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John groaned as he became aware again, leaving that still, dark place where he had been pain free. He moved his leg slowly and groaned again. A sharp pain had moved down his leg, but to his relief, had receded just as quickly as it came. 'I'm not doing it again.' He told himself. 'No way. Let them cut my leg off, at least they'll give me anesthesia before they do it, and lots and lots of pain medication afterwards.' He opened his eyes and tried to blink away the fogginess in his head. He felt like he had been sleeping for days, though he didn't know it, having no sense of time in the bunker, it had been almost four hours. Thirsty, he sat up to get a drink.

Jessie had been in and out of a light sleep, waiting for John to come around, when she heard him groan. She watched him, waiting to see if he had done it in his sleep or if he was awake. When she saw him sit up to get a drink, she smiled.

"Welcome back."

John turned his body around to face her. "Thanks, I feel-" He stopped mid-sentence. "Jessie, how long have you been like that?"

She was sitting in the corner, hugging her knees, shivering like she was sitting on a block of ice. "I'm okay." Her voice shook with the rest of her. "Just...just can't keep warm."

Ignoring the protests from his leg, because he was moving too quickly, he grabbed the first-aid kit and crawled over to her. He wrapped both arms around her and pulled her close. Heat was coming off her in waves and her breath was hot against his skin. He touched her cheek and forehead. She was sweating but her skin felt cool, and clammy. He let go of her and dug through his duffle bag for another sweatshirt. He put it on her and pushed the sweat-soaked hair from her face.

"Is that better?"

"Yeah...uh..a little."

He took the thermometer out and pressed it against her forehead. "How do you feel?"

"Just cold...still...still have a headache. I...I drank water like...you...you said." The shivering was making her stammer.

John glanced at the thermometer and grimaced. It had past 104 and was slowly headed towards 105.

"It...it went up?" Jessie said, reading his expression.

"Just a little." He gave her a half-smile. He shook six aspirin in to his hand and gave them to her. "They may upset your stomach cause you've taken so many and you really haven't eaten anything, but they'll help with the fever and headache. Are you hungry? You should eat something...even if it's a bag of chips."

She wasn't hungry. She was tired, but she would eat something for him. He was trying not to show too much, but she could tell he was worried. "Okay."

John peeled the thermometer off her forehead. It had stopped just short of 105. 'Shit! Just great!' He panicked in his head. Shaking it off, he was not going to scare her, he picked up the 'snackpack'. "Okay, let's see...yep, you haven't eaten all the twinkies yet. Want one?"

"Sure." Her stomach felt queasy after the first couple bites, but she forced it down and drank some water.

"Want something else?" John asked as she finished it.

"No, I'm...I'm good."

'Sure you are.' John thought. "Still cold?" She nodded "Come sit by me." She inched closer and he pulled her to him, wrapping both arms around her and held her tight, hoping his own body heat would help. "Better?"

"Yeah. What...what do you think is wrong with..with me?" When he didn't answer she leaned up from his chest and looked at his face. He looked miserable. She put her head back down on his chest, deciding not to pursue it. "How much longer do you think we'll...we'll be here?"

"I don't know. I think it's Tuesday, I just don't know how far in to it we are. You should try to get some sleep..."

"I'm okay."

John ran his fingers through her curls. "You haven't really slept since the nightmare...you need to get some sleep, to keep your strength up, or you're just gonna get weaker and weaker with the fever. I'm right here, you'll be okay."

"But I'm not tired." She said sleepily, but it was getting harder to keep her eyes open. "It's not...not fair...you know my weakness."

John smiled as he continued to move his fingers through her hair. "Just for a little while."

"You gonna sleep too?" She mumbled, as she gave in to sleep.

He knew he didn't have to answer her, he could tell by the change in her breathing that she had drifted off. He looked up at the trap door of the bunker. "You got to get us out of here, Bailey...soon."


Except to stop for gas and twice to eat, Thomas Krieger had not stopped driving since leaving Boston. He got on I-90 and just drove, not knowing exactly where he wanted to go, but wanting to put as many miles between him and Boston as he could. He was just outside Indiana, in West Unity, Ohio, filling up and stretching his legs when he realized just how exhausted he really was. He needed sleep and he needed to think about where he wanted to go.

"Hey," He called over to the guy next to him. "You know where there's a motel around here? I don't need anything fancy, just a bed."

The man thought for a moment. "There's a Motel 6...maybe 10 miles from here, just jump on Route 13 you'll see signs for it."

"Thank you." Krieger smiled, his friendliest smile, paid for his gas and headed for Route 13.

Twenty minutes later he pulled in to the parking lot of Motel 6. He went in and got a room, then went across the street to a liquor store and bought a bottle of Jack Daniels. He took a shower when he got back to the room and stood in the hot water for an extra fifteen minutes, letting the water soak into his knotted muscles. The shower definitly relaxed him and after a couple of shots of Jack Daniels, he was ready to lie down and get some sleep. His conscious, though, had other plans. As soon as his head hit the pillow and his eyes closed, visions of the people he had killed for Langston floated through his mind. He fucked up. Bad. Sure he was a contract killer, but he had criteria that had to be met. Rules he lived by. He thought of himself as justice. Vengence. Money had never been a motive for him, but Roy Langston threw alot at him and he jumped at it. Skippping, his usually, intense research, he took Langston at his word, and jumped in with both feet. 'Fuck me...and fuck him.' He thought to himself. Most of those people, with the exception of O'Doyle's men, were not a danger to anyone but themselves. O'Doyle's girlfriend, which was the only reason she had been killed, and his children were no danger at all. Susan Grey was a teacher, for crying out loud! John Grant, for all the hell he went through as a kid, had nothing to do with his Father, and had turned out to be a cop/F.B.I. agent, and a damn honest one at that. And, the girl, Jessie, she was just a kid. A kid, who had lost her Mother and brother in a car accident, was pysically abused by her Grandfather, almost molested by a man who worked for her Grandfather, and was brought up by mobsters, and yet turned out the total opposite of him. Good. 'A sweet girl.' The bartender at The Harbor Breeze had called her. His upbringing was somewhat similar to hers, and God knows, he had never been known as 'sweet'. Fucking Langston! He was a pig. The kind of pig he gladly killed, when asked. The kind of pig he had killed many times before. "You're a fucking idiot!" He said, slapping himself in the forehead and getting out of bed.

He paced and poured himself shots until there was nothing left but a mouthful at the bottom of the bottle. Bailey's words kept running around his head. 'What difference would a day make?' Why the hell didn't he tell him? Why the hell didn't he tell him the first time he talked to him, for that matter? It really didn't make a difference. They would have been so busy with John and Jessie, that he could have slipped away just as easily. He was losing it and the alcohol in him was making it worse. He picked up the Jack Daniels bottle emptied it in to his mouth and through it against the wall. "You should have never stopped driving." He said aloud, laughing at the thought. "You may have out run yourself, eventually." There were only to things he could think of to do, to settle himself, and he needed to do both before he sobered up. "Fuck me." He mumbled as he went to the nightstand and picked up John's cell phone. He flipped it open, hit the 'contacts' button and stared, for several minutes, at the first name he saw. He smiled, then laughed. "Angel...damn, if that's not a sign and a half." He said, drunkingly. He sat down on the edge of the bed and hit the 'call' button. He never did believe in God, but made up his mind to confess to an Angel.


Tbc...