking out the same scene, might have gotten a different angle.

Marie was off camera. At the last possible moment, even as the scene dissolved to the Band as it played the Star Spangled Banner, Richard's face constricted in tears. Marie moved into camera range and clasped his hand as they sang the American national anthem together, very much a threesome. Watching in real time, Marie was barely per-ceptible. But when they watched again in frame-by-frame, her upturned, empathetic face was for a split second just as identifiable as Richard's.

•••••

The coffee was hot and black as they talked.

Marie and Louis were now also at risk, in their own country. The three of them might be safe if they remaining indoors at Henri's, who generously offered his home indefinitely. But Richard felt he could not impose upon him. Henri could rapidly become suspect as well.

Besides, Richard was concerned about his lungs. With winter coming on, he feared Canada's lower temperatures might further compromise his health, perhaps permanently. And so he felt a need to get to a warmer climate.

Most especially, he had to protect Louis and Marie and Henri from being seen with HIM again. Richard told Henri thanks just the same, but the time had come for him to return to the States. Nothing would dissuade him.

It had been risky enough, trying to go through customs before the terrorist attack. Now it was an impossibility. Everyone was being questioned thoroughly, identification inspected, trunks opened. Some locations were reporting a four hour wait. Customs would most likely never again be as easy as it had been.

Rob Strayer would have to cross the border at some sparsely populated spot. But if the area was too remote, that could leave the still ailing Richard in a wilderness in mid-September. The weather was pleasant enough by day, but this far north there was the possibility of frost come nightfall. Also, it would be safer if he kept well away from eastern Quebec and its associations to Louis and Marie.

Louis and Marie were willing to drive him anywhere to make the crossing. But the longer they remained on the road, the greater the chance that someone would see Claude's license plate...or that of Henri's, if they borrowed his car. In any case, Richard did not want to put his friends at further risk.

VIA Rail was another possibility. Henri got out a train schedule map. Unfortunately, the routes went pretty far north of the border over much of the way. Besides, they, too, would be checking passengers more carefully.

"Maybe you should go over Niagara Falls in a barrel," growled Louis. But this absurdity got them to thinking about water. Henri offered his canoe. Shipping, of course, along with the airlines, had been ordered to a halt. The United States Coast Guard was on highest alert. Canadian patrols were beefed up as well. Even Lake Champlain would not be safe. Maybe Richard should lay low in Henri's house, just until the shipping restrictions were lifted.

"But what if they never are lifted?" Richard asked. "What if they become even more stringent? I think it's just as well that I leave as soon as possible, by whatever means."

"Well then," said Marie, "if you are going to be stubborn about returning to America, then Louis and I are going to be just as stubborn about seeing to it that you get there."

In the end they decided the best option was Henri's canoe. Richard could not manage by himself; Louis and Marie would risk taking him over. Then they would bring the canoe back to Henri, who decided he would be all right since, for all he knew, his third house guest was someone named Rob Strayer. If anybody asked, he would just act innocent. Henri would meanwhile find some way of covering for Louis and Marie as well, if it came to that.

As they studied Henri's road atlas, they determined that the best place to make the crossing was the St. Laurence River, just south of where they were. Richard would enter the U.S. west of Massena, New York — far enough away from locks and border crossings, yet near enough to civilization that he would not risk exposure for long. There might still be Coast Guard patrols to watch for. But there were a lot of little islands in the St. Lawrence at that point where they could possibly hole up.

It did not escape Henri's attention that they had managed to choose an area, apparently by instinct, that had a colorful history of smuggling and rum-running.

"And our crossing would be in the dead of night," said Marie.

"That is where you are wrong," replied Louis. "If we are found out, it would be suspicious. If we cross in broad daylight, we can act dumb, claim to be lost, and go back and try another day." He hoped this were true. It had worked for him in the past. But the world had shifted under him, globally and personally, and nothing was certain anymore.

"Well then, I think if we are going, we should go now," Henri said.

A silence borne of the seriousness of the situation settled over the room.

Henri got up and began to pack fishing gear. That was their cover. Missing papers could be explained by their having fallen overboard. Between the three of them, they scraped up a little cash to tide Rob over and some extra in case of an emergency.

Once Richard reached the U.S., he would be on his own.

•••••

It was time to go. Henri drove them, canoe atop his car, to a quiet spot along the St. Lawrence River. He gave each of them a bear hug and helped them into the canoe.

Hilkka was going with them. Louis insisted. Much as Richard loved her and would miss her, he thought this was craziness. Marie agreed.

"She MUST come on this trip," Louis continued adamantly.

"What on earth for?" asked Marie.

"She needs to be in the boat."

"But WHY?" exclaimed Marie. Louis turned to Richard instead.

"Robbie, I am sure you can find a nice animal shelter to leave her with when she can no longer stay with you. Or (mindful of what Marie had done with the clinic animals) you can set her free. That is, if you think her cast can come off soon?"

Richard was doubtful about that. "When she is ready, you can set her free yourself, Louis, if that's what you want. Why...?"

Louis put up his hand. "...Because Hilkka is American, too."

Hilkka, from a nice comfortable perch atop a radiator, flicked her tail and looked from one to the other of them with her big blue eyes, and said not a word.

•••••

Marie pulled her paddle with long swift strides. Louis, once masterful with a canoe, struggled to keep her pace. They were all concerned about the increased Coast Guard patrols and took some small degree of comfort that, being preoccupied with terrorism, most likely no one would be searching specifically for them. They decided to play hop-scotch between the islands to maximize their options for safe harbors, which would also be less obvious than heading straight for the opposite shore.

The canoe encountered a good deal of choppiness out on the river. It was rough going. More than once she almost swamped.

"Louis," asked Richard, "just out of curiosity, what would you say is the recommended capacity of this vessel?"

"Two, I think."

"That's what I thought," Richard said grimly.

They did not allow themselves to think about the fact that no one had seen or heard Hilkka for awhile.

On the far side of the last island, the canoe began taking on water. They surmised that she had encountered a jagged piece of hidden rock. Richard made himself useful and began bailing while the others paddled frantically. No one spoke or was able to enjoy the beauty of the early Autumn scenery.

Finally they scraped bottom on the distant shore, grateful to be on dry land. As they beached the canoe, the enormity of what they had accomplished was brought home to them. Despite the difficulties they had encountered, in view of the new world order, it had been depressingly too easy to cross the border.

Suddenly a loud, accusing "MOW!" emanated from the support posts under the front of the canoe. Hilkka slowly emerged, reasonably intact but certainly not dry. Richard gratefully cuddled her to him. Her strange little cast would need replacing, or at least shoring up. For now he strove to keep her leg as immobile as possible. She looked at him, eyes glittering a reproachful red, shivering more with fright than cold. After a time she began licking the water from her coat.

They took stock of their situation. They were in what looked to be a wooded section of a park. That was fortunate; no one was about who might have seen them land. On the other hand, Henri's canoe appeared to be beyond repair. Clearly, Louis and Marie could not return to Canada the way they had come.

They found a cleared picnic area and rested upon a log-constructed bench while they pondered what to do. Each of them, subdued, scanned the horizon without much hope that it would offer a solution.

Suddenly Louis said, "Wait here!" and ambled off, disappearing down an unpaved park road. Richard looked ques-tioningly at Marie. She shrugged in reply. Richard, worn out from bailing, drowsed. Marie sat close to him, arm around his shoulder.

•••••

Helen and Richard are sitting together atop the picnic table. Her smile is as radiant as the sunshine. Helen gently strokes Hilkka, sitting contentedly in her lap, purring audibly...

Together, Richard and Helen enjoy the vista of trees and flowers... the feel of the warm breeze on their cheeks...

They hear the sound of a small child laughing, and they cuddle together, wistfully, exquisitely... The scent of mid-

September foliage mingles with the scent of her hair...

Hilkka stirs and looks up at the silent interaction between Richard and Helen, then turns her head in obvious disgust.

Helen is amused by this. She looks intently into Richard's eyes. "We talked about having a dog, not a cat," she teased.

"I hope you like her anyway."

"Richard, you have so much to let go of. And so much to hold on to. Don't let it get away from you!"

He caresses her, asking her to explain —

•••••

Richard jerked back out of his daydream as an excited Louis returned some time later. "Come! Wait 'til you see!" And he bullied them to keep up his pace as they followed him through the woods and across a field to a beat up hulk of a vehicle by the side of a two-lane highway. There was even duct tape and a couple of stiff twigs in the back seat for Hilkka's emergency cast repair. Louis ushered them in, then sat behind the wheel and took off with a flourish. The twinkle had returned to his eyes and he was totally pleased with himself.

"What are you thinking?" Marie asked him. "You know we can't bring an American car into Canada without paying a bundle in taxes. And this old heap will never meet Canadian safety regulations."

"See the USA, in your Chevrolet —" Louis sang. Maurice Chevalier was back.

"But Uncle Louis," said Marie, "this is not YOUR Chevrolet. How —"

And then she let it drop. She did not really want to know.

"I just have one question," said Richard. "Are we going to be followed?"

"Nah! No worries!" Suddenly, Louis was Crocodile Dundee. "Sit back, Robbie, and enjoy the ride."

"And the ride is taking us... where?" asked Marie.

Louis thought of making a clever answer, but he could not bring himself to do so. "Since Robbie has no definite destination, I have decided to be the tourist." He looked at Richard in the rear view mirror. "You saw our Capital City. Now, I think I would like to see yours..."

They rode on in silence.

•••••

Richard and Marie, exhausted, slept for much of the route southward. Louis was now the one who had energy. He had taken Interstate 81, keeping off the toll roads and steering clear of New York City. He did not want to get anywhere near there in case Robbie changed his mind and decided to roll up his sleeves and literally dig for survivors.

Louis checked the remaining cash — somehow, mostly American — and reasoned that they all could use a night in an inexpensive, out-of-the-way motel. Late in the evening the rust bucket wheezed its way into a motel lot in southern Pennsylvania, and Louis realized that it needed a rest, too.

•••••

Saturday morning they drove as far as suburban Maryland. Richard tuned the car radio to traffic reports on WMAL to see if that would tell them that, hopefully, the DC Metro subway system was up and running in the wake of September 11th. D.C. traffic, difficult at the best of times, would be unmanageable with all the rerouting around the Pentagon. He suggested they stop at a Kiss & Ride commuter lot in Rockville.

"You realize I can't go in to sightsee with you," he reminded them, "much as I'd like to."

Armed military would be on the rooftops of every landmark building and local police on every street corner. Likewise, news cameras would be everywhere, as attack-related stories were still being covered round the clock. They would all be safer if they were not seen together.

And if Gerard had any reasons to think that Kimble was in Canada, so much the better.

"Robbie, I want you to take the car," Louis said unexpectedly.

"But, surely it must be returned to its rightful owner," Marie protested. "Or have we become thieves as well?"

"I have given what is mine to give," Louis said shortly. Seeing Marie's eyes blaze with questions, he relented with an explanation. "I bought the car at a farmhouse further down the road. The owners sold it for a pittance and were happy to get rid of it."

"And I suppose next we will be hitchhiking our way back to Canada?" Marie countered.

"There is enough left in the emergency fund to provide for our bus tickets home. After we have seen Washington." Louis informed her, determined to have his way.

"If you're sure you'll both be alright, " spoke Richard, "I'll be glad to accept the car. Maybe I can coax it to take me far enough south to find a safe place to hole up for the winter."

A loud meow reminded them of Hilkka's presence. Louis and Marie and Richard turned to ponder her fate. None would consider abandoning her by the roadside. And the more they thought about it, finding an animal shelter seemed risky for the questions that would be asked. In any case, it somehow did not seem right.

Then Richard realized that his suggestion that they stop at that particular lot in suburban Maryland had been purely instinctive. Some years ago, he had met and befriended a psychologist from Rockville. He knew this man had such an affinity for animals that he had written a book about their behavior. Richard was certain that if he anonymously left a foundling cat with a duct-taped leg on this man's doorstep, he would either find her a good home or take her in and adopt her himself.

Hilkka gazed into the eyes of each of them as they passed her from one to another, taking their leave of her. To Louis and Marie she seemed to say, "I forgive you for dumping me. I don't understand, but I forgive." Then Louis and Marie crowded around Richard as he wrote "My name is Hilkka" on the duct tape. "Mew," she approved.

To Richard, Hilkka added, "Any friend of yours is a friend of mine." She fixed him with an intent, blue-eyed stare. "After all, I'm just a cat!"

Richard consigned her to the seat of the car as he took his leave of Louis and Marie.

"Louis — you can tell me, now. How did I come to be in the back of your truck?"

"Mon ami, a man has to have SOME secrets!"

"Louis, I cannot begin to say —"

"Do not be so quick to thank me," Louis presumed. "Someday you will get my bill."

Richard smiled. "If I ever get an address long enough where you can send a bill, I will be glad to pay it."

So the old Louis was apparently back to stay — or was at least still alive in him. A good sign. For him, and for the world. But exquisitely frustrating.

"Speaking of bills — you will need a few to get along. This is from all of us." And with that, Louis pulled out a wallet and extracted some American cash. But instead of giving it directly to Richard, he put it into another wallet — Richard's wallet — which he then handed back to him. Louis had had it all along!

Richard immediately checked and found the photo of Ben Charnquist folded under the back flap.

"My bag — did I have a carryall with me?" Richard asked, thinking of his Canadian passport.

"You had the clothes on your back and an empty wallet, without I.D., in your pocket," Louis answered honestly, for once.

Then it struck Richard: he was not the only one without an address. He did not know how to contact THEM. He had never learned exactly where Louis and Marie lived, and none of them knew when or if they would be able to return there safely.

"We can always say hello on the website, thanks to our friend Brixius," Louis said.

"Ahh..." sighed, Richard, understanding just a smidgen more than he had.

Louis gave him his screen name and an incredible bear hug.

"I do not have a screen name yet," said Marie, who had been watching them silently. "but if you look for one, you will know me."

Louis walked discreetly away, finding something fascinating to look at near a deserted corner of the lot. "I made a mess of everything," she continued. "If it were not for me —" "Shh!" Richard put a finger up to her lips and smiled.

Marie smiled back as she struggled not to cry. She took a risk and said what was in her heart. "I am thinking I must be in love with you."

He gently took hold of her arms and kissed her forehead. She smiled again as she could no longer contain her salty tears. He brushed her lips with his... and then enfolded her into his arms, kissing her fully and completely...

Then he sighed and strode to the car. As he pulled away and they waved to each other, Louis called to him. "Robbie — Richard — " he said, with no hint of irony — "you are my very favorite American!"

•••••

CONCLUSION

The weather in Washington DC, sometimes brutally hot even in September, was achingly beautiful. The sky was a vivid blue behind all the flags, everywhere at half-mast.

The areas around the Pentagon and the White House being off limits, Louis and Marie concentrated their visit in the National Mall area, at sites that Richard had suggested. Wordlessly, they stood on the grassy expanse near the Smithsonian buildings and stared for a long time at the US Capitol.

Then they walked west to the Washington Monument — the tallest structure in DC, and at one time the tallest in the world.

They walked around the Tidal Basin and saw the Jefferson Memorial. They visited the Korean and

Vietnam Memorials, honoring the dead of wars more conventional than the one to come would be.

They looked across the Potomac River toward Arlington Cemetery and were mindful of a young

President, assassinated in his prime nearly 40 years ago. They climbed the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, dedicated to another President, cut down in similar fashion a century before that. The melancholy, larger-than-life statue of Lincoln seemed to be crying. Marie cried along with him, and Louis gently rocked her.

Except for possibly attending an evening candlelight vigil they heard about, Louis and Marie had

no plans beyond standing where they were, at this very moment, in the shadow of a great man who had been a hero to a country not their own. And yet, in some strange way — for now, for both of them — it was enough.

THE END