Beggar's Return

By J A Clarke

Chapter One

It was like a never-ending nightmare; his whole world was crumbling, falling apart before his eyes and he was powerless to do anything about it. No! That wasn't strictly true, he was doing something about it, that was why he was here at the docks at two o'clock on a dark, cold morning. He was going to make a delivery and, for his reward, get his empire back. It didn't matter that his 'package' was alive, or human; someone who trusted him. Vincent's not human, he kept telling himself. He's not, he's not...

Gabriel had made it sound so simple, and his words had stung: hard brutal facts that pierced Elliot's heart and brought his hate to the surface.

I didn't take her away from you, Elliot, he did... Give me Vincent and I'll give it all back to you... and more... I didn't take her away from you... he did... he did...

The door to the limousine opened abruptly and in a daze, Elliot found himself at pier 39. The chilling wind permeated his body, even through the expensive cashmere coat... or maybe it was something else... He shivered as long icy fingers crept down his spine and encircled his heart, squeezing tighter, tighter.

Nervously he glanced around but saw nothing. The assassin was well hidden from view, probably on the roof of one of the warehouses. Elliot shivered again and his mind shied away from what he was doing. Desperately he thought of something else—like how he was going to entice Vincent out into the open.

With every step his heart grew heavier, his resolve melted away. By the time he reached the gangway of the Compass Rose, he was almost in a panic.

And then, there he was; in the shadows; waiting, trusting...

Elliot tried not to cringe. His hands, safely concealed in the pockets of his coat, clenched into fists, but as he was about to speak, Cleon Manning's deep voice suddenly became audible in his mind.

You've never killed a man in cold blood, have you?

Elliot froze. Under the cover of darkness, the colour drained from his face and he said the first thing that came into his head.

"Come here, Vincent, I've got something to show you."

It even sounded false, and the giant of a man didn't move.

"Elliot, what's wrong?" Vincent asked, his voice full of concern.

Elliot closed his eyes briefly and sighed heavily.

"Look at you," he said finally, his voice nothing more than a hoarse, pained whisper. "You're what's wrong. I could have given Cathy the whole world. What did you give her?"

"All that I could, all that I have, everything I am. What more is there to give?"

Suddenly Elliot understood everything; why he had lost and why he always would. He gazed briefly up at the moonlit sky before crouching down. It was no good, he couldn't go through with it. Wearily he rubbed his face with his hands as if trying to brush away the cobwebs caused by too many sleepless nights.

"Elliot, what's wrong?" Vincent asked again.

"He's killing me, Vincent. Inch by inch. All my work, all my dreams..." The anguish and pain were clearly evident in his voice.

"Dreams can be lived again. Elliot, let me help you."

The words cut through him like a knife.

They stared at each other and the trust he saw in those vivid blue eyes swayed him. Even his own conscience knew he couldn't do it. They had to join forces and beat their opponent; not betray each other.

"You were a fool to trust me."

"Catherine trusted you."

Don't, Vincent, don't! "Catherine was wrong; about me, about a lot of things."

"No! She wasn't!" The conviction in Vincent's voice almost choked him.

Abruptly he straightened up. No, Cleon, I've never killed anyone, and I won't be a party to it now! "The message was a lie. Get out of here, Vincent! Go! It's a trap!" He glanced nervously behind him, in time to spot a dim movement on a warehouse roof. "Vincent! Look out!" He threw himself forward towards his ally as a distant report sounded and something slammed into his back, propelling him forward into Vincent, sending a jolt of pain coursing along his nerve endings.

Somehow, Vincent managed to absorb the shock of this and caught Elliot before they both hit the deck of the abandoned cargo vessel.

More shots followed and Vincent dragged him none too gently under cover. Elliot attempted to stifle a groan as he was turned over. "I-I couldn't do it to you... I guess that m-makes me one of the 'good guys' after all." He tensed, then winced sharply and Vincent held him tighter, as if trying to lend him strength.

"We must get out of here," Vincent said, his voice a deep whisper.

"G-go! Leave me! I'll only hold you up! Here..." He fished in his pocket for Snow's gold ring and handed it to him. "You'd better take this back. Go, Vincent! Go find your child! T-this can't be all Gabriel's got planned, h-he must have s-something else up his sleeve! Go! I'd leave you if our positions were reversed!"

"No, you wouldn't," Vincent stated. "You lie very badly, Elliot. We leave here together, or not at all," came the deliberate reply.

Elliot knew he should have argued the point, but he did not have the strength to do so. Instead, he just whispered, "I-I guess we'd better h-hurry then." He made to move, but a fresh wave of agony washed over him, and he found himself paralysed with pain. A red fog hovered at the edges of his vision; reality began to fade in and out and he knew he wasn't going to go anywhere. "C-can't, Vincent... Go! Leave... can't make—"

His words were cut off in an agonized cry as Vincent hauled him roughly up onto his feet, causing him to black out.

Vincent had considered Elliot's words from all angles. Gabriel was immensely powerful; totally ruthless to a point of insanity and, evil. What else could that disgusting mind have possibly conceived for them to ensure they didn't come out of this alive? He used the word 'they' because it was obvious, even if Elliot had gone ahead and betrayed him, Gabriel would still have had him killed anyway—there would be less witnesses to worry about. He had to have laid some kind of trap, something that would make sure...

Realisation struck as he spied lengths of wire running along the decks. Desperately he swung the unconscious Elliot over his shoulder, turned to the guard rail and jumped into the icy cold, black water of the Hudson River, below, just as the first explosion ripped through the Compass Rose, engulfing them in flames.

The blast was deafening and suddenly, as if connected in some obscure way, every single light in the whole of Manhattan went out.

They hit the water with a mighty splash and were drawn under the surface by the boiling, heaving liquid around them. Vincent did his best to keep a tight grip on Elliot's coat, but it was wrenched out of his grasp, and they became separated.

Burning wood and chunks of metal began to rain down; more explosions ripped the ship apart. Vincent tried to protect himself as best he could but did not get away unharmed. He was burnt and cut, yet he stayed, desperately searching for his last ally; but Elliot was nowhere to be seen.

Vincent continued to search even when he knew it was a lost cause and finally only gave up when the icy coldness of the water permeated through to his bones, chilling him beyond belief. He had to get out, or he would die, and Gabriel would have his son.

Somehow, he managed to climb up a ladder onto the dockside where he collapsed. A few minutes passed before he pulled himself together and he blinked several times and gingerly shook his head, trying to clear his vision. It didn't seem to do much good and he still had a ringing sound in his ears.

Vincent looked down into the black water as an incredible heaviness settled around his heart and thought about the trap that had been carefully laid for him. He had always thought of Elliot as a powerful man; power over men, over money, over his life; yet for a while, he too had succumbed to the will of Gabriel. It must have been some threat to have made Elliot betray him to Gabriel, but at the crucial point however, Elliot's conscience had caught up with him, his true personality had come through and he had been unable to do it, instead, taking the bullet meant for Vincent, himself.

Again, this man had saved his life and for what reason? They were not friends and, by rights they should have been enemies because Vincent had stolen something very close to Elliot's heart: Catherine. She could have married him, and he would have given her anything, but instead Catherine had turned him down and chosen Vincent. It must have been a bitter blow, for Vincent knew Elliot had loved her dearly but, he had lost the battle and he had accepted defeat gracefully.

And what had he done? Failed... again. He had failed Catherine, his son and now, Elliot Burch, his one ally in the fight against Gabriel.

Grief washed over him; he owed the man so much. Why him as well? Had he not suffered enough already? Did he now really have to continue the fight alone? Vincent writhed in his grief, his head moving from side to side; felt the cry crawl up his throat as if to choke him and finally be released in a roaring denial. "NOOO!"

Defeated, he gained his feet, turned, and fled, running like a drunken man away from the scene. He couldn't stop himself. This latest loss seemed to sap his strength. The adrenalin was gone and his body succumbing to the shock of what had passed that night.

Hardly able to see where he was going, Vincent made his way through numerous back streets and alleyways until he finally came to where his beloved Catherine lay and, if God willed it, to die there too.

He was aware of two things: a chilling, numbing cold that permeated through his entire body and, of the feel of harsh gravel or sand pressing against his face. Slowly his eyes opened, but he could see nothing, it was pitch black ... no, not totally, but it was extremely dark.

Where on earth was he? What had happened? But more importantly, who was he? He fought hard to remember, but his mind refused to function. Confused, he attempted to raise his head and look around, but the effort was too much. A cough crept into his throat. He tried to hold it back, but it refused to obey him and escaped with a force that jarred every nerve in his body. His vision blurred, the red mist in the corner of his eyes swept together like the curtains in a theatre and he lost consciousness.

It was gone; her big chance and all because of a power failure! The lead singer in the club had finished a day early; there was one more night to go before the club closed for refurbishment and she had somehow persuaded the boss to let her have a go and fill the gap just for that one night.

She had chosen her songs with care, ensuring they would suit her voice and she was convinced it would lead to something big. If anything was going to let her down, then it would be her nerves, or some kind of mechanical failure of equipment.

The normal group started first, to warm the audience up and then it was her turn. The club was not renowned for its brilliant talent, but she was determined to change that.

Her reception was mildly indifferent. She was an unknown; they were not really interested. God, it just had to go right! The band started the introduction, she took a deep breath to calm her herself and then it began.

It took the audience just a few bars to realise there was talent... and respond. People began to come onto the dance floor, others to listen. It looked like she was succeeding when... the power died. The lights went out, plunging them into an inky blackness.

People began to scream. She tried to calm them down by telling them the emergency lighting would cut in—which it did, providing just low night lights only. There was no power for anything else. The manager came on and glanced at her apologetically.

They waited, but the power did not return, and it was just too dark to be safe. People left in a trickle, then in a panicked stream when someone came back to tell them that the lights were out all over the city.

She had been too stunned to take it in at first. The manager had thanked her for her efforts and hoped she had enough money to tie her over until the club opened again in a month and that, was that.

Outside on the streets, it was complete chaos, so she walked all the way, oblivious to the dangers around her; too upset even to care. She walked to the water's edge and stood, staring for a long time. In the distance, over the dock area was a red glow, possibly from a fire.

If she had been the type, she would have waded into the water and carried on; but the thought didn't even cross her mind. Instead, she found herself crying.

How long the tears lasted she didn't know, but eventually she was reduced to dry wracking sobs that left her feeling exhausted.

Finally pulling herself together, she turned and started to walk back to the road, only to be brought up sharply by the sound of a choking cough. She whirled, her heart in her mouth.

"W-who's there?" Her voice shook slightly, and she mentally kicked herself.

The cough sounded again.

"Who is that?" This time her voice was a little more firm, but she was concerned, for the person sounded as if they were in a bad way.

With false courage, she moved back towards the water line and, with just the dim light from the stars above, made out a figure, struggling weakly, trying to drag itself out of the water.

Horrified, she ran forward to lend a hand. "Here, let me help you."

Somehow, with a lot of effort on both sides, a bit of luck and sheer ingeniousness, she managed to get him on his feet. He was like ice, obviously soaking wet and chilled to the bone. How long had he been in the water?

"Can you walk?"

"I-I'm going t-to have to," he managed to mumble in a voice that was barely audible.

Slowly, they began the painful walk to the roadside. With the utter chaos in the city, she realised it would be useless trying to get an ambulance or a cab, so she decided to take him back to her meagre little apartment.

The journey was a nightmare. It wasn't very far but they had to stop frequently and although she had done her best to take most of the strain, she could feel what little strength he had slipping away and the weight of his arm around her shoulders was now becoming unbearable.

Her apartment was in the basement. Getting down the steps had proved both difficult and painful, but they managed it. It was imperative he stayed on his feet, for she would never be able to get him off the ground again if he fell.

She propped him up against the wall while she searched for her keys then, after opening the door, she put his arm back around her shoulders, her arm about his waist and staggered inside.

It was pitch black, but she knew the bed was in the corner and headed in its general direction.

Her shins found it. Swearing, she shifted at the pain but lost her balance, causing them to fall. Although she did her utmost to try and direct their descent onto the bed, they missed their target and hit the floor instead, landing in an undignified heap with her trapped beneath him. Feeling decidedly bruised and exhausted, she lay there panting, trying to get her breath back. She had heard his muffled cry of agony and apologised but was unable to do anything until her heart stopped its brain-hammering thud, leaving her feeling strong enough to carry on.

As carefully as possible she managed to wriggle out from under him, get to her feet and grope her way back to the door which she closed and locked. Now they were safe.

Just for the hell of it she tried the light switch, but of course nothing happened, so she spent a couple of minutes locating a candle and some matches. As she was about to strike one, there was a click and the power came on, flooding the room in a harsh light that made her eyes water. She blinked and squinted until they grew accustomed to it, then glanced down at herself.

Her eyes grew wide in shock as she saw the rusty-red stain on the sleeve of her coat where she had had her arm around him... blood!

Nervously she looked at him still lying where he had fallen and approached cautiously. In his present state he looked harmless enough, the only movement was the violent shivering of his body.

Even in their bedraggled state she could tell the clothes he wore were very expensive, probably worth more than what she earned in six months! Was he involved in some kind of gangland activity or drugs? Perhaps she'd find out eventually, but first there were more important things to do.

Taking a deep breath, she knelt down beside him and brushed the hair back from his face which was smeared in a mixture of oil and blood. There was a cut over his right eyebrow and another on his cheek, but she could see that under all that was a very handsome, bearded man. He was panting in an effort to keep his breathing shallow but every now and again was forced to take a deep lung full of air that made his entire body shudder in pain.

She looked around her, studying the room, mentally manipulating the furniture, trying different layouts to see if she could make up a bed for him on the floor then, decision made, she stood up, discarded her coat, rolled up the sleeves of her blouse and started moving everything about. Well, it would be easier than trying to get him up onto her bed, besides which, if she did manage to do that, where would she then sleep?

When she'd cleared enough space, she retrieved a folding mattress from the top of her wardrobe, laid it out and covered it with a couple of blankets to give it a little more padding, before laying some clean white sheets over it.

That done, she went to the small kitchen, put some water on to boil, retrieved her small medical box, a couple of towels and carried a bowl of hot water from the tap, back to where he lay. She could at least make a start on cleaning him up.

Kneeling down beside him she shook his shoulder gently. "Hey... I need your help. I can't do this alone... can you sit up?"

His eyelids flickered and opened, and she found herself staring into a pair of striking, very pale grey-blue pain-filled eyes, that made her breath catch in her throat.

"Can you sit up?" she asked again, regaining the use of her voice.

He began to struggle, and she helped him into a sitting position.

"You're freezing, chilled to the bone. We've got to get you out of these wet clothes. Do you understand me?"

He nodded weakly.

As gently as possible, but with some difficulty, she managed to peel his overcoat off him followed by his jacket. Her face took on a look of horrified amazement as she surveyed the extent of the reddy-brown stain on the once white shirt. Of course, the river water had spread it over a large area, but it was still a shock.

Puzzled by the bulkiness of his shirt and a dark colour of something partly discernible underneath, she removed the expensive cufflinks, undid the buttons and, steeling herself to what she might find, pulled that off, to reveal the thick padding of a flak jacket.

It was the last thing she expected to see, and it took her completely by surprise. She was forced to immediately change her ideas about him. Flak jackets were usually worn by the police or security forces, so was he an undercover cop?

Shaking her head over these wild speculations, she frowned and concentrated on loosening the straps of the jacket. They seemed to be very tight, but she assumed they had to be to stop it shifting about.

A few minutes later, all the straps were undone, and she lifted the jacket off and inspected it closely; finding severe damage on the back and a hole all the way through. Realisation dawned that if he hadn't been wearing it, she would have stumbled over a dead body and not just an injured man. The jacket had absorbed the initial impact of what must have been a bullet from a high-powered rifle and slowed it down.

Suddenly scared of it, she threw the offending item over her shoulder and looked at his body. Blood seeped sluggishly from a puncture wound in his back... the bullet wound. Gently, she probed the area trying to ignore how his body stiffened at her touch. As far as she could tell, the bullet was still in there and there was extensive bruising all around it. The man needed at the very least, a doctor, preferably a hospital! He didn't look too good and if he died on her, what would she do then?

"You need to go to a hospital!"

Her words penetrated his numbed brain. "N-no!" he gasped in a hoarse and barely audible whisper. "N-no hospital... n-no doctor... they'll find me!"

"But you've been shot! The bullet's still in there! You're bleeding!"

"N-no! You'll have to... to fix..."

She almost went green at the thought. No way! "L-look," she began shakily. "I can't! Not this! I have to get a doctor, or you'll bleed to death!" Determined, she went to get up, but he somehow managed to grab her wrist and pull her back down, his strength surprising her.

"N-no doctor!" There was near panic in his voice.

"Okay, okay!" She tried to wrench herself free, but he wouldn't let her go.

"P-promise me!" The wide, pale eyes had turned almost transparent and fixed her with a stare so intense, she had no option but to obey. He was desperate and scared; she recognised the signs having been there herself.

"All right, I promise; no doctor, no hospital."

He managed a nod, then having used up what little reserves of strength he'd had left, his grip on her wrist slackened as he slipped back into semi-consciousness. As she released herself, she noticed the burns on his hands. What on earth had happened to him?

Brushing her wild thoughts firmly aside, she set about cleaning him up, getting the oil and blood off his face, tending the cuts there before moving onto his chest and back. Cleaner now, she gently shook him again.

"Come on feller, it's time to move you to this bed and I can't carry you!"

It was a rough ride as she tried to partially drag, partially lift him the few feet. He helped her as best he could but all the time, she could feel him slipping further from her, so much so, he hardly made a sound at all, even though the movement must really have hurt.

Finally, he was face down in a rough recovery position, almost unconscious, which would make her next task just a little easier.

By rights the bullet had to come out, but she had neither the equipment, the skill or the courage to attempt it. Perhaps she would be able to talk some sense into him a little later on.

She went back to the kitchen to retrieve the now cooling boiled water. Into this she poured some antiseptic and using wads of cotton wool cleaned the wound and the surrounding area as best she could. What she really needed was something to sterilise the wound. The only thing she had was a bottle of whisky: it would have to do.

Getting it, she unscrewed the cap, carefully filled it, took a deep breath and poured it into the wound. His reaction was as violent as she thought it might be.

He kicked out, the breath hissed from between clenched teeth, tears trickled out from beneath his shut eyelids, the knuckles showed white as he gripped the mattress, then gradually he relaxed.

She heaved a large sigh of relief, then placed a large dressing over the wound before continuing with the stripping down and cleaning up. That done, she placed the other sheet over his body, followed by another couple of blankets to get him warm.

"JD, you deserve a drink for that... shame you don't partake!" she muttered to herself. She relaxed a few moments against the bed before allowing her eyes to focus on his discarded jacket. "I wonder..."

She rifled through all the pockets and found a wallet. There was nothing in there to give any kind of identity to her new lodger, but there was a couple of hundred rather soggy dollars. Carefully she separated them one by one and pegged them up to dry on a line she ran across her small kitchen. It could come in very useful. That done, she hung his suit on a hanger, gathered up the rest of his blood-soaked clothes and dumped them in a sink filled with cold salt water to try and loosen the stains. Everything else could wait until she felt vaguely human again—sometime tomorrow—oh God, later today!

JD stripped off her own clothes, had a very brief shower, donned a tatty nightie, turned out the light and collapsed into bed with another huge sigh. Even though she was tired, it was some time before sleep claimed her and her dreams were disturbing, making her toss and turn.

To her annoyance she awoke at her usual time, her internal clock as efficient as ever. JD groaned in frustration and tried to turn over and go back to sleep but her conscience got the better of her; she ought to check on her patient.

Leaning over the edge of the bed she found he had hardly shifted position. In the growing light it could be seen that a little colour had returned to his cheeks. She frowned. Too much colour, perhaps?

She got out of bed and knelt down on the floor beside him to touch his forehead. It felt decidedly dry and hot. Damn! He'd need some antibiotics; how was she going to get hold of them?

JD got up, went to the table and made out a list of supplies, then glanced at the clock. Eight thirty. The local supermarket would be open; she could get most of what she wanted there. Decision made, she had another shower, threw on some old clothes, picked up her purse and went back to her patient.

"I have to go out; get some food and other supplies, I won't be long, okay?"

There was no response. She touched his shoulder briefly, then got up and left, locking the door behind her.

It took her over an hour to get all she needed and on the way back her journey took her past the doctor's surgery. She stopped and thought... may be... She squared her shoulders and marched in.

"Can I help you?" the receptionist asked.

"Yes," JD replied, putting on a decidedly husky voice. "I think I've got some kind of throat infection and I'm a singer. If I can't sing, I'll lose my job. Can the doctor give me some antibiotics or something?"

Details were taken. The doctor couldn't complain; she hardly ever came to see him. He squeezed her in and made a thorough examination of her throat. Obviously, he couldn't find anything wrong.

"Sore throat?" JD mumbled hopefully.

"If it is coming, then you should know that ninety-nine percent of sore throats are caused by viral infections for which there is no known cure."

Her face took on a suitably horrified look.

"But... okay... in case there's some kind of secondary infection, I'll prescribe a course of antibiotics. We don't want you out of a job, right? Mmm... don't see you very often, do I?" he added as he scribbled out the prescription.

"I hope they're strong ones..." she was heard to mutter.

He just looked at her. "If they don't work, come back and see me..."

She couldn't get out of the place fast enough to get it filled!

"Hi! I'm back!" she announced, stating the obvious as she opened the door of her apartment. "Sorry I took so long, how are you feeling?"

She looked over at him. He was laying on his side, eyes closed, but opened them at the sound of her voice. He mouthed something, but she couldn't hear a word.

"God, you must be thirsty, let me get you something to drink." She dropped the shopping on the table and got him a glass of water. "Can you manage this?" she asked, kneeling down by his side.

His hand shook as he reached for it.

"May be not." She helped him and he took a few sips.

"W-where..."

"Okay, let's see... I found you in the water early this morning. You've been shot, but refused a doctor or hospital so I brought you here to my place. My name's Jahnine, but my friends called me JD. What's yours?"

"M-my name is..." He stopped and frowned, concentrating hard. "My name is ... is Kaz ... Kaz..." He shook his head.

"Okay, Kaz, don't worry about it, you've had a rough time. It'll come back to you eventually. I don't suppose you can remember what happened last night at all, either?"

"I - I... no..."

"Relax, it's not important, you're safe here. I've bought quite a few things to eat, I thought perhaps you'd like some kind of liquid first, to replace what you've lost. I'll get you some now. I've also managed to get hold of some antibiotics." She smiled at him. "I've just suffered the quickest sore throat and recovery in history! You really need to get these down you, you've got a temperature." She reached for them and handed him two, which he swallowed. "Lie still, I'll get you some of this complete food in a liquid stuff they give to invalids."

He didn't really want it she could tell, but she forced it down him and afterwards he fell into a troubled sleep. JD sat back in her one and only comfortable chair and stared at him. He really was handsome and very fit—that much had been obvious to her last night as she had cleaned him up. But who was he and where did he come from? She could speculate, but what was the point? She'd probably be wrong anyway!

Sighing, she went into the kitchen to see how his clothes were getting on. The overnight soaking in salt water had made good headway so she rinsed them through, rubbed some stain remover into the remaining bad spots and put them in a bucket of hot soapy water to soak some more. Later on she'd see about darning the holes!

Her job changed that day from nightclub singer to full time nurse and she began to feel a healthy respect for those people who dedicated themselves to caring for the sick. His pain she could do nothing about; scared to mix pills and potions in case it had some kind of adverse reaction, so she spent her time sitting by him, holding his hand, reading to him or just watching him sleep.

The sound of her name being called jerked her out of an uneasy doze.

"JD... cold... so cold..." He was shivering violently and yet, when she touched his forehead it felt very hot.

Obediently she piled on a couple more blankets from her bed and forced some water past his parched lips.

"Better?" she asked, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

"Yes... thanks."

"I could get a doctor..." she began.

"No! I-I told you... can't..." He became agitated again so she hastily agreed.

"It was only a suggestion; I won't mention it again."

He relaxed immediately. JD got up to relieve her aching limbs and got herself a coffee and a quick snack. As she came and sat down again, 'Kaz' took her hand and brought it to his lips.

"Thanks... JD..."

The gesture brought a smile to her lips and made her feel good inside, but it was to be his last coherent action for some time.

His condition deteriorated after that and he alternated between periods of being hot and cold. The fever reached its height three nights later. It proved a harrowing time trying to keep him still when he fidgeted and thrashed about, reliving some nightmare. JD continually bathed his face and chest with cold water but the heat from his body soon warmed the cloths, turning it into a never ending task.

She wished for a few moments respite, just so she could snatch a little sleep, but it was not to be, for as soon as he was settled, then he would start again.

"...killing me, Vincent..." she heard him mumble and started to pay avid attention. Up until now he had just muttered the occasional word, but nothing concrete to latch onto. Would she now be able to find something out about her handsome stranger?

"...my dreams... suicide..!"

The voice sounded pained, anguished. Was there a man called Vincent trying to kill him? Who was this character?

"...Trap ...we... go! Leave you..."

There was urgency in his voice, something about a trap. Was Kaz a cop after all then? An undercover cop who had been discovered by this Vincent guy? But undercover in what? It must have been something really big, going by the clothes he had been wearing.

He suddenly opened his eyes and JD gasped at the intense fevered brightness of them as they fastened on her face.

"Cathy!" His hand groped for hers and she gave it to him willingly. He gripped it tightly, painfully so. "Cathy... you've come back... knew you weren't dead... Gabriel didn't kill you..."

She fought to keep the stunned expression from her face.

"Don't leave... don't ever leave me... promise, promise me!"

"I... I promise I won't leave you," JD found herself replying as tears slowly began to creep down her cheeks at the intensity of his feelings. He loved this Cathy person very much and she realised this fact hurt her deep inside. To be loved by someone as much as that must be such a wonderful thing; she couldn't help feeling envious.

"Don't cry, Cath." His other hand came up to brush away her tears and JD kissed it. It seemed the most natural thing to do.

The night wore on; his movements became violent. Concerned, she tried to hold him down, worried what damage he could do to his wound.

"Cathy! Where are you, Cathy!"

"Shush, it's all right," JD crooned. "It's all right."

His gaze seemed to go right through her. He shook his head. "Not Cathy... not Cathy!" He seemed frantic. "What have you done with her!"

"Please, Kaz, it's all right!"

"No!" He began to struggle violently, all the time calling Cathy's name, trying to get up. JD hung on to him, trying to keep him still, but stood little chance against the determination of a fevered mind. A hand came seemingly out of nowhere and caught her a glancing blow that rattled her teeth, brought tears to her eyes and made her see stars.

In retaliation she screamed at him. "Cathy's dead! Do you hear me? She's dead! Gabriel killed her!"

His body went rigid as the meaning of her words struck home. "Cath... Nooo..." And then he went limp.

JD froze in fear; her heart leapt into her mouth. "K-Kaz?" Her voice was a strangled whisper. "Kaz?" Terrified, she pulled back the covers and threw her head down onto his chest, nearly passing out with relief when she heard his heartbeat. "Thank God..." It was her last coherent thought before too many never ending nights took their toll and sleep claimed her.

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