So our killer has ceased making his efforts look like accidents. Philippe's influence, or frustration that his earlier tries didn't succeed? As always, thank you so much for all your kind words, and for reading my story. Please continue to let me know what you think!

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Fr. Luc was rounding the corner near his home when he heard the explosion. Looking ahead, he saw that it had come from his house! Aramis!

He began to run, hoping his friend was all right, but with a sinking feeling inside.

People were already beginning to emerge from their homes, staring at the sight.

Fr. Luc pushed through them and kept going, even though several men tried to grab hold of him to stop him. He was very much respected and loved by the people in the area, and they didn't want him to be hurt going any closer.

He fought them, saying, "Let go of me! My friend is in there! Let go!" finally pulling free and going on. Several men followed him, determined that if he was going into danger, they were going to go with him.

He pushed open the door that had been dislodged from its hinges by the blast, and stepped inside. His house was destroyed! Everything had been flung about, rubble from the back walls lying in chunks on the ground. Aramis! Where was he?

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Aramis came back to consciousness shortly after having been flung across the room by the blast. He began coughing. He dazedly opened his eyes, confusion reflected in them. He was lying on the floor, rubble all around him. Rubble? What happened? He tried to lift himself up, only to find he couldn't move. He choked and coughed again. There seemed to be a thick dust in the air which was causing his lungs to try to empty the amount he had breathed in. What was wrong? His legs wouldn't move. He pulled them again. Nothing. Looking down, he panicked when he saw that his legs were pinned under something.

He realized that his left arm was in quite a bit of pain, to go with the pounding ache in his head. Looking, he saw that there was a large gash in his arm, from which he was bleeding rather profusely. He tried again to free himself, to no avail.

His memory slowly came back to him. He had been helping clean up in the kitchen after breakfast, when he heard an explosion. He remembered being thrown clear across the kitchen, but didn't remember anything after that.

With that memory, his worry shot up. Fr. Luc. Where was his friend? Trying to look around him, he saw no one else, just the devastated kitchen. Where was he?

Then another memory came to him. Fr. Luc had gone to the vendor's carts for food supplies. Relief flooded Aramis as he realized his friend hadn't been caught in whatever had happened here.

But he would be coming back. Was this explosion part of the deadly staged accidents that had been happening to him? What if the man was still around, ready to attack again. Fr. Luc could be walking into danger!

Desperately trying again to free himself, he pulled and pulled, but his legs wouldn't budge and neither would whatever was holding him down. Panting with the effort he had expended, scared for another innocent friend possibly being killed or injured because of him, his heart was torn.

As for himself, he was utterly helpless if the unknown assailant came after him now. He was pinned down, injured and had no weapons anywhere near him. He was a brave man, but natural fear filled him now. He had no idea if what had happened was finished or would happen again, and he couldn't get himself free.

He began to pray fervently.

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"Aramis! ARAMIS!" Fr. Luc called, frantically looking around in the devastated ruins of what had been his home. Where was he? he thought.

Then, he remembered that Aramis had been cleaning up from their morning meal. Looking in that direction, his heart flip-flopped.

The partial wall that had had been between the kitchen and part of the main room in his home was destroyed, pieces from it strewn everywhere. If Aramis was under there...He wouldn't let himself think it was too late.

Heading towards the kitchen area, he began again to call his friend's name. "Aramis!" he shouted over and over, but nothing.

Then, a few moments later, he thought he heard a scratchy voice trying to answer.

"Aramis! Hold on! I'm coming!"

He saw him as he got closer. His friend was lying on his back on the floor, covered with dust and rubble from whatever had happened while he had been gone.

Crouching down beside Aramis, Fr. Luc asked him, "Are you injured?"

Aramis took a moment to clear his throat, then tried answering, the dust he kept breathing in hindering his efforts so that he had to stop every few seconds.

"Explosion...head...arm bleeding."

While Aramis was saying this, Fr. Luc's breath caught in his throat in panic. Aramis' legs were caught. The beam from the ceiling had come down and pinned him to the floor!

Turning, he called to the men who had followed him in, so glad they had done so now.

"Jacques! Marc! Andre! My friend is pinned by a wooden beam, and can't move. Please help me to lift it off of him!"

They rushed to help, and between Fr. Luc and themselves, they finally freed Aramis, although it took several tries. The beam was stubborn in refusing to move the first few times for them.

They gently lifted Aramis from the floor, and between them carried him outside into the fresh air. One of the ladies from the neighborhood had lain her apron on the ground, and they laid Aramis down on it. By now, he was close to losing consciousness again.

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Fr. Luc began to examine his friend, then belatedly remembered-his dear friends needed to know what has happened. Catching the arm of one of the men who had assisted him, he asked him, "Could you do me one more favor please, Marc? Do you know where the Musketeers garrison is?" knowing from experience that almost everyone knew where it was.

Receiving a solemn nod, he continued. "Could you please go and ask for Athos? Tell him Aramis is here and injured," adding, "Aramis is also a Musketeer."

He watched as the man took off, then returned his attention to his friend. Aramis had stubbornly stayed conscious, even though Fr. Luc could tell he was on the edge of losing his battle to remain so.

He first checked Aramis' legs, relieved to find that nothing seemed to be broken. But both legs were horribly bruised, and had to hurt badly. There was nothing he could do for them to ease the pain right now, but hoped the Musketeers would have a physician ready at the garrison when they got Aramis back there who would have something to give him.

When he next checked his friend's arm, he wished even more fervently that he had any medical supplies at all. The gash in his left arm was nasty, and had not stopped sluggishly bleeding. Fr. Luc was about to tear a piece from the bottom of his robes, when another lady bystander came forward, saying, "Father, I will go get some towels."

Off she ran, and a few minutes later returned with clean towels. "Thank you, Marie," and proceeded to tear a strip off of and bind the gash with it. He hoped that would be all right until he could get proper medical attention.

Checking, he could see no other bad injuries, just a host of bruises and slight cuts. But, as he looked at Aramis' squinting his eyes shut in pain, he asked, "Is there anywhere else that you are injured, my friend?"

Aramis hesitated, then replied truthfully, "My head. It hurts a bit."

Fr. Luc, from something remembered from their past, knew of Aramis' penchant for hiding injuries, so he knew the head must be doing a lot more than simply 'hurting a bit'. Gently prodding, he knew from Aramis' reaction where the pain was coming from. He would have known anyway, as he could feel the raised bump on the left side of his head. Again, taking another strip from the towel, he wrapped it around Aramis' head, then gathering his friend's upper body gently into his arms, settled down as much as he was able to wait for Aramis' friends to arrive.

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Marc shouted for Athos as soon as he came through the garrison gates. He had never been there before, so he didn't know where this Athos might be.

He had barely walked another step before four men materialized from different areas of the garrison, all heading for him.

When they reached him, one of them said, "I am Athos. May I help you?" being polite, yet on pins and needles hoping this might possibly have something to do with their missing brother.

The man was nervous being suddenly surrounded by four heavily armed men. Looking at Athos, he stuttered, "Fr. Luc. He asked me to come here."

Their faces all showed more intense interest. They recognized the name of Aramis' friend instantly.

"Has something happened to our friend?" Athos demanded.

"There was an explosion at Fr. Luc's house while he was gone. Your friend was in there. We helped Fr. Luc get him out, but he is injured. Father wants you to come right away."

"Lead the way," Athos replied, and all of them followed the man out of the garrison, their worry heightened now by this news. How badly was Aramis injured? And was it the unknown attacker again? What if he was still nearby? They urged their guide faster, and they moved as quickly as possible through the crowded streets of the city.

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Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan flew around the corner following Marc, only to come to a dead halt at the sight which greeted them. A church was to the left, and next to it was a house with holes blown into its walls and a roof that now sagged and threatened to cave in at any moment.

But that was not what drew their complete attention and compelled them forward, running as fast as their legs would take them. Fr. Luc sat in the middle of the road, cradling the limp body of their unconscious brother.

Dropping to their knees around him, Porthos asked, "How is he, Father?"

"He is just fine," a barely audible voice responded.

"Aramis!" three voices chimed simultaneously.

Fr. Luc said, "It is good to see you awake again, Aramis. But," he continued, looking around at each of the concerned faces of Aramis' brothers, "you are most certainly not fine, my friend."

At these words, he drew the startled attention of three pairs of eyes. Seeing their questioning faces, he said, "A few years ago, Aramis shared with me a distressing habit he has, one that he had just upset you all doing. He first told me he has a tendency to downplay his injuries as well as as his illnesses, and that particular time, he realized he had really hurt your feelings badly. Needless to say, we continued the rest of the conversation as a confession."

"So how is he, Father?" Athos asking the question they all wanted to know.

"He has a sizable bump on the left side of his head, and a rather nasty gash in his left arm. As far as I can tell, neither leg has any broken bones, even though a wooden beam from the kitchen ceiling was lying across then pinning him down when I found him."

All three of his friends' faces stared down at him, their level of worry having rapidly increased as the priest had catalogued Aramis' injuries.

Fr. Luc continued, "As I said, as far I could tell there are no broken bones. But I am not a doctor. I cleaned quite a bit of dust and grime from the cut on his arm. I am hoping that I got it all out, and that he will not develop any infections. The legs do have quite a lot of bruising, which could cause him much pain for a good while to come. They are also badly cut and scraped, probably from his trying to free himself from the beam The bump on his head is probably what is causing him to fade in and out of consciousness. As you have probably noticed, he is not with us again."

They had indeed seen that Aramis had fallen asleep once again, despite his having tried his best to stay awake for them.

Athos said, "He and head injuries have never fared well together, Father."

Fr. Luc spoke up again, saying, "I think it might be a good idea to move him while he is out again. It will save him from the pain the moving will cause. We can find something to carry..."

Porthos interrupted him. "I will carry him, Father." It wasn't posed as a question, but presented as a statement of fact, and everyone accepted it that way.

Porthos reached down and gently took Aramis from Fr. Luc's arms. As he was lifting him up, they all heard him say, "Fr. Luc, you..." He stopped, coughing again. "You have...to come to the..." the coughing interrupting him again.

"Don't try to talk right now, Aramis. We can talk..."

But Aramis became slightly agitated." It's not...safe for you...here. He ...might...come back...please stay...at the garr..." He didn't get any further, as he passed out again.

He had barely been conscious enough, but his thoughts had been about his friend's safety, not his own. His brothers and Fr. Luc looked at each other with sad smiles. Even in his present condition, Aramis was always putting someone he loved first. That was their Aramis.

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They were just starting back when d'Artagnan shouted."He's been watching us from behind the house next door," drawing his pistol and beginning to run in the direction he had indicated.

Athos, watching him run, said to Porthos and Fr. Luc, "Please take Aramis back to the garrison. I need to back d'Artagnan." Turning to the neighborhood onlookers, he said, "Would several of you men accompany my friends to our garrison? Whoever did this is still at large and may have been watching. He needs to be caught," not waiting to see if his request was answered, but taking off after d'Artagnan, confident that they would do as he asked.

Porthos again started back carrying Aramis, as four men detached themselves from the crowd and surrounded them, protecting them from any threats that might materialize.

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Athos followed a distant and sprinting d'Artagnan around the corner of the house, and saw him already nearly at the far end of the building, searching for the figure he had seen. He came around the corner himself, watching d'Artagnan. He didn't see someone move behind him from the ruins of Fr. Luc's house, and swing a pistol at his head, causing him to drop like a stone upon impact, and lay still on the ground.