Resolutions – 15

Dark Revelations

by MMB

Crystal sighed and continued to put one foot in front of the other, wending her way home from the park in which she had started to spend so much of her days lately. Scooter would be wondering where she was, she knew — and he had a temper that didn't allow for much latitude, so she needed to get back soon. She'd made her rounds, stopping at the dumpsters at the back of the three restaurants in town and culling several wrappers' worth of discarded food that would keep them both from starving for another day. The two bundles of newspaper that she carried under her arm smelled actually tasty today.

She looked both ways before crossing the street diagonally toward the huge and mostly empty warehouse that she and Scooter had called their 'home' for several weeks now. Scooter was the one who had insisted that they come to this tiny seaside village. The fact that he owed most of the loan sharks first in Boston and now Dover more money than he would ever be able to repay was ample enough reason to try to just disappear for a while. Life with Scooter hadn't been easy, but then, he had been the only person who actually would talk to her back in the days when she was a new runaway and had just arrived in Boston. And she'd long since gotten used to the idea that the price for him 'protecting' her and 'taking care' of her was being expected to put up with his rough and painful advances whenever he got his urges.

The warehouse where they had found a refuge wasn't far from the edge of the ocean — it sat next to a wharf and pier at which water deliveries could be made, although in the two weeks since they'd been there, there had been no deliveries at all. As she walked down the asphalt next to the metal skin of the building, she stared in surprise at the sight of a dark sedan parked against the curbing on the ocean side of the street. She kept walking — the loosened piece of metal sheeting through which she would get into the warehouse was on the opposite side of the building — and the closer she got, the more she started to hear voices. Angry voices. One voice — Scooter's. She broke into a trot but skidded to a stop when she rounded the corner.

"Whaddya mean, you don't have any more money, old man?" Scooter yelled and lashed out with a foot into the side of a man lying prone on the ground in front of him. "A measly twenty bucks?"

"Scooter!" she yelled and ran toward him. "Stop!"

"Shut up!" he turned on her. "This ain't none of your business."

"What are you going to do — kill the guy because he didn't have enough money in his wallet?" she asked in a mocking tone. "Why don't you just take his car keys? That car has GOT to be worth…"

Scooter bent down and rifled through the man's pockets and straightened up again with a key ring in hand. "You comin'?" he asked after giving the man on the ground another foot in the belly. "We should be able to get all the way to Atlanta with this…"

"What the hell do I want in Atlanta?" Crystal asked, one hand on her hip. "And I thought you said…"

"Hey," he growled, pulling her close with a rough hand on her arm, "I got me some friends down there who'd help us set up so nice — maybe cut us in on a little dealing business that would get us some money…"

"Drugs?" Crystal pulled her arm out of his grasp. "I told you I wasn't having anything to do with drugs, Scooter. And if that's what you're going to Atlanta to do, you can damned well go to Atlanta alone."

"You'll do what I tell you," he grabbed her again, harder. "Just like always. I found you and took care of you — you OWE me."

"No!" she jerked away once more and backed up. "What are you going to do, beat me up to make me come with you? Well, forget it. Take the fuckin' car and go."

Scooter pointed at the bundles under her other arm. "At least you can give me my supper…"

Crystal rolled her eyes and grabbed one of the bundles and thrust it out at him. "Fine — if it will make you leave any faster…"

Scooter took the bundle and then stepped forward. With a hand moving faster than she could avoid, he slugged her hard in the face with his fist, making her tumble backwards. "You stupid bitch. I shoulda left you layin' in the gutter, where I found you. Stay here with the village idiot, then. You deserve each other." He swaggered back to the car, started the motor with a loud roar and spun the tires on the asphalt peeling rubber backing up toward the street.

Crystal lay on her back on the pavement for a long moment, the blow to her cheek having exploded into her head with the power of a bomb. Tears were pouring from her eyes, and yet when she moved her face to grimace it was like the whole side of her face wanted to explode again. She moved a hand up to cradle her cheek with a sound that was half sob, half moan. Not far away, she could hear the man Scooter had mugged beginning to groan too and slowly begin to move. He started coughing, and then the next thing Crystal heard was his retching miserably.

For a long moment, both of them simply worked by themselves at moving beyond the pain that Scooter had inflicted on them. Then finally Crystal sat up slowly on an elbow. "You OK, mister?"

"Actually, no," he replied after a long moment spent coughing again. He rolled back toward her, and she could see that he was an older gentleman with unstylishly long silver hair that was thinning considerably back from his forehead. "What about you?" His voice was slightly slurred and had an unidentifiable accent that inexplicably made Crystal think of a James Bond movie.

"I've been better," she answered dully. As much as she was glad that Scooter wasn't around anymore, she was frightened. She was alone again. The last time she'd been on her own like this had been that first day in Boston. Confused and disoriented, she'd been found by a gang who had spent the better part of the next two days passing her from one to the next before they got tired of her crying and dumped her into a gutter. Then Scooter and his friend Cricket had found her, and her life had improved some — not a lot, but at least a little. While the same treatment at the hands of a gang here wasn't likely, there was no guarantee that Scooter wouldn't be back for her after all — and he could be almost as bad that way sometimes, especially now that Cricket was gone…

She stared at the stranger on his backside and coughing miserably in the street with trepidation. Now what?

Fisher rolled his head and groaned — the impact of the car into the side of the embankment had almost smashed his head into the dashboard. The headlights of the Centre sedan were no longer glowing, so it was incredibly dark. Still, he reached for the overhead light and fumbled around the edges for the switch. The interior of the car was suddenly lit by the small light on the ceiling of the car.

"Are you all right?" he asked in concern as Davis moved his head against his hands at the wheel and groaned.

Davis turned, and Fisher grimaced. Davis must have hit the steering wheel with his forehead, for there was a cut above the left eye that was bleeding rather badly. Fisher dug in his breast pocket for his handkerchief and folded it and pressed it against his partner's forehead. "Ow — shit that hurts!"

"We'll be lucky if that's all that's wrong with either of us," Fisher answered dryly. "At least you hit the embankment. I think the other guy went off the side of the road."

"Why don't you call the Centre and get them to send out some help — or at least contact the local authorities," Davis suggested, leaning his head back against the headrest. "What if the other guy's hurt worse than we are?"

"He probably is," Fisher replied, pulling his cell phone from his pocket and dialing. He listened, then disconnected and tried dialing again. "Shit! There's no signal."

"Wouldn't you know it?" Davis would have shook his head in frustration, but his neck was starting to get sore and he had a beaut of a headache. "So, wise guy, what do we do now?"

"You hurt anywhere else?" Fisher asked in concern.

Davis closed his eyes. "Don't think so," he replied cautiously.

"Will you be OK if I took off and left you here for a while?"

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

Fisher looked at his partner with eyes narrowed in thought. "Top of the mountain. Maybe my cell phone will have reception up there. You need help, and so does our mystery kamikaze driver."

"Go," Davis waved the hand that wasn't holding the handkerchief to his forehead. "The sooner you get going, the sooner we can get some help in here."

Fisher looked at his partner for a moment, then reached for the glove box. "We DID pack a flashlight, didn't we?"

"In the trunk, probably," Davis told him with a sigh and closed his eyes. "God, my head feels like it wants to roll off my shoulders."

Fisher pushed the button in the glove box that opened the trunk, then put a hand on his partner's shoulder. "I'll be back as soon as I can, Frank." Davis nodded very gingerly, and Fisher reached for the handle to the passenger door. With another long glance at his partner, he pushed the door open and climbed out.

The emergency kit in the trunk did indeed have a high-powered flashlight — one that lit up the area brightly. With it, Fisher would be able to follow the faded white line up the side of the mountain. He slammed the trunk closed and patted the roof of the sedan as he walked past. "I'll be back in just a bit," he told his partner once more, then began hiking up the steep asphalt incline.

He reached the spot where skid marks showed where the SUV had headed off the pavement and over the edge of the road, and Fisher walked carefully to the edge and peered over. Casting his light into the brush, he was able to make out the trail of damage left behind by the careening vehicle and the white metal lying crumpled against a tree part way down into the gorge.

Shaking his head, he turned back to the road and continued up the dark asphalt path. For Davis' sake, if not for the sake of any poor bastard left trapped in that white SUV, he needed to get to where his cell phone could work.

"You have the sweetest little girl, Jarod," Margaret told her son as she walked quietly from the hallway and the bedroom where she'd just tucked Ginger into bed.

"I know," Jarod grinned at her from the couch, where he was sorting through papers. "And to think she's almost mine at last!"

"I've been thinking about that," Margaret watched him for a long moment and then moved to sit down in a chair not far away. "And I've been thinking about your going away."

"Mom, we've talk about this before," Jarod looked up from his sorting. "I love Missy…"

She waved her hand. "I know that — and I honestly don't have any problems with it. Now that I've met her and gotten to know her a little bit, I think your Missy is one of the best things that has happened to you."

Jarod frowned, confused. "Then what…"

"I was wondering if you would very upset if I went back to Delaware with you?"

Jarod's mouth dropped open in utter amazement. "I thought you never wanted to set foot there again?"

She shrugged. "I didn't — not for a very long time. But you're going to be living your life there now, and you'll have two of my grandchildren there. And," she raised her chin proudly, "I think the time has come for me to get a little closure."

"Closure?"

Her blue eyes didn't flinch from his gaze. "I want to meet the man that raised my son as his own," she told him with more certainty than she was feeling inside. "I want to meet this Sydney of yours. Missy speaks so highly of him, even though she was concerned about his making Davy run SIMs…"

"He didn't MAKE Davy run SIMs, Mom," Jarod told her gently. "I told you what Missy said. Davy came to him for help — and walking Davy through a SIM of the situation was the best way Sydney knew to…"

"I know what Missy said, and I know how you feel. It's time I found out for myself." She smiled. "So what do you say? Would you mind very much if I tagged along when you take Ginger to her new home?"

"NO I don't mind," Jarod's smile was wide. "Of course I don't mind. Wait until I tell Missy…" Then his face fell slightly. "I just hope he's back when we get there."

"Back?" Margaret frowned. "I thought you said that he was laid up since knee surgery."

"He is," Jarod explained, "but he recently found out a few things about his own past — and how HIS life was messed up by the Centre when he was young." He gave his mother a sad gaze. "We evidently weren't the first family that was destroyed to serve the Centre agendas, Mom. Sydney didn't take the news very well — of course, finding out that the Nazis exterminated his family at the request of the Centre would throw just about anybody for a loop…"

"They did that?" Her mouth dropped open.

He nodded. "And right now, Missy and Sam are just trying to figure out where he went to make sure he doesn't get hurt while he's working through this latest…"

"He's OK, isn't he?" She could tell that he was worried, and once more, new evidence that many of the people she had so reviled for so long had been similarly done harm by the Centre began to soften her attitude towards them.

"I hope so…" Jarod looked back down at his pictures. "Missy depends on him utterly, Davy loves him dearly and calls him 'Grandpa' — and God knows Deb needs him desperately right now, and so does Kevin…"

"Kevin?" Margaret frowned — the name wasn't familiar.

Jarod glanced at her. "The other Pretender we liberated. You remember, I told you…"

"Oh yeah." Margaret gazed at her son, certain that he HADN'T mentioned this other former Centre victim much if at all. There was apparently a lot to this life of his on the other side of the country that she didn't know about. And she wanted to know. "So, when ARE you leaving?"

Jarod looked back down at the pile of pictures that he was sorting through — pictures that would remind him of the pieces of his life that he would be leaving behind here in California. "Depending on how quickly I can finish going through stuff, Saturday — maybe Sunday."

"You think you can pack that quickly?" Margaret was amazed.

"You know, I'm not all that attached to THINGS, Mom. I have clothes I'll want to take with me, my diplomas — these pictures. Maybe a few pieces of artwork I'll have shipped back there…" His eye sought out a couple of paintings by artists he had helped during his days on the run, and another couple that he himself had done after he'd put his real family together at last. "But Missy is talking about our taking over her father's old town house — so I'm not going to be in need of furnishings or anything, at least, not right away. And Ginger doesn't have a whole lot of stuff that will take long to pack either." He grinned at her. "How about you? Can you be packed in time?"

"I lived my life out of a suitcase for years, Jarod," she reminded him. "I'll be ready when you are."

"I'm sure Ginger will be glad to have you with us," he commented with a glance down the darkened hall toward his daughter's room. "A little more familiarity around her can't be a bad thing in a completely new place."

"Good." She nodded her head firmly. "I'll let Em know tomorrow that I'll be gone for a while — taking a vacation with you." She smiled. "Sammy will be in school anyway. This works out well."

Jarod resumed his sorting with a smile. Maybe it wouldn't be as hard to put together the two halves of his life after all.

"Can you walk?"

"Not without help, I'm afraid…"

Crystal had finally managed to regain her feet despite the ripping headache and the sensation of her eye wanting to pop out of her skull. She stumbled towards the man that Scooter had beaten. In bending toward him, she could smell the overwhelming stink of liquor on his breath. "Geez, mister — how much have you had?"

Sydney gave a brittle cough that could have been meant as a chuckle if it hadn't hurt so much. "Not enough. I can still think straight — more or less." He slowly sat up, then put a hand down to his side. Where he'd been shot weeks before, the scar tissue had torn open yet again when the young man had kicked him. "And I can feel where your young man kicked me."

"He's not MY young man," Crystal announced half-angrily as she put out a hand. "Here."

"I don't think so, my dear," the man waved her off. "But if you can help me find my crutches…"

"Oh, come on!" she growled at him. "It's too damned dark to find where Scooter tossed your crutches — if he didn't throw them into the water to begin with — and you know it." She put out her hand again. "I'm stronger than I look. Here."

Sydney looked up at her askance in the dim light. This was a tiny whippet of a girl, younger and smaller in build than his granddaughter. Still, his choices were very limited — he could either accept her offer or continue to sit in the gutter like a common drunk that had just been rolled. He finally put out a hand and took her rough little hand in his. Slowly, painfully, he managed to get up on his undamaged knee and finally lurched to his feet — nearly knocking her over in his effort to catch his balance.

"This way," Crystal said, letting the man lean heavily on her shoulder. "Just a second." She bent down for the remaining bundle of scrounged food and tucked it back under her arm before letting the man's heavy hand land back on her shoulder. Her fellow victim walked with a noticeably painful limp over to some stacked crates next to the warehouse, where he fell into a disheveled sitting position.

"Thank you," he said finally, once he'd caught his breath. "For your help now — and before."

"Yeah, well, don't mention it." The man's gratitude made Crystal feel strange — almost homesick. She moved the bundle of food from beneath her arm and began unwrapping her supper. "You want some of this?"

The mere thought of food turned Sydney's stomach. "No, thank you," he replied, leaning to the side against another, stacked packing crate. His hand went to his side again and came away sticky with blood. Jarod would be absolutely furious with him when he saw him next, he knew — and then wondered IF he would see Jarod again. Or Parker. That's right, he suddenly reminded himself brutally. Monsters don't get to see those they love — they don't deserve it.

"Suit yourself," Crystal began picking at the pieces of meat hungrily. She kept her eye on her fellow victim cautiously. His very demeanor reminded her of someone — she just couldn't remember who at the moment. The cut of his clothing — his style of dress — screamed 'establishment' and 'authority,' but he acted defeated, completely worn down.

Sydney closed his eyes, and then immediately opened them again. He'd forgotten that he'd bought the cheap bottles of whiskey to help him forget the visions of a nightmare that lurked in his mind every time he closed his eyes — the visions of emaciated corpses, chimneys stretching into the sky billowing dark, greasy smoke. All because Mr. Parker wanted to experiment with him and Jacob — explore their intelligence. Papa, Mama, and little Yvette had been sacrificed — for what? To see what research could come from exploiting a very bright and gifted set of twins? To train them to exploit other young minds in their turn?

His entire upbringing after the war, all his schooling, had been orchestrated and paid for by the Centre. Uncle Fritz — one of the few memories of the days immediately following the liberation of the camp that had been pleasant — a Centre operative PAID to show the two orphaned twins sympathy and compassion. All those diplomas in his office — bought and paid for by the Centre, and his skill had been bought and paid for and given over to Centre service ever since. His whole life had become one big, obscene joke with no punch line.

"Hey! You OK?" Crystal asked as the man moaned with some unknown agony.

How fitting that he'd ended up in a gutter, mugged by a young sewer-rat and left in the street like garbage. He didn't deserve more than that — and yet, he suddenly wanted nothing more than to go back to his home and let those who surrounded him and loved him anyway comfort him. He glanced at Crystal and yet saw only Deb — a young girl trying to claw her way out of a horrible nightmare and needing his help to find her way. Kevin — another Centre victim that had been exploited and his life shredded to advance a nefarious end — was depending on him to help him transition into a normal life.

What was he going to do now? He couldn't walk very well without his crutches — certainly he wouldn't make it all the way home. And he was a mess, bloody, reeking of cheap whiskey and other, far less savory things.

Crystal worried for a moment, and then came to a decision. She carefully wrapped up the remains of her supper and put it on a crate where she could find it again and then walked up to her fellow victim. "C'mon," she said, reaching for an arm to drape over her shoulder again and tried to pull him back to his feet. "I've got a place you can crash inside here — you look like you need to sleep this one off."

Sydney had nothing left with which to fight back. He allowed the small woman-child to manhandle him to his feet and then half-lead, half-drag him through a bent gap in the metal sheeting that covered the warehouse. Once inside, she pulled him forward about ten paces and then let him feel the thin mattress lying on the cement at his feet. "You can sleep there," she told him. "I'll sit watch tonight."

Slowly, hanging onto her hand for dear life, he went down on his good knee and then lay down on the thin pallet. It wasn't his comfortable bed from at home — indeed, this was much more like the uncomfortable pallet that had been his in Dachau than anything he'd had since. Perhaps it was that comparison that made it possible for him to close his eyes finally and surrender to the nightmare.

Kevin roused as a small cramp found his neck. As he stretched slightly and moved his head to ease the cramping, he felt Deb stir in his arms and snuggle in closer to him again. That pleasurable sensation made him open his eyes. It was dark in the den, the only light being that from the television, still on but tuned to nothing but static. They had fallen asleep to the movie, which must have been over hours ago. When he bent forward to retrieve the remote from where he tossed it to turn off the TV, Deb again stirred against him and roused. "What time is it?" she asked sleepily.

"Late enough that the TV station is gone off the air," he whispered to her. "We should probably head off to bed."

Deb tightened her arms around him. "Let's just stay here," she urged quietly. "It's late, I'm comfortable, and I don't want to move." She could feel him stiffen in hesitation. She kicked off her shoes and gave him a little nudge. "There's a pillow on that end of things," she reminded him.

"We shouldn't," he cautioned stubbornly.

"I don't want to be alone," she told him in a very simple tone. "Grandpa's not here. Stay with me."

For some reason that he'd never understand later, Kevin found himself able to follow her logic. He allowed himself to be tipped over into the pillows on the end of the daybed and then felt Deb tip over in front of him to land on his arm that was still around her, her head coming to rest on his shoulder. There was much less room for the two of them on the daybed than there had been on his bed a couple of days earlier, and as Deb stretched out her legs, her body brushed the entire length of his in its attempt to straighten without falling off the edge.

His hand landed on her waist and held her still. "Uh… You don't want to do that too often," he warned her. He was tingling from the contact from tip to toe, and the tingling was beginning to pool in his groin — in that mysterious part of his anatomy Vernon had taught him could be used to relieve tension and frustration.

"Kevin, I'll fall off," she protested and moved against him again in a way she couldn't help in order to keep from losing her balance — and it was impossible not to feel the way his body was beginning to react to her closeness. She froze for a moment and then moved slowly again and felt the bulge against her lower abdomen grow slightly.

"I'm sorry," he murmured in embarrassment and concern, and he began to move to try to get away from her. The problem was that his movements only served to make their bodies brush each other yet again. In a moment of awkwardness, he put down a hand to try to steady himself that landed instead on Deb's chest — on a very soft and giving part of her chest. "Oh God, I'm sorry," he tried again, only to end up landing directly on top of her, his knee pushing her thighs apart in his attempt to crawl over her.

"Kevin?" she asked quietly, reaching up to where she knew his face was.

"Deb, this isn't such a good idea…" he repeated the mantra as her fingers caught at the back of his neck and pulled him to her. But then their lips touched, and he abandoned himself to the sensation of touching along the entire length of their bodies — of lying together entwined intimately in such a way that they fit together all too well. The kiss deepened almost immediately, with Deb breathing out a sigh of contentment as the hand that had been on her breast found her throat for a moment. The feel of his trim, hard body lying against hers with his desire for her pressing into her slightly was making every nerve in her body wake up and begin to sing, and once more she started to feel as if she were flying.

Then, even as the kiss was ending, she ran a hand down his arm to his hand and pulled the hand back to her chest, to her breast, and held it there.

"What are you doing?" Kevin whispered hoarsely. He could feel the softness of her beneath his palm, and his thumb was tempted to play with the soft surface that was just beneath it.

"I need to know," she whispered back at him, just as hoarsely. "Please."

Kevin moved his thumb and discovered the hard little peak. Deb breathed in as the sensation of his light touch set her afire and then fanned the flames by continuing to brush against her softly, tentatively. Her hand went to his chest and pulled his tee shirt from his waistband, anxious to feel his warm skin beneath her fingertips. "Deb!"

But she was determined, and soon his tee shirt was on the floor and her hands were exploring his chest boldly. Her fingertips tangled themselves in the sparse hair even as his stroking of her became braver, more explorative. Suddenly his hand was pulling her blouse from the waistband and then undoing the buttons so that he could get to her skin too. The feel of his warm hand on her skin was wonderful, and then Deb smiled as he seemed to be confounded by the lacy barrier of her bra. She slipped one arm out of her blouse sleeve and then reached behind herself to help.

Kevin felt the garment suddenly loosen and fall away, and then his hand was on Deb's soft skin. His fingertips played with the tight hard bud he had found earlier as his lips claimed hers again in a deep and fiery kiss made even more consuming by the sensation of skin against skin now. When at last his lips left hers, they blazed a hot and liquid track down her throat and directly to the soft mound, where he dropped a kiss onto the hard little nubbin he'd been occupied with previously.

Deb held her breath as he kissed her breast first very lightly, and then with a little more intent. This was not the same as that man's mouth or teeth on her — this was Kevin, and he loved her, and his kisses were making her body wake up in ways it had never awakened before — especially his kisses there. She arched into him and felt him take her into his mouth with a soft suck, and the sensation was magic. His hand swept up boldly to hold her breast still as he nuzzled and suckled, and then it swept down her torso and up to her other breast. His fingers toyed very carefully with the bandage they found there, even though they could feel the firm peak pressing desperately upward beneath it. Eventually he lifted his head and panted at her, "Does that tell you what you wanted to know?"

"Oh, yes!" she sighed, her fingers tangling in his hair and circling his ear distractedly as he resumed his heated kisses and caresses. "Don't stop!" She shifted beneath him and felt that hard bulge at his hips press even more insistently against her leg. Deciding that this was what she really wanted, she swept her hand down the length of his torso until she brushed directly over him, making his hips surge toward hers involuntarily.

Kevin lifted his head from her breast immediately. "Deb," he warned in a shaky voice. "Be careful. That's not…"

Her fingers were busy with the top of her jeans — and once that was undone, she once more commandeered his hand and carefully pushed it down toward the open button and zipper. "Touch me," she begged. "God, Kevin, please touch me here too!" If his kisses at her breast were any indication, his caresses THERE would wipe away all of the dark and unhappy memories once and for all. "Make me forget everything. Please!"

Excited and stimulated enough that he was unable to say no to her now, he moved his hand gently beneath the elastic and over the soft curls. What he found there had her soon arching into him again and sighing softly as he probed and stroked and felt her thighs slowly part and give him more room. He found a rhythm to his caresses there, a rhythm that her hips soon found and returned, a rhythm that he found incredibly exciting and irresistible. His lips found her breast again, and his tongue wove arabesques between hot kisses.

Then, surprisingly, she reached for him, her fingers making quick work of the button on the top of his jeans and then encircling him brazenly once he was free of the restrictive clothing, making him suck in his breath suddenly. It was one thing to handle himself to relieve tension the way Vernon had reluctantly taught him — it was quite something else altogether to have another's soft hand stroking him in rhythm to the way he was caressing her. His hips surged into her hand before he could control himself and his caresses of her body became firmer, more insistent, making her moan and rock against him more surely.

It was becoming all too intoxicating — how he had ever thought the process boring or gross was now beyond him. He stretched up and kissed her deeply and passionately and then moaned against the kiss as he felt the way their bodies were beginning to move together from the intimate caresses being given and received. He pulled back from her with difficulty.

"Deb, if we're going to want to be able to stop," he decided he'd try once more, while he still could. Sydney had warned him, and he knew with sudden surety that with her caresses now she was rapidly taking him right up to the point past which he doubted he'd be able to stop himself. His mentor had been right — that point could only be known through the experience of approaching it with a partner. Right now he wanted what was happening between them more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life — and he wanted… more. "Oh, Deb…" he breathed softly as she stretched up and kissed him at the base of the throat, and then nibbled on his chest without ceasing her ministrations at his groin. "Please," he groaned in pleasure. "We need to stop…"

Kevin's touch had been like balm, healing what had been damaged and soiled, and now her body had her completely in its demanding spell. She felt a tightening in her lower belly from the way he was stroking her — and a sense of emptiness and hunger there that she didn't completely understand but knew instinctively how to cure. "God, don't stop," she whispered softly as her body began to tremble and pulse strongly from the wonderful sensations his continuing and insistent caresses were causing. "Oh…MY!" Her hips bucked up toward the hand that was making it hard for her to think of anything but how much she wanted him to continue what he was doing, how much she wanted… more… from him… NOW. "Make love to me, Kevin."

"I don't want to hurt you," he whispered back, his lips at her ear, kissing her neck there. There was nothing he wanted to do more right now than to try out this thing called sex with her, but… He carefully removed his hands from inside her clothing and caught at her hand and reluctantly removed it from him. "We shouldn't…"

"You won't hurt me — please don't stop. I want… I need… you to make love to me." Her hand escaped his and closed around him again — and with her sure touch, the point of no return slipped away before he could even note its passing. "Don't you want to?"

"Oh, yes," he breathed and kissed her deeply and passionately again, surrendering to the moment and to his sudden, desperate need to make her completely his without delay.

Fisher was long since winded and panting with exertion — it was a long and winding road to the top of the mountain. He had no idea how long it had been since he'd left his partner in the ruined car that had plowed head-first into an embankment. All he knew was that the roadbed in front of him was beginning to level out for a change.

He hauled his cell phone out of his pocket again and checked the display. He had a signal — not as strong as it could be, but definitely there! He hit a preprogrammed number and put the device to his ear.

"This is Harrison. Talk to me."

"This is Fisher. We need help," he stated immediately. "Davis is injured, and there's a vehicle off the road on White Cloud Road, about three miles south of Sydney's cabin."

"What the hell, Fisher? I told you bozos…"

Fisher was shaking his head. "Blame the other guy, boss. That SUV was all over the road — Davis put us into an embankment to avoid a head-on collision."

He could hear Harrison barking out instructions to somebody else in the room with him. Then: "I'm having the Virginia authorities notified and dispatching another sweeper team to join up with you. Keep in touch…"

"That's just it, sir," Fisher explained tiredly. "We're down in a hole with no cell signal. I had to walk about a mile and a half just to get up high enough to catch the signal again. I need to get back to Frank — he was bleeding pretty good…"

"OK, OK," Harrison conceded. "You get back down to Davis and stick close until help arrives. Hopefully I'll see you two sometime tomorrow."

"Will do," Fisher said, then waited and let his boss disconnect the call before pocketing the cell phone and picking up the flashlight from where he'd laid it at his feet. It was going to be a long walk back down to the car, and the sooner he got started…

Dr. Franz Ziegler walked into the construction zone and directly to the elevator structure that would take him down to his labs on SL-18. He hadn't been back to his labs since the bombing and subsequent evacuation, so he wasn't prepared for what he found when he keyed in the lock code, pushed through the doors and turned on the lights.

File cabinets — the repositories for all of his precious data on psychological techniques designed specifically to fit seamlessly with the physical reactions to the drug sequence — stood with their drawers half pulled out, obviously empty. He walked slowly through the lab toward his office, disappointed to see that the door had been left unlocked and standing open. Within, his personal file cabinets had also been cleaned out — and even his desk drawers had been left half-open and obviously empty.

He cast a cautious eye up at the camera in the corner of the room, taking a deep sigh when he saw the little red light that told of it's being active wasn't lit. He swore softly in German and flopped himself down into his comfortable leather chair. Captain Lewis had assured him that he would have his data to work from — but obviously that the bulk of the data would NOT be coming from the Centre itself. He would have to place a call to the good captain and make arrangements for its return.

Ziegler knew that his cell phone was useless this far underground — he'd have to wait until he was outside the Centre itself before he could place a call. He looked around his office, staring at the certificates and diplomas he'd hung on the wall to remind himself that he'd become an honest researcher. They looked abandoned down here with nobody walking in and out of the lab or the office to show that the knowledge they represented was being used.

Then he smiled and glanced up to check the camera in the corner of the office to make sure that it was still off. Mr. Raines had anticipated that a time might come when certain data could have been compromised. He had called in a locksmith who had taken over the office for over a week making provisions for a small safe. Ziegler moved the printer stand against the wall aside and pushed carefully at a specific point in the paneling near the baseboard. There was a tiny click, and then the spring-loaded paneling and baseboard swung out, revealing the electronic keypad and handle. He punched in his code and pulled up hard on the handle, and the small metal door opened.

Ziegler began to smile more broadly. It was all there — the essential elements of Black Hole had remained undiscovered. The small tray of stoppered vials and the six notebooks full of dosage notations and psychological treatment progressions sat right where he had left them that crazy evening when the Centre Tower had been brought low. Without touching them, he closed the little safe once more and pressed the paneling back into place before moving the printer stand back once more in front of the spot.

SL-18 was now abandoned, he knew. Most of the projects that had been underway there had been military contracts, some of them inter-related or contracted by the same branch and office at the Pentagon. The trick would be to get into SL-18 and into his labs without calling attention to his frequenting an abandoned part of the subterranean structure. It was obvious that the security system had been disconnected from the main, since none of the cameras seemed active at all. This was good for him, he thought and smiled.

He'd still have to contact Lewis and see how much of the more detailed data could be returned — but he could also report that he was virtually ready to restart some of the experiments within hours. He strode in satisfaction through the lab and carefully locked the door behind him before heading back to the elevator.

"Hey, get a load of this!"

The duty security officer in the monitoring room on SL-5 stood up from his desk and moved over behind the man watching the surveillance systems on SL-18. The cameras showed a man walking toward the elevator from one of the empty labs.

"Did he get in?" the officer demanded.

"Punched in the lock code without a single mistake," the man announced and brought up the scene a few minutes earlier on another monitor.

"Whose code did he use?"

The man looked down into his book. "Dr. Franz Ziegler's, sir."

"Were the lab cameras operational?"

"Yes, sir," the man smiled. "Although HE wouldn't know they were. We used some electrician's tape, as Mr. Atlee, suggested, over the indicator lights so that anybody going into the labs without authorization wouldn't know that they were active."

"Show me."

The man punched up the digital archive of the past few minutes in the lab. When the officer saw Ziegler bend and open a small panel in the side of the office wall, he knew he had something that the Big Boys up above would want to see. He reached down and picked up the telephone. "This is Monitoring Room 3. We have some interesting footage that you folks up there might be interested in."

"Oh?" Harrison said, yawning. It had been a long night, what with Dr. Green's disappearance and now the apparent traffic accident of two sweepers in Virginia. "What have you got?"

"We caught us an intruder in one of the closed up labs down on SL-18, AND," the officer paused for effect, "getting into something that looks like a private safe in the office there."

That made Harrison sit up and take notice. "Put the data on a DSA and get it up to my office right away." He thought for a moment. "Just out of curiosity, any idea of the identity of our intruder?"

"I think it's a fellow by the name of Dr. Ziegler. At least, it was Dr. Ziegler's security code that was used to unlock the lab."

"Ziegler?" Harrison leaned forward to his desk and picked up the notice left him by Sam that Ziegler had an entire surveillance team assigned to him. "Any sign of a tail on this guy?"

"Nope." The officer shook his head. "Then again, considering that SL-18 is abandoned, it would be hard to tail him without being spotted down there…"

"You have a point," Harrison had to admit. "Thanks — and get that DSA up here ASAP."

"Will do." The duty officer patted the man sitting in front of the four monitor screens on the shoulder. "Good work, Jack. Give me a DSA of all of that as soon as possible, OK?"

"Yes, sir…"

Deb lay quietly in Kevin's arms, still a little out of breath and with a heart that was beating hard and fast in her chest. Kevin's arms around her were no longer tentative or uncertain — he held her fast and close against him in a tight and possessive embrace. He too was still breathing hard from their recent activity and continued to nuzzle her hair and drop gentle kisses on her forehead from time to time.

"OK?" he asked her finally — the first word he'd spoken to her since abandoning himself to the passion of the moment.

"OK," she responded softly, kissing the chest beneath her. She moved her hand so that she was holding him at the waist and snuggled in closer. "OK."

"I didn't hurt you?" He knew he'd been lost for a while in his own incredible experience of sensations that he could have never dreamed possible. Only now that his mind was clearing did he begin to wonder — and worry.

"No. You didn't hurt me," she answered and kissed his chest again as reassurance. He hadn't hurt her at all. The pain she had expected had never happened — only a sensation of being filled by him in a way that, for the briefest moment, had reminded her of rough fingers pressing into her body. But the memory had lasted only for the briefest of moments because then he had started to move inside her and caress her and kiss her deeply again. Immediately her body had reminded her of why she'd been so hungry for his touch, his embrace, and begun to move with him. And then it had become magic — beyond magic.

"Are you sorry?" he asked, his hand smoothing up her arm and then back down again to hold her close to him. She was so precious to him now – the thought that she regretted what they'd done…

She thought for only a moment. "No." It was the truth. For all the boyfriends she'd had during her high school years that had groped her and tried desperately to get her to let them make love to her she was thankful that she had waited for Kevin. The others had been out for a quick conquest — Kevin had been out for anything but. Making love with him had been a journey of trial and error and discovery for both of them together, with a mind-blowing finale that still curled her toes to think about. "Are you?"

"Oh, no!" He pressed his lips firmly to her forehead and tightened the circle of his arms around her. "I just…"

"I love you," she told him, stretching up and capturing his lips with hers. It was a gentle and sweet kiss with a restrained sort of passion that took Kevin completely by surprise. "I don't regret anything," she said when the kiss finally ended.

"I love you too," he sighed as she settled back down against his chest, with her head on his shoulder. She was the most important thing in his world. His mind was filled with thoughts of her — of her perfume, of her voice, of the way she had called out his name near the end, of how it had felt to be surrounded by her completely until it had nearly driven him mad with desire. "I just worry that…"

"You know, I think that's one of the things I love about you," Deb told him, pulling her hand from his waist and smoothing it up and across the expanse of his chest and then down his torso. "You think more about me and what I'm feeling. So tell me…" she kissed his chest yet again. "Was it what you expected?"

"I didn't know what to expect," he admitted honestly. "I've never been with anyone before." He kissed her hair. "What about you? Was it what you expected?"

Deb smiled against him. "No," she replied equally honestly. "It was more… better than that."

Kevin smiled and felt as if he'd just been handed the moon on a platter.

She shivered then. "But you know what? It's getting chilly down here with no covers — no clothes on…"

"Really!" Kevin agreed as he felt the errant breath of air conditioner that had chilled Deb. He hugged her tighter in an attempt to warm her and then found himself unable to resist kissing her as his hands slowed and found interesting terrain to explore. She was just as quick to let her hands roam his body, down his side to his buttock and then toward the front… He broke the kiss and caught at her hand before she touched him and he lost the ability to reason again. "We should probably take this upstairs, where there's a bigger bed with nice, warm covers," he said in an unsteady voice. It was amazing. He wanted her again — already. He doubted he would ever be able to get enough of her.

"OK." He felt her relax into his arms without trying to claim her hand back. "But what about Mr. Ikeda?" she asked warily.

He smiled. "You put on your jeans and blouse, I'll throw on my jeans and tee, and I doubt he'll say anything. Besides," he kissed her again, "he probably has already figured out what was going on back here. I don't know how quiet we were while we were… together. So, if he WAS going to say something, he would have already, don't you think?"

He had a point. "I suppose," she said skeptically. The idea that Mr. Ikeda not only knew what had just gone on between the two of them but also was giving them his tacit approval through his silence and non-interference was somewhat disconcerting. Grandpa, she knew very well, would not have been pleased at all and would have been quite vocal about it.

She sat up and reached to the floor for her clothing that had been so carelessly tossed over the side of the daybed couch. "Here," she said, tossing him his tee shirt and jeans and beginning to climb into her own. They dressed quickly and, gathering up those undergarments they'd not bothered with otherwise, they joined hands and started toward the front of the house and the stairs.

Ikeda was in his regular spot near the arch of the living room, sitting quietly on his heels and with his eyes closed – but not asleep. Neither of the young people made the mistake of thinking him asleep. They merely walked quietly past him and then up the stairs. Ikeda waited until the two had mounted the stairs before opening his eyes and smiling quietly to himself. It was good, he decided, that Green-san's pretty blossom of a granddaughter had found comfort in the arms of his young student to move beyond the horror of whatever she had faced in the previous weeks. Kevin-san would be a good protector for her.

The sounds of their lovemaking had not remained in the den, and he had come to the back of the house only once to make sure all was secure around the young lovers before leaving them to their pleasures. His eyes had rested briefly on the pair as their pale skins revealed their rhythmic movements in the dark, and he briefly remembered the last time he'd been in the arms of his lovely Keiko. No doubt by now, the Yakuza had probably moved her to a place where he would never find her again — or that would betray him to them should he try to search for her there.

He closed his eyes again to focus on the sounds outside the house in order to keep the young lovers safe for whatever they intended to do in the room above.

Deb moved to her bedroom door without letting go of his hand as Kevin pushed open the door to his own room and gave a tug to pull her in after him. That answers the question of his place or mine, she thought to herself with a smile and then turned back and entered his room after him. She came up behind him after she closed the door and wrapped her hands around him from the back and pressed herself tightly against his back. He relaxed against her for a moment and then turned so that it was the fronts of their bodies pressed against each other.

Already he was starting to find her closeness intoxicating – and he knew she could tell that he wanted her again, just as he could tell from the tight little buttons pressed into his chest through thin blouse and tee shirt that she wanted him again too. He bent down and caught her in a deep and hot kiss as he began to unbutton her blouse to reveal her soft skin again. Her fingers were working the buttons of his jeans again, pushing them over his hips so that they dropped to the floor at about the same time as her blouse fell open to his seeking touch. It didn't take long before her jeans and blouse were pooled on the floor as well, and he was tugging his tee shirt over his head.

He led her to his bed by the hand, already breathless with excitement at the thought of making love with her once more. He then picked her up in his arms and placed her in the middle of the huge mattress. He climbed in next to her and pulled the sheet and comforter over the top of them both.

"Frank? Can you hear me?" Fisher called out as he finally neared the Centre sedan with its hood crumpled into the steep embankment. There was no sound from within the car, and the panting sweeper hurried as best he could without loosing his footing the last few yards and pulled open the passenger door.

The interior light was still on, and Davis had his head back against the headrest. But the bloodied handkerchief that had been pressed against the cut on his face had fallen into his lap, and the injured man was incredibly pale and unconscious. The blood had continued to pour down his face and drip onto his white dress shirt.

"Shit!" Fisher reached for his partner's hand, making sure that the man still had a pulse. Davis moaned at the touch, but didn't rouse further. Fisher dug in his partner's pocket for another handkerchief and then applied that to the cut, which was still oozing blood. He groped on the opposite side of Davis' seat for the button that would recline the seat slightly, then lowered the injured man until he wasn't nearly vertical so that it would be easier for him to keep pressure on the wound. He tipped his hand to check his wristwatch. Two-thirty in the morning.

He heaved a sigh. Help couldn't come soon enough, as far as he was concerned…

The man on the thin mattress moaned again softly in his sleep, and Crystal frowned carefully as she wadded up the greasy wrapper that had held her meal and tossed it into a corner behind some boxes. Something was wrong with the guy, and she didn't know what to do or to whom to go for help.

She couldn't go to the men who would come to the warehouse — she'd seen them chase away another derelict not long after she and Scooter had taken up residence, and they hadn't been much kinder to him than Scooter had been to this drunk. She thought briefly of Kevin, then dismissed the idea. He distrusted her completely, and would never be open to coming with her to see what needed to be done. Especially when he caught sight of Scooter's latest job with her face — her left eyes was now swollen shut completely, and she was sure there was a bruise the size of Manhattan on the cheek below it.

She shouldn't have teased him so much, she chided herself much too late to do any good. She knew she'd been very deliberately hurtful with some of her comments, and then been confused by either his lack of understanding some of the common references or satisfied when he'd finally riled.

"Jacob! Nein! Herr… Herr Doktor! Ich hab' es nicht gemeint…" the lame man shouted suddenly in the midst of his nightmare, startling the girl badly. "Bitte…" his voice trailed away in a defeated plea. "Jarod… I'm so sorry… Parker…"

Whatever she did tomorrow, first on her list of things to do was to find SOMEone she could tell about him — and get him the help he needed. She had three names: Jacob, Jarod and Parker. Maybe someone in town would know one of them. She pulled the leather jacket closer around herself and began to curl up to sleep too.

"Kevin… Forgive me…"

Crystal sat up again straighter. Kevin? This man knew Kevin?

Maybe she DID know where to go after all.

Deb shifted, smiling in her sleep as she once more dreamed of being in Kevin's arms and enjoying his lovemaking. Her dream self smiled up at him as he moved over her, her body singing as he bent down to kiss her breast gently and press himself into her once more. The feelings he was creating were beyond fabulous, and she closed her dream eyes and sighed in contentment. She loved him so much, and she knew that he loved her.

She didn't feel the change in the dream immediately — she was too wrapped up in the delight she was receiving from his lips on her body, his body moving inside hers. But the smooth and gentle movements against her, in her, slowly became jerky and rough, and suddenly it wasn't lips at her breast but crooked, yellowed teeth. Her dream self suddenly opened her eyes to find the face of HIM looming over her, his face a cruel leer as he thrust himself painfully into her over and over again… and then bent down and took her nipple between his teeth and bit hard…

With a shriek, Deb surged straight up in bed and then blinked, not recognizing the room around her. Kevin, roused by her scream, slowly sat up behind her and reached for her. "Deb?" he asked softly and sleepily. "What's wrong?" He felt her shudder when his hand touched the bare skin of her back, and he quickly awoke completely.

Deb felt the hand at her back and was terrified. Had HE found her in her room and taken her away at last? Where was she — and why did she have no clothes on? Was it true — had HE raped her after all now? She pulled her arms tightly around herself and folded herself into a ball as if that posture would protect her.

Kevin moved behind her and put a hand on both shoulders and then smoothed them down the upper arms and back. He knew she had nightmares, but he'd never witnessed them in this way before. "Deb," he soothed, moving his body up against her back and pressing against her gently. "You're safe, I'm right here." Then he felt the shudder of her silent sobs and he wrapped her in his arms. "You're safe. You're safe. Oh, Deb, come back to me! He can't get to you here. You're safe with me."

Deb began to struggle against the arms that held her, but Kevin held on tightly and kept whispering his reassurances into her ear, hoping that sooner or later she'd hear him. He could feel it the moment she did, for she suddenly went limp in his arms and then turned into him with a choked sob. She tucked her face into his neck and wept bitter tears, holding him close and finally becoming aware of the feeling of security that came with his arms around her, keeping her safe.

He gently pulled on her until they were lying back into the pillows again, with Deb's head on his shoulder and his arms around her tightly and protectively. "Hush, Deb. He can't get to you here. I have you. You're safe."

Deb choked back a sob as she threw an arm around Kevin's waist and clung to him tightly. This was Kevin, and he loved her — but he was so very, very wrong. She was as vulnerable in her dreams as she had been all along. Nothing had changed.

She would never be safe. Never.

Feedback, please: