AFTER

Building towered foresight

(Keep your conscience in the dark)

Isn't anything at all

(Melt the statues in the park)

Buy the sky and sell the sky

And bleed the sky and tell the sky

Don't fall on me

"Fall On Me"

REM

May 21, 1952

Worcester, Massachusetts

OhGodohGodohGod…

Was it his head injury making everything seem slowed down, syrupy yet distinct, making it almost impossible for him to string thoughts together?

Molly…That was the original threat, why Carina had taken it upon herself to intervene…because Shaw threatened Molly. Probably to Jack, and then to Sarah once Jack killed himself.

"Chuck," Sarah gasped.

She startled him out of his stupor. She had a crocheted afghan around her shoulders, covering her shredded dress. He hadn't seen Gertrude cover her. Sarah's voice sounded slurred, yet tinny, echoey, despite the fact that she was right in front of him.

She stood, clutching the blanket. "Your head…" she said, deeply concerned, reaching out with one hand to touch his face. Her eyes widened in alarm. "Chuck, your pupils aren't the same size! You must have a concussion. He hit you so hard," she added with a sob as she crushed her eyes closed, the memory painful, tears squeezed out and down her cheeks.

He had been her only protection, and he had failed. And here she was again, so much more concerned for him, even after everything she had just been through.

How was it possible that she loved him that much? That he meant so much, when he had failed her so completely?

He was dizzy, nauseated, unsure how much was the result of his injury and how much the situation.

"Chuck, I have to go to the neighbor's to call the doctor. And I need to call the police. The phone doesn't work," Gertrude stated, unaware that the telephone had been repaired, but that Shaw had destroyed the connection again.

"Go," Chuck whispered, knowing the longer he waited here, the more dangerous the situation became. "Just hurry back here, please." He stood; in the time it took for him to steady himself on his feet, Gertrude had already rushed out the door.

"Chuck, wait. Where are you going?" Sarah asked anxiously.

"St. Ann's," Chuck told her, his sense of urgency clear.

"You can't drive like this!" she insisted, studying him again, her face creased with worry at the visible signs of his incapacity.

"I have to get Casey." His face was intense, determined. "I'm not going to let him hurt her, Sarah. It's bad enough I let this happen–"

His concussion seemed to have cut the connection between his inner monologue and his thoughts. He hadn't meant to say what he'd actually said, displaying his inner guilt.

"Stop!" she commanded softly, interrupting his lamentation, moving towards him purposefully. "I'll be ok. Chuck, you…you shielded me with your body…when you thought he was going to shoot." Her voice was hushed, reverent, her eyes wide with awe.

He only had a vague memory of doing so. Concussion again, or…the act so instinctive it wasn't actually a decision he made. There was no decision, no choice. Reflex, a reflex of his heart. She mattered more than his own life, much more…and she always had. His heart knew it, even when his brain was mired in syrup and echoes.

She leaned against him, her arms still folded across her body, but the need to touch him, connect to him, overpowering her discomfort. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing her against his chest protectively, relieved as he felt her lean into him.

"Are you sure you're alright?" he asked again, reluctant to leave, even though the situation was dire.

"I will be. It could have been…so much worse," she said.

In record time, Gertrude was back from the neighbor's house. "Dr. Woodcomb is on his way," she said as she rushed back into the room. "There are already police outside as well," Gertrude added, a new chill in her voice. "That black sedan that your…gangster friend…sent? The man inside is dead. Bullet hole through the front window."

That explained what had happened to Cipriani's man, Chuck thought.

"Stay with her, Gertrude," Chuck said as he moved to the door.

Gertrude was about to protest, probably for the same reason Sarah had, but she bit her tongue. Whatever she saw on Chuck's face, concussed or not, she knew arguing was a waste of time.

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

The flashing blue lights from the police car seared and confused Chuck's vision as he drove away from his house. Not only did they appear unusually bright, hot, but the lights had rings around them, extra circles of light that seemed to move like ripples of water on a lake after a stone's throw. Circles around circles. Vision abnormalities, he thought, from his head injury. It wasn't wise to drive in his current state, but he didn't have a choice.

Carina was missing, maybe dead. Morgan was seriously hurt…and Molly was in mortal danger. Sarah had been assaulted.

Chuck still struggled with the disbelief. How could someone break into an orphanage, harm a group of nuns, kidnap an innocent child…or worse? But there was no rationalizing with evil, with malice. None. People were confused about that, as if everyone was in reach of a talking cure. But it wasn't so. Shaw wasn't looking to save himself; his last desperate attempt had been made and his appeal denied. There was no purpose to his wanton destruction, other than to cause it, inflict it on as many people as he could before Cipriani eliminated him. It was what made him so dangerous. He wanted to cause pain and death, wanted to cause them for their own sake.

Chuck's vehicle approached the orphanage, the post-twilight sky deep purple, like a severe bruise. He couldn't recall the drive, didn't remember making some of the turns he knew he would have had to make to get to where he was. It alarmed him, but he set his worry aside.

Here too, more flashing blue lights lined the sidewalk in front of the orphanage. They pierced into his eyes like hot pokers. Rings and rings of blue.

Too late…I'm too late…

Chuck staggered out of his car, slamming the door clumsily. Behind him, he felt someone standing. Chuck tried to turn but stumbled backwards…straight into Casey.

"Casey!" Chuck exclaimed in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"The same as you, it seems. But we're both too late," Casey grumbled.

He took a step back, closely scrutinizing Chuck's appearance. "Are you alright? What happened…" The facts slowly dawned on him. "Did you see Gert?" he asked frantically.

"She saved our lives, Casey," he gulped, his voice trembling with emotion. "But not before Shaw attacked Sarah in the house," he added, his voice breaking. "I should have done more than what I did," Chuck mumbled, almost to himself, defeat in his tone.

Still scanning Chuck's face, Casey added, "You look like you got your head bashed in." Casey raised his index and middle finger on his right hand in a V. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Two, but they're blurry," Chuck told him, as he started to walk away from his car. He didn't wait for any more comment from Casey, moving towards the front stairs, where the police cars and their flashing lights were concentrated.

The three police officers on the scene stood in a row, blocking the area closer to the door. Chuck rushed to them, skirting the row, in search of the nuns who were in charge.

"Can I help you, sir?" one of the officers asked him as soon as he noticed Chuck's presence.

"Chuck Bartowski," Chuck offered. "There were police outside my home just now and…" He sighed, exhausted, knowing he needed to continue, to explain, but unable to find the words, his brain still processing too slowly.

Sensing his exasperation, the police officer touched Chuck's arm and pulled him aside. "Take it easy, son. Just start at the beginning."

Chuck didn't know how to explain to a police officer that the mafia had a man watching his house. "Daniel Shaw, the local AF of L representative, has been…harassing me at my place of business, and also my wife. I was told by my housekeeper–"

"Hold on," Casey spoke up from behind them. "Someone responded to Roxanne Miller's home earlier tonight. Home invasion, kidnapping, assault and battery. This is the same suspect Bolonia Grimes described to you, the man who assaulted her son and kidnapped Roxanne's daughter."

"Yes," Chuck interjected, glad for Casey's clarity. "He left Mrs. Miller's home…and broke into mine. It's possible he shot a man in a vehicle that was parked outside my home. The gun is still there. My housekeeper called the police because he also broke into my home and threatened to kill us. He sexually assaulted my wife."

"Jesus Christ," Casey exclaimed in fury, not caring about his choice of words.

The police officer was nodding along, his mouth grim. "And then, apparently, he left your home and came here. Accosted two nuns and kidnapped a toddler, from the statement I was given. He's blazing a trail of mayhem through the city. Any idea what may have provoked him?"

He has a hit out on him, Chuck thought, but knew he couldn't say. "Desperation. And revenge," Chuck replied.

The officer looked skeptical, but he gave a knowing shrug. He didn't say anything in reply.

"Chuck!"

He spun at the sound of his name, staggering off balance as his vision seemed to continue spinning even after his head had stopped. He caught himself before he fell. My concussion must be pretty bad, he thought with alarm.

Through the crowd standing in front of the orphanage door, Chuck could see Sister Katherine, moving fast towards him. When she got closer, Chuck noted her state of disarray. Her hair was wild, sticking out from her black veil, which she had obviously tossed on haphazardly. Her face was bruised, a thin slit of a cut visible on her cheek.

Chuck looked on in dismay as she started to explain. "Sarah told me who he was, a long time ago…told me that he threatened the girl. I knew who he was. He took Molly, Chuck. I tried to stop him. I'm sorry."

"No, it's not your fault. Are you alright?" he asked, gesturing to her wound.

"I'm fine. But you need to find Molly. She was terrified, worse because she can't hear. The redhead, Sarah's friend, was with him, and it didn't look like she was happy to be. Molly's seen her before. She was able to calm Molly down. But that man…it was like looking at a demon, up close. A creature from hell on its way back. You have to get her away from him."

Carina was alive, Chuck thought, breathing a small sigh of relief. And she had managed to somehow act as a buffer between Shaw and Molly.

"Did you hear anything they were saying? Anything that might clue in to where he was going…where he was taking them?" Casey asked, suddenly appearing at Chuck's shoulder.

"The police–"

Casey cut her off. "With all due respect, Sister, we don't have time to wait for the police. We've already done that, twice…and we're not doing it again," he said tightly.

"Mr. Casey," Sister Katherine said, taking a step closer to them. "I heard Sarah's friend talking to him. She was trying to convince him that they could leave together, and leave the baby someplace where she would be safe. She kept telling him there was a way out…he could leave the baby alone. He seemed…torn. But he took Molly anyway."

She tilted her head, deep in thought. "But…there was a moment, just a brief moment, when Sarah's friend talked to me. She was…intent on what she was saying, but at the same time trying to say it casually so he didn't notice. Maybe it means something to you?"

"What did she say?" Chuck asked pointedly.

"'It would be nice if we could go to California.'"

California?

He growled at himself, frustrated with his slow wits antagonized by his head injury.

California. Where he had been. A long time ago Carina had told him he was the only person she knew who had ever been to California.

The train, he thought, a lightning bolt clearing the fog from his mind. Shaw was taking them on the train.

"Thank you, Sister," Chuck said in a hurry. "That's very helpful."

She smiled. "I'm praying for everyone's safety," she whispered.

Chuck told Casey what he had deduced from Carina's clue.

"Do you think I'm right? He's trying to run?" Chuck asked Casey.

Casey's eyes darkened. "It's possible. He kept Carina alive for a reason. What that reason is, I have no idea. Shaw went after Morgan in a jealous rage." Casey cringed, the motion so quick Chuck almost missed it. "Maybe the thought of leaving with her…made him more…manageable. I don't know."

"Is Morgan…" Chuck couldn't finish, couldn't ask the question. He didn't want Casey to answer more harshly than Chuck already knew that he would.

"Bad shape. Touch and go," Casey said in a clipped, terse voice. He turned and started walking back towards his car. Chuck followed, his gait measured as he tended his balance.

"Carina…cares about Morgan, Casey," he said as he came up behind Casey.

Without breaking his stride, Casey replied, "Morgan's mother said Carina told Morgan she loved him…while he was down on the ground…before Shaw hit her across the face."

Chuck reeled, the horrors of the confrontation in Roxanne's house coming at him in growing waves, each one worse than the one before, swamping him. Chuck was sure Casey had heard all the gory details from Bolonia.

Shaw had been obsessed with Sarah, and unfortunately Chuck had seen that pathology up close. Was Shaw's ego bruised by Carina's rejection? Chuck's terrifying memories of the moments when Shaw was in his house threatening them came back in fragments. Shaw had been jealous of Morgan, hadn't he?

Maybe there was a chance he could use that information. He knew somewhere, Carina was still using that to her advantage, what little advantage she had in a hostage situation.

Chuck looked down at his wristwatch, noting the time. It was later than Chuck had thought, feeling like there were chunks of time still missing from the evening. The last train would have left Union Station about 30 minutes ago. Not enough time, based on what Sister Katherine had said, for Shaw to have left with Molly and made it to the station before the last train.

The station opened again early the next morning, before the sunrise. There was plenty of room to hide in the railyards behind the station. The late spring night was mild, perfect to stay outside under the veil of darkness.

"We need to go to the train station," Chuck told Casey, as his thoughts connected. "He can hide there overnight until the first train in the morning. They could pose as a family, with the baby. But it would be…awkward…if she's got bruises, he's in a murderous rage, and the baby is terrified and no one can communicate with her. First thing in the morning would be safer, less people about."

"Let's go, then," Casey said sharply.

"What are we doing once we find him?" Chuck asked.

Shaw had left his gun at Chuck's house, but Chuck was sure he had other dangerous means of protecting himself, more firepower than Chuck could even imagine.

"Make him sorry he ever touched a hair on the head of anyone you care about," Casey growled.

Gertrude had a shotgun somewhere on the grounds of his property, and Chuck had no idea. Was Casey armed as well? Chuck had a sinking feeling the answer was yes.

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

May 22, 1952

Worcester, Massachusetts

Casey was a Marine.

It was part of Chuck's background knowledge, something he knew like he knew Casey's birthday or his age, or his favorite food. Service in the military had not been a choice Casey had made, rather something required of him when the world started coming apart in the late 1930s. Casey had chosen the Marines, technically, but only as an option outside of the army service that other men had been drafted into.

During his youth, Casey's absence had been felt. But Chuck had always known while he had been missing Casey, Casey had been fighting the Japanese in the Pacific theater. The horrors of war were something Casey never spoke of, something he kept hidden except at rare times when something affected him and he needed to "get some air," as he would tell Chuck and Gertrude.

But Casey had seen it, lived it. He was the bravest man Chuck had ever known, more so for the fact that he buried it beneath his usual exterior. Part of that had been what Casey had felt was necessary to protect Chuck when he was young, something Jack had never done for Sarah, as Chuck had often thought.

The man who walked in front of Chuck, prowling the empty railroad tracks in the train yard, his gun in his hand, was the Casey who had fought at Midway and Iwo Jima…the Casey Chuck had never seen before. Apologetically, Casey had told Chuck to accompany him. Casey was sorry…that Chuck had to witness violence in any form. As if he had believed somehow the horrors he had endured during the war were an insurance policy that the ones he had been fighting to protect could know peace.

He couldn't say so, not to Casey, not after he had said such profound words to him, words Chuck had never imagined Casey could even think, let alone say. But Chuck felt safer, unafraid, because Casey was here with him.

Casey was on high alert, and Chuck was tiptoeing quietly behind him, fully aware even cognitively sound, Casey was better suited for this. In his current state, Chuck's peripheral vision was hazy and shadowed, making the surrounding darkness even darker somehow, more dangerous.

Chuck realized Casey was sweeping left to right, walking on the open tracks in order to keep everything in view. If Shaw was here, he was hiding, sheltering, not out in the open. They moved past detached train cars parked on dead end tracks, metal shipping containers, towards the cement archway that connected the station to the main platform at the back of the building.

The night dragged on. Chuck was exhausted, his legs barely able to continue. He willed himself to move, to follow Casey. It was only his willpower that kept him going, and the promise he had made to Sarah that he would keep Molly safe.

Without warning, Chuck felt Casey's hand, reaching back and grasping a fistful of Chuck's shirt and forcing him backwards. Casey followed, pushing them both behind a metal storage container about 50 yards from the platform. Casey had both warned him, stopped him, and moved him, without making any sound. Chuck wanted to ask him what Casey had seen, but he dare not speak and break the silence.

As if Casey had read his mind, knowing Chuck wanted to know what was happening and couldn't ask, Casey pointed.

Chuck followed Casey's finger to the platform. The only source of light in the entire area was a dim light inside the closed station, which was visible through the window behind the platform.

It was only enough light for Chuck to make out two shaded silhouettes moving across the platform.

One was Sarah, immediately recognizable to him by her shape and the paleness of her hair…and the other, Chuck guessed, based on his height and gait, was Dominic Babinska.