Thanks for the comments and reviews. Hope no one is disturbed too much by this particular fiction. I tend to find my thoughts in dark places sometimes... (should I be worried? Nah.) ;-)

"Whatt iss it?" Cal squinted, trying to focus.

Gillian leaned over, her fingers curling around the weapon, heart accelerating, nausea rising. Guilt had gotten the best of the one. He was trying to give them some semblance of a chance. Against what Gillian could only imagine.

She crossed back to the bed, once again sitting on the edge next to him and held it out.

Cal's hand was shaking slightly and she had a moment of indecision as to whether she should relinquish the knife to him. But when his fingers grazed hers to remove it, her own had lost their strength.

"Guesss thinngs are commming to a headd." His voice was soft as he opened the knife with his thumb. It was well oiled and lovingly maintained with a narrow but razor sharp 4-inch blade. He inspected in for another moment before carefully folding it and placing it on the nightstand. His eyes met hers to find them terrified and rimmed in tears. Words were lost for several long moments as they watched one another.

"I'm really scared Cal." Her voice trembled but he could still hear the underlying strength that he always knew was there.

"I know luvvv. Weee jusst need to hannng in a littttle lonnnger."

"I don't think I can…" She let the thought drop as her face fell.

With one shaking hand, he took her chin and made her meet his eyes again. "Wittth anyyy luckkk you wonnn't havvve to." His gaze grew intense. "Buttt you havvve to be readddy to runnn if you…"

She immediately started shaking her head.

"…gettt the channnce. I meannn it."

"No. I already told you-"

"I donn't care wha you alreadddy tollld mee." His hand was firm on her face. "I'mmm nottt goinnng to let youuu throw yourrr life away cuz of my fuckk upp."

"And I'm not going to let you play the martyr." The tears were still threatening but her eyes pierced into him.

They were once again at an impasse.

"You'rrre an exceptionalllly stubborn womannn." He loosened his grip on her face but his gaze was no less intent.

"You're just figuring that out?"

"Pleasse Gilll…"

"No."

His head was swimming and he really wasn't up to arguing with her. Instead, he reached over, plucked the knife from the nightstand and pushed it into his pocket. "Whetherrr youu like it or nott, I plannn on tryin' to give youu an opening." He let his eyes slide shut to block out her look of outrage.

"Don't you even think about it!" Her voice was angrier than he ever heard it and that was saying something. "In your condition they'll just take it away and use it on you."

"Enough of a distractionnn for you to get awayyy."

Her jaw sagged. His eyes remained closed but his voice was deadly serious. He had every intention of sacrificing himself. For her. She shook it off and tried a different approach. "What if I can't get away?"

"Thenn we probabllly cann't be anyy worsse off."

The finality of his words chilled her. "You really think…?"

"Dunnno darrlinn'. Doesnn't look verrry good thoughhh." He felt so damned helpless. He was letting her down and he couldn't do a single thing about it. Chancing a look at her, Cal saw the devastation without even trying. His doped state couldn't even hide it from him. Without another thought, he reached out and pulled her close.

She gave no resistance and was soon cuddling into his side, temporarily finding a tiny bit of comfort in his arms. Gillian allowed her eyes to close.

Cal held her tightly, his cheek pressed against her hair, breathing in her scent. This should have been wonderful. God he wished the circumstances were different.

(BREAK)

John Taylor was a good employee. He'd served senior Bainbridge for close to twelve years as a chauffer, among other duties.

Finn also knew that he had a propensity for Bourbon. He wasn't particularly high brow about it either. Jack Daniels or Jim Beam worked just fine, thank you very much. And that's what Finn made sure he had on hand. Bourbon whiskey and a deck of cards. Nothing wrong with a friendly game of poker between gentlemen.

Smiling at the older man, he watched as Taylor decided if he wanted to call or fold. He'd probably fold. He usually did.

They were downstairs in the den. Finn liked this room a lot. Partially because of the fireplace, partially because of the 60 inch plasma TV and partly because there were French doors leading to the grounds. That had been a happy thing for him since he was about twelve.

His dad was off tending to business. Most likely the business of sweeping the dirt under the rug. He'd been doing it for years. Finn was constantly amazed at how dedicated his father was to him, almost wishing he could feel the same. Almost.

Taylor was starting to blink a little heavily.

"You okay there Johnny?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just a little tired."

"It's early man."

Taylor nodded. "Long day I guess."

Yeah. That and a couple of roofies will do that to you.

Finn grinned benignly. "You want to pick up tomorrow?"

"Hell no. You're not gonna get out of an ass whooping that easily kid." He smirked, blinked and swayed.

Finn wondered if he was going to fall facedown on the table or slide right out of his chair and land on the floor. "Course. You're just too much of an old pro at this game."

"Are you handing me a line?"

"I'd never do that. You know me."

"Yeah, a litttlle toooo welllll."

Huh. Where should I begin the countdown? At 20 or 10? Hopefully dad won't decide to pop in and check on them. He didn't think so but you never knew.

The man's eyes began to sag before they popped open again.

How about 15? Finn clocked it in his head, continuing to smile at his poker opponent. 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10…

Taylor went limp fish and slid right out of his chair.

Huh. Didn't get to zero.

Finn got to his feet and scrutinized the other man for a moment. Not the best thing to mix with alcohol. Oh well. He'd probably be okay.

Grabbing his jacket, he slipped out through the double doors and headed toward the barn. His tools were safely hidden away. He needed them tonight. A shudder passed through him. He was so fucking excited he was starting to get hard.

(BREAK)

Gregory couldn't find a single place to put himself. He'd arrived back at his tiny apartment about an hour ago and no matter what he did, he couldn't turn off his brain. His thoughts were constantly assaulting and accusing.

He hadn't signed up to be a party to murder. His hands had been dirtied plenty of times but he'd never, ever crossed that line. And now here he was, turning his back on those two people, fully aware of what was in store for them.

Two glasses of rum didn't help. He'd stopped there because to be completely honest, he hadn't come to any kind of decision yet. Sure, he thought he had but that one wasn't working for him.

Her face floated up behind his eyes again. Anger, fear and tears. He even thought about Lightman, knowing that the man couldn't have done anything so horrible to justify what Finn probably had planned. Putting that guy away would have been a good thing. The funny thing is that Finn would probably agree. In his warped, fucked up view of things, he still knew what he was. But naturally he liked his freedom. Gave him a huge playground to pursue his warped games.

If he stepped up and tried to do the right thing, it was probable that his own life would be forfeit. With pain and lots of it.

Shit.