Devon was deeply concerned about his goddaughter. He found her silence troubling. She may have stood up to Garthe earlier. But now she was no doubt replaying everything in her head. And she had 17 years' worth of trauma to replay, including not one but two attempts to outright kill her. That Devon knew of.
However, he trusted Michael. The younger man's instincts and judgments were almost always on target. And he knew Michael cared deeply for Melissa. His actions – especially earlier today – were proof of that. In fact, Devon had already decided that Michael's next few cases would keep him close to home, until Melissa had been able to work through it all. So as hard it was for him, Devon didn't ask Michael to explain what he was doing. Instead, he remained quiet, letting Michael control how things played out.
Michael drove to a nearby beach. Both the beach and its pier were empty. It was another silent drive. Michael hadn't asked Kitt to play the radio, and neither had anyone else. Michael parked near the end of the pier. He then picked Melissa off the backseat and carried her about a third of the way down the pier and then sat her down on the edge of the pier, facing the railing and the ocean. Devon followed along, curious about what Michael had planned.
Michael said gently, "Put your hands on the railing."
Melissa glanced up at him, uncertainly. Michael just waited, patiently, until she finally did as he had asked. After her hands were on the railing, he crouched behind her, lining his shoulders up with hers. He then put his hands on the railing, too, on either side of hers.
"Umm . . . I know you're bigger than I am."
"That point here, kiddo, is that I have very broad shoulders. Plenty broad enough to have helped you with this burden. Come to think of it, Devon's shoulders are also broad enough. Despite him being so scrawny." Michael said the last bit in a stage whisper.
Devon could see that Melissa was beginning to relax, unconsciously leaning back against Michael. As she had told Garthe in the courtroom, Michael made her feel safe. And right now, she needed to feel safe. So instead of taking offense at Michael's not-so-funny joke, Devon decided to play along.
"I beg your pardon," he said imperiously. "I am most certainly not scrawny. I am lean, like a greyhound. And you, Michael, are a Labrador . . . puppy."
Michael had also noticed Melissa's body language, so he responded in kind. "Bark! Bark!"
Devon sat down beside Melissa. "However, Melissa, Michael is correct about one thing. You should not have borne this burden by yourself. We both could have helped you. And you had best not claim you didn't want to burden us or I shall be quite vexed with you." Devon smiled gently at his goddaughter.
Melissa leaned against Devon with a deep sigh. "No, you couldn't. Neither of you could have. Michael, you don't know Garthe, not really. I mean, you've dealt with him, what, four times? Counting today."
"Something like that," replied Michael, as he sat down on the other side of Melissa.
"So you don't understand the rules of the game. Not like I do. And Uncle Devon, you and Dad never understood it was a game. With Garthe, it is always a game. His game; his rules."
Kitt chimed in via Michael's commlink. "And what are the rules to this game of Garthe's?"
"There are five rules. The first is that Garthe is the only person who matters."
"Let me guess," said Michael, "the other four rules are the same as Rule 1."
"Not exactly. More like clarifications. Rule 2 is that Garthe is the only player. Everyone else is merely a participant."
"Okay so far."
"Rule 3 is that Garthe decides the goal of the game. The objective. How to keep score. What counts as a win."
"And the fourth rule?" asked Kitt.
Melissa sighed. "It's the most complicated rule. Garthe always wins."
"That is a rather straightforward rule."
Melissa continued as if Devon hadn't said anything. "There are three parts to Rule 4. First, Garthe gets to decide who is allowed to participate and what role they have in the game, and he gets to change the list of participants and their role whenever he wants. Second, Garthe gets to change the objective of the game whenever he wants. And third, Garthe gets to add, change, or even drop whatever other rules he wants whenever he wants."
After a long pause, Michael gently prompted Melissa for the final rule. "Rule 5. Unless it keeps him from winning, Garthe will be as cruel as possible to the participants as he likes. Of course –"
"Of course, being cruel won't prevent Garthe from winning because of Rule 4." Devon sighed. "You are correct, my dear. Wilton and I never realized Garthe treated everything as a game to be won. Or that he stacked the deck in his favor."
The three of them sat on the side of the pier, legs dangling over the water. They were silent, but it wasn't the strained silence from earlier in the day. After some time, Melissa moved from leaning against Devon to leaning against the railing, her forehead pressed against the wood and her arms hanging over it.
"I'm sorry," said Melissa softly. "About earlier."
"Whatever for?" Michael was astonished that she could think she was at fault for anything that had happened today.
"For provoking Garthe. His lawyer said he was a model prisoner and so didn't need as much security. I wanted to show he had a temper. Though I didn't realize . . . it nearly got out of hand." She gave Michael – and his bruises – a guilty glance.
"You did nothing wrong," Devon assured her.
"But –"
"Melissa Alexandra," said Devon firmly, "You are not now – nor have you ever been – responsible for Garthe's behavior. The only person responsible for Garthe's behavior is Garthe."
"Besides, it gave me a chance to hit Garthe more than twice." Michael leaned over and bumped her with his shoulder. "I mean, did you see the shiner I gave him?"
"Yes. Yes, I did."
"I plan to remember Garthe just like he was in the courtroom at the end: in a prison jumpsuit and handcuffs, with a black eye."
"I quite agree," added Devon. "That look definitely becomes him."
"I think so, too," said Melissa, sounding quite satisfied.
