Dear readers, sorry if I'm struggling with spelling the names. I try to correct them when I find issues, but don't hesitate to point them out.

The texture of leather, not the over treated and plasticized stuff in modern shops, but the kind taken from an animal raised by the winds of the sea, in rich fields, by a farmer who loved an attended it was something he'd almost forgotten. One could only find leather like this in those little villages that were fast disappearing the world over. Places where people respected the Earth and her creatures were hard to find. Generally they lived in small homey villages, with white little houses and an old-timey market places, similar to the one Edmond now called home.

When he had purchased the book, its journal pages blank and ready, he'd thought about how Ali, and his father, would have approved. They'd both loved animals, and when he'd looked into the eyes of the man whose livelihood was the happiness of his milking cows, he'd felt something in him stir.

This was a piece of that man. He knew every animal by name, and could not see them as mere commodities. Each line on his withered face symbolized a year, granted by the animals on which he depended.

"I never mess up their skin with dies," He'd told Edmond, "Keeps a nice feel. Please treat it well."

"You see?" Gankutsuou had snorted in his head. "He would claim to love those beasts, and yet he's willing to sell parts of their dead bodies. Humans are such morbid things."

Edmond searched the Elder for an answer, one he never found, but something about the experience made his spine tingle.

Now, aboard the ship, a simple crewman of a humble vessel, he sketched his first journal entry into the leather book. Yet his thoughts remained murky things, hard to pin down.

He'd intended to keep the entries as a record of the days as they passed currently, and not the history he'd grown so weary of. But within three paragraphs the word "Albert" had already appeared.

"Adnet!" One of his shipmates called his alias surname down into the mess hall. "Captain wants you!"

He tore the page out and tossed the journal onto his bed, passing by his community shared quarters on the way up the stairs.

Captain Cain's cabin had the distinct smell of a man. It was the lair of a typical captain, his retreat, and his fondest place. In the entire galaxy, there was not another who loved sailing as much as he, and being tidy less. What order he maintained he did only to keep his rank and position.

"Adnet." He began, a mellow tone in his voice, for he was a laid back sort of fellow -- even in his lofty position, "I hope you won't think me rude, but I've been keeping track of you out of the corner of my eye for the last few months."

"Indeed? I hadn't noticed." Edmond lied.

"Yes, you take quite a few pills. Are you ill?"

Edmond's spine straightened, "I have a none contagious illness sir, they keep my symptoms in check."

"You're a fantastic sailor."

"Sir?" Cain's strange demeanor made his hackles rise.

"You underachieve to avoid attention. Whenever someone tries to give you credit for good work you give the glory to another man. When we have a crisis, you are the first to respond and last to relax, but you will not give orders. From what I've observed, I have a sneaking suspicion that you know more about this ship than even I do. This begs the question: why haven't you ever moved up in rank? I'll be blunt; I don't want criminals on my ship. If you are hiding from the law you'll need to move on."

"Well," Gankutsuou swooned within the back of his mind, "This is a precarious situation. As Edmond Dantes you're supposed to be in jail, but the count never was convicted with anything public. Will you lie once more, to protect yourself?"

He contemplated his answer with a calculated calm, "Sir, I have been several men in my life time, but I promise you this: I have never technically committed any crime…that isn't to say I have been totally honorable, or that I live without regret, but all of my actions have been executed within the bounds of law."

"Say no more, that's good enough for me."

"I'm sorry?"

"I trust your answers. You've given me no reason not to."

He couldn't help himself; this philosophical debate had been running about his head for months now. "How can you trust me, based only on that?"

The captain sat back in his chair. Papers and books towered atop his desk in pillars.

"You strike me," he answered, leaning back behind a pile of restless and torn bindings so that the view of his face was obscured, "as someone who is a little too careful."

"One cannot afford to be any different in this world."

"Perhaps you're right. Well then, Adnet, you are dismissed."

His bow was one of hesitation.

That was it? The issues resolved?

As he left the Cain to his work the captain grinned. A click told him the door had closed and he spoke aloud to himself. "I never thought it was possible, but here you are -- Edmond."

* * *

Three months have passed since I came to mother in Marseilles. I was terrified. It was like every corner I turned, every person I saw, somehow embodied the man I'd lost. After the first week, I didn't think I'd last here.

Ironically, it was going to Edmond's old house that changed my mind. The bed where his father had died pinched nerves all over me, and for a moment I thought I felt him holding my hand in his.

All this stuff, a bunch of broken things covered in dust, said one thing clearly: nothing of my elaborate Count lived here, just Edmond.

While we looked around the house Mother told me stories, some very sad, and others not. When she told me how his father died, starving to death without any money, my hands felt hot. Even though she'd tried to send him help, when she'd married my father he'd stopped her gifts from ever reaching the sick old man.

I understand the Count's heart more and more each day – all too late.

It would be so easy to hate the people who took all my loved ones away, and yet, I can't…Franz told me, begged me not to hate. I think I'm doing a good job not hating anyone.

But I understand why Edmond couldn't do that. After all, if I'd tried to find my answers in the concrete hell of the chateau D'if…my story might be different to.

As if sensing my bleak mood, mother switches her tone and tells me about their childhood. Her favorite story was the time they'd all gone fishing, and Edmond had fallen in the lake. The slope was steep and muddy, and by the time he'd climbed out he was caked with dirt. They'd all jumped in, my father, Edmond, and mother -- rolling in the mud like three puppies.

"When you met the Count," I'd asked, running my hands over one of the worn down green and gold chairs, "he reminded you of Edmond. I saw you looking at his picture on the balcony the night you first saw him. Did he act the same way? Was his personality very similar?"

A shake of her head made her earrings jingle and catch the light. "There was…something about him. But no, there was nothing in his behavior specifically. Perhaps in how he looked at me…"

I wince, and try to do so away from her, but she catches the expression, and puts a hand on my forearm. "Son, I love you much, much more than I love myself or the past, and it is clear from his actions: he loved you. I want you to know, I have never, nor would I ever, see these events as you taking something from me."

Her voice chokes. "If anything, I have taken something from you. I know what it is you feel, and would never wish another to experience it."

This moment, in a winter afternoon in Marseilles, reminds me of what home used to feel like.

Eventually the setting is too much, and we trench home through snow.

These yellow tinted buildings, the fields and beeches, the little trees and rivers must look fantastic in the spring. They are already pristine, the snow lays on branches and the ground in fantastic contrasts.

I've never been anywhere as beautiful as this before, nature is so prominent here. It's not at all like father used to say.

My favorite spot is a cave. It reminds me of the place where the count and I had our first real talk, after my duel with Maximilien. Sometimes I go there, and whisper all the things I'd like to say to him. It's all I can do to keep from going mad. Maybe he can hear them…wherever he is.

Franz, after he came here, died… for me. He died at the Count's hands. What would he think of all this?

These thoughts are devastating, heavier than I am. I start my new job tomorrow in Marseilles' city hall. I wonder if I'll be able to handle it.

* * *

"Adnet!" Edmond grimaced at his name being shouted from the captain's mouth.

He dropped the rope to his sail into the hand of a nearby deck hand and dashed to the helm. "Yes sir?"

His orders were not a surprise. "First mate Collins is still under the weather. As you know he's getting on in years. I want you to lead a group of men to shore in the next harbor to get the supplies. You'll have to organize the party, figure out what we need and so forth."

"Surly sir," he protested, "there are plenty of men more qualified than me."

"Hardly! I understand it's the general feeling of the crew that you're the most apt sailor for the job, and it's definitely my opinion…so… off you go."

Thus it was that, annoyed, he tallied the inventory of the ship with three of his compatriots. They chatted among themselves, trying now and again to draw Edmond in. Always he was polite, and always aloof.

"You know," Gankutsuou shared his unrequested opinion, "the captain is aware that you're trying not to be noticed. He must know you don't want recognition."

"That's how everything started the first time, if I hadn't earned that damn promotion, if the captain hadn't noticed me, hadn't trusted me with that damn letter..." Edmond snapped back, in thought.

The four men poured through a disgusting number of supply boxes and containers.

"I wonder," they exited to the ship's running skiff, "why he forces favor on you. My instincts, which are rarely wrong, say that he knows something about you. I suggest we find out what it is, before another trap is sprung."

* * *

Damn it. I'd been so excited to see Maximilien, but he's been deployed. His family lives in Marseilles, and now Valentine does to. She comes to give me the bad news. After some persuading I convince her to stay and have lunch with me.

It's too cold to eat outside, so we find a quiet corner in her favorite restaurant and start catching up.

Something must really be wrong with me, because even she comments on how I've changed. How could I not though?

She orders a delicious looking local dish, full of things from the sea, and I take a chance on the out of season salad, feeling like I need something light. There's too much weight in my life right now.

Valentine asks how my mother is…how we're doing…and then quite out of nowhere starts screaming at me. Maybe she's a little more aggressive than that quiet voice suggests. I've been yelled at a few times by her now…I'm thinking it might be true: how they say it's always the quiet ones that go crazy.

What she says doesn't surprise me. Franz is dead because of me. I should have seen through the Count…how could I have let this happen…and so forth.

I knew she was jealous that Franz cared so much about me, and that we were so close. Even now that she's happy that feeling hasn't completely gone away.

When her anger is spent she stares at me, startled and humiliated.

"I'm so sorry Albert…I don't know what came over me! I just…I just."

I stand up, put enough money on the table to cover our meals and smile my best 'I'm not hurt' smile. "It okay. You're right."

"No!" She grabs my hand. "No, I'm not! I'm just not adjusting well, and now Maxamilien's gone for who knows how long…listen Albert, I'm sorry. Eugenie told me why you're here, and it made me so angry. Why would you still want to understand that man? But I know that Franz came for the same reason, to help you before it was too late…and he decided to die at the Count's hands, rather than expose him! He thought there was hope for you two. That means…even he must have seen good in the Count."

My mind drifts back to his letter…what is the message I'm getting from all the people in my life? How could I love the count, and at the same time, how could I not? What do they want from me? Like I don't already know that I'm responsible for Franz's death? If I'd just controlled my temper!

Before I do something stupid I take my leave. We'll be all right. Valentine and I have always had sort of a rocky relationship, but we always smile after the storm.