Chapter 16: Devil Got Your Goat?

Julia came home late this particular evening, from teaching her University class. Barely in the door, hanging up her coat, her beautiful little boy came streaking by – naked as a jaybird. Unexpectedly, appearing from a completely different side of the house, her handsome husband ran into the foyer – hesitated to meet her eyes, greeted her with a quick nod – and then rushed back to chasing the child. Her brain registered it after he had disappeared, William was completely soaking wet, and he was still dressed in his suit vest and tie. He had obviously been bathing the escaped child, while dressed like that, and the juxtaposition of the two struck Julia as hilarious, launching her into head-shaking laughter.

She joined in the game, and soon the slippery two-year-old was captured, and delightfully roughhoused about and then cuddled and loved by BOTH parents, every child's dream come true. Little William Jr. had even enjoyed that strange moment when his Daddy had chased and caught his Mommy – instead of him. His little insides had felt so funny when the two of them kissed like that. And he had found himself mesmerized, struck and stuck staring, at least for a second. And then, all of a sudden, he had become annoyed and angry with them for messing up the game with all that yucky kissing stuff. Needing to put an end to it, he had used a sofa cushion, and had given his Daddy a good wallop, the toddler-attack bringing back some sort of order to the fun.

Afterwards, Julia teased her husband that it was HIS fault that the child was so wound up, and therefore HE would have to be the one to get the boy sleepy, for it was already past his bedtime. Invariably though, their little son ended up sitting with HER in the rocking chair in his bedroom, tucked in her soft Mommy arms, being rocked and stroked and so very, very, loved. And, finally, his breathing had slowed and deepened, and peace had settled around him, and delicious drowsiness in the perfect warm safety of home had surrounded him… and the next thing he would know, it would be morning and he would wake alone in his bed.

)

Later that evening, Julia had showered and put on her nightgown and a robe, and then she went down to find William in his workroom. His vest and trousers had almost dried. "The man was still in his tie," she marveled to herself, secretly loving his tie. On his worktable, splayed out in front of him, there were thin metal rods arranged and bolted together into some sort of a long contraption with an intricate mechanism consisting of a sliding platform and springs at one of its ends. She stood on the edges of the room admiring him. She watched as William's fingers reached up to rub his brow, the latest invention troubling his brilliant mind. And already she knew, he would work it out. It would work marvelously in the end, whatever it was.

Inside his head William was completely wrapped up in problem solving. It needed to be tied in place under the sleeve, without blocking the movement of the lower section. And there was the problem of twisting and bending at the wrist too. And then, it would need to extend, at least 7 or 8 inches, to get down into the hand. At least now, the activation-triggering button worked properly, finally located in a place that's reachable. That's no longer the problem. Now it's oversensitivity – it's triggered too easily, the quicker movements one makes, not just the button, sets it…

"William," her voice startled him. Made him jump. Embarrassed, he stuttered…

"Jul… Julia!" he answered, his own use of her name quelling his unnecessary worry almost instantly.

"Sorry," she gave, embarrassing him even more.

Wise though, she would not let them dwell there, on such a silly thing as him being startled. A part of her mind reminded her that they remained on high alert. They had NOT been able to find a listening device in this workroom, although they had considered that their drafting-out the plans for William's speech on his drawing board down here may have been a means for the author of the dreaded note to have become akin with their plans for injecting humor into William's speech, as had been alluded to in the terrifying note. But if so, then that also meant that the villain had gotten into their house on the sly, again, AFTER they had installed the security bars on the windows, them taking that protective action because of, what they believed to be, the same sinister villain's photograph of little William Jr. sleeping in his room, handed to them at the Policeman's New Year's Ball… The fact of such a second intrusion, in itself, was terribly troubling. And still, since receiving the note at the Annual Toronto Constabulary Convention, there had been nothing more from whoever it was that was taunting them, whoever it was that was threatening their child, whoever it was that had somehow invading their home. Surely, William had every right to startle. She would move on.

"William Henry Murdoch," her voice took to a seductive scolding, "How can it be that you are still in a suit and tie at this hour? And I do say, our marital bed is calling." Julia reached up to his tie, her beautiful blue eyes down on its smooth fabric, silkiness so that it slid so perfectly within her fingers. She felt William's eyes on her, heard his breathing deepen, steaming hotter.

Some sort of siren, she had him. William Henry Murdoch would drop everything. Thoughts of mechanisms that needed a looser spring whirled away so fast he spun, knees weak, heart pounding. His brain coaxed her inside his head, "Take me. Please take me."

A few kisses, then she tugged him forward, up the stairs, by his tie. Lights out – he'd lock up the house later. They would make love now. Only that. Only that.

She undressed him – sent him to shower. Julia waited for him in bed – the lights low.

She chuckled to herself when he turned up wearing his pajamas, for they would not be long for the world. He stood over her for a moment, before getting under the covers with her, and they let gravity play with their souls, magnetic forces reeling them, their desire for each other – centripetal the spin of it. The debilitating power of it passed and he slipped in, took her in his arms.

Her lips glanced over his ear as she told him, "I love you so much, William," and she giggled so beautifully before she added, "It warms the very cockles of my soul with its glow. Do you feel it?" she seduced.

Magnificent, his returning chuckle. "Oh, I feel it, Julia. It most assuredly warms my COCK-les too," he stressed his pun, possibly also her unintentional pun as well, and he pressed the firm evidence of his meaning against her thigh.

The image of her husband's hard, eager… Mmm, bolted into her brain, sweeping her up, so suddenly up and then down, breathless with its spinning, for a moment.

Playfully, she gave him a shove, punishing him for his brashness. "I do appreciate the effort William, but truly, being funny is NOT your forte."

Returning her banter, he complained, "Mrs. Murdoch, I am fully aware that it's because of YOU that I never did get to "BORE" the audience with my speech, I didn't even get to TRY to dazzle them with the intricate details of my use of ultraviolet light to find the unique evidence of the victim's oddly-shaped bruise on his thigh…" William rolled her over and pinned her wrists down into the mattress, his gorgeous, gorgeous eyes twinkling with his teasing. "I do believe you went off-script milady…"

For her part, Julia had always planned to go off-script – for she knew it would be the only way to truly get him to blush. And it had worked, wonderfully. However, his look above her now had brought on such an overwhelming shift, drawing, luring, it had wholly stolen her breath away, and thus she found herself unable to speak. She was hopelessly caught, could not even think to resist, too late, too late. His touch electrified, jolted, zapped down to her womb, so huge her want for him, thundering and throbbing… down there – the only place in the world now, down there wanting him.

Julia wriggled against him, so much fun, trying to escape. The action, the motion, sent some blood, some oxygen, back into her brain, sparking memories of their being up on the stage together, her teasing him to the audience about his handsomeness, and his beautiful, beautiful blushing…

"You ARE a very attractive man, William," she offered, then adding, "It always surprises me you blush so when it's pointed out," and now he yielded to her, and let himself be rolled onto his back, and her hands took to exploring his bulges, buttons popping opened on his pajama top, William, too, daring and unbuttoning the little white buttons down the center of her nightgown from below her, together suddenly a rush, opening the packages. A nibble to his ear, a thunderbolt slamming full-force into his groin. Kisses, those delicious 'clicks' as each one breaks off to begin another. Julia said to him, "And those women, William," her mouth down to his bare flesh, his hunky chest, pajama top no longer an impediment – her tongue on him, satiny and warm, his breath surged out, he felt her mouth capture around her hold of his pectoral muscle, sucking him in, almost, almost to his nipple, her mouth tightened around her devilish smile. Knowing, certain she was destroying him, and oh how she loved it, she said, "All those women in the audience, giggling and applauding, and WISHING that they could be WITH you. They don't even know the half of it, they have no idea how truly gorgeous your body is under those suits of yours, William."

Suddenly she lifted her head up, releasing his wet flesh to be tingled by the sudden cold absence, and caught his bedroom eyes. "Actually William, why aren't you blushing now?" she asked sincerely.

William grasped a curl, the backs of his rough fingers stroking softly against her cheek. The man could be so lusciously cocky, sometimes. "I'm far from embarrassed," all that he said before he flipped the balance, shifted the gravity, somehow her back against the mattress once more, and his kiss – my God the man could kiss – spun her out of control. His leg between hers, pushing her thigh aside, finding she succulently wanted him, undoing his pajama bottoms, the pajama bottoms lowering down until gone, the whirlwind of his warm, solid TOUCH, heavenly, the rupture, unbearably pleasant, forcing a whimper from her throat, so helpless, it erupted him into a fury of need, savage his want. He had to take her, the drive, the urge, pounding, furiously pounding, closer to her.

"William," her pleading under him, "Please. Please…" only deepening, fiercening, his thrusting.

She felt the wave pull back, it would be colossal, so high… no air… a float with the pause, she would call him to her, "It's coming," her cry…

Spilling over his primal abandon to touch her deeper…

"Mmm," his moan crushing her with ecstasy, rolling, and rippling, and filling her every cell with his sweetness. It was impossible, how much she loved this man, completely, completely, impossible.

)

Julia had drifted off to sleep in his arms, his chest her pillow – at least it would be for the first part of the night, before she would roll over and tuck herself up to sleep more deeply on her side, although that would not be for a little while yet. William was content, and close to sleep himself, when the telephone next to him on his night-table startled them both with its blaring ring.

It was George. He was needed. Remaining on the phone, William got up out of the bed, then leaned down to scoop up his pajamas from the floor, readying to dress.

Julia drowsily propped herself up on an elbow on his pillow and watched him handle the call. His pajamas thrown off, now down on the floor, bringing to her mind their passionate lovemaking earlier, and her insides stirred with the memory. She saw no good reason not to take advantage of the opportunity to look her husband over, and her eyes widened and darkened, finding a guilty delight in their getting stuck here and there on his chiseled, manly… parts.

George explained into the phone that he was the constable on call, and he gave a brief report on what he had gotten from the desk constable's phone call, and then suggested that he drive his motor car over to pick up the detective at his home, and then the two of them would head over to where the harried report had claimed the ghoulish screams had come from. "Very good, George. That would be greatly appreciated…"

William hung up the phone and gave her his wrinkled-corner-of-the-mouth look, admitting that at times such as this one it seemed that his choice of vocation came with some rather unpleasant requirements.

"I'll come with you," she yawned, tossing the covers aside and sitting up. "We'll have to wake Claire-Marie…"

William quickly, gallantly, winsomely, pressed a knee down into the mattress and gently pushed his lovely wife back down to lie flat, her fiery-soft curls spilling out all over his pillow. "Julia," his tone sure and confident, "we have no evidence that a pathologist is needed as of yet. You go back to sleep. I'll call for you if need be," he said, his voice growing softer as he spoke, his face leaning down closer and closer to hers. Tender, his kiss.

By the time he was dressed, and he had reached to turn off the lamp, she had dropped back off to sleep. He paused there and let the look of her – the look of the woman who was his soulmate – sink, settle, deeply solidify, into his core, and then he basked and awed at his own reaction to the implosion – mysterious and eternal as starlight, warm, glorious flooding, rippling, ruffling outward in all directions from his heart, like fireworks, no other word sufficient to describe it but pure love, filling every single cell of him.

) (

George spoke, telling his superior and friend, "Blood-curdling screams were reported to be heard coming from the other side of this door, sir," the younger man impressing himself with the sturdy sound of his own voice, despite his internal reservations. Every fiber of his body was tempted to tear away. Unfortunately, his exhale of relief was overly loud as Detective Murdoch stepped up to the ill-omened door rather than himself, and the thought inside George's head scolded him that a man as keenly aware as the detective would most certainly have detected the revealing sound, sendinghis eyes into rolling with self-reproach.

The horrors inside impressed, even for men who had seen much in their Constabulary careers. Dimly lit, their handheld torches blaring the details, there were two men with their throats slit opened. Huddled off to the side, the discovery chilling, Mr. Foley, insane in his rantings, bloody knife threateningly and incriminatingly still in hand, was rocking with his distress, flat with shock in his tone, confessing, apologizing, saying the Devil inside had made him do it…

) (

William had decided that despite there being dead bodies at the scene, the postmortems could wait until morning. He would go home for a few hours, Julia could remain undisturbed, sleeping soundly. He would lie down next to her, build up strength to face the day. Performing these two postmortems was not an emergency, the cause of death, and the murderer too, it appeared, blatantly obvious. It even seemed the murderer had already confessed, but William wanted Julia's help – with her expertise on the human mind – for Mr. Foley presented as being wholly disturbed, to say the least.

) (

Mr. Foley brought up from cells, awaited his interrogation. Julia joined her husband after only a quick look at the victims in the morgue, proud that William had turned to her to accompany him, to help him, with his questioning of this challenging and intriguing suspect.

)

Gruesome, the blackening invasion of disgust spilling in from the outskirts into the pit of the stomach as gravity fell into the new reality – JAMES GILLIES WAS BACK! Beautiful Julia once again the nemesis' target, Gillies' clairvoyant statement that he was 'not done with her yet,' butchering William, slaughtering him so much more than if the vile monster's aim had been directed pointedly at him. William's heart knew, even though his rational brain considered both sides of the panic – true or not true – weighing the evidence and searching out every possibility including the worst along with the best – but his heart knew the danger was real, the villain the same as before – unkillable and interminable.

Gillies spoke with them through the tortured body of Mr. Foley, SAW them, vowed he was there to take William back with him to Hell, his need for staying attached, his sharp teeth locked in, never letting go, EVER, chilling to the bone. Poor Mr. Foley, used, brutalized, then driven to suicide as the only escape, haunted William with the ghostly flashbacks, the means of the desperate deed taken from a constable, the gun to his head, the screeching praying, the deafening blast, trigger pulled, too late to stop it, the odd and sickening heat and slick stickiness of the man's blood in his face. And behind the horror there was the pain of knowing that the only connection to their monster was gone, and with it their only chance of facing the threat head-on, now nothing more to do than to wait for James Gillies' inevitable attack.

)

Mr. Foley's corpse to the morgue, intermittent semblances of rationality struck through William's bright brain, remembering clues. Gillies – unbelievable, but it WAS James Gillies – snidely offered him a scrap of a clue – the victims' names, relevant and important. The conversation ran through William's head again, his fists curling all over again with the memory of having had punched Gillies, with the wishing to do it again…

He had asked, "Why kill Robert Wilcox and Gerrard Berkeley?"

"Because of their names," Gillies' curt answer, "That's a clue, by the way," he had given.

Such a rush, the fear of incompetence infuriating him, William had asked, "What about their names?"

It was amazing the way that Mr. Foley's face became the face of James Gillies as he had answered, "I can't tell you that. It won't be any fun if I just give away the game…"

"What's the game?" William had interrupted.

"The same as it's always been. You and I having a ton of fun…" And William's head had spun with the whining of the high-pitched note of panic triggered by the memory of James Gillies using those exact same words back when William had come to on the floor of the cage, finding himself caught in Gillies' trap…

Gillies had gone on, "But at the end of the day, someone wins, and someone loses. The question is, what are you in danger of losing? Or should I say, who?"

And William had seen red in picturing Julia again, in the coffin in the grave, or his little boy, like in his nightmare after receiving the note about his speech – now most assuredly sent to them from James Gillies. The whole ordeal feeling like it was coming true right before his eyes.

Gillies had warned and shamed him, "Temper, temper, William. Be a good boy and I'll give you a hint. It's one I've given you before…"

And William's brain had been swept back in time with his photographic memory to his bursting through the hotel room door to find Gillies sitting casually on the bed, back when he had buried Julia alive…

"You really are wasting time, Detective." - "How much time do I have?" – "37 minutes, by my calculations. Less, if she loses faith you'll find her in time." – "You mean if she panics. You've rigged some sort of device to be triggered by her heart rate." – "Oh, I like that. I almost wish I'd done it, but no. Tell you what, Detective. Here's a hint: You already have all the clues you need to find her. The question is: are you smart enough to figure it out in time?"

William's own brain broke off the memory, the feeling of dread so similar to now. Before Mr. Foley had shot himself, the tortured man had shared, speaking as James Gillies, impossible things. Things no one could know, things from NOW! Suddenly a tirading rant of Gillies' replayed in William's head, Gillies words coming from inside of Mr. Foley, griping over how William had gone about, "copulating with your little wife…" and then Gillies enjoyed his own joke, "Of course, what else should I expect a COP such as yourself to do? But really William, so often!?, so passionately!?" he tsk-tsked, and then delivered his terrifying reproach, "The two of you warming your cockles, while I slaved away working so hard just to get your measly attention – convincing Foley to stay and wait for Wilcox, and then after that for Berkeley, to come… So much harder the second time, after the first. And then the whole plan almost destroyed, Foley weak, pathetic, was going to slash himself with the knife instead of Berkeley. The persecution and agony I made poor Mr. Foley imagine in his head that would be the consequence if he did so – exhausting. And you, William, at the time just pleasuring, pumping and pumping away, moaning and groaning into HER…" And then Gillies had changed his voice, impersonating his ugly, blond, sugary disguise, Gillian James, gasping out, high-pitched, unnervingly imitating Julia, "William, please, please, William," and then Gillies' voice had abruptly returned back to its anger and he had spit out, "The little witch! Begging for it," concluding judgmentally, "You, supposedly a Catholic man, William. You disgust me." And now William found himself questioning it, "How could Gillies know… 'COCKLES,' the exact same word. He must have heard us somehow, heard Julia. There was no other way. Perhaps the parrot at the Windsor House Hotel…?"

Rebecca James' voice echoing eerily off of the white walls of the morgue pulled him out of his thoughts…

"We aren't the first ones in here," her strange utterance profoundly significant.

They had found the devil inside of Mr. Foley, a marvel, the technology. It was a converted listening device of Professor Fressenden's design, William was sure of it. It matched the devices Neil Catfrey's sidekick, Schnozzy, had acquired months prior from the professor. They must have kept one for Catfrey to use, selling the others, some of them to the Home-Invasion Robber to be planted in the toffs' wives' purses he had intended to rob – and slimy Catfrey himself planting one in Julia's purse. James Gillies must have purchased the others. But this one was wired up, surgically implanted, INSIDE of Mr. Foley's body, put in through a cut in the man's chest, the miniscule speaker hooked up to Foley's inner ear in his head. Gillies had driven the man mad, ordered him, as his devil inside, to murder, and then to taunt his ultimate victims – him and Julia.

When questioning Professor Fressenden in the Interrogation Room it had been Julia who had figured out the problem first – the device sent signals only one way, from Gillies to Foley's head, so there would be no way for Gillies to HEAR them respond during their conversations – and then the spark had fired. They found the listening device in the Interrogation Room, and then the one under their bed! Followed the trails, the wires taking them to the monster's abandoned lair, Gillies' hideaway halfway between the Stationhouse and their home. A note left behind with the equipment, amongst the voice recordings, Gillies warned, in his own distinct and haunting voice…

"Detective Murdoch. I'm sorry to have missed you. I look forward to seeing you very soon. Remember, you have all the clues you need."

Once again, immediately, a constable was to be assigned to guard their house at all times. It seemed unavoidable – the holding of the breath.

)

Professor Fressenden had sent them to a jeweler named Leonard Wright, the man who had most likely been the one to make the microscopic device James Gillies had surgically placed inside of Mr. Foley. Higgins had brought Mr. Wright in for questioning. While informing the detective that the jeweler/inventor was waiting for him in the Interrogation Room, Henry commented that there was something that seemed odd, "but might be merely a coincidence." It was the inventor's address, at the corner of Robert and Willcocks, the two street names matching the names of the first victim – Robert Wilcox. That was the clue Gillies had alluded to, the clue about the names! Brilliant, fast, William asked Higgins what was located at the intersection of the other victim's names – what was located at the intersection of Gerrard and Berkeley? And then instantly, William experienced the pummeling, plummeting terror when his own brain rushed forward to answer – "Veronica Bowden's house," and William relived the nightmare with the talking dolls all over again.

) (

Veronica Bowden was grownup now, William noted to himself as the two of them spoke on her front porch. The young woman grasped so much more than she had before, now understanding, much, much, more, the torment this gallant Detective Murdoch had gone through back then, when she, as a kidnapped little girl, had been used by the abominable, but charming, James Gillies to harm and destroy the one man in the world who had outsmarted him in the past…

THERE WAS ANOTHER DOLL!

James Gillies must have installed the other microscopic listening device inside this new doll, because for Veronica Bowden the doll had only made a crackling sound when she tried to play it. But now, now that William Murdoch pulled the string, it worked perfectly, giving Gillies' intended victim, his obsession – Detective William Henry Murdoch, the dreaded message most clearly. The doll played a recording for William to hear. It was of his beloved Julia's voice answering the phone at the morgue, then HIS OWN VOICE – most dastardly it had been made up of recorded portions of William's own voice patched together to say whatever it was that Gillies had wanted him to be heard to say. And now William listened to the recording inside the doll, and he heard himself being played back for Julia to hear, Julia thinking it was him that spoke to her (much the same way as James Gillies had done with Julia's voice back when he was framing her for Darcy's murder, and Julia's voice had been heard on the phone by the hateful and disdaining housekeeper employed in Darcy's home, announcing Julia's intended, but faked, visit to supposedly makeup with her husband).

William's heart seemed to drop to the floor, for Gillies had tricked Julia – tricked her into thinking HE wanted her to drop everything – to tell no one. To rush home as fast as she could… "Julia, our son's life depends on it…"

James Gillies had Julia again! He had her again! William had to get home! He had to stop Gillies from hurting her! My God, his doubt and panic flew through him – What if he was too late?!

) (

– …

) (

On the bike. Never pedaled faster. His homburg, gone with the gale of the wind. House in view. No constable at guard on the porch. Gillies would have Julia inside. He would have the baby!

Sneak in. Heart pounding. Push on. Need an element of surprise. Gillies won't know about the secret passageways…

) (

Constable Warren, and the housekeeper, and the nanny, all chloroformed and gagged and bound and shipped off in the back of a plain-looking, inconspicuous, wagon, to be kept away long enough to return only to see the aftermath. William's little baby boy had been an easy hostage for Gillies to acquire. Gun held to the tike's head, the child's wimpy mother had been putty in his hands. Oh, how he had reveled in seeing her so helpless. She was desperate to do whatever he demanded of her. The great Dr. Julia Ogden reduced to a feeble, tremoring cow, begging for him to spare the child's life. The small boy, his gorgeous William-like eyes mostly droopy or closed, an unavoidable side-effect of the opiate drug injected to quiet the child, adorably the boy held onto his stuffed rabbit and passively watched the adults around him. Finally, it was all coming to fruition, Mr. Foley setting the mood so long ago, sneaking into this very house to take the little Master Murdoch's photograph, and to plant the listening device under the soiled Murdoch marriage bed. Then, the timing had been perfect, Wilcox and Berkeley doing just as he had planned, going to their deaths, and Foley, perfectly, serving as his faithful, devil-possessed, conduit. Then the masterfully laid clues followed so well by the one and only Detective William Murdoch. Nothing now but to wait. He had to discipline himself not to be giddy.

) (

The darkness in the tunnel ended at the thin slit of dim light around the door into William's workroom. Stealthy, William entered and closed the secret passageway door behind him. There were supplies here. Off with his jacket, first the bullet proof vest – William noting the irony for he had first used the invention on Crabtree to trick Gillies, back when they first met, when James Gillies and Robert Perry had murdered their professor. Next, and most importantly, he laced up the latest invention on his right forearm over his shirt sleeve, then covered it with his suit jacket. His last trick, William found a small mirror to use to see around corners, and with that a memory tangented off in his mind, oddly, a pleasant one from when Father Keegan had first met Julia, visiting with them in their hotel suite for dinner, and Father Keegan reveled in telling Julia about his boyhood experiment with bending light around the rectory's shed, the unexpected intensification by the mirrors burning the structure down…

William held his breath and listened intently at the workroom door, ready, heart pounding in his chest. Only deadly silence, no baby crying, no voices, no footsteps, no thumps or bumps, the silence, so deadly. It was audible, the click as the doorknob turned and disengaged its metallic hold on the door, audible – but unlikely to have been heard, William breathed to himself. The door opened silently. The mirror held up just so, the coast was clear through the playroom to the stairs. William removed his shoes. Planning ahead, the 4th step squeaks, he stepped out, his own breathing was so loud he was sure it would give him away.

Perfectly silent, a pause at the bend, the corner, of the halfway point of the stairs. The mirror, wiggly in his hand. Steady it. Focus…

WHAM – the panic flared!

"Stay still, slow, smooth!" William ordered himself not to jerk, not to move in reaction to the sight. Gillies was at the top of the stairs waiting on the bench in the foyer. He had William Jr! He had a GUN!

William gave himself permission to breathe, and silently, silently, he tucked the mirror into his pocket. His heart had sunk – there was no way to sneak up on Gillies. Gillies would see him step around the bend of the staircase. He had no advantage now. He would be seen. The element of surprise would yield very little.

No choice but to go, William stepped around the corner into Gillies' view.

Unable to hide his surprise, Gillies jumped to his feet and aimed the gun must pointedly at William's head, the upper portion of this most precious target all that he had a full glimpse of, because, true to form, he had been taken by surprise as, deviously somehow, the detective had suddenly and unexpectedly appeared rising up the steps towards him. His head muddled and jumbled for a moment, he remembered to keep only the right side of his profile facing in the detective's direction, as he managed to contain his gasp. He did, however, need to clear his throat before he spoke in order to sound appropriately snide in his quip, saying just as he had planned to do, just as he had so deliciously fantasized doing, "How nice of you to drop in, William," and his inner counsel trumpeted his success in pulling off the tone of nonchalance he had dreamed of for all this time.

William held his opened arms wide as he stepped cautiously up each step, closer and closer to his quarry, nearer and nearer to the danger that the unpredictable and disturbed man would shoot. More worried for William Jr. than for himself, William was grateful that the barrel of the gun was aimed at him – although his head lacked the secret protection of the silk-lined, metal-plated, vest. His own lack of a weapon plainly displayed to his enemy that he was unarmed, that he was not a threat, the deception designed in the hope that Gillies would drop his guard. William's eyes darted down to his baby son perched up against the foyer wall with his stuffed rabbit – "Blanco," William's brain said it inside of his head. The child sat quietly on the foyer bench, but he was not right, unfocused, weary… perhaps drugged?" William's eyes, away from the danger too long, leapt back to meet the attentive gaze of James Gillies. "Where is she?" he demanded.

Feigning innocence, Gillies wondered, "Who?"

"Julia!" William felt his teeth grit.

Casually, James Gillies leaned back against the foyer wall, pleased with being in between William and his son. He risked switching the gun over to his left hand, trying to impress his confidence in his complete control of the situation. The game would be so much more fun that way. Now, now finally, he would get his chance to tease, "You know what's funny? Well, I guess you won't find it that amusing, but you will appreciate the irony when you discover it…"

"Discover what?" William burst with impatience.

Infuriatingly smug, the way he said it, "That it was you who killed her," Gillies answered matter-of-factly.

How suddenly the floor felt to drop from underneath him, and William fought with all he had to stay strong. His irritation evaporated away, all around only terror and doubt, William so sure, so very sure, that Gillies would not have killed Julia, at least not yet, the cat wanting more to play with, than to end, the mouse. Gillies would want both Julia and his son alive, to use as bait to further torture him with.

Evil, Gillies' little chuckle. He explained, "After all William, I must give credit where credit is due, and it was always YOU who possessed a mind creative and brilliant enough to challenge mine, to inspire mine. It was YOUR idea, back when I told you your beloved Julia had 37 minutes left to live, but less if she panicked, me knowing all along that she was buried six-feet underground at the time. But you, you William, you suggested it then, THAT I HAD RIGGED UP SOME SORT OF DEVICE TO BE TRIGGERED BY HER HEART RATE. Perfect, paradoxically, that it was your own invention, your own Truthilizer, that would do the job…" The fiend's eyes glanced up the stairs.

And William pictured Julia tied down on their bed, the blue liquid in the transparent glass coil splashing and lifting higher and higher…

"Her heart still beats… slowly enough," Gillies offered hope and gave more clues, "for the dynamite has not yet exploded. It's so maniacal really, the victim having control over their own fate. I've got it on a ten-second delay – ten seconds for her to gain control over her emotions – no matter what she overhears coming from down here. But really William, I should say, you should be more concerned for this little fella," he said, and then shifted to move closer to William Jr…

And William's heart raced to a primal thundering in his chest, seeming to pound and thrust to such a height that it sickened his throat with prickles of nausea, because…

The gun, so hard and cold and venomously cruel, the gun turned, changed its orientation in the small, and yet enormously unpassable space between William and his only son in all the world, to rest merely an inch from the innocent two-year-old's black curls.

Gillies lifted and wriggled and malevolently shook the gun…

And William's eyes filled with tears. His face paled, sapped of blood with his agonous fear. Drainingly helpless.

Gillies found himself admiring, admiring the beauty of this man he had adored and obsessed with for so long. Tears, astounding, the man is even more breathtaking with pools of tears in his eyes…

His knees buckling, his head dizzied, William quivered, "Please let him go…"

And inside, Gillies snuck a smile…

But then abruptly, William's expression hardened, his jaw clenched, his teeth gritted tight, fists curled up. The detective was suddenly bigger, fiercer. And there was a ringing shift in the air as William leaned forward towards attack, fists rising up, he threatened, "If you hurt him…"

"Easy Tiger," Gillies menaced, adding his other hand to steady the gun's aim at William Jr.'s head.

Fighting the turbulence with all his might, William stopped himself. His head screamed at him to think of something.

Eased by his regaining the upper hand, Gillies disclosed, "I've been watching you, detective. These last few years I've basked in the glow of your happiness. You got married. You built her this impressive house…" momentarily the gun wavered as he gestured to the walls and his eyes glanced up at the ceiling above them…

And for a split second, a part of William's brain remembered that Julia was upstairs in their bedroom, wired up to the heart-monitoring explosive device in their bedroom…

"But then, to read in the Gazette… I was so impressed. Your courage and skills, such a cool head under pressure. You are so inspirational, William. Such an astonishing accomplishment, your heroic surgery to deliver this beautiful baby boy here," the villain flicked the gun towards William Jr. again, "Your 'Little Man…' I just had to try my own hand at it." Vilely cunning, Gillies' words twisted into William's gut as he elaborated, "I probably would never have thought of it myself, to act as God, to cut open a man – AND KEEP HIM ALIVE. I knew I could implant the listening device INSIDE of poor Mr. Foley, thanks to you." Gillies re-aimed the gun squarely at William Jr. and concluded, "Well, it seems as though you are constructing a tiny, perfect little life, William. It'd be such a shame to see that all come undone."

"What do you want with me, Gillies?" William asked, and finally they had gotten to the crux.

"Well, I need your help with something I'm having a little trouble with," Gillies gave suavely.

Oh, the eruptions in William's gut, pure toxic dread. "Help with what…?"

)

Her blue eyes, wide with terror and urgency, were pinned to the liquid in the tube. Her heart had jumped, hearing voices downstairs, muffled through the closed bedroom door, yet magnified by her alertness… "William's voice, definitely William – He was here! …and Gillies," she could hear him too.

Julia's inner-voice directed her, "Breathe. Easy Julia. Stay…" She heard it rather than felt it, there was a big exhale… "Stay quiet, calm. Breathe. Nothing to be done but breathe…"

The blue liquid…

It had been so beautiful, so wonderful, when it had shot up in the coiled tube at William's side all those years ago – proof that William was in love with her, and back then, so delightfully public.

The swirled, trapped, blue liquid coolly hovered there, tremoring, now just below the line that would make the bomb explode…

She needed to calm down. Then a memory played, of her crying so violently that she had vomited with the distress, years ago now, after William had ogled a shapely, pretty young waitress right in front of her, back when she was pregnant, and he had ended up terribly worried that her degree of upset would harm the baby, harm her, and he had tried to help her, to soothe her troubled and harried wailing. He had held her, and rocked her, as they sat together on their bathroom floor, and he had asked her then, in an effort to calm her, thinking to turn her sickened, overwrought emotions to cool rational thought, William had asked her then, "How many bones are there in the human wrist, Julia," and she had answered him, shakily, "Eight," and she had felt the soothing of the calm coming in, and he had breathed, and he asked her to breathe too, and she had…

)

The distribution of power should have altered, but strangely, it had not, even though now it was William who held Gillies' revolver, pointedly aimed at the monster himself.

Gillies turned, letting the light catch on the rock-crushed side of his face, and he watched William's face change, react, somehow NOT cringe. So gratefully, he did not see pity… slightly, he was sure of it, there was pain, sympathy, dare he think it – kindness.

"What happened to you?" William asked without thinking first.

Gillies felt the hope – the hope of eliciting guilt, as he answered, "I jumped off a bridge, remember? I smashed my face on one rock. Crushed my spine on another, driving bone shards into my vertebral nerves…"

It whispered out of William unintentionally, the understanding, the awareness, "You're in pain," he grasped the stimulus now, the reason behind Gillies' request that he kill him.

"Pain?!" Gillies chuckled at the understatement, mocking it. "It is AGONY at the center of every thought, every dream, every breath, every heartbeat…"

Shooting William's mind, for a second, back upstairs to Julia…

"I've tried opiates," Gillies continued alluding to the details, drawing William's eyes to follow his own as he focused down onto the items on the foyer bench alongside of the sagging and woozy baby, signifying the syringe, with its sharp, piercing, needle portending the threat, and a half-emptied vial of heroine next to it. "They just dull the mind. And a mind like mine? Well, that's like painting over the Sistine Chapel. Only someone such as yourself could fully understand," he explained.

William's face wrinkled into scorn, his skepticism rising to the surface. "Why not just kill yourself?" he pushed the obvious.

William could not have been prepared for the answer, it would throw him, much as Gillies' kissing him on the railroad tracks all those years ago had done – and panic would set in, for the tottering, the distraction, had cost him back then, and it could cost him now – so much more now.

As if it were always a known fact, Gillies replied, "Because I want my life to be taken by the object of my admiration and ardour. And because I want…"

"Ardour?" William interrupted with his bewilderment.

Sly, the disturbed man's smile, "Don't you remember…" he needled and pricked, "our moment on the bridge?"

Shaking off the aversion, the creepy, creepy, skin-crawling of the memory, William strove to sound firm as he said coldly, "I'm not going to shoot you, Mr. Gillies. But if it's any consolation, - I will watch you hang."

There was a gasp, a warning that the deepest, most underlying truth was about to be revealed. And then James Gillies told the object of his infatuation, finally, "Oh William, but that most definitely won't do. You cannot be allowed to choose the law this time. YOU MUST COME WITH ME TO HELL. I will not go without knowing you will eventually be mine – not hers. Here – now, YOU must commit the ultimate sin."

Gillies knew, knew, that the man he had studied and coveted and yearned for, and hated and focused on, for practically all of his adult life, would find THIS PARTICULAR ACT to be the most difficult thing he would ever do in his entire life. It was the magic of his plan, for the detective was nothing if not predictable. And, truth be told, it was likely the man's morality, his undeniable GOODNESS, that James Gillies had always found most alluring. He had struggled the most with this part of his plan. Thus, the hostages, the miraculous little child hostage…

"William…" Gillies' tone announced a change.

And it terrified William to his core.

Impossibly fast now, the syringe was in Gilles' hand, the sharp needle at William Jr.'s neck…

"Heroin is a wonderful drug, but too much can be deadly, as I'm sure you know," Gillies licked his lips with anticipation, "Your son's beautiful brown eyes, beyond a doubt this little fellow has his father's eyes, they will roll back, and he'll just stop breathing. Painless – for him, but for you…"

Not a breath had been taken…

Gillies speech rushed forward, picking up the tempo.

Matching the racing of William's heart, the pounding gushing of blood in William's ears. Choices disappearing…

"I know what you're thinking," Gillies evilly took away the final option, "Can you get to me, overpower me without killing me, before I inject him? At what point does the risk of his death trump your desire to see justice done?"

Calling every ounce of himself, William's jaw hardened…

'click' the tiny sound of William's triggering of the empty cartridge of the revolver stole the air….

"Oh, my goodness," Gillies gasped trying to slow the shocking spin of the room around him. "He would have done it!" Gillies' brain screamed the undeniable fact.

Amazing, the disappointment, the anger, in William's voice as he said, "You took the bullets out," furious for being duped, horrified that the nightmare was still going on.

Gillies' heart fluttered and pounded so that he wobbled with the faintness. Giddy, he was giddy. "Answer the man," he told himself, hearing himself explain, "All but one."

The two men's eyes locked.

Gillies battling, for it took immense effort to keep the syringe at the child's neck. Gillies told himself as much as he unshrouded it for the detective, "I needed to know, and now I do. See, I wanted to die, I did, but when you pulled the trigger, all I could think was, 'NOT YET! There's still so much I want to do!"

Insane, his laugh, demonic, ghoulish with glee.

Finding seriousness, for it was necessary to have seriousness to be in charge, seriousness so as to conduct the rest of the symphony, Gillies stood up straighter, adjusted the angle of the syringe at William's son's vulnerable little neck. He had not solidified the plan from here, but Gillies reminded himself that he had thought it was possible, and then Gillies scolded himself because he should have known, it was so obvious – after all it was he himself who had stacked the odds against his dying by loading only one bullet into the revolver… And he realized now – HOW VERY MUCH HE WANTED THE MAN BEFORE HIM, he wanted William Murdoch, and not in HELL, but now, now while they were both alive. "Now drop that gun detective, or say goodbye to this little chap," he ordered.

William yielded, flipped the revolver in his hand to turn the angle, the aim, away from Gillies, then slowly leaned forward to put the gun down on the foyer bench. Eyes locked on, Gillies hurried to grab it. Only one bullet, still he was glad it was in his control. He preferred his syringe threat anyway, he repositioned near the boy and tucked the revolver in his trousers waistband.

"If you hurt him…" William's world had never plummeted and soared so fast. His fingers reached for the secret button. It was now. It had to be now…

Gillies went on with his gushing, "William, I want to thank you. You have given me the gift of life. A new sense of purpose. For that, I thank you…" Gillies smiled devilishly, for he would wholly sever the man now with these haunting, poignant words, "We are going to have so much…"

Distinct, the BLAST so loud it stunned, A GUNSHOT RIPPED THROUGH THE AIR, afterwards in the wake of it, the rubbery burn of the smoke of a bullet fired, pungent in the nose.

)

Julia's body… She'd thought she had been ready for it! Her body jerked off of the mattress with the BANG of the gun being fired down the stairs, on the other side of the closed bedroom door. Momentarily forgetting about the alarming blue liquid in the tube, its influence over the dynamite, her whole being whispering and yelling at the same time, "Only one shot! Must be the baby!" Julia's imagination sent up the horrifying image of their beautiful, beautiful baby, William Jr.'s head, his soft black curls, drenched, soaked, covered in blood. She figured so quickly, that it would be the baby, the one bullet, for she knew Gillies had had a gun, and that William was not as likely to have brought one, and Gillies – so obsessed with William, wouldn't kill him, the crazed, depraved man would want William to suffer, to be rendered completely lost and helpless and desolate from seeing him murder, slaughter, his son. There were tears on her cheeks… Her mind split off, her body actually FEELING that miraculous little baby in her arms, at her breast, then the glow in her heart – her 'Little One' gazing up at her with his – with William's – big brown eyes, and she heard him, clear as day, so sweetly say to her, "Yes Mommy," and then she watched him toddle and run away, his little arms up for balance, such concentration in each step, and the grief drowned in.

A part of her thought that she wouldn't have to worry about her heartrate triggering the bomb, for her heart had done nothing but drop with grief, her beautiful baby, shot dead. It was unbearable, unbearable, the pain. She imagined ending the torture, the agony of it, she could set off the bomb on purpose, Julia imagining herself writhing and thrashing about, right there in their bed. But her subconscious halted the thoughts instantly, for she saw the future in her mind, William downstairs hearing the blast, after seeing the horrors of their beautiful son shot dead right before his eyes, and William rushing up the stairs, barreling in to see her… blown to bits, her blood, her tissues, her pieces, everywhere. And she knew she couldn't hurt him so. And she knew if he were alive, she could survive it. She could, if she still had William. And then she knew that, as long as there was one of them, as long as either William Jr. or William were alive, she would do everything she could to stay alive, for him, whichever one of them remained. And she told herself, in her own fairy-godmotherish voice, "Think of something pleasant," and the memory came, and with it a degree of acceptance searing the pain of loss in her chest, this particular memory probably spurred by her having heard William's voice down the stairs, she remembered the beauty of watching from the kitchen entrance while William held and sang to their tiny infant son, sang that sad, sad song, the one that stung with its hope after having undergone excruciating suffering, William's beautiful voice inside her head, inside her chest, sang, "A-maze-ing Grace, how sweet the sound. To save a wretch li-ike me. I once was lost, but now I'm found. Was lost, but now… I see…" so sweetly singing to their tiny little infant son, down in the warm kitchen, skin to skin, intimate and loving, as he cooked bacon at the stove, and the crispy scent of it watered in her nostrils…

BUT THEN!

She heard it ring so loudly, up the stairs, through the closed bedroom door… "The baby was crying…" And she didn't hear herself fall into the wailing, "NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! No! No, no, no…" her last-ditch effort at denying it, before she heard the whisper in her soul, and there was no longer any air in the world, "It was William who was dead!" and such a panic took her that she was sure she would collapse through the floor. "William! William," her own sobbing so forlorn she felt it echoing in her deepest crevices and reverberating out to the stars, an anguish, unimaginable and interminable. And a part of herself ordered her to stop crying so violently, for she would set off the bomb, and her baby… she heard him crying… her baby needed her.

And then the baby's crying was coming closer – up the stairs, and her heart pitched up with terror for she pictured Gillies, covered in William's blood, and their baby, covered in William's blood, her little baby boy in the monster's arms, coming up the stairs, and she figured Gillies would torture her by shooting their sweet child right in front of her, Gillies knowing that in his doing so there would be no way for her to control the racing of her heart, and she would explode herself, and probably Gillies too, and they'd all die, and a part of her took consolation in it, for maybe it was better if they were all dead…

And there was a thump, the doorknob, she was sure it was the doorknob…

"Julia…"

William's voice, his beautiful, perfect, wonderful voice.

"It was William!" the deluge and cascade of overwhelming joy rushed in…

"Julia, stay calm. We're alright. William Jr.'s alright. I'm alright…"

"It must have been more than ten seconds…" somewhere in the room the hint of the blue liquid.

Julia lifted her head from the mattress and stretched to see. The door opened, and she saw HIM holding their wailing baby.

"He just got scared, when the gun fired. He's O.K." William reassured, his voice so low, overcompensating for his own thundering heart.

"William," she dared not say it too loudly.

"Gillies is… no threat. I shot him," he told as he came in, rushed closer…

And her blue eyes, so wide, so stunned, glanced down to see the apparatus, holding out the small gun, at the end of his sleeve. She remembered it now, him working on the invention, amazed at the tiny little gun that was hidden up the sleeve. He was so brilliant. She loved him so much, and she fell into shaking with her sobs of relief, and he was instantly at her side trying to calm her. The baby with him, brought to her. Irrational, so unlike him, to risk so much.

"Shh. Shh. You need to stay calm, Julia. Shh," he coaxed as he covered her with his body, heavy, sturdy, tender, stilling her waves, their beautiful baby boy next to her, held tight to her, the child's bawling quieting. "William would know how to defuse the bomb," she told herself. He had gone down a rocket shaft and defused a rocket aimed at NYC. He would know what to do. She needed to calm down. She forced herself to exhale, then again, slower, longer, deeper… again…

)

Suddenly the urgency to ensure that James Gillies was STILL downstairs, was STILL unconscious, was STILL harmless, flared, and William bolted down the stairs.

Julia hurried behind him with William Jr., William's panic tilting her into coping mode, a profound strength surged in, and Julia knew it would be alright now, somehow.

The front door was ajar, Gillies in a pile at the threshold, and such a surprise to see Miss Rosevear, the young newspaper reporter and the Murdoch Appreciation Society woman, standing over the disarmed, unmoving monster. She had walloped him with a statue from in their foyer. It remained gripped tight in her hand.

Wild, her look as she said, "He was about to get away…"

She explained to them excitedly that Veronica Bowden had phoned her – had told her about the message in the doll, and the way Detective Murdoch had flown away with such haste. She reminded the detective that she had always been a part of the fringe of his nightmare encounters with James Gillies, from the very first moment when the wealthy little girl had been kidnapped…

And William remembered it then...

He had questioned Miss Rosevear back then – long before the Murdoch Appreciation Society even existed. Ruby Rosevear was Veronica Bowden's babysitter. She had seen James Gillies when he was dressed as Gillian James and back then he, dressed as a blond woman, had giving George a statement. William remembered that he had found the young woman to be… odd back then, when he spoke with her out in front of the Bowden house that day, Miss Rosevear awestruck by him even back then.

Miss Rosevear bounced with her excess energy. "I thought you might need some help," she exulted.

All eyes dropped down to consider Gillies' flat-out body lying motionlessly on the floor. There was a bump on his forehead, and a stain and a trickle of blood through his bullet-torn shirt, near his heart – the small amount of blood indicating that the gunshot had not been enough to have killed him. Oddly, there was relief in the room as they watched his chest rising and sinking – he was breathing.

Julia said, thanking, giving praise to, the young woman, "It seems we did."

"It was a rubber bullet," William explained, taking off his jacket, showing them the rods and springs, the latest invention, up his sleeve. Then he busied himself in removing it from his arm.

"I see," Julia found herself admiring her husband even more.

"Ingenious!" Miss Rosevear raved, "The Murdoch Appreciation Society will be much impressed. Not to mention my paper…" but then suddenly she worried they would not want her to write the story! "It is alright… that a write about…" her eyes bulged wide under raised eyebrows and her hands gestured down at Gillies and then swung around to include them, and the invention, "all this?!"

The Murdoch's agreed, boundlessly grateful that she had stopped Gillies from escaping justice once more, and recognizing that, with her help, it finally was, truly, over. They would see James Gillies hang. They would be safe from this particular monster from now on.

) (

Later that evening, after half of Stationhouse #4 had helped haul James Gillies directly to the Don River Jail, the doctor on call at the prison tending to the previously-convicted man's wounds rather than Julia, and Eloise and Claire-Marie and Constable Warren had returned safely, the Murdoch's recovered together in their home. William Jr. slowly came out from under the effects of being drugged with heroine. Gratefully, he seemed fine. His bedtime had been a bit late that night, however, coming more officially at one point when his mother awoke in her comfy spot, finding herself sandwiched between her sleeping husband and her sleeping son, all three of them cuddled together in William's reclining chair in front of the safe, warm, crackling fire.

After tucking their toddler into bed, staying with him until he had drifted off to sleep, and his breathing was cadenced and deep and slow, and they were certain that he was safe, William and Julia decided some warm hot chocolate would help settle their own nerves before they themselves went to bed. Talk between them at the kitchen table was light.

Julia suggested that James Gillies could also be the killer who dumped the body that she and her students discovered on their property at the Body Farm back on the Fall Equinox. Her eyes glanced into his from over the brim of her hot chocolate cup, saying right before her sip, "Gillies would have enjoyed watching the press tear into us as they did. Remember, they even called for the city to force us to close down the Body Farm, riled up the public about it."

"Mm, I remember," William gave, "But there's no evidence of Gillies' involvement." William sipped from his own cup, her turn now.

"Yes, I suppose you're right," she agreed.

His mind had chased after the idea in the interim. A sigh caught her attention. "There was a connection…" he wrinkled his face, thinking it insignificant, "Gillies and the Home Invasion Robber, and Neil Catfrey too, with Sally, stealing the Pink Panther Diamond, they all used Professor Fessenden's listening devices…"

"He was right!" Julia's felt her excitement grow.

William took another sip, then placed the cup down and added, "But that was all because of Catfrey's accomplice – that little bald guy with the glasses, Schnozzy. Schnozzy purchased all the listening devices from the professor, then he sold them to the Robber, and to Gillies, or more likely to Gillies' man, Mr. Foley, God rest his soul."

Now it was Julia who wrinkled her face… "That poor man."

Julia's heart thumped, for she saw something on William's face, something was troubling him. His expression tugged at her, and he looked into her eyes, and for a moment she thought he might tell her what it was. But instead he wrinkled a corner of his mouth, seeming to admit to her that she was right, and she knew that there was something bothering him. Subtly, she gave him a nod. They both knew that it usually took him time, time to wholly know his feelings, particularly when it came to the big things. She would wait. She trusted him completely.

William pinched his lips together and smiled, and then he chuckled, and in his own mind he reassured himself that he would tell Father Clements, first in Confession, then probably later when they talked as friends. He would tell Julia, when he'd worked it all out better. He imagined that they would have one of their heart-to-heart talks, maybe some night after he had had trouble sleeping and she would come downstairs with him, to offer comfort while they shared hot chocolate. For now, though, she did not know about Gillies' disconcerting request that William be the one to kill him, she did not know that he had pulled the trigger with the intent to do just that, that in taking that action he had confronted an eternity in Hell. It was all too overwhelming right now. Later, later when he could see that everything would be alright…

Cups empty, William reached for Julia's hand, felt her eyes on him as he watched his fingers rub across her wedding rings. She reached over from around the corner of their kitchen table to cup his cheek, pulling his eyes up to meet hers with her touch…

"Shall we?" she suggested.

Then, as the clinking ceramic cups and the clanking metal pot were rinsed and deposited into William's dishwashing cupboard for Eloise to deal with in the morning, Julia paused at the kitchen sink. Her deep sigh set the mood, and it beckoned him, called him down somewhere so deep inside that he felt his core reorient and become wholeheartedly drawn to her.

He had an enormous yearning to touch her, somehow certain that he could soothe it, somehow William knowing from her sound that she was feeling tremendous pain. He stepped up behind her and touched her shoulder, prompting her to turn to face him.

There was a rawness to her look, an honesty so powerful that it ached.

"William, when I heard the gunshot, and I thought the baby…" Julia's eyes pierced into his with her terror and her grief, and she watched his face take on the burden, and she felt her throat swelling shut and her eyes filling with heat, and she was sure he could see her tears, and she would not hide them from him, she loved him so, so much. Her voice squeaked terribly as she pushed out the words, a tremendous effort squeezing them through her held breath, "But, my God William, when the baby cried… and then I thought… I thought that it was y…" she gasped, "I thought that it was you that got shot. It felt like half of myself was gone… without you, William."

Julia fell then, fell into his arms, fell into her own sobs. Embraced there, the heat, the humid dampness and the salt of her tears, and the promise between them, the promise of care, all of that bathed at the wounds.

And after a time, like an ocean wave rolling in, Julia felt strength come back into her. She stood herself up, the independence of it, the motion, separating them. William let her go.

Space between them, suddenly she was embarrassed, or perhaps it was troubled, and she stepped away further, she looked away from his eyes.

Push and pull, William lingered, held to her aura, not allowing the distance between them be enough to lose the feel of her, nor her the feel of him. He moved to her once more, sensing her wanting him there.

So low, her speaking to him, such that he needed to strain to hear her, she told him her fear, her lesson learned, "I've let myself fall in love with you too much, too much to survive it."

His reaction was so authentic, so spontaneous, and so unexpected, that it worked completely to quiet the turbulence in the waters.

William raised a doubtful eyebrow at her and wrinkled his face, the gesture unexpectedly playful. They would be alright, they both knew it, their connection strong and moldable.

Figuring that his joking around had earned it, Julia gave her husband and her soulmate a hearty two-handed shove in the chest. "What?" she asked him with a self-conscious giggle.

William teased, "Well, as I am the one you love, the one you claim to love TOO much, I venture to say that I don't believe it is possible to love someone TOO much." He reached up and used his thumb to brush away a trail of tears down her cheek. Ducking, catching her eyes, he tucked his fingers under her chin and lifted her face up to him, then wrinkled a corner of his mouth at her.

His charm was affecting her, she felt it inside, warm and glowing.

But then William stepped in closer… something electric about it, the air between them tingling as it became magnetically charged – sexual and romantic. His breath rushed, lush and pounding, down her neck and rumbled over the rounded bulges of her bosom sneaking under the confines of her low-cut blouse, spilling, hot and fast, through the crack of her cleavage. His eyes, so huge and so dark and so staggeringly gorgeous, William's eyes stole her ability to breathe before they brazenly dropped down to her body and she felt herself heaving and panting, and he soaked in every inch of her in. Oh, he wanted to touch, with such anticipation, she knew he wanted to touch her. Closer, his lips dangerously close, and it seized her, she was captured by the familiar wrenching down low, pure unabated desire, throbbing, gushing, drenching with lust for him.

He brought his lips to hover over her ear and he said, "I think we should go upstairs. There's an experiment I'd like to try."

"Oh?" Julia answered him, trying with all her might to sound in control, scientific somehow. But my God, the dizziness, the dropping and the floating and the spinning, the edge roared, loomed ahead, like the rumble and the steam warning of a towering waterfall further on up the stream.

"I want to see if I can love you too much," she felt his smile, so lusciously cocky, before his kiss. The kiss breaking off, the angle changing, he said, "See if I can kiss you – too much…"

Julia couldn't help herself, she moaned, moaned deep in her throat, as he kissed her again, deeper, and her own breathing raced so, surged out of her, betraying any hope of hiding her longing.

Oh my, William Murdoch could kiss, and she felt him, with both of his hands, grasp her head, his fingers in her hair, tenderly, but firm, firm so that she found herself pinned in place as he broke off the kiss, and he gorged her chin succulently in his mouth, and sucked, and nibbled, and so collapsed her that she grew heavy, heavy, in his arms… devouring her, from her jaw to her ear, slurpy and luscious, his perfect voice warm inside her head telling her, promising her, "I want to see if I can taste you TOO much." The sounds of him kissing and breathing at her ear tore her apart inside with wanting him. And still, he teased her more, "I want to see if I can love you – TOO long…" My God, the way he moved against her, "If I can love you – TOO deep," his rhythm summoned her, "If it is possible…"

And suddenly his hands were grabbing below her buttocks, sliding down to tug at the backs of her thighs, sweeping her up, flinging her up, lifting her up to him, and he bolted her to his waist, and she wrapped her arms, and she wrapped her legs, around him so tight and she felt his eagerness reaching and pressing for her down there where it was so sultry that it ached. William Murdoch urged for her, and it melted and it oozed her every cell, and he walked the two of them into the dining room and he laid her down on the dining room table, and the hunting look in his eye, the rigidness of his clenched jaw, told her his manly intentions, totally twisting and torqueing her womb as she yearned to suck him in, and then William vowed to her, vowed to her that right there and right then, he said it with a flickering twinkle in his eye, "I don't believe it's possible, but I'm certainly going to try…" and he crawled up on top of her and he pushed her down hard into the table, "I'm going to love you TOO much, Julia. Too hard, too deep, too long, I'm going to love you."

Oh… Oh.

The power of his breach soared into her.

And breathlessly she begged her whisper to his ear, "William," the word resounding so deep inside of her that it was at once meaningless and his name and everything and nothing, some sort of mantra, or chant, or incantation that served as a direct conduit to the bare essence of life.

"William please," she called again pulling him deeper.

"William," the gushing heat out of her engulfed all around him as he pumped and pounded closer.

"Don't stop, William," the rise.

"William. Oh, William… Mmm," she gasped as the edges tingled with the stilling pause of the wind ahead of the promise, it was coming.

"My God, William," it was going to be too much… too much to bear.

"William," it poured over them so utterly deliciously.

"William… I love you… I love you… I love you too much."

Thoroughly melted and exhausted, William held her in his arms and he kissed, and he kissed, and he shushed her, as Julia wept with the beauty and the fear and the whirl of it all having overwhelmed her. She turned to find his skin, his ear, his cheek, to kiss him back, and the taste of it seeped into her, her tongue, her kisses finding a warm, salty, wetness on his skin, and she marveled with it, for William, too, had felt it, felt it to the point of tears, the force of their love was unbearable, wholly unbearable, and there was nothing they could do but give in to it, and to lie there miniscule and helpless in the world and be grateful for it, together under the heavens, thanking their lucky, lucky stars.

)) ((

*There was a good chance that this was the night, this night that William tried with all his might to love Julia TOO much – for the math was about right. It was telling too, that it happened on that table, that same table where their beautiful son had been born.

To the reader, …

For a little while, it seemed, James Gillies – this time as the Devil inside – had gotten William's goat. Consider our hero's choices, between the Lady or the Tiger, when confronted with this particular dilemma. William chose HELL, he chose the Tiger, and a more fierce and dangerous Tiger than facing eternity in HELL does not exist for a faithful Catholic man such as William Murdoch. Though you might tell yourself that it was for the Lady that William chose – Lady Justice. We know this Lady is sacred to William, after all, she stands in her robes, blindfolded, holding her scales, on his desk in his office, offering him guidance and a reminder of the importance of the truth. But, you are reminded to look deeper, for you and I will always know – and William's God will always know, the rubber bullet was planned, and thus it was so with justice. But the gun with a REAL bullet in it… IT was fired, and so the animalistic, primal, wild, choice was made. William pulled the trigger believing he was choosing HELL, believing it was worth it. Here, this time, William Murdoch chose the Tiger.