"How are you feeling today, Jack?"

Jack McCoy shrugged irritably as he continued washing the dirty dishes after lunch at the Halfway House. Emil Skoda had dropped in just as everyone was taking off for their afternoon chores.

So Skoda sat at the table, sipping a coffee, and watching McCoy wash pots, pans, plates, bowls, and silverware.

"I'm okay," McCoy shrugged again.

"Have you given any thought as to what you're going to do when your term of Community Service is done?"

"Not really, Emil," McCoy set one plate in the drying rack, started scrubbing a drinking glass. "Still got a few years left."

"Tempus Fugit, Jack. It'll be time before you know it. You should start thinking ahead now."

"Thinking ahead for what?" McCoy turned around, still wiping the inside of the drinking glass. "I lost my license to practice Law, and with a criminal record, I'm not going to get it back!"

"There are other things you could do," Skoda spoke quietly; the Voice of Reason…

"I guess…" McCoy turned back to the sink. "I sort of like working at the park."

"You do?"

"No one's life in the balance, Emil…No more Hang'em High McCoy…"

The drinking glass in McCoy's hands shattered, and McCoy, cursing, shut off the water.

"Let me look, Jack," Skoda had come over, took McCoy's hands in his, saw the thing Jack McCoy had hoped no one would ever see…

The cuts and abrasions on his fingers were bleeding sluggishly.

Green.

Green smearing on the knuckles, on the back and front of his hands.

McCoy looked up fearfully at Skoda, saw the stunned shock in the psychiatrist's eyes as they both watched the wounds close and disappear in less than a minute, leaving only a drying green crust behind.

Skoda's pale eyes met his.

"How?" he asked; and McCoy sighed.

If I tell him the truth, he'll think I'm insane.

He remembered George Atkinson telling him he was a Human/Alien Hybrid.

What will Emil do if I tell him?

…..

Willard Tappan had finished trash disposal for the day. Now, after putting empty trash bag in the shed, he decided to take a shortcut through the park, past that ugly-looking tree.

Odd…

Tappan stopped to look at it,

It really does sort of look like a human being…

Tappan looked around. No one else was there.

Good. I'm dying for a smoke…

Smoking wasn't allowed in the Halfway House. It wasn't allowed in the Park either. But those employees who did smoke knew of a few good places where you could get away with it, provided you were careful.

This spot was one such place. Tappan sighed as he brought out the cigar…

Years ago, before his fall from grace, this had been his regular brand, something he took for granted.

Now…

Tappan brought it up to his nose, inhaled the aroma.

Now, it was the sweetest luxury imaginable.

Expertly, he trimmed off the end, lit the cigar, and drew the spicy smoke into his lungs.

Heaven…

A poignant reminder of better days.

Someone was behind him, standing silently.

"Give me a minute," Tappan said.

In response, a hand, horny and calloused, grabbed his shoulder, spun him around, and Willard Tappan saw…

Tangled, matted hair, skin rough and pitted, eyes white through and through. Tappan knew the face.

John Curren…

…..

"Damn," Dirk Bentley, Jack McCoy's immediate supervisor said. "Tappan forgot his stick. Could you take it back to the shed?"

"Yeah…" McCoy picked up the stick with his free hand. Now, loaded down with his trash bag, and two pickup sticks, he headed down to the shed.

There, he could smell cigar smoke.

It smelled expensive, but McCoy was no expert on cigars.

The shriek of agony stopped him in his tracks. It sounded an awful lot like…

Someone getting torn limb from limb…

"What the hell was that?" Bentley, running up behind.

"Don't know…" McCoy was shivering. He felt his boss lay a hand on his shoulder.

"Stay with me, Jack, I'm going to call the cops…"

…..

Another one…

At least Detective Mike Logan had had the foresight to keep a bottle of aftershave on his person since that last murder. So he was prepared this time.

As prepared as anyone can be to see a body literally torn limb from limb…

At least it wasn't a kid this time…

Willard Tappan…

The head had been torn right off the shoulders, lay on a bed of entrails right at the foot of the tree.

Couldn't have happened to someone who deserved it more…

Ed Green was looking down at the body, arms, legs, and torso, scattered under the tree like a gruesome bouquet.

Scented cloth to his face, he nodded at the remains.

"I got this, Mike," he said. "Why don't you talk to the guys who called it in?"

Logan nodded gratefully, then turned back to Dirk Bentley…

And Jack McCoy.

"You guys see, or hear, anything?"

"We didn't see anything, Mike," McCoy spoke up. "We heard Tappan scream. That's it."

"Yeah," Bentley nodded. "We were together when it happened."

The man paused, drew Logan aside, out of McCoy's hearing.

"Can I ask you a favor, Detective?" he lowered his voice

"Sure."

"Jack's supposed to be back at the Halfway House by now. I'd hate to see him earn an Infraction for things beyond his control."

"I'll drive McCoy home," Logan nodded. "And I'll explain what happened."

"Thank you," the man closed his eyes. "Jack's a good man, and I'm not entirely sure he deserves…this."

Neither am I…

Logan turned back.

"Ed!" he called. "I'm going to get Jack back to the House. I'll come right back."

Green nodded and waved vaguely.

"C'mon, Jack," Logan took McCoy's arm. "Let's get you back to the House."

McCoy didn't speak until they were on their way.

"Found any trace of John Curren?"

Logan's hands tightened on the steering wheel.

"Not yet, buddy…"

"I think he's connected to this, Mike." McCoy was staring straight ahead.

"Jack…whatever killed those kids, and Tappan too, wasn't human. A human simply wouldn't have the strength to pull another human's body apart like that. It's an animal of some sort. We'll find it and put it down. Or Animal Control will. As for John Curren, we'll find him. One way or another, we will. Trust me."

…..

Emil Skoda let himself into his apartment.

Jack McCoy seemed to be in a better place now. He seemed to be adjusting…

Seemed…

After seeing McCoy's cut hands, though...

Skoda had demanded an explanation, and Jack McCoy had given one…

Crap…

Skoda sighed.

"I was abducted, Emil…" McCoy had said. "Aliens...They drilled into my skull, into my brain. They…changed me…"

The man had sighed, head bowed as he made the confession.

"I'm a Human/Alien Hybrid…"

Jack McCoy wasn't in a better place now. He wasn't adjusting, or recovering.

He was ill. Far more so than Skoda had previously thought.

…..

John Curren had reveled in the strength the Tree gave him.

It's the sap…

Curren realized this now, as he his inside the tree, body smeared and streaked with blood.

Willard Tappan's blood…

He would treasure, forever, the look of Stunned terror in Tappan's eyes…

As I tore his arms right off…

He closed his eyes in pure contentment, drinking the Tree's freely offered sap.

Only one left now…

Jack McCoy…