He hated that room. Not that he had a reason to, he knew it meant well. But there was something about the smell, the stillness, the lack of stimulation that bothered him. It hurt to bounce his leg but he couldn't stop himself from doing it. Maybe it was that weird, green tissue box on the coffee table.

"So, tell me more about how you were feeling when you grabbed the ax. You mentioned that you had been in a lot of pain, but you believe that your anger drove you to… take matters into your own hands."

All he'd heard in the past week was, "Dr. Robinson's the best!", "Dr. Robinson will get you feelin' right in no time!", "Dr. Robinson is well-educated and has a lot of experience!", "Dr. Robinson this!", "Dr. Robinson that!"

Doctor Robinson was a quack.

And of course, there was no way Bo was telling him that he'd been prompted to 'take matters into his own hands' by a phantom of Andy's voice. That'd be one sure-fire way to get him a one-way ticket to the looney bin.

Bo shrugged and leaned forward, finding himself resting an arm on his leg to get it to stop shaking. Maybe if he answered more questions they'd let him out of here. "I… I was trapped down there, and it was scary but… I guess you could say I just woke up one day and somethin' snapped."

His gaze flitted to a movement of Robinson's pen as he marked something down. Jesse had always said that hate was a strong word so Bo decided to settle for strongly dislike. He strongly disliked Dr. Robinson.

"Could you maybe describe some of the other things you were feeling while this was happening? Would you say that you justified this action to yourself?"

He was kidnapped and almost killed, what more justification did this man want? "You promise that everythin' stays off the record, right?"

Of course, Robinson had already told him this, but he wanted to hear it again, just to be sure.

Robinson nodded. "Of course, anything said in here is between you and me. It's all confidential."

Bo returned the nod, decided 'Hell with it,' and handed over the details of the story. "Look, I didn't exactly know what I was doin' when I picked up that ax. And I had the perfect opportunity to kill him but I hesitated. I was still scared, but I was mad, and I guess you could say I was a bit satisfied at the fact that he was scared of me. It felt good, y'know? Like I was takin' control of my life back."

Robinson nodded again and made another note. Bo wanted to rip that pen out of his hand and punch him.

"So, you felt like you deserved to take this man's life after what he did to you. What made you hesitate?"

He was twisting his words, Bo realized, but he wasn't about to call him out on it. "I realized that I was better than him. That it wasn't my place to say if he lived or died."

Another note, and Robinson paused. The man leaned forward, setting his clipboard aside. "Tell me, Bo, what do you think you deserve?"

I deserve to have you off my back for one. "I… I don't know. That's kinda a loaded question, don't you think?"

Robinson's head tilted, just slightly. "How so?"

There he went again. With the nagging and the analyzing and the poking and the prodding. This's a waste of time, ain't none of his business anyway, Bo thought. God, he sounded like Luke. He found the memory of his cousin groaning and complaining about all the things he had to do after getting back from 'Nam amusing. One shouldn't ever get him started on the VA. That was one can of worms that would practically be a crime to open. You'd never hear the end of it.

Nevertheless, he was through with the poking and the prodding and the labeling. At least after Hollow Hill, he'd been able to see the bright side of all this, convinced that everything really was helping. Not now. Now, he understood every bit of his cousin's maliciousness towards these people. Because they sat in offices with funny smells and ugly tissue boxes and asked questions that made him uncomfortable. But, he supposed, the worst part was when he found Luke looking at him with such painful recognition. Like he saw right through him to all of the nasty parts he couldn't wash away no matter how much he scrubbed his skin raw.

Which had gotten to be a lot.

There were only a few people who knew everything of what had happened to him. And Luke wasn't one of them. In fact, he hadn't confided in him much, if even at all. Which was odd for him. He told Luke a lot. They were together a lot. But now he'd managed to push him away. And Luke was giving him his space, whether he wanted to or not.

The worst part was, he found himself conversing with Clayton more than he did Luke. He supposed that he felt the devilish man understood better. Of course he did. He'd been in his shoes, he knew exactly how things were. And it was comforting, just odd coming from a man like Clayton Jennings. Clayton was, in fact, one of the few.

In talking to Clayton, Bo learned about a traveling man with a fiddle, a wonderful rock, and a bridge. The story of Clayton Jennings was sad, to say the least, but did serve to explain a lot of things. Clayton confessed regretting pushing away the people in his life in the weeks prior to him ending it.

They'd all come a long way since Hollow Hill.

Of course, he knew the reason that Clayton was so open with him was because he knew that the man didn't want him to make the same mistakes he did. If he'd have been anyone else in any other situation he'd be picking his teeth up off the floor.

He must have started to zone out because Dr. Robinson's voice suddenly made all his thoughts scatter.

"Have you given any more thought to what Mr. Perkins told you?" the psychiatrist asked.

Bo nodded, because he had. And his answer was still no. "I still ain't too keen on the idea."

"And why's that?"

Why? Why? Why? It's all the man ever asked. "I told ya before, I can't sit up there and look at him. Just thinkin' about it makes me sick."

"What makes you think that, though? Have you looked at any pictures of him recently and had the same reaction?"

"No. No pictures."

Robinson sighed and folded his hands on his knee. "Look, it's a common thing to not be able to look at one's attacker-"

Bo rolled his eyes and reached for his crutches. "I think we're done here."

The doctor stood as he did, maybe to try and stop him. Bo didn't think that'd be hard, he had enough trouble getting around as it was. But Robinson didn't stop him.

"I know that it'll be extremely difficult but you really should consider testifying. It'll give you some closure at the least."

"And I suppose they pay you to say that, too."

Robinson shook his head. "I'm saying this because I think it'll help. At least think about it a little more."

"Sure I will."

He was out the door before Robinson could get another word in.

Of course, when there weren't the doctors, there was always the church. He hadn't been there in a while. But he had a bit of a bone to pick with the Almighty. An attitude such as this would be sure to at least receive a scolding but if he wanted to go to the church and chew God out, that was his business.

So, he worked his way up the church steps and in through the heavy doors. There was a slight echo as he entered and he saw that though the church was occupied, they were very few and far between. It was dimly lit with candles and sunlight shining through the stained-glass windows. He walked, or, well, crutched, toward the front, leaning his crutches against the pew and easing himself down.

He knelt and folded his hands and for a long time, the church fell silent save for the soft sound of an organ being played. After what felt like hours but very well could have been minutes, a man got up abruptly and left. It seemed as though he was just another unsatisfied customer. But with the absence of one, Bo suddenly felt that the whole church had gone empty and silent. And he couldn't help but finally unleash the arrogance of his mind. His gaze lifted to the intricate altar at the front of the echoing chamber and the large crucifix that hung high on the wall above it. Looking around, he found that he really was alone in there. Everyone else inside had disappeared. With a sigh, he spoke softly, taking his gaze away from the altar and the Christ and staring down at the back of the pew in front of him, where his arms rested.

"Uncle Jesse always told us to turn to you in times of trouble. I ain't exactly been a frequent flier in here lately. I don't ask a lot of you, neither. But when I finally did, when I needed you more than anythin', you weren't there. You wouldn't help me. Why? I was always told you helped everybody, even sinners. So why not me? What'd I do to deserve this?"

There was silence.

"Look, whatever I did, I'm sorry. But I needed you, and you weren't there. Where were you, huh?" He found his voice raising. "Where were you?"

A sudden response startled him. "Are you prayin' again? How raw are your knees? How often will you repent?"

The words were spat and delivered by a voice so vile they could only belong to one person. Bo lifted his head, turning to see Clayton standing next to him, taking a drag from a cigar. The little man tilted his head up, blowing smoke into the still air of the church.

"The less you grovel for your heavenly patriarch the better. The disappointment tends to get to some people sometimes," he said, tapping the ashes off his cigar.

"If you came here to try and get me to abandon my religion, you're wastin' your time," Bo said.

Clayton laughed. "Oh please, whatever god you worship makes no difference to me."

Bo sighed, turning back to look at the front. "Uncle Jesse always told me to pray if I was scared or in trouble. He told me God would help me no matter what. So why didn't He?"

Clayton hummed and shrugged, taking another drag on his cigar. "The Lord works in mysterious ways, yes, yes, we all know that. But… I suppose you have to admit, it's a bit of a wonder you ain't dead right now."

"Yeah… suppose it could always be worse, couldn't it?"

Clayton nodded. "I don't suppose you've given any more thought to my proposal?"

"Actually, I have."

He had. And he really didn't want to go through with it but something within him screamed that he needed to. Besides, ranting to an empty church had served to lift quite the heavy load from his shoulders.

Clayton looked at him, finding that he'd leaned forward, face half-hidden by his arms. "And?"

There was a sigh, one of defeat, and a muffled reply. "I'll do it."

Clayton grinned. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that."

Bo lifted his head. "I said, fine, I'll do it."

He heard Clayton laugh and say, "That's more like it. And he still thinks you're comatose in the hospital, by the way. Should be a nice little surprise." However, when he turned around, the man was gone.

It had been days since the official start of the Ridgefield trial. And despite his insistence on wanting to watch Allen get put away, he hadn't been back since the first day. It was much more boring than he'd expected and so droll to sit through that he just couldn't bear it. Instead, he made Clayton tell him the good parts.

So far, as far as he knew, Clayton had barred the information from the defense that Bo was, in fact, alive and well. They still thought he was in the hospital, just barely clinging to life, weak and feeble, when in reality he was walking around alive as could be. The little man claimed that the surprise would work to their advantage, it'd be easier to trip them up.

Moreover, Bo was informed of the official charges that were being brought against Allen. Four counts of murder in the first degree. One count of attempted murder in the first degree. John Cathoway's death had been ruled as a result of self-defense. Allen was also being charged with five counts of kidnapping, torture, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. All sorts of formal names for things, more labels. What Bo called one thing, the court called it something different.

But he knew that labeling was all they could do. They weren't there. Only he had been there. Well, him and Allen, but the man's only exigence was to deny, deny, deny, or plead guilty and cry. And he was denying his shriveled, little heart out. Because, of course, Bo hadn't come forward and had had no intention of testifying against him.

"I'm glad you finally decided to do it," General said.

The two of them stood outside the courtroom, the Defect pacing nervously. Bo probably would have been too but he decided to save his strength and energy. Lord knows I'll need it, he thought.

"You scared?" General asked.

Bo nodded. "A little. I'm all right though."

Only he and General had come. A part of him wished that Luke was there, but the other part was glad he wasn't. He didn't know why. He wanted his cousin to be there, but he knew he probably would have just pushed him away again. He knew Luke meant well. He knew it was all in his head. But he also knew that his cousin wouldn't understand him the way he wanted him to. He knew he'd be one to jump to conclusions, or ask too many questions, or try to come up with solutions. And he didn't want that. He'd found less comfort in Luke lately. Maybe it was for the better. Maybe he wasn't the only one pulling away. Or maybe it was just the plain and simple fact that he was repulsive. Like Clayton. Maybe Luke didn't want to be around him anymore. Because he'd done something wrong. Because he wasn't the same. Whatever the reason.

The courtroom door opening startled the both of them, relieving at the sight of Clayton's head peeking out. His gaze rested on the Duke boy.

"Hope you ain't havin' second thoughts, you're on," the devilish man said with a taunting sneer.

Bo took a breath and stood, leaving his crutches on the bench where he'd sat. General glanced at them then at Bo, gesturing to them worriedly.

"Hey, don't you need those?" he asked.

Bo shook out a little soreness in his ankle, finally putting his weight down on the tender joint. He looked back at General, a confident glimmer in his eye. "He'll see me limp, he won't see me fall."

General watched that shining blue eye, set in its dark overture of bruised flesh. Many of the bruises on the boy's face were still dark, having yet to fade or change colors. General found it odd the way they did that, and would sometimes poke and observe bruises he found on his own skin.

He noticed a slight tremor in Bo's hands before they were aptly clenched into fists and the boy's posture straightened. He was ready. And Clayton opened the door to admit him.

There was a string of murmurs that rose as he took his first uneven steps into the silent courtroom. He took another breath, holding his head high.

Crossing the courtroom felt as though it took an eternity when in reality it had only been about a quarter of a minute. He didn't recognize any of the faces there other than Allen, Clayton, and Judge Hamrin. He had to keep reminding himself to breathe. He had to focus on how he walked so he wouldn't trip or hurt himself. All it took was one misstep. He had to force himself to stop digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands, which were getting slick with sweat.

He swallowed and tried to get his breathing under control as an officer guided him to the witness stand. He could feel that just about every muscle in his body was tense.

From there, it moved quickly. He was put under oath and seated. Easing himself into the chair, his spine bristled as his gaze rested on the courtroom. The chair was black leather and well-worn. It wasn't uncomfortable but it wasn't exactly welcoming. And neither were the faces he saw.

Allen was staring.

At him.

Bo avoided his gaze as if it would turn him to stone.

He was asked to state his name. Every demand they had, he complied with. All the while, he avoided looking at Allen. But he could still feel the man's eyes on him, burning holes through him. He understood that he was the curveball to Clayton's game, but this was beginning to be a whole new level of discomfort. And he didn't appreciate it one bit.

Before he knew it, Allen's defense attorney was coming toward him, smoothing out a wrinkle in his suit. He noticed that Clayton kept a very careful eye on the man, watching his every movement, every gesture, every breath, as if he were a bomb about to go off. Clayton seemed to shrink a little every time the man would look in his direction, he looked scared even. Bo had never seen Clayton scared before. Not like this anyway.

The man that approached was charismatic, constantly grinning. He nodded and grinned to the jury as he passed, a couple of women smiling and blushing. He stood leisurely, shoving his hands in his pockets and pacing in front of the stand. He was gray of hair and wrinkled in face and sported a short beard. But his eyes were bright and his teeth were white and straight.

When he finally stopped pacing, he sighed and folded his hands in front of him, stopping in front of the stand to look up at Bo with utmost sincerity. And it was then that Bo realized that this man, like Clayton, was also just an actor. He was putting on a show. Suddenly, the whole thing seemed botched.

The man was shaking his head. "Oh, Mr. Duke, I can't tell you how sorry I am to have heard about the horrible things that happened to you." Fake sympathy. What a cheat. He had a Cajun accent and talked like Clayton often did. "But I can't help but think you mighta mistaken my client for someone else."

Is he serious? "Bo's just fine, sir."

The man smiled and tapped his temple. "Mais, I know what you're thinkin'. How could I say such a thing? Right?"

Bo didn't say anything, only looked down at him.

The man turned away from him, holding up a finger as he turned to face the jury. "Now, if you'll remember, the official description of the suspect of these crimes had hair kinda a dirty blonde, correct me if I'm wrong."

Nobody corrected him.

He turned back around. "And Bo, my dear boy, you also described the man responsible as such. Is that correct?"

Bo nodded. "Yeah, it is, but-"

"And, as you mighta noticed, my client's hair color is, well, not that."

He was right. That bleeding ginger color that had been creeping its way back into Allen's crown was now fully visible. It led Bo to wonder why he'd concealed it in the first place. Either way, the man had dyed his hair to that color, committed crimes of an atrocious nature, and then changed it back. He was a monster. A chameleon. Some vile, apathetic mutation. But not human. Never human. Clayton wasn't the Devil. Allen was. He made Clayton look like a Saint.

"I remember his face," Bo argued.

The man nodded. "And do you see him in this courtroom today?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Well then, I'm sure you wouldn't mind pointin' him out to the rest of the room."

Bo felt his blood run cold, and he heard Clayton growl.

"Objection!" the devilish man exclaimed. "The witness has already identified the defendant as the perpetrator."

The counselor smiled sinisterly. "It won't hurt to ask him to do it again."

Bo's heart quickened and he tried to look out of the corner of his eye toward Allen only to see that the man was, in fact, still staring at him. His mouth had gone dry and he found himself glancing at Clayton. The little man made a motion, telling him to breathe. Bo did. And slowly turned his gaze to Allen. The man squirmed a little under the hold of his eyes. Bo pointed to him, turning back to look at Clayton's rival.

"That's him."

The man nodded, folding his hands again. "And are you absolutely sure?"

Bo nodded, lowering his hand and glaring at him. "I am."

The man sighed and looked up at Judge Hamrin. "Your honor, I can't help but think that the prosecution has brought forth an unreliable witness."

The judge raised an eyebrow. "And what evidence has allowed you to think that? As far as we know we have a primary, firsthand account of the events you've asked this court to examine and you're calling them unreliable?"

The man nodded. "I do indeed, and here's why."

Bo sent a glance toward Clayton who shrugged.

The attorney started pacing again as he talked. "Now, first of all, let's discuss the night that you were essentially kidnapped. You mentioned that it was dark, tell me, did you ever see the face of your kidnapper?"

"No, but I saw him when I woke up."

"When you woke up? How were you rendered unconscious in the first place?"

"Chloroform… I think."

The man clicked his tongue. "Ah, see, now, herein lies the problem. I ain't no expert but I know well enough that chloroform can have some wacky effects on the brain." He twirled his fingers around his ears and crossed his eyes. Members of the jury giggled. "Now, I also understand that your family has claimed to have had problems with my client in the past. And that you in particular had been suffering from a small case of paranoia lately. So, I can't help but think that your poor, drugged, paranoid mind saw what it wanted to, and not what actually happened."

"You callin' me a liar?"

The man shook his head. "Not at all, I'm just sayin' that your account is, well, flawed. And it's not your fault, of course, none of this is your fault. Your trauma has just caused you to become misguided."

"I know what I saw and what I saw was him, I got no reason to lie about anythin'."

"Oh, but you do, to protect the real perpetrator."

"Yeah? And who would that be?"

The man shrugged innocently. "I don't know, only you would know that."

Just then, Clayton butt in. "Objection, the counselor is strayin' from the topic."

Judge Hamrin's voice rumbled. "Sustained. Counselor Danielson, please continue to state specific reasons to the court as to why you see Mr. Duke as an unreliable witness."

Danielson cleared his throat and straightened his tie. "Mais, of course, your honor." He turned back to the stand. "Bo, tell me what else made you think my client was your attacker. Did he give a name?"

"He did. I asked if he was Allen Ridgefield and he said he was," Bo explained.

"He said 'yes, I am Allen Ridgefield'?"

Bo paused, remembering. "Well, no, not exactly that. Actually, he didn't say he was, but he mentioned Luke by name."

"How many people are in Hazzard, Bo?"

"Excuse me?"

"What's your town's population?"

Bo shrugged. "About two-hundred."

"Would you say it's like everybody knows everybody?"

"I suppose so, yeah."

"Then I rest my case. Anybody could know your cousin's name. Now, as for where you were."

"The House of the Risin' Sun. It's an old boardin' house, went outta business years ago."

"And you know this because you saw the outside of the buildin'?"

"Well, no, that's where he told me I was."

"But you never saw the place from other than the basement?"

"I suppose that's right, but-"

"So how can you be sure?"

How could he be sure? This man was poking holes in his story like it was a pincushion. Bo was starting to get to the point where even he was beginning to doubt the things he said, though he knew they were true. For an actor, Danielson was good, maybe even better than Clayton. There had to be a way out of this. There were four other victims, he had to have made a slip-up somewhere. There had to be evidence. DNA evidence?

"Look, mister," Bo started, receiving a look from both lawyers on the floor, "I see you tryna poke holes in my story but I wanna ask about one thing."

Danielson shrugged and gestured for him to go on. "Please, be my guest."

"DNA evidence, there's gotta be some."

Danielson chuckled and shook a finger at him. "Ah, ah, remember, you're protected by patient-doctor confidentiality, and refused to give up that right. You refused a thorough examination as well, or so I'm told."

"There were four other boys besides me that were killed. Did nobody look at them?"

He noticed a slight twitch in Danielson's face. Clayton noticed it too. The devilish man grinned, wide and evil. They got him.

"I'll admit, with the nature of those boys' deaths, the geography and the manner in which they were killed, well, there really was only one thing connectin' them, and it was DNA evidence. Their killer was ruthless to say the least. And, unfortunately, subjected the victims to crimes of a sexual nature…. I don't suppose you were subject to the same?"

The whole courtroom fell silent and what Bo would have given to jump out of his chair and hit Danielson right then.

"No, I didn't."

He could just about hear the noise in Ridgefield's head.

Danielson sneered. "Mais, then I'd consider yourself lucky."

Bo turned his gaze downward. "Yeah, right."

Judge Hamrin's gavel fell. "Counselor, are we done here?"

"It appears so, your honor," Danielson said, not taking his eyes off Bo. "I think you're still a little unwell, Bo. I'm no doctor, but I suggest a few days' rest, try to get your head in order."

Bo walked out of the courtroom, running a hand over his face, stopping to pinch the bridge of his nose. His ankle nearly gave and he grabbed the wall to steady himself. General was sitting on the bench, still bouncing both legs anxiously. Clayton was a few steps behind Bo, grumbling.

"Well, that was a complete shit show," the devilish man said with a smile.

Bo sighed, turning to look at him. "What do we do now? I mean, this was our one chance and I blew it."

Clayton waved a hand. "Nonsense, there was nothin' you coulda done, my dear." The man's voice turned to a growl. "Danielson's nothin' but a slimy, egocentric piece of shit that has a bit more experience than I do but that's besides the point. I got a few more aces up my sleeve that just might win this thing for us."

"Why didn't anybody pull evidence off the other bodies?"

"Mais, nobody connected 'em at first. But once they did, and realized that the DNA found on 'em matched, the killin's stopped. Well, until our poor Andy turned up, and that poor, dead hitchhiker."

"Why can't they try and match Allen's?"

"He needs to give consent, and hasn't given it. Now, if he was innocent, he'd most likely gladly oblige, but you and I both know he ain't."

"So what're we supposed to do? Does this mean it's over?"

"No, of course not, why would you think that?"

"'Cause I was supposed to be the one that would turn the tables in our favor. But I couldn't even do nothin', so now what?"

"I'll… figure somethin' out, don't worry. You just go home and take care of yourself. You really shouldn't be on that ankle too much, y'know."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Bo sighed, turning to General. "C'mon, General, let's go."

General jumped up, handing him his crutches and the two of them walked out the door. They evaded press reporters on their way to the parking lot, men and women badgering him with questions and trying to shove microphones in his face. He pushed them away and ignored them. They flashed their cameras at him and General, but Bo didn't care. He just wanted to go home, and he felt that General felt the same.

General yawned and stretched, a white cloud of smoke escaping from his mouth as he did. Within a moment, he was a Charger again, engine rumbling low and powerful. Bo pushed his crutches in through the back window then climbed into the driver's seat, settling there for a moment as a bit of tension left his body.

General rumbled concernedly. "You alright there, kid?"

Bo sighed and straightened himself. "Yeah, I'm fine. Let's just go home, 'kay?"

Again, the Defect rumbled. "I waited until now so you couldn't slug me but I think we should talk. Just on the way."

General had been one of the Few but that was only because of their connection. Bo chuckled. "You coward."

"You can't spell coward without car." The Charger started out of the parking lot, merging with traffic and driving towards home. "Now, I know you been set up with that quack Robinson, but y'all just ain't connectin'."

Bo shrugged. "He asks too many questions. He makes me uncomfortable."

General rumbled again. "Y'know how I feel about this."

"I don't wanna talk to Luke. Not yet. I just… I just can't."

"You're gonna have to sometime. It ain't healthy to go on like this. For you and Luke I mean."

Bo thought for a moment. "You been talkin' to him, haven't you?"

General shifted on his suspension. "I have. He's tryna give you as much space as possible, he wants to do whatever's best for ya, but all you're doin' it pushin' him away. And then I gotta hear about it."

"Hey, I ain't the only one that's pushin' away." He rubbed his arms up and down. "It's just… everythin' that happened… he don't see me the same."

"Who told you that?"

"Trust me, I can see it… the way he looks at me."

"This's exactly what I meant when I said y'all needa talk. Bo, none of this's true. Luke knows you're goin' through a hard time right now. But he just wants to help you. He wants to give you your space 'cause he knows what it's like to be pressured into sayin' things he don't wanna and why the hell am I tellin' you all this when you should be talkin' to him yourself?"

Bo scoffed and smiled. "Alright, fine, I'll talk to him when I get home. But he… he don't exactly understand the way Clayton does… it's different."

"Bo, Clayton understands because he's Clayton. He's been broken and burned and he knows just about all there is to know about goin' through emotional crises because he's been through plenty before, trust me, Thunder smells it on him and I don't hear the end of that, either. But he ain't Luke. He ain't been there since day one, he ain't been behind you for the past sixteen years like Luke has. What you two have is special. And I think it's high time y'all talk things out."

He was right. Bo knew he was right, as much as he didn't want to admit it. "Alright, you win, I'll talk to Luke."

"And keep in mind, I ain't some ol' rustbucket you can just ditch outside anymore and not do as I say. I can follow ya into the house now."

"I thought you said you liked sleepin' outside."

"I do but I'm willin' to make a sacrifice for both you and Luke. Now don't disappoint me, ya hear?"

"General, when have I ever let you down?"

The Charger rumbled in thought.

"Y'know what, don't answer that."

The rest of the drive was uneventful and the conversation turned to miniscule things until they got back to Hazzard, pulling up the driveway to the farm. Seeing Luke waiting for him on the front steps made him uneasy.

"What d'you suppose this's about?" he asked General in a low voice.

"Don't know."

As the Charger rolled to a stop in front of the house and Bo got out, Luke ushered him inside. "C'mon, Bo, gotta talk to ya," said the older Duke.

His tone was passive, no emotion behind it. At least it didn't seem urgent. Bo swallowed nervously, General smoking back into his human body, and following him inside.