Author's Note: Thank you again, dear readers, for your continued kind messages about my dad. I'm getting back in the swing of things, and I have another chapter for you.

Thanks to Piscean6724 and katbybee for beta-reading and for all your encouragement! Kat also helped me write the exchange between Hennessy and Joshua, though it has changed a lot since then because of characters being stubborn and doing things rather differently from the original plan.

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Glossary:

Spanish – English

La bella esposa de Marquito – Marquito's beautiful wife

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"Dr. Hennessy, why have you called us in on Christmas day?" Gerald Cavanagh looked grouchier every time Dwight Hennessy encountered him. He sure didn't look like he had an ounce of Christmas spirit, so it was anyone's guess why he cared about the day.

Hennessy glanced at Clay Hastings' file, then lifted his eyes to take in each member of the board. "We need to give this man a chance at recovery." Clay Hastings had been transferred from the hospital in Idaho back to Los Angeles a day ago. He was in the psych unit at Rampart Hospital. His fiancée — the closest thing he had to family now — was desperate to get him admitted to the Bennett Center. Her application on his behalf should have been enough, but their men's unit was operating close to capacity at the moment and the Board had to approve any additional patients. Hennessy didn't want to delay treatment, and so he'd convened an emergency meeting.

Cavanagh shook his head. "Hastings spent fifteen years at that farm! You can't undo brainwashing at that level. His best hope is admittance to a mental institution."

"I disagree." Al Bennett, Jr., the board's newest member, had piped up. Hennessy was pleased the young man felt comfortable voicing an opinion at his very first meeting. As the founder's son, he was perhaps uniquely situated to influence the other board members. Bennett opened his copy of the file and paged through it. "Look at this, on page six. Hastings stopped taking the drug on his own, and he managed to hide it from his captors for years. He escaped when Lloyd thought he would just wander around the grounds and die, and then he helped John Gage and Mike Stoker escape. Not to mention saving that hiker's life. I think we owe it to him to take him on as a patient."

Cavanagh grumbled but he didn't argue.

"I move, we vote on the matter," Elaina Bennett said, glancing only briefly at her son. She was dressed all in black, still in mourning for her late husband, Al, Sr. Hennessy was aware of the hostility between her and Cavanagh. Gerald would like nothing better than to take over the Board now that Al Sr. was gone, and Elaina was dead set on denying him that opportunity. Cavanagh was pushing for a change in the Center's focus, transforming it from a non-profit facility for those rescued from cults to an exclusive mental hospital.

"A motion is on the floor. Do we have a second?" Jim Cuthbert asked.

"Second." Kevin Dorrance raised his hand. Hennessy frowned. Dorrance always sided with Cavanagh. They were business partners who had been friends since childhood.

"Excellent. Is there any further discussion before we vote?" Cuthbert looked up from his notes and surveyed the room. Hennessy had nothing new to say. He had made his case, both in the board meeting and privately to each board member. All that remained was to see how successful he had been. When no one spoke, Cuthbert continued. "All in favor of accepting Clay Hastings for treatment, respond by a show of hands.'"

Cavanagh glowered. Dorrance looked at him, then at Al Jr. And then, to Hennessy's great surprise, Dorrance raised his hand. "Sorry, Gerald," he said with a shrug. "You're wrong on this one." In the end, Cavanagh was the only board member whose hand wasn't in the air for a yes vote.

"All opposed by like sign?" Cuthbert always was a stickler for procedure, even when it made no difference. Now Cavanagh raised his hand. He was glaring at Dorrance and looked ready to explode.

"Dr. Hennessy," Cuthbert announced, "you have a new patient, provided he accepts the offer. Contact Rampart about transferring him here. Now, I move that we disband and go home to enjoy the holiday."

"I'll second that motion," said Elaina Bennett.

"All in favor, say aye."

"Aye," chorused the entire Board.

This time, even Cuthbert was willing to leave procedure by the wayside. "Goodbye, everyone. I'll see you in January at our usual meeting. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year."

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Marco didn't usually knock on his mother's door, but today he did. He glanced over at Marcy, who waited where no one inside would see her when the door opened. They were just in time for the Lopez family Christmas feast.

They'd flown back from a few wonderful days in Hawaii on the red eye, arriving in Los Angeles at eight this morning. From there, they'd taken a taxi to Pasadena to see Marcy's parents. When Sully opened the door, Marcy just laughed. Apparently, her brother wanted to see his parents' faces when Marcy gave them the news.

They'd been shocked, of course. Hesitant. But they'd invited Marco in and given him a chance. An hour later, they welcomed him into the family. It helped that he was a fireman, like Sully. "Firefighting is in the Holcomb blood," her dad, David, said. "Did Marcy tell you I was a battalion chief? My dad was a lineman, but he died in an apartment fire when I was six years old. His brother Vincent was a chief, though. He was like a father to me."

Marco already knew these stories from Marcy, but he listened to her dad tell them anyway. He'd invited her parents to join them for the Lopez festivities. When he was a kid, his family always had their feast on Christmas Eve, but these days it was hard to get the whole family together the day before Christmas, so Mama had made the decision a few years ago to move the big feast to Christmas Day. She and Marco's sisters always made more food than the family could possibly eat, and they happily welcomed last-minute guests, so he knew Mama wouldn't have a problem with it. So, Marcy's parents had driven them back to Carson from Pasadena. They were waiting with Sully and Jean in their station wagon until Marco had a chance to introduce Marcy.

Mama threw open the door and broke out into a smile when she saw her son. "Marquito! Why are you knocking? I thought you were working today! And mijo, why did you not call your Mama when you got home from Idaho?"

Marco grinned. Mama's mouth was still moving. He didn't interrupt her — she'd tanned his hide for that enough times that he would never think of doing it again — but he did hold up his left hand and let her see the wedding ring. At the same time, he tugged Marcy over to stand next to him. Mama suddenly went speechless.

"Mama, for Christmas this year, I got you a daughter-in-law. This is Marcianne Lopez. We were married in Idaho."

Mama's eyes got huge. She stared at Marco for a second, then at Marcy. And then she pulled Marcy into her arms and gave her a huge hug and kissed her on her right cheek. "Que hermosa! How lovely you are, Marcianna! You come right in and let us get to know you!" Then she turned to Marco again, her eyes narrowing. She swatted him on the arm. "How could you keep this secret from me, Marquito?"

Marco just shrugged. "It just kind of happened, Mama. I met Marcy and fell head over heels in love and didn't want to lose any time. Her family is waiting in their car. I invited them to join us too."

Now Mama swatted him again, harder this time. "You left them waiting in the car? Marquito! You go get them now! I hope they will like red pork tamales and pozole rojo!"

"Sounds delicious," Marcy said. Mama hugged her again and ushered her into the house. She looked back over her shoulder at Marco, shrugged, and went with her mother-in-law,

who was hollering to the rest of the family to come and meet la bella esposa de Marquito.

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From his spot on the hard floor, Joshua gazed around his room. Compared to Rampart's psych ward, it was a cheerful place. Compared to the Farm, it was downright luxurious. He had a bed and an armchair and a table. But he had pulled a blanket off the bed and hunkered down here on the floor. He couldn't imagine sleeping on a mattress. He'd expected his new doc to object, the way they'd objected in the hospital, but Doc Hennessy was just sitting on the floor across from him.

"The bed can wait till you're ready for it," Doc said. "Some of this program, you may find unpleasant. Might as well seek comfort where you can find it, right, Mr. Hastings?"

Joshua thumped his chest. "Name's Josh. Don' know Hastings." Everyone wanted him to use the name they said was his before the Farm. He felt like they were talking about some stranger whenever people called him Clay or Mr. Hastings. He knew they wanted to get him back to what he was before, but he wasn't sure that would ever be possible.

Doc nodded. "All right, Josh. We can stick with that for now. But Gracie calls you Clay."

Joshua's eyes roved the room, avoiding Doc's. "Don' deserve Gracie. Missed th' wedding. Fifteen years late." Accepting that it was 1972 had been difficult. He'd refused to see Gracie back in Idaho, but he had consented to talk with her by phone, expecting her to scold him. Instead, she told him she still loved him, that she'd waited for him. How could he believe that? He deserved her anger, her hatred. He'd ruined her life. Even so, every night he fell asleep with her image in his mind. When he saw her walking through the parking lot from the window of his room, he knew her right away. She was still the prettiest girl this side of Heaven.

"Were you to blame for that, Josh?"

Hennessy's voice was too patient, too smooth and soothing. It made Joshua's spine crawl. Hera had talked like that when she wanted to get into his head and take over. He didn't want anyone getting into his head. He wanted to think for himself. He finally let his eyes meet Doc's and hardened his own voice to steel. "You can't come in, Hera. It's my mind. My own. I think for myself."

Hennessy nodded slowly. "Good for you. Then you need to realize that Hera stole your name, your identity. You are Clay Hastings. Can you stop and think about that? Don't let Hera take your name from you."

He considered the doctor's words for a long moment, then shuddered. "Clay's dead," he finally said in a strangled tone. "Saw too much. Disappeared and can't come back. Gone away with all the bones he buried. I'm Joshua."

"Is Joshua a new person? Or just a new name for the real person inside you?"

"A new person?" The idea intrigued him. He would love to wake up one morning with only Joshua's memories, starting with the medic in the helicopter who helped him choose that name. Of course, that would mean losing good memories too, like Gracie. If only he could just wipe out the bad memories and let the good ones flow in and take their place. But all the memories he'd gathered since he stopped taking Hera's Sustenance — he had no idea how long it had been — had just rolled up and taken over his mind. He reached to grasp the doctor's sleeve. "Could that make the memories go away?"

Dr. Hennessy shook his head and sighed. "I can help you deal with those memories, Josh, and more importantly, you can begin to build new memories…good memories. You just have to want to try."

He sucked in a deep breath. "Don' wanna be the Bone Man. Don' know if I can get past it." His gaze roved to the window, and outside he saw a stunning Christmas tree, surrounded by poinsettias. He latched onto the sight, drinking it in as if it could wash away all the horrors he'd seen. "So beautiful."

"That's what you have to look for. Beauty. It's all around you if you look for it. There's still a lot of good in this world."

"Gracie's beautiful. Think she… could love me still? Knowin' what I done?"

"I think you should give her a chance. She knows you weren't given a choice, and she knows your heart. She loves you… for you. The you that Hera could never touch… that is still here."

Josh shook his head. "I lost him. It was too hard an' he shriveled up an' died. Doc, they…" He shuddered again and his eyes filled with tears. "When Hera got mad, she… she made me sleep in th' icehouse with all the… the — " His spine crawled. The memories crowded in, pressing in close until he could barely breathe. "The dead ones," he finally spit out. "So many faces. She took their names like she took mine. Took everything."

Hennessy rested a hand on his arm. His hand was warm. Gentle. Part of Joshua wanted to pull away because he couldn't imagine ever being warm again. Part of him craved the touch, the warmth, the kindness and compassion of the man who sat facing him. He grabbed hold of the doctor's hand and clung to it. Today, warmth had to win.

"I cannot even imagine that sort of suffering," Doc said. And now the smooth, comforting voice was gone. Doc's voice was rough. Real. With a sob at the back of it. And that voice reached into Joshua's heart and worked like a balm. "My heart aches to know what you endured. But Joshua, there is a part of you she never took. Your soul never died. Your will persevered. That part of you made you the incredible survivor you really are. If taking a new name helps you, that's fine. I'll support you all the way, and I'm sure Gracie will too. But I want you to know that the extraordinary man you are now, that's nothing new. That's who you've been all along."

Joshua nodded slowly. "I want to be Joshua. Maybe I'll find that soul you talk about, but even if I do, Clay is gone."

Hennessy nodded. "Joshua is a good, strong name. It suits you. How about a middle name? Have you thought about that?"

Joshua scratched his head. "I… think I had a friend. Before Hera. His name was Henry. Think I could use that?"

Doc Hennessy smiled. "You did and do have. Henry is still your friend, and I think he would be honored to share his name with you."

"Joshua Henry," he murmured. "Good strong name. Better 'n Bone Man. Better 'n Clay."

Hennessy shrugged up a shoulder. "I don't know about that last one. I'd have liked to know Clay. But yes, it's much better than Bone Man. Now, can you handle Hastings for your last name? It would be less complicated that way."

"I think so. We can see." He was breathing easier now. "Thanks, Doc. You listen. You aren't like Hera. I'm sorry my brain is so messed up."

"Don't apologize, you're doing fine." He patted on Joshua's arm.

"Joshua Henry Hastings," he breathed out. "Pleased to meet you, Doc. I'm Joshua Henry Hastings. You can call me Josh." He stuck out a hand.

"The pleasure is mine, Josh." Hennessy smiled as the two men shook hands.

Josh sat up straight, his jaw firmly set. "I'm gonna get better. Gotta do it fast. Wanna make sure they lock Hera up and throw away the key. Hestia and Nyx too. Tell me what I gotta do."

Hennessy nodded. "You've got a deal. What do you think you need to do?"

"I figure, they need to know what happened on that Farm. I saw everything. I was there from the beginning. If I gotta have these memories, might as well put 'em to good use."

"Feel up to getting started?" Hennessy held up a tape recorder. "I came prepared. We'll need to record our sessions."

A surge of peace and confidence swept through Joshua. Energized by his new mission, he nodded. "Yeah, I do. Let's get to it, Doc."

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Mike stared at his lunch. Back in his private room, he would have flushed it, but here in the infirmary, Johnny was watching him. If he could just pull the curtain and block out his nosy neighbor, he would at least be able to push it aside and ignore it. But there wasn't a curtain anymore. Not after Johnny snitched on him. Mike had heard the whole thing while he was pretending to sleep.

"Doc, every time Mike gets a meal, he pulls the curtain and goes to the bathroom. I think he's gettin' rid of his food."

"You ever gonna eat that?" It wasn't the first time his nosy neighbor had asked. "It won't do you much good just lookin' at it."

"Not hungry." A lie. His stomach had been growling. John had commented on it. "Mind your own damn beeswax."

"We're friends, right Mikey?" Oh no. John's hand was on his chest. That was a signal Mike remembered — the signal that he had a speech ready to come out and bore everyone else to death.

"Used to be." Mike avoided meeting Johnny's gaze. He didn't want to encourage him.

As it turned out, Johnny didn't need encouragement. "We are friends. And that makes you my beeswax. You can't get better if you don't eat. So, eat already. Just a couple bites. Trust me, you don't want one of these tubes up your nose."

"Fine. If it'll get you off my back." Mike reached for the fork, but his blood suddenly went ice cold. He struggled to catch his breath and his heart was about to pound out of his chest. Tears filled his eyes. "I can't. I just can't." What the hell is wrong with me?

"Then you gotta talk with Hennessy about it. You're wastin' away, Mike. You can't just starve yourself. If you do, Hera wins. That's why as soon as they let me eat, I'm eatin' every single bite."

Something had happened with Johnny in the last few days. When they had first been reunited, John had been talking and acting like a little kid. His sessions with Hennessy must really be helping, because he sounded more like his old self every day. Not that Johnny needed to grow up much to be like the old Johnny — he'd always been more of a big kid than an adult, even if he was a crackerjack paramedic.

Mike remembered everything now. Some of what he remembered, he wished he could forget. Believe it or not, there were actually some benefits to being dosed with a drug that wiped out the memory. Now if he could just target those particular memories, it might be worth trying that Sustenance again. No wonder Beth had signed him over to Hera.

"I'm not like you, OK, John?" Mike growled. "I can't just bounce back like those rubber balls you stuffed Chet's locker full of."

"I did that?" John chuckled. "Wow… wish I could remember more. It's comin' back, but there are still lotsa holes."

"Hundreds of 'em. You had latrines for a month after that." Or was it Chet who stuffed Johnny's locker with bouncy balls? Which one of 'em was the Phantom, anyway? Mike closed his eyes. His head ached.

He must have drifted off to sleep without realizing it. When he awoke, Dr. Corrigan was standing over him, taking his vitals. Dr. Hennessy was right beside him. Outside the window, the sky was starting to get dark, and Johnny was snoring. "Hey, Doc… and Doc."

Corrigan pulled up a chair and sat next to him. "Mr. Stoker. I've been talking with Dr. Hennessy about your treatment. I'm afraid we need to resort to a feeding tube. I had hoped to avoid it, but you're not eating, and your weight is continuing to drop. If we can't get this under control, it could damage your heart and other organs."

"I tried eating lunch today. Just picking up the fork was enough to give me a panic attack." Mike's heart was pounding double-time just thinking about it. "I'm trying. Really, I am. Please don't put a tube in yet."

"We know you're trying," said Hennessy. "And maybe it will help you to know this is not an unusual response to trauma such as you have experienced. Mr. Stoker, the other day I asked you about your goals. You asked for time to think about them. As we consider your treatment now, it would help to know. Do you want to return to work as a firefighter when you leave here?"

"Yes, of course." Mike hadn't considered anything else. But if he was at risk for heart problems because of this damned inability to eat, going back to his old job might well prove impossible.

"In that case, it's essential that we use the tube now," said Corrigan. "You desperately need the calories. You can still work on eating by mouth while you have a nasogastric tube, but at least you'll be getting adequate nutrition to stave off the physical damage."

Mike nodded. "All right, then," he whispered. It felt like a defeat, but they were right.

"Lad, you're goin' to beat this." Corrigan's Irish brogue washed over Mike like cool rain on a hot day. His hand wrapped around Mike's and gave it a quick squeeze. "Now, I came prepared. I'll place the tube right now and we'll get some nutrition into you. Dr. Hennessy will work with you on the rest."

Again, Mike nodded. He closed his eyes, unwilling to watch while Corrigan worked. Once the tube was in place, the doctors stepped out of the room. Mike noticed that they had left something on his bedside table, the letter from Beth that he had never read and the cassette tape, along with a tape deck that was all plugged in and ready to go. The cassette had a note written on it instructing him to read the letter first, so he opened the envelope and slid a Christmas card out.

Inside, Beth had filled the card with her loopy script.

My Beloved Husband,

Michael Stoker, you are a wonderful man. You have a kind and beautiful heart. Your love makes me a better person. I miss seeing your eyes. I love the way you used to look at me, and I look forward to the day you can look at me like that again, as if I were your whole world and you were just drinking me in. Michael Stoker, you are a man of integrity. You are a wonderful father to our boys. Nothing would make me prouder than for them to grow up to be just like you. I defied my parents to marry you, and I never looked back because I knew that with you, I would always be loved and cherished. We lost our way for a while when we lost our baby girl, but we found it again, together. And that's what we'll do now. We'll find our way through this trial too, together. Dr. Hennessy says that when you're ready, I can visit and we can talk face to face. I am praying and hoping for that day to come soon. Until then, whenever you forget how much I love you, read this card or play this tape to remind yourself. The doctor said he would give you a tape deck.

The boys and I have decided together that we will wait to celebrate Christmas until you are home, because it isn't a proper celebration without you. Our tree is still up. The presents are all wrapped and waiting. We just need you with us again. Please know that I am praying and lighting candles for you every day. So is Father Márquez. Mom and Pops send their love, too.

Forever yours,

Beth

Mike opened the tape deck and inserted the cassette, then hit play. Soon, Beth's voice filled the room. He had found some comfort in Corrigan's lilting tones, but that was nothing compared to what he found in Beth's sweet voice. "You have value, Mike. Your voice is needed. You are loved." Her affirmations continued, including what she had written in the letter, but also going beyond that, and reminding him frequently that she loved him.

He wanted so badly to believe the things she said. While he listened, he could almost drown out Hera's voice, but he couldn't silence it completely. It was hissing in the background that everything Beth said on the tape was a lie, that she just wanted to lift him up so that she could crush him again with her rejection.

How could he ever know what to believe?